With the exception of 2016, I’ve done an annual list of things I’d like to see go away in the upcoming year. I can’t remember what was going on that I neglected it last year. Probably just major slack-assedness. Or more likely, it was Seasonal Affective Disorder (I hate winter). Anyhoo, it’s always fun to bitch and moan about the things that drive you mad. Well, at least it is for me. I always feel better after writing it and I think maybe if I can get just one person to stop being a d-bag, then I’ve accomplished a very important task for the betterment of society. I’m not pointing any fingers, but if you see yourself in any of these, for the love of humankind, just cut it out.
- Mansplaining. Contrary to popular belief, the organ responsible for critical thinking is not the penis. I know this comes as a shock to many people, but it’s actually the brain that’s in charge of that arena, and luckily for women we actually have that organ! I hate to break it to you, guys, but you don’t have a monopoly in the intelligence market. I’m sure quite a many of you are smart as hell, but there’s a helluva lot of smart women out there too, and you’d be wise to shut your mouth and use your ears more often.
- Boob money. Listen ladies, I get it. I don’t always want to drag a purse around with me either. I happen to have an ample bosom myself, and most days it’s all I can do to make sure the girls stay in there. It’s not a mini clutch to carry your money, credit cards, etc. Even if you aren’t at the club dancing like a stripper working the pole, things get sweaty up in there. Nobody wants to be handling your wet, sweaty Jacksons (I don’t know many people who roll with Benjamins). It’s just fucking gross. With the exception of ER visits and intimate relationships, nobody wants to be touching anything with your bodily fluids on it.
- General Bathroom Disgustingness. So have you ever sat down on a toilet seat to do your business, only to feel that your ass is all wet? There’s a myriad of reasons this occurs. At my house, the most likely offenders are my pups. They think the toilet is a wading pool, but they are dogs. Humans, if you are leaving your piss or shit, or any other fluid coming out of your body, on a toilet seat or the floor surrounding the toilet, clean up after yourself, for fucks sake! I shouldn’t even have to tell you this if you are over the age of 5. Matter of fact, I have FOUR children and I’ve NEVER had to tell them this one time. I am not a nurse. I do not want to deal with your sweat, piss, shit, snot, vomit, or blood and I can pretty sure damn well guarantee nobody else does either.
- Shaming. Here it is 2017 and us Americans like to pretend in public that we’re still a bunch of Puritans living in the 17th century. We love to shame women people for being too fat, too skinny, too poor, too promiscuous… I bet every social media post blasting someone for one of these mortal sins is being made by a fat slob shoveling Cheetos in his mouth while watching porn from his mom’s basement. My question is why do you care? I think it’s because you see the very things you detest in your own self and you have tiny mouse balls and can’t motivate yourself to make the change you want to see in others. And if that’s the case, then you need to shut the fuck up. Even if you exemplify perfection in the form of a human body and soul, shouldn’t your focus be on helping someone less fortunate than you? Yeah. Success isn’t a limited entity; it’s infinite. There’s enough for everyone. And youngsters listen up. Cute and skinny only lasts until you’re about 30. After that, you better have something else to rely on, because it’s all downhill from there. You’re welcome.
- Bad grammar. Even if you didn’t finish high school, certainly you had an English class in elementary school. Ironically, they used to call it grammar school way back in the day. There is no excuse for poor grammar, other than just laziness. I bet there are even YouTube videos on the subject. And for the love of God and all humankind, PLEASE stop sharing memes with incorrect grammar and spelling. Also, quit telling me you knew there was a misspelling and you used it anyway because it still conveyed the spirit of the message. NO IT DOESN’T. IT CONVEYS YOU ARE AN IDIOT. And if you’re too lazy to improve your grammar game (see what I did there?), then print out this handy little chart and put it in your back pocket and refer to it as necessary.
- Car decorations. I’m not talking about bumper stickers here either. Matter of fact, I love bumper stickers; they amuse me. Especially that one time I spotted a car with a Jesus fish and a Pantera bumper sticker. Not that you can’t be a fan of Jesus and Pantera at the same time, but it is a little dichotomous. No, I’m talking about those antlers, wreaths, big red noses, giant fake eyelashes, sport flags… By the way, those flags just let people know you suck as a sports fan AND a driver. Really, I don’t know why I care about this, but it irks me. I only wish people put as much effort into actually driving the car as they do decorating it. You know what would look great on your car? Some fucking turn signals.
- Get over it. This is has become a common mantra amongst Trump supporters during the post-election season. You don’t have to search very far to see I am not a Trump fan. At one point during his campaign, I publicly announced my sincere hope that it was a big hoax. Unfortunately for me, and half of the nation, it wasn’t. Regardless, you should never utter these words to another individual. I really shouldn’t even have to tell you this; it should have been covered in grammar school, but it seems that people have forgotten the basics of common courtesy. People are entitled to their own thoughts, opinions, and feelings. Just because you don’t agree with them, doesn’t make them invalid. Especially when you are speaking from a place of privilege. Just remember, just because something doesn’t affect you doesn’t mean that it doesn’t have meaning or value to someone else. You should be careful about dismissing those sorts of arguments. The people who make them are likely the only people who will be worried about your rights when someone is trying to take them away. If you dismiss them straightaway, there may be no one left to speak on your behalf when the time comes. Food for thought…
- Skinny Jeans. This only applies to the 20 and above crowd, and males of any age. If you are a 15 year-old female, or an anorexic of any age (you know I don’t want you to be anorexic, so don’t send me hate mail), then by all means, continue rocking your skinny jeans until the cows come home. But dudes, stop it. Women want a man who can kick someone’s ass. We don’t require that you actually kick someone’s ass; we just want to know you can kick some ass should the need arise. And skinny jeans scream you ain’t kicking nobody’s ass. They also kind of scream that you don’t need a lot of room in the crotch area. Which may or may not be an issue, but let’s just say, it’s not starting out on the best foot. First impressions count! You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, but I’ll tell you, I’ve bought many a book based solely on the cover. I may not have read the whole book, but it made its way into my house. Just sayin’.
- Unkempt Facial Hair. I’m not talking about neatly trimmed, well-groomed beards, so don’t get your whiskers in a knot. I’m not even talking about goatees (because those are sexy). I’m talking about the ratty, pubic-looking, fecal carrying, bacteria-trap beards. You know what I’m talking about. It’s like porn; some of it is very offensive, but you don’t know it’s offensive until you actually see it. A nice, kempt beard that doesn’t carry an offensive smell and looks nice is fine. Deviate from that one smidgen, and well, shit goes all to hell. And unless you don’t care about never being laid again, please stop doing that rat-tail with multiple ponytail holders on the chin thing. That’s worse than the man-bun. At least the man-bun doesn’t hit you right in the chin when you try to kiss it.
- Jury Duty Evasion. One of the greatest things about our justice system is that you have the right to a trial by a jury of your peers. Just because you have been charged with a crime doesn’t necessarily mean that you committed said crime. You are entitled to a trial where the prosecutor will lay out their case to the jury of your peers, and they’ll decide your innocence or guilt. Problem is, we often have a hard time getting anyone to show up for the big day. I know it’s a hassle and it can involve a lot of waiting around. I know they don’t pay you very much and your employer probably doesn’t pay you for it either. But it’s one of the most important jobs we as Americans can do. It’s also very educational and quite oftentimes, entertaining. And don’t think because you didn’t actually make it to the trial portion of the proceedings that your day is wasted. Often people aren’t willing to face the music until they know their peers are waiting to hear the case. Your presence serves a purpose. Just do your civic duty! Think of it as a day of volunteerism where you get a small stipend to cover your lunch and free pass on parking tickets. Now some people may very well have legitimate excuses as to why they can’t be jurors. In that case, get the proper documentation from your medical provider or employer and forward it to the court. Do not tell the person answering the phone all about your chronic diarrhea. Nobody really wants to hear about that and more than likely, that person isn’t even able to excuse you. Oh, and don’t yell at them when they tell you that.
So there it is, the 10 things that would make me as happy as a pig in shit to never encounter again. As always, I invite you to share the things you’d like to see go away in the upcoming year, because I know I can’t be the only one out there who’s tired of some shit. Thanks for sticking with me this year. Hopefully, I won’t break bones and be laid up half a year in 2017.
My 2017 wish for you is that you dance like Elaine while people are watching. The world needs more of that.
I’ve been having trouble getting into the holiday spirit this year. Oh hell, I’m lying. I haven’t been happy about the holidays since I was a kid, and even then it’s questionable. I NEVER did get that Easy Bake Oven, and let me tell you, I feel cheated. Let’s face it, for adults (usually women), the holiday season just adds more chores to the to-do list. But for some reason (probably too much egg nog), I decided to search up Christmas cards on The Google, and Sweet Birthday Boy Jesus, some of the cards from yesteryear are simply horrifying. If you ever feel yourself questioning your sanity, just Google some random thing and add the word creepy to your search. You’ll instantly feel better about yourself. Promise. Regardless, let’s look at some creepy Christmas cards and discuss our feelz about them.
Here we have a Christmas greeting with LOVE. Never mind it looks like someone has stuffed a little person into a teapot full of boiling water to make you some holiday tea. I don’t know about you, but I always like my tea with a bit of suffering and ptomaine. Cheers!
Merry Christmas kids! I hope you have an adventurous holiday being kidnapped by a horned Satanistic looking creature with a very long tongue! Don’t worry; he probably has candy (and a machete) somewhere in that car.
Season’s Greetings! I hope your holiday is filled with a very large man-monkey hanging off your back and drawing blood with his huge claws. Looks like a helluva good time. This is the card I’m going to be sending to all my friends who are on The H this year.
Stockade, clown, questionable drinks, and subtle threats with knives…proof the obligatory office Christmas party is not a modern day invention. This card shows people have been suffering through this torturous event for hundreds of years. Only thing missing is a disco ball.
Hey there, hot stuff. Merry Christmas. When I think about you, I touch my pussy. Cat.
Nothing screams Christmas cheer like Santa dragging a drunken hooker through a back alley. Ho Ho Ho. I don’t know about you, but looks like fun.
In the 1800’s these toddlers were having some fun. Today? I see a couple of felonies and several misdemeanors. You’re going to hell, jail, and on the sex offender registry for the next 15 years for what you’re thinking this very instant. Merry Christmas!
I don’t know about you, but when I really like someone and I want to wish them a joyful Christmas, my first thought is always to send them a photo of a dead bird. Right after I put their pet bunny in a stock pot and boil it. Happy Holidays!
Well, it used to be all about you, Jesus. But things have changed. And I know exactly how you feel. My very own 45th birthday was overshadowed by the whole election from hell. Where were you for that, huh? I mean not only did they ruin my birthday, but they also ruined my life. Oh wait, never mind…
They say there’s nothing better than a home-made card to mark a special occasion. I agree. But I do hope Santa brings you some wax. And maybe some penicillin.
Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukah, Happy Kwanzaa, Happy Ramadan, Joyful Festivus (I have a lot of grievances this year). I hope your holidays are joyous and filled with love; and you find a pretty package under your tree (preferably in a little blue box from the iconic Tiffany’s) and goodies in your stocking.
So it’s been a while since I‘ve written anything. This time I have a really good excuse. Exactly 6 months ago, I was having a lovely evening when a trip to the bathroom and my cooler turned into one of the worst nightmares of my life. I have documented, on several occasions, my inability to remain upright. I’m clumsy, and we can blame it all on a leftie living in a right-handed world (there’s studies people), but the fact of the matter is, I fall down a lot and it was bound to happen. I tripped on some steps and I broke my right fibula and severely sprained my left foot.
You can imagine my glee when I left the doctor’s office two days later sporting a cast on my right leg and a boot reminiscent of a twenty-pound medieval torture device on my left leg with orders to not bear weight on the right leg until further notice. Not hard since without any operational feet it’s hard to walk. But whatevs.
So I notified my boss that I would be indisposed for a period of time and luckily for me, I work for the most patient man known since Job. Five weeks later, I roll (literally) into Court in a wheelchair and can only hang half days for a few more weeks until I gradually am able to move from a walker to a cane, 4 weeks later. Let me tell you, breaking a bone in a major limb in your 40’s is no joke. I used scoff at killing a horse with a broken leg. Now, I understand it’s the humane thing to do.
And in this long ass process I have learned a thing or two. Most of these things you’ll never understand unless you’ve lost your mobility. And that’s OK. I hope you never do. And I don’t want to be that blowhard asshole giving you a list of reasons you should be more mindful of the mobility impaired, but I hope you’ll at least consider the following before you make some asshole decision that affects someone else.
That person you are cussing out for taking up two parking spaces. I used to loathe that person. What a fucking asshole! That’s the first thing I would exclaim to myself when seeing this occurrence. Until I had to be that asshole when I was the one, without a handicap placard, who needed to go into a place of business in a wheelchair or a walker. There’s a process to go through to get one of those coveted placards and not everyone is eligible to get one. Because I know firsthand, I’ll never cuss that person out again. As a matter of fact, it’s quite possible that person is having a way harder time than I am. So if you need two parking spaces, then take them. Isn’t it easier to think that the person needs that space rather than to assume the worst? Yes, yes it is. Don’t let yourself become a victim of the popular media that everyone is bad and just in it for themselves. So many illnesses are invisible. Why not err on the side of kindness. It doesn’t cost you a damn thing.
This brings me to the fact that in this world you are going to run into assholes. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve run into grown ass adults who would watch me struggle opening a door while I was using a walker. But I will tell you, for every one of those assholes, there was an angel who was willing to hold a door open for me. And 80% of the time, those angels were kids. You don’t think today’s kids are respectful or have manners? That’s not what I’ve seen at all. Maybe if CNN covered a story about that (which would garner no ratings, sadly), more people would be hopeful about the future of this country. America IS great now. We just don’t focus on that.
That leads me to the last thing. Pain is invisible. You may know me from every day life and you only see what I let you. You may not know that I’m one of the lucky ones who has developed a rare condition that makes my nerves think I’m in pain when there’s no physical reason for that pain to exist. And because I live in the Heroin Belt, in a community riddled with heroin addicts, with a media focused on curing the addiction, and an election year where politicians must have an answer to every one of society ills, we are left with a black and white view on addiction. I don’t claim to know the answers. But for the life of me, I can’t think of any other medical condition where we tell people they can’t get a medication that can help them because their neighbor doesn’t use their prescription correctly. Imagine your doctor telling you that his other patient Joe doesn’t take his diabetes meds appropriately so he can’t give you the same prescription to keep your blood sugar in control, because the government told him he can only prescribe diabetes meds to a certain number of people. Makes no sense. But hey, that same government has no problem taking more money from working folks to fund those programs for suboxone, Vivitrol, and Narcan. Oh, but I digress…that’s a whole other blog.
The short story is this. Be a good human. Help your fellow humans – lend a hand, don’t judge, be nice. It really doesn’t cost you a damn thing and it might make a huge difference in someone else’s life.
Maybe it’s simply the fact that I’m getting old and my tolerance level for giving a shit about things has dropped to an all-time staggering low or Americans have become a bunch of whiny punk ass bitches, but this bathroom quandary has me left scratching my head. Either way, I’m so sick of hearing about it that I basically can’t look at the news or Facebook anymore.
Listen folks, this may be a news flash for many of y’all, but this transgendered thing didn’t just pop up when Bruce decided to become Caitlyn. This has been going on since the beginning of time. I’d safely bet that you have already used the bathroom with a transgendered person and didn’t even know it. Nothing happened to you. Everyone did their bid’ness, flushed, (hopefully) washed their hands, maybe put on some lip-gloss, and went about their day.
Do we really need the government to tell us which bathroom to use? These people can’t even balance a fucking budget or show up to work half the time, but we want them to pass laws telling us how to void our bladder and bowels? Think about it. In my book, this has gone way too far. I mean the government has already been way too far up in my uterus; I don’t need them in any other part of my nether regions.
I know what you’re saying now… Oh Helle! I can’t pee next to a rapist or pedophile! This is anarchy! The whole world is going to implode! To which I would respond, chill the fuck out. The transgendered people aren’t trying to molest you or your children. They just gotta pee. And 99.9% of the public bathrooms I’ve been in have stalls for which people can do their business without a stranger staring at you. Moreover, the rapists and pedophiles will find a way to leer at you or molest you regardless of some stupid potty law. It may be shocking news to many of you, but criminals don’t actually obey the law.
At this point in my life, I don’t give a flying crap (pun intended) about who is peeing next to me. You know what I do care about? I care about the state of bathrooms in the US. If we are going to venture into the territory about making laws regarding bathroom usage, I have a few suggestions.
The first law that should be enacted regarding bathroom usage would make it a 1st degree misdemeanor to leave your bodily waste on a toilet seat. I don’t know about you, but this is way more of a concern to me than a transgendered person peeing in the stall next to me. If you leave your piss or shit on a public toilet seat, then you should go to jail. And as a condition of your community control sanctions, you would be forced to clean up all the public restrooms in your city. I bet you’d stop leaving those little “presents” for unsuspecting strangers then.
Furthermore, not flushing would be a minor misdemeanor. You don’t have to go to jail, but you will be fined heftily for causing a public nuisance. I’m not sure why this doesn’t already fall under disorderly conduct, because I am alarmed, annoyed, and inconvenienced every time I walk into a public bathroom and find that some inconsiderate asshole left some unfinished business, but it doesn’t.
And while we are legislating poor bathroom behavior, let’s just go ahead and make not washing your hands a special misdemeanor. An automatic $25 fine, plus court costs of course, for any asshole who doesn’t wash their hands and then touches eleventy other public things which leads other citizens to come into contact with numerous infectious diseases, thus culminating into public safety threats, absences of work, and unnecessary medical bills.
So no, I don’t care that a person who was born male and is transitioning to female is using the bathroom stall next to me, as long as that person is cleaning up their mess, flushing, and washing their hands.
Now can we move onto something more important that will actually enhance our lives as Americans, or are we going to get stuck on this bullshit?
So, I visited a certain popular fast food establishment for lunch today. As I usually do when visiting said establishment, I ordered an apple pecan chicken salad. The perky order taker asked me if I wanted the bleu cheese on that, to which I responded, “Of course, I love bleu cheese.” I guess nobody in my town likes bleu cheese as much as I do, because they ask me that every time I order this particular salad. Matter of fact, I want the damn salad just as it is portrayed. If I didn’t want the bleu cheese, I would have said hold the bleu cheese. Apparently nobody in Chillicothe likes bleu cheese, so theoretically, I should get more bleu cheese, but I digress.
If you’re like me and have a brief lunch period, purchasing lunch usually takes up ¼ of the lunch period. While I inherently know that ordering from a fast food place is a gamble in and of itself, I know there are certain things I should check for before I leave the drive thru lane. Yet, it never really occurred to me, until today, that I should check to make sure the key ingredients of my meal are included.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve ordered a salad and driven to my chosen location of the city park, eager to enjoy my lunch, only to discover I don’t have a fork. That will definitely put a damper on your lunch. Since I’m a smart girl, I now keep a plastic fork in my car for such occasions. I also have a stash of salt, napkins, and other lunch necessities.
However, I do not keep salad dressings, bacon, or sugar-coated pecans in the backseat of my Mustang. When I order an apple PECAN chicken salad, at the very least, I expect it to have apples, chicken, and PECANS. I mean if your apple chicken pecan salad doesn’t have pecans, that’s like serving a bacon cheeseburger without the bacon. Amirite?
Since sharing my disdain on social media, I have learned that I’m not alone. Friends have reported that they have been shorted bacon on bacon cheeseburgers, BEEF on hamburgers (WTF?!), and fries from Happy Meals (which in my book makes them SAD meals). If these fast food workers want to convince me that they should make $15 per hour, then they are going to have to show me they’re worth it. If I order a double quarter pounder with no cheese (and I do because I have a kid who I think was switched at birth) and it has that little tag that says “made with NO CHEESE” stuck on the outside of the box, then goddamnit, there shouldn’t be any cheese on that mother fucker. But guess what? There’s always cheese.
YOU HAVE ONE JOB TO DO. Do it. And DO IT WELL. I don’t make much more than that and I spent thousands of dollars paying for a college education so I could get my job. If I walked into work one day and only did half my job, I would be fired.
So how about this. If you are a little fuck who thinks you’re entitled to make $30,000 a year to put pecans on a salad, then don’t forget the fucking pecans.
Who knew a few missing nuts could enrage a woman so much? I’m on a diet; those sugary pecans were my one cheat for the day and you cheated me. Bastards.
Well there is no denying it now; it’s officially the Christmas season. I’ve been trying to ignore the upcoming holiday since mid-October, when the retailers start putting out Christmas crap, people start decorating everything in thousands of tiny twinkle lights, and we are subjected to Santa Baby blaring ad nauseam on the radio. I’m not going to lie. I don’t particularly like Christmas, with the exception of the 1 ½ days I don’t have to work but still get paid.
One of the things I detest most about Christmas is that dreaded letter some people feel the need to send out bragging about all the great things their family did this year. I don’t get these anymore because I quit sending out Christmas cards about 7 years ago and I guess through the rule of reciprocity, I’ve dropped off all the lists I was previously on. So if you think this blog is about you, you are wrong. Any semblance of you in this piece is purely coincidental.
Now you know that nobody’s life is as great as they portray in the dreaded Christmas Letter. Yet, it always makes you feel a bit inferior. It’s a shame people even feel the need to do this to their friends. I guess the art of being humble died with The Cleaver Family. And quite frankly, with the advent of Facebook, we are all well aware of everything you and your family did this year, so the whole point of the Christmas Letter is now moot.
Anyhoo, I thought it would be fun to compose a fake Christmas Letter that would closely resemble what you might receive this year and then translate that into what really is going on with your Stepford Friends. Then you won’t feel so inferior, and hopefully we can have some laughs during this crazy, stressful time of year.
Dear anyone who will actually read my incessant boring drivel,
Wow! It’s so hard to believe 2015 is almost over! It’s been a crazy, busy year for the Jones Family, but as always we have been so blessed! We’ve decided to write this letter to share all our blessings with our beloved friends.
Nothing amazing really happened to us this year, but we are going to sugar coat the hell out of normal for you so that you will feel like your life sucks and you’ll try ten times harder next year to keep up with our amazing fake life.
First off, Bill and Jane celebrated their 25th anniversary of wedded bliss this summer. They enjoyed a romantic dinner where Bill presented Jane with a bouquet of roses and a present from her favorite jewelry store. They were hoping to take a second honeymoon to Hawaii, but with Bill’s demanding work schedule and the kids’ activities, there simply wasn’t any time! But next spring, they plan on a little exclusive trip to celebrate the occasion!
We are referring to ourselves in the third person because we think it makes us sound more important. We actually hate each other and barely speak to each other unless we need to figure out who is picking up the kids after practice. We went to dinner at B-Dubs. Bill watched Monday Night Football and I looked at Facebook on my phone. There were no roses and Bill gave me a heart bead for my Pandora bracelet. I think Bill is having an affair and the only trips I’m taking are to Kroger to buy groceries.
Stephen, our oldest child, is in his senior year of high school. In addition to being an honor student, he is also a star on the basketball team, and volunteers at the soup kitchen every weekend. Every week there are a ton of letters from colleges just pouring in begging him to choose them. He really wants to stay close to home but we are hoping he picks Harvard!
Stephen is barely passing his classes because he’s a pot head. He used to ride the bench in basketball, but now he’s off the team because juvenile court ordered him to do community service for that little traffic accident where the police officer found a joint in his car. He will be attending community college because no other institution of higher learning will accept him.
Susie just started her freshman year and is already making quite the mark on her high school. Our little beauty is a proud member of the dance team, yearbook committee, and she was chosen as the freshman attendant for the homecoming court. Bill has been joking that he’ll have to get a shot gun just to keep all the boys at bay! Shortly after homecoming, she donated 12 inches of her hair to Locks of Love. What a blessing this young lady is to our lives!
Our little Susie turned into a hoochie mama when she entered high school. She has become a YouTube twerking sensation, which led her fellow male classmates into voting her homecoming attendant. Now they are beating the door down in hopes of an easy score. Bill made her cut her hair in hopes that it would be a huge turn off to the young lads, but I don’t think it’s her hair that’s attracting the little twits.
Sean is finishing up his last year in junior high. We are just relishing the time our youngest child spends at home before he enters into high school. Jane and Sean routinely spend the weekends baking spectacular cakes and designing Halloween costumes for the family. In addition, Jane and Sean have cultivated quite the herb garden, so every meal is accentuated with fresh, homegrown goodness.
Sean never leaves the house. He has social anxiety and we are pretty sure he’s gay. Bill is horrified, but I’m thinking he’s our best bet at having a child with a normal marriage that will result in grandchildren. Plus, he makes a killer Chicken Divan.
The Jones Family has had such a blessed year. We hope your family has experienced the same joy we’ve had! We can’t wait to see what the New Year holds for us all. We all wish you the Merriest of Christmases and the Happiest of New Years!
Our year was no more special than yours, but I really want you to be jealous of how great my life is. Next year I fully expect Bill will run off with his secretary, Stephen will end up in jail, Susie will make me a grandma, and Sean will probably stick his head in the oven right before the Chicken Divan is done. The highlight of my week is flirting with the bag boy at Kroger and if I weren’t worried about what all you assholes would say at the next PTO meeting, I’d totally do him.
The Jones Family