Hello, friends and family! Wow, it's been a year, amirite? Dictators out or dead, Osama bin Laden caught, the protests all over the world, and the final shot of this season's 'Breaking Bad'!
As we all know, a year goes by fast! There's no stopping it--a year begins whether you want it to or not, and keeps shooting forward with little regard for anything. A year is like a bad joke--it doesn't care who laughs, and is usually over before anyone can say, Holy jesus, that was a bad joke.
The first thing you'll want to know, I'm sure, is that Greg and I are still without children. You'll want to know this because it guarantees that this Christmas letter will be very short. Unlike other Christmas letters you may or may not receive, this one will be free of updates on soccer games or academic prowess. Here's all I'll say about our child: We don't have one.
We do, however, have a dog. Waffles. Waffles doesn't play soccer, and he has a very difficult time in academics. Which is a shame, because he tries so hard to master the alphabet and mathematical concepts not even I comprehend. Waf's main talent is pooping. Some day, G and I hope it will get him into a good school. Already, he's pooped at both Columbia and Princeton. We're certain he'll manage to poop at Harvard soon--he's a prodigy at pooping, and Harvard should be honored to have him.
This year started off just as badly as the previous year ended, which makes sense since the previous year was just the day before, and ended badly. Turns out the secret to beginning the year well is to not end the previous year badly. What a difference a day doesn't make. Unless you or a loved one dies on December 31st, in which case a day does make a bit of a difference (and I'm very sorry for your loss).
Things got better, for a time. Then things got worse. Then things got better again. Both Greg and I are employed, which is a good thing. Waffles remains unemployed, but he posts a lot to Craigslist and we're hoping any day work will come through for him. He went on a few interviews, and we continue to support him both emotionally and financially as he continues to search for work in this dreadful economy.
"It's not you," we assure him. "It's the job market. Right now, there's no need for a dog who's got a degree in pooping. The last 'Beethoven' movie was over a decade ago, and you're too good for a straight to video release."
Despite living on 2/3rd income, 2011 has been successful. Greg and I have managed to work out a system: We stagger our meals. I eat Tuesdays and Thursdays, and Greg eats Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. We alternate Saturdays, and both eat on Sundays. Waffles gets a full meal all seven days--we don't want to make him self-conscious over his lack of employment. The understanding is we get to share his food on Sundays. Purina isn't so bad once you wash it down with scotch.
This is certainly an improvement over 2010, when G and I would simply pop one of Waffles' vitamins on Sundays, and confine ourselves to bed, exerting ourselves as little as possible.
So here's hoping for peace on Earth (again; all the other planets have peace so surely wishing for it on Earth will work eventually), health (or at least insurance), and a new work-place need for dogs who can both poop and lick their absent balls at the same time.
Here's to a wonderful 2012. 2011 isn't ending so badly, so 2012 has a lot to live up to.
Inappropriate sharing, incomprehensible ramblings, uncalled-for hostility: yup, it's a blog.
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