You're Not Listening!

Today's Christmas card take -- three.

Yep -- postcard style photo cards.

No personal message.

No signature.

No ink.

No glitter.

No ho ho ho.

Sigh.

The condoms of Christmas cards.

I'm starting to wonder if latex gloves are worn on the senders' Christmas card assembly lines.

I feel dirty and nonfestive.

The Damn Phone

That's what it is called it this household.  The Damn Phone.

When it rings, I ask, "Who's on The Damn Phone?'  Or, "Who's calling on The Damn Phone this time of night?"

For the love of Pete, I detest The Damn Phone.

People call you up on it to talk you into doing things you don't want to do.  Sometimes it's an out-of-towner wanting to drop off their child so they can get themselves a little afternoon delight.  Or a solicitor wanting some money.  Or gangs of solicitors wanting all of my money and then some.  How about a little (or a lot) of volunteering.  Or calls that begin with, "I hope you don't mind, but . . ."

And, of course, the worst.  Someone has died.

This morning, I have a lot to do.  A LOT TO DO.  I've got to clean my house out for the renters, and what the hell, I just better get it done before my mother-in-law arrives on the 21st.  That's a long way away you say? But I also have to pack and plan for the movers on the 18th.  But I can't turn on the vacuum until people return calls that I made earlier this morning.  I have important questions for the head of the school that my daughter will be attending in Charleston.  I have to know if the plumber is going to replace my kitchen faucet so the renters don't get flooded out the first moment they need a glass of water.

I hate it when I get my info. together and dial out on The Damn Phone, only to discover I've got to sit by The Damn Phone and wait to actually talk to a real person.  I usually make my husband dial out, but since he's on the road, I have to do it.

So that's it.  Just a little bit of bitching.  But inside I'm seething.  I have important shit to do.  And I better not find out that these folks I'm waiting on are just standing next to the coffee maker waiting to get themselves a cup.  Maybe they are just avoiding The Damn Phone.

Just One More Try

Each year, I do the Christmas Card post.  Sometimes I copy from the year before and leave it at that.  Other times I copy and edit and embellish.  This time, I'm just going to plead.

If I am on your Christmas Card list, I'm delighted.  Whether you are a friend, an acquaintance, or merely someone who has repaired my furnace or cleaned my teeth, it doesn't matter.  I love a card.  I like those cards to be cute, glittery, gorgeous, filled with confetti, festooned with ribbon, city stylized, kissing kousin kountry, red and green, blue and white, black and yellow, and decorated with Jesus, snowmen, zebras, angels, trees, RVs, balls, bells, and whistles.

I also will read your newsletter.  If you care to send me the long form, I will happily read it because, chances are, I care.  And I really like it when you tuck in a photo of your kids, your dogs or your vacation home.   Especially the kid.   If I like you, then I probably like your kid.  I even want to know if they've made the honor roll or graduated from braces and headgear.

Just please, please, please don't send that one-sided, unsigned, undecorated photo of your dog, kid, or vacation home that poses as a complete holiday card.  And when you print out the envelope on your computer and your housekeeper then stuffs all of the envelopes, I'm going to want to tell you to stuff it. Hell, I even get a little calendar from the dude at the local used car lot and my local realtor (I haven't purchased a house here in 15 years).  Put a bit of ink on the damn thing or don't send it.  I'd rather you send me a picture on facebook of your middle finger.  At least that's personal.

Happy Holidays
Merry Christmas
Happy Kwanzaa
Happy Chanukah
and so on