The Ultimate Holiday Newsletter

Admit it, it's happened to everyone of us. 

Every year we receive the inevitable "holiday newsletter" from that friend or relative with the huge inferiority complex who still thinks he or she can impress us with the pathetic, sorry state  that has passed for being their lives over the preceding 12 months,  if they just turn the right phrase, paint a rosier picture or mention an exclusive vacation spot that neither they or anyone else in their family has ever been to and will probably never even get near in their lifetimes.

 And every year we feel that whether out of a sense of obligation, sympathy, or just plain  "let's get this over with," we have to feign some sense of happiness for these people because they're trying so hard to convince us that they're leading lives the rest of us would die for, when in fact we know that if we read between the lines, we understand what these literary masterpieces are in reality: a desperate, psychotic cry for help.

So this year, in order to save you the time of reading all those holiday newsletters you may receive this season, I thought I'd just offer one we probably all can relate to, with the added convenience of a little explanation in brackets of what's really being said:

December 2010

Dear _____________:

Has it really been a whole year since I sat down to update you on our family’s comings and goings? It seems that we just don’t get the chance to keep in touch with each other anymore [Forget about the fact that I haven’t returned any of your phone calls or acknowledged any of your letters since the Carter administration.  You've been so much on my mind ever since I remembered I loaned you $15 and never got it back].

Anyway, Frank and I have been busy looking over travel brochures and cruise itineraries describing such places as Fiji, Mazatlan and Aruba. Now that we’re entering our golden years, the extra free time will give us a chance to catch up on those vacations we’ve been putting off for so long. [On the other hand, with my disability checks being cut off because of the fraud investigation, our next door neighbor convincing us to invest in that ponzi thing, and Frank's 401K gushing dollars faster than a BP oil rig, we’ll probably end up spending our vacation in the same place we do every year –  at my sister's trailer park in Toledo.]

Of course, Frank retired this year after 45 years of faithful service to his company. And they really gave him a royal sendoff at his retirement party. [Considering the fact that they forced him out, “royal” is also a pretty good description for another thing they gave him after 45 years of faithful service to his company.] The board chairman and company president both spoke of him in glowing terms [after about 10 or 12 drinks apiece] and let Frank know that he will be remembered long after he’s gone [or at least for as long as it takes for them to pry the nameplate off the wall of his cubicle]. I can’t begin to tell you how much Frank and I were touched by the whole evening [after about 10 or 12 drinks apiece].

As for our children, things just seem to be getting better and better for them. If there’s another mother around with more reason to be proud than me, I haven’t met her [Well,  I suppose that at least I can be more proud than any mother who goes by the last name of Sheen or Lohan].

Daughter Megan’s singing career is really starting to take an upward swing. [She just got hired as the backup to the substitute for the fill-in who’s replaced the part-time singer for Barry Manilow’s third cousin who’s doing a Bar Mitzvah at a club in the Poconos.] She’s scheduled for an engagement at New York City’s famous Cipriani in February [see above] – starting to get just a little nervous about it with the occasional butterflies in her stomach. [“Butterflies?” -- She’s been retching her guts out ever since she found out about it. In fact, it’s ruined her voice. People are starting to refer to her as "the female Michael Bolton".] But we’re all excited and happy and hope that it goes well for her [because if it doesn’t,  it means she moves home again – for the eighth time].

Our other daughter Sarah surprised us just last week: she and her husband are expecting twins. [I guess that ends the debate about the guy’s gender orientation -- or maybe not. Kind of hard to tell when the man keeps wanting to dress up like Cher -- or maybe not.] Hopefully, being a mom won’t put too much of a crimp in her career ambitions, [I mean, you’ve really taken on a mountain of responsibility trying to care for two screaming kids and at the same time work out of your house running your own personal phone sex gig] but we’re hoping things go well. No lofty expectations [because if you expect nothing, you won't be disappointed] -- just a prayer for happy and healthy babies [and the hope that they don’t look like his side of the family, or as we like to call them, “The Menagerie”].

Son Jason is still out on the coast enjoying the sunny climes of Southern California, and reports that his screenwriting career is going along as expected. [As expected, people keep telling him “Don’t make any plans to move out of that dumpster in Santa Monica just yet -- if ever.”] Several studios are so enthusiastic over his work that they have his latest script in what they call “turnaround.”  [“Turnaround” -- that’s a polite way for studios to say “We’ve decided that your recent submission, TEENAGE LESBIAN VAMPIRE NYMPHO CHEERLEADER TERMINATORS is unproduceable garbage. Perhaps Fox would be interested in it.”] Word is that he’ll be involved in several major projects that are being planned right in the midst of the hustle and bustle of Hollywood in the upcoming year [they’re re-paving Sunset Boulevard, and he’s been hired as a flagman], and he may soon be hooked up with a prestigious agent [meaning he'll be delivering dry cleaning to the same genius that talked Ben Affleck into doing GIGLI].

Our other two sons, Dave and Roger have also had an eventful year. Dave is well on his way to becoming a topflight computer tech wizard [It’s nice to know that our long-haired, pot-smoking, no-ambition, live-at-home 30-year-old son has finally found a vocation that interests him: becoming the largest spam sender of junk emails in the country. -- You know those 83 ads for Viagra that suddenly showed up in your Inbox the other day? You can thank our boy!] He’s even tried to teach me a thing or two. I’m still not quite sure how computers work, but I’m certainly impressed with the window on the world they’ve opened up, and how much of an impression they’ve made on our household. [After all, what other family can boast of your house being under 24/7 surveillance by the FBI, simply because your son hit the F5 key on his laptop and completely froze the Department of Homeland Security’s computer network?] And Roger has finally made a decision as to which field of medicine he wants to specialize in [four med schools and $250,000 dollars later]. Hopefully, this is a sign that he’s ready to slow down his lifestyle a bit and won’t be quite so footloose and fancy-free with the ladies. [By the way, did I mention that he’s decided on Gynecology? -- Yeah, that should really settle him down.]

Well, would love to report more, [although I can’t believe you would actually want to read more of this pure fictitious, unadulterated crap] but have to close for now. Want to take some time to relax and reflect back on the year [and watch our favorite holiday movie, “Silent Night, Deadly Night"] and start planning the big Christmas get-together for the family [it was a battle, but at least some of us are actually speaking to each other again], and with the kids flying in from all over, Frank and I want to be ready to welcome them with open arms [after about 10 or 12 drinks apiece]. So, our best to all, and Happy Holidays!

Love and Snowflakes,

Bunni