Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas Letter

By Laurie Perry (Crazy Aunt Purl)

Every December my mailbox fills with glossy catalogs, credit card bills and those long, slim legal-sized envelopes decorated with candy canes or green Christmas trees that herald the beginning of the onslaught of mass-produced personal holiday letters.

Each one is carefully typed in a cute font and printed on cheerful holiday paper. It describes a year filled with the highs and lows and adventures of family life. Little Sarah excelled this year at volleyball and debate, while Matthew is a star swimmer and played the lead in the second-grade play. We finally got the dog/house/car/riding mower of our dreams, and we're all thrilled about baby Jessica's first little steps.

Sometimes a terrible thing happened but the author of the letter finds a way to make it somehow uplifting -- a learning experience or a life lesson. Husbands are loving and hardworking, wives take on charity work and head up committees at school or work and everyone had a great time on this year's family vacation.

I love these letters. I love them the way I love watching award shows on television -- I can't imagine what it's like to actually wear a fancy dress and walk the red carpet at the Oscars but I watch with rapt attention anyway, every single year. And every year I read these pre-printed, mass produced family holiday letters, some from people I barely know, with an outsider's fascination and curiosity. I don't have a huge network of acquaintances who need a one-page summary of my year to keep current on the exciting and happy news in my home. I am a single woman living in Los Angeles with three cats. The most exciting thing that happened to me in all of 2009 was finding out that Magic Eraser makes a mop.

But sometimes I still compose a little holiday letter in my head. If I did have some cheerful snowman stationary and a list of addresses, what would I say?

Dear friends and loved ones,

Well, 2009 is almost over – goodbye and good riddance! Then again, I work at a bank and it’s been Angela's ashes over here in the world of finance. The fact that I still have a job is miraculous, but just in case check with me when you get this letter to be sure I am still employed. A lot can change in three days.

I experimented with home hair color this year to save some money. People at work gasped out loud when they saw I had turned from blonde to deep, electric orange overnight. I lied and said I was experimenting with reviving the punk rock scene in Los Angeles but I'm pretty sure they guessed it was a disastrous Clairol moment. My hairdresser doesn’t work on Mondays and I was afraid to call in sick because of my hair so I did the best I could with a headband and an updo but I fooled no one. Did you know there isn’t really any shade of lipstick that goes with orange hair? Fascinating. Fixing my hair cost me twice what I would have spent in the first place and my hairdresser kindly said I looked like a refugee from the tacky nation of Tragicstan. Lesson learned.

Dating took a turn for the absurd this year. That guy who invited me over for dinner? Yeah. He had printed out a meal plan for me in case I was interested in going on a diet that he swore worked like a charm. He just knew it could work for me, too. I left immediately and drove directly to the nearest McDonald's which was childish but somehow very satisfying. Then there was the guy who was trying to feel me up on a lunch date and I was surprisingly unoffended. There was the guy who smelled like bongwater. The guy who tried to pick me up on the metro who was on his third DUI and couldn't legally drive again until he was 70. So many stories, so little wine.

I still have that 1995 Jeep Wrangler that I am deeply, emotionally attached to and refuse to give up on. My mechanic got thrown in the pokey so I had to start going to a different garage. Sometime in the summer I took my car in for an oil change and came out with yet another new radiator and a bill I had to pay in installments. When my mechanic got released from prison I took him a dozen donuts and bottle of tequila, which was as close to a successful date as I had all year.

The cats were cute and pooped a lot this year. I wrote a book, it's OK. It comes out next year and is just a longer version of this letter with more complaining, but there is a great recipe for fried zucchini and some knitting patterns. I think we can safely assume it will not win a Pulitzer.

I got addicted to Netflix and decided it was a better investment than dating so I upped my subscription plan. After a gardening tragedy I decided quite hastily to up and move and only later discovered that everyone in my new building except me is Russian and might be in the mafia. Or I could be making that up, my Russian is a little rusty. (That's what she said!)

And now it's December and the holidays are upon us. That should bring you up to speed. In the year ahead, may we all drink too much, eat too much and be felt up at lunchtime. I wish you many donuts and tequila and for the love of God please stay away from anything in the drugstore called “August Amber.” It’s a three-hour ordeal to get your hair back to a color that occurs in nature.

Love, Laurie

Laurie Perry lives in writes in Los Angeles where she chronicles her life in her online diary at www.CrazyAuntPurl.com. Her first book was Drunk, Divorced and Covered in Cat Hair. Her next book, Home Is Where The Wine Is, will be available in February, 2010.