Every year I find holiday cards both exciting and disappointing.
First, it’s validating to know that someone took the time to write out my address. I’m bummed that most only send picture cards without messages. Reading somebody’s handwriting feels more intimate. Especially if there’s something in there that’s personal. Many years ago when I was dealing with divorce I wrote a paragraph on each card. I wanted to express the importance of their support during that difficult time. I remember crying through most of it and with one card I literally cried onto the card and it wrinkled in that spot. It’s is a good reminder to me for next year not to just throw a picture card in an envelope but actually write a few words. Growing up I thought I was worth leaving as I didn’t have much self-esteem. The fact that I have friends that have stuck around to this day amazes me. I know on paper I’m a pretty great guy, but inside those wounds are not completely healed.
Okay, back to my original statement. I love getting cards but seeing a collage of shots of my friend’s children is less than exhilarating. Yes, we all have people in our lives that love our kids. And, yes, I love your kids, too. But I don’t need to see them in fourteen action shots orchestrated at Olan Mills. Some of my pals actually take themselves entirely and exclusively show their little ones. And look, if I had to do a Sophie’s Choice with your family, the kids are going to meet an untimely demise. You’re the most important to me. I don’t care if you’ve put on 30 lbs or look like crap. Put yourself in the photos. It’s a family card. Include the family. And yes, I want to see the cat, too. Dress the fucker up in an elf costume.
I’m completely okay with making someone else’s holiday cards all about me and my needs because I’m certain I appreciate it more than most. I really should take a narcissism evaluation test. From a professional.
Okay, so now that I’m done whining, on to my card!
This year is my high water mark. A magnum opus.
Now, I love a good dirtbag. Trashy people are funny. Searching around I found a photo of a family that emulated dirtbaggery to perfection. Then I paid a guy in Pakistan $5 to blend us in.
Please understand I don’t think less of people who dress and style themselves this way. I love their commitment. Aesthetically, it tickles me. Hard.
Behold the ThoughtsFromParis 2014 Holiday Card!
This was sent to everyone on my list including my family and Beth’s. Since it’s our first year dating her kin (great word in alignment with the card’s theme) didn’t know of this tradition of card silliness. A few of her friends who hadn’t yet met me asked about Trevor. I instructed her to say that he is D.J.’s son that he barely acknowledges. I have no children in real life.
The name Trevor came instantly. Since it was probably God who sent me the divine message I felt obliged to obey. I’m respectful!
So that’s how we look as scuzzbuckets. My chest is actually way hairier and gross but I forgot to tell the guy to draw it in. Even still, it’s a 10/10.
Topping this in 11 months will be a challenge. It’s sheer stupidity, but it’s really difficult to create worthwhile stupidity. I’m already stressed about it. Not joking.
Have a great 2015! I’m happy to be back.
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