HOs HOs HOs
Thursday, Dec. 23, 2004, 12:07 p.m.

Jesusmas is soon upon us, heathens! I am in *hurryhurrypanic* mode, as is my wont, because we are leaving tonight to go see the looney-tune in-laws. Let's hope I don't get a cleaver to the skull for Christmas. Though that may be a welcome respite from their normal Christmas behavior.

So, in all my years of flying hither and thither, never once has an airline utilized the "phone number please" field of the ticket application process, but Independence Air hollahed at me late last week, "Mrs. Jones, your flight on Christmas Eve? Yeah, that's been cancelled." Say who? Cancelling flights on Christmas Eve? What are you Communists? But yeah. Flight cancelled and rebooked for tonight so now I've got to make this faster than quick as I have not yet packed (surprise!). Hey, I've been busy! Writing out my Kwanzaa cards and all. You'll be happy to know that while I didn't get a Christmas tree, I did manage to scribble on 40-some holiday cards. They went in stages, however, so the last bunch didn't get out until late last night. But. If I send them before Christmas, they still count, right? Right? Whatev. I know I must have missed some important people, like you and YOU, but next week, you'll have my full list here of New Year's Resolutions, and Getting My Ass in Gear will fall prominently towards the top of the list. So love me. I insist.

In brief, however, I wish to pass along sappy sentimental holiday greetings to all the Hos, Hookers, Deadbeats, Clowns and Losers amongst you that I have adored throughout the year, and you good folk, too. I've got a lot of love to give, and I'm sending it by way of the "Guaranteed by Christmas" FedEx option (payed extra for that, bitches) so you'll know how very much I am in love with yous. May the spirit of Baby Jesus overcome you and you be filled with the panic and mania of the season. I mean, joy and peace! JOY and PEACE of the season! (Sorry. Head injury and all.) But for truth, sappy, sentimental, and sincere--ceptin' for that last line about Baby J. He can go fuck himself on Christmas. He's greedily all "Me! Me! Me!" this time of year, and that's not what Christmas is about, now, is it? So You! You! You! and Merry Happy.