Hello family and friends, and if you’re reading this letter in its back corner of the Internet, you certainly qualify. I hope this letter finds you in good spirits and good health.
It’s the end of 2013, and what a year it’s been.
I turned 44 this year and scheduled that medical exam. You know the one. The one where everyone in the exam room is trying to act overly casual, but would prefer to be literally anywhere else. Everything was going fine until, mid-way through, the doctor said: “That Wisconsin Lottery commercial! That’s where I know you from!” I nearly took his finger off.
As you’ll all remember, last year I quit my day job to dance full time. Needless to say, I wasn’t in The Nutcracker this year. Booo! But I did land a gig cage dancing at a club called El Casa Chorizo. The regulars have even given me the nickname: “Diablo Blanco.” It doesn’t pay well, but at least it’s demeaning.
Thank God for my Amy. Not a day goes by I don’t thank my lucky stars that she agreed to marry me. I’m so proud of her. In addition to being a superhero, ridding the city of crime with her magic drawstring backpack and unique brand of vigilante justice, she still finds time to make great money with her Proactive® Direct Marketing Sales business.
The little girl keeps sprouting teeth. By our count, she’s up to 45. She’s smart as a whip, but we can’t let her go outside much on account of how many birds he kills.
We finally found Grandma Jenkins. You’ll remember that she wandered off last year. At first we thought something terrible had happened, but it turns out she opened a massage parlor in Sturgis, South Dakota.
Princess had puppies. Which was odd because she’s a cat.
Uncle Jim successfully started that new religion he’s been working on, but I think he’s going to have a hard time convincing people to worship a God named “Randy.”
You know, “Same Old, Same Old.”