The Christmas Letter I'd Like to Send...

Dear Friends,

What an amazing year!  Things with Highway 65 are really heating up - Juliette, Sadie and I are just killing it - it's the year of the woman! I cleaned up at the CMAs, my girls are just  the light of my life, and Luke and I are so excited about our upcoming wedding and honeymoon tour.  Since coming out of a medically induced coma, life has been my personal bowl of cherries.

Wait, shit - that's not me, that's Rayna James - played by the brilliant and lovely Connie Britton on the ABC show, Nashville.

You can obviously see why I was confused, though.

Nope, that is so not me.  You should totally check it out, though - super fun show. 

Anyhoodles,  I'm not Rayna, or Connie, though I am told she (Connie, not her character, Rayna) is often seeing quaffing coffee at our neighborhood coffee shop, Frothy Monkey. I've never seen her as  I don't drink much java, myself.  In fact, I can't recall a celebrity sighting of my own since Porter Wagoner downtown a bajillion years ago.  And he's dead, so...

Enough celeb talk!  Onto me, a celebrity in my own mind.

This year has had two themes, grief and travel.  Neither of them are especially interesting themes, and grief is so not Christmasy, so I'll focus on the travel.

It's been a big year for hitting the road for work.  Alabama, Alaska, Arizona, Arkansas - I hit all the A states this year.  And toward the end of the alphabet, Wisconsin.  And plenty in between.

My suitcases are damaged and full of tiny soaps.  My liver is a little damaged and filled with tiny fatty deposits.

I guess that we could say that a sub-theme of my time on the road was geographical gastronomy.

Why is it, dear friends, that they decide to bring in barbecue to every training session?  Here's a great idea, folks - let's fill people full of beans, and slaw and greasy meat and throw them in an enclosed, probably overheated room.  And we have to overheat the room because the poor, delicate, wispy ladies will sit there in full on Snuggies looking so miserable and blue.  Ladies, my advice -quit picking at the barbecue, put on a protective layer of fat and let's turn the A/C down to a tolerable 68.

I've eaten barbecue in Arizona, sushi in Oklahoma, and stuffed dates in Alaska.  Always an adventure!

Speaking of adventure,  Matt and I both turned 40 this year.  I've taken up recreational sleep apnea, and Matt has taken up earplugs.  They won't give me a damn CPAP machine, but instead want me to focus on losing weight.  And yet, I keep hearing the siren call of that damn Oklahoma sushi!

For Matt's 40th, we went whitewater rafting with some pals, and I got a huge bruise on my ass.

For my 40th, I had a party here at the house and got some giftcards for pedicures.  My people, they know me.

On the puppy front, no news is no news.  Another year without Lola, and I miss her.  There's something about dogs that just make it feel more like Christmas.  I also don't feel it's Christmas until I've been to the liquor store, though, so - perhaps my judgment is a little flawed.  That said, I don't believe we'll be hearing the pitter-patter of paws any time soon.  Unless I get a small one that I can travel with, and put an emotional support vest on.  Did you know you can just buy those fucking things and you don't have to provide any proof or documentation?  It's true.

Perhaps by this time next year I'll be traveling less, and I'll be thinner, happier and healthier.  And I'll be able to include a picture of the newest member of our family, Skittles, or Maybelle or - whatever.  

Until then, deck the halls with lots of Matzo (war on Christmas my ass).