Blank Christmas cards

Blank Christmas cards are like supermodels: beautiful but empty.

This post may mark me as an Ebenezer and ensure that my mailbox remains empty come next December (providing that the world doesn't end on 12/21/12). 

This saddens me, as I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE getting mail. Opening my mailbox is one of life's simple pleasures. It's usually bills and weekly circulars, but the possibility of spotting a handwritten envelope or a familiar return address keeps the hope alive. 

It stokes my holiday fire. 

Receiving a postmarked holiday card can be a magical experience filled with sentiment. What's not so hot is opening the envelope and finding a lush gilded or letterpressed card with no personal message, just a scrawled signature. The letdown is acute. Instead of feeling connected and valued, I feel managed, a task you checked off your list three days ago.

While I appreciate making the cut, your blank card sends another message: "I care enough to send the very least." It drives home the point that in the Venn diagram of your social circle, I'm sitting in a circle on the fringe of your life.

The card becomes about you, instead of a gift to me. I get to admire your exquisite taste in artwork or your graphic design skills or how photogenic your children are (and yes, they really are adorable and growing so fast!). I'm happy to coo and ooh and ah, but I'd like to ask that you include a personal sentence or two that pertains to our relationship. Mention that it was good to see me last July or that you are glad we've been able to spend more time together or that you're looking forward to eating more pulled pork out of my Crock Pot in the new year (not a euphemism).

I gave up sending Christmas cards years ago because I wasn't able to sustain writing out 80 cards (more on that here). It began to feel like a chore, which wasn't what I was going for. While I'm not sending out a mass mailing, know that I love you, think your kids are really quite cute no matter what anyone says, and that I hope we find time in 2013 to eat a lot of braised meat together. And oh yeah, if you ever get a card from me in the mail, it will include a healthy sampling of my horrible handwriting.

People who don’t leave voicemails

Do you think, amongst my superpowers, that I can read minds? Did you accidentally ring me when you sat on your Blackberry? Are you an Amish child who thinks, like a camera, my phone will steal your soul? Are you trying to be all mysterious and shit so that my curiosity will be piqued? What the eff do you want?

If you’ve already left me a voicemail, don’t trouble yourself with another rambler. But if you are just calling and, in essence, hanging up on me and my recorded message, don’t assume I’m going to call you back. If you actually want something, you can damn well leave me a message.

I know a lot of folks who are masters of the passive-aggressive hang-up. When I do answer the phone, they often start off with something akin to, “Oh, you’re finally home!” which translates to “Wow, you actually picked up on poor me, who calls and calls but clearly has an ungrateful, lame friend who I shouldn’t even bother with.”

That message came through, loud and clear. If only you were as eager to leave an actual voicemail, our communication would be crystal clear.

(photo: larryfire.wordpress.com)

Cyberstalking

It was hard enough to get over someone when my options were limited, way back when all I could do was drive or ride my bike by an ex’s apartment or parents’ house (stalking starts early in my family). These days, my obsession runs unchecked. Even if I find the strength to unfollow or unfriend Alexandre Dumbass, he often has a public profile, which presents a problem when I’m feeling vulnerable or having a bad day. One click is all it takes to find out that the dude is coping with the loss of me by pretending he’s doing great and that he’s moved on.

I know better.

In my daily drive-bys, I read between the lines. A status update that says, “Mass Effect + new flat screen = srsly awesome“ means “I can’t remember the last time I showered; I’m that depressed.” A tweet that proclaims, “This new IPA is blowin’ my mind!!!!” translates as “I’m drowning my heartbreak in beer and since I’m drinking alone, I’ll tell 1,000 of my closest tweeple.” Then there's the guy I met on an online dating site. I thought we had serious chemistry and loads in common. Then after yet another marathon date, he goes MIA…until I see that he's back in the match.com saddle and has been active within the last hour. He's "online now!" at 3 pm, 4 pm, 5 pm, 2 am… Around 7 am, I see he's changed his profile and added a few more pictures, one of which I took!

I wish I could stop the men madness but as long as there’s a wireless signal, I’m caught in the web. I don't want to punch my iPhone or laptop, so I'm just going to have to keep fixating on (i.e. adoring) my misguided (i.e. temporary) ex-boyfriends from 500 feet (my fingertips) and hope that they go offline, or at least change their settings to "private."

(photo: lisasteadman.com)

Group e-mail forwards

Tis the season…to forward e-mails. Therefore, it’s also the season that makes me want to punch my computer screen in the face.

Apparently I belong to a lot of folks’ e-mail groups. And apparently those folks suck, because they hex me with chain letters I don’t forward to 10 people (I actually like my friends), clog my in-box with e-mails that dance and twinkle with snowman and heavenly images of Christ our lord and savior, push their political agendas, and otherwise shower me with cyber presents I have no interest in regifting.

I’m as hopeful as the next person but please don’t send me an e-mail telling me that I’ll win a Macy’s gift card or an iPod by filling out a survey. I’m pretty confident I’ll see a unicorn before I see one of these mythical gifts. The best gift you could give me would be to remove me from all e-mail groups. Like Groucho Marx said, “I don’t care to belong to any club that will have me as a member."

What's the most irksome e-mail forward you've received lately?

(Phot0: girl-woman-beauty-brains-blog.com)

TYPING E-MAILS IN ALL CAPS

When you rip off an e-mail to me using only capital letters, I reckon that you’re pissed, lazy, or both. You’re pretty much passive-aggressively shouting at me. I’m certainly screaming inside my head reading your rant.

STOP IT.

I’M NOT KIDDING. CUT IT THE FUCK OUT.

I’m a big believer in proper grammar and punctuation, and I feel there's a perfect word or phrase to express a thought or feeling. You don’t need to resort to all caps to get your point across. I GET IT!

I also get that you’re a monster A-hole who's in serious need of an etiquette class. I don’t care that you’re rushed, I don’t want to hear that your pinkies can’t operate the shift key properly, and I really don’t give a shit that your shit is irked. If you want to communicate with me, I’d better see some ascenders and descenders coming at me through my in-box. If there’s no x-height to be found, you can bet money that I’m going to seriously font you up and put a cap in your ass, where it belongs.

(photo: flickr.com/photos/deepfriedkudzu)