So, I went to the tax guy. Having worked in both Oregon and California last year I wanted to make sure I knew what was what, and instead of using tax software I wanted a professional to check the dependability of what I will be reporting to UnKle Sam. To assay my current situation, I decided to turn to a professional. It’s not a bad philosophy, really. Find professionals and pay them.

This year Jenifer and I stand to shield most of the income from our two jobs, and see most of it go into the mouths of Jenifer’s children, and to clothes on their backs, and fun things for them to do. We’ve come a long way in a very short time. I’m happy about the progress we are making. Jenifer tells me she is happy too.

But it hasn’t been without strain. Looking back usually involves remembering only the good times, but Jenifer and I have had our — ahem — share of difficulties. Some self-imposed through the growth required of two people coming together, it’s been difficult for both of us to make that kind of adjustment, and then, too from an army of ill-wishers who have only given us cause for amusement. God bless (if I only believed…) our enemies — you know who you are — for you have provided us with hours of mirth, and endless amusements. Just when our spirits were darkest, you’ve given us cause to giggle.

And so 2010. Jenifer and I are happy, actively engaged in steady employment, with solid plans for expanding our aliveness, and our prosperity in the coming year. Jenifer is furthering her educational requirements and progressing nicely in the direction she has been taking since before she met me, and I am continuing to write. These are in addition to our paying jobs. Our tax guy is well pleased at the set-up we have, and looks forward to working with us again next year.

To our well wishers, we offer our thanks and we celebrate with you.

To our enemies? Well, let’s just say we are waiting for the next slur, and flow of verbal vomit to amuse us. Imagine Jenifer and I, eating popcorn, cuddling together in the dark, and giggling like high school girls with a sack of dildos, waiting for your next insults to make us laugh even harder.

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Okay,