It’s that time of year again, folks. The time when you pass strangers on the street hocking up lung biscuits. The time when the hospital’s emergency rooms are full of people who don’t quite grasp the concept that a viral infection can’t be fought with antibiotics. The time when the warmth of the season is expressed through 102 degree fevers.

That’s right, it’s flu season and I, your humble narrator, was standing right in front of the blinding lights of the semi that is this year’s nasty, yet fashionable, strain. My sinuses feel like I’ve been running lemon juice through them for a month. Bleah. I’m over the worst part of it, but I still feel like crap.

This also happens to be the time of year when I make my annual deal with Satan Dani in regards to the Christmas cards - she’ll write, address, stamp and send them out if I write the annual Christmas letter. We began this tradition in 2001, which may have been the worst possible year to write such a letter, considering Sept. 11 and my subsequent unemployment. I remember sitting down in front of the computer, preparing to write a standard, “This is what happened this year” type of letter and not at all being able to think of anything positive to say. After several false starts, I decided to just be myself and write what I was feeling.

You need to understand here that this letter goes out to practically everyone in our family, including the more, shall we say, conservative members. After being subjected to letter after letter about little Bobby or Becky’s successes in school and on the soccer team, I think our letter stood out for most of our recipients. Many of them indicated as much and told me how much they enjoyed it. Which, of course, put me in a rather tricky predicament with the letter for 2002.

So, now it’s 2003 and another weird year has flown by. And a good year it’s been. Well, see for yourself:

Dear friends and family,

As you know, this was supposed to be the year of the big wedding, when two individuals who couldn’t be more perfect for each other would finally, after long last, come together in holy matrimony. As you may have heard, however, the entire thing was fraught with complications. In the final analysis, it was obvious there was no chance of it lasting. Such a shame. I really had the highest of hopes for Jennifer and Ben.

Oh, yeah, Danielle and I got married this year as well. Not to each other, of course — she’s milking some rich old man dry while I earned some money helping a nice Czechoslovakian woman get her green card — though we still maintain a shockingly illicit affair on the side.

Actually, all joking aside, our wedding (yes, to each other) was, without question, the brightest moment of my life so far. Not only did I marry the woman of my dreams, but there is no greater feeling in the world than being surrounded by 100 of your nearest and dearest, all beaming with pure love, affection and hope. I’m just glad I didn’t have to wait until my deathbed to experience that. Thank you to everyone who made our wedding so special. I don’t think we could have asked for a more perfect day.

OK, back to our regularly scheduled programming. After getting hitched, the two of us fled to Mexico, where the warmth of the friendly natives was matched only by the burning of the tequila trickling down our throats. After much haggling and abortive attempts in speaking the native language, we were able to negotiate our way into our resort. There was apparently something lost in the translation, though, as we ended up washing dishes for the week. The dishwater was the most amazing blue.

We stayed in a resort by the name of “El Dorado Royale” (Translation: “Buy a timeshare or my children will starve”) along the Mayan Coast between the ancient ruins of Tulum and the cerveza-soaked streets of Cancun. It was a wonderful experience soaking up the local culture (i.e. tequila), meeting new people (”Would you like a another tequila, senor?”) and learning a different language (i.e. “Tequila”, which, apparently, means “hello”). More stories and pictures of our honeymoon can be found online at http://www.robzazueta.com/wedding/honeymoon/. Your local obscenity laws may apply.

There’s really not much to say about the rest of the year. Danielle started a new job as an assistant loan officer for a mortgage brokerage while I still while away my hours building websites for art students. Everything else seems overshadowed by the joys of finally, at long last, being married. Next stop: kidsville. That panicked scream you just heard was Danielle’s.

All of our love and holiday wishes.

Danielle and Rob Zazueta