December 17, 2009
I have been a very good girl this year, as evidenced by my ability to keep from hurting anyone while I do my Christmas shopping. These past 2 weeks have been brutal, especially when I get within a 1 mile radius of a shopping mall. I admit I have come thisclose to not only hitting people with my car, but to almost beating a woman with a copy of that big-ass Stephen King book, “Under the Dome” at Barnes and Noble, and I had to hold myself back from forcing someone to eat an entire Ugg boot at Dillard’s. When my temper nearly got the best of me, I just took a deep breath and thought “What would Santa do?”, and that simple question usually calmed me down. I am almost positive that you would remain jolly in the presence of even the most crazed and selfish shoppers, although I have a feeling that those Elves of yours might kick some suburban ass.
Since I am sure that I am on your “Nice” list this year, I have decided to write you this letter to let you know exactly what I want for Christmas, in hopes of avoiding the gift fiasco’s of 1985 and 1991. I don’t wear mini skirts, I don’t wear leather, and scented body powders are for the women on “Golden Girls”, not a 14-year-old who’s looking to get into the dating scene. Here is a list to help you make my Christmas just a little more merry:
A new Roomba. I’d appreciate it if you could keep this just between us, but my love for my current Roomba has died. I tried to work things out with her, I even went so far as to suggest we seek couples counseling, but I’ve finally come to the realization that we just weren’t meant to be. Her relationship with Tiger has driven a wedge between us, and I just can’t take anymore. Please replace her with the latest model, and make sure this one has a lot less back talk and a lot more spinning of that rotating brush.
A vacation with Paul Rudd. Someplace tropical would be ideal. A beach, a couple of lawn chairs, someone to brig us beer. Heaven.
A magic laundry fairy. She doesn’t even have to actually do the laundry. All I ask is that she fly around and pick up Ethan’s socks and Steve’s underwear off of the floor and deposit them in the clothes hamper.
I would like you to tell Obama to make December and January, National Sweatpants Months. My pants start to get too tight around October 31st, and the problem only gets worse in November and December, until finally January hits and my New Years Resolution kicks in. Since I can’t get my pants buttoned, nothing would feel better than to spend every day in my comfy sweats, but I don’t want to be the only one looking like a slob. This would help my comfort level, as well as my self-esteem.
I would like for Elisabeth Hasselbeck to go away. You know what? I think she’d make a good elf. Maybe you should take her back to the North Pole with you. She did pretty well on Survivor, so I’m sure she could handle the pole.
I would like shopping malls to stop putting massage places and eyebrow places out in the open. Getting rubbed and/or getting hairs plucked from your body, are both things that should be done in private.
I would like a Tempur-Pedic mattress because my mattress is 10-years-old and it’s starting to mess up my back, and those Tempur-Pedic mattresses make you feel like you’re being gently rocked to sleep by an angel, or by Paul Rudd.
I would like for it to be cool to love the song “Highwayman”, because that song is freaking awesome and I fly a star ship across the Universe divide, and when I reach the other side, I’ll find a place to rest my spirit if I can, perhaps I may become a Highwayman again (and again, and again, and again…).
I would like to invent a pill or something that makes your hair grow in whatever color you want it to, because I am tired of having to “enhance” my color. If scientists can grow a human ear on a mouse’s back and then sew it onto an earless human, could blonde hair really be that big of a problem?
On the topic of inventions…I would like someone to invent a machine that makes junk foods healthy and healthy food junky.
I would like for my husband to stop snoring. After almost 20 years of quiet, he has only recently began this snoring frenzy and I am already sick of it. I believe in living together before marriage, if for no other reason than to make sure you are not getting stuck with a snorer. If you are not a snorer when you say “I Do” then you cannot turn into one later. It’s false advertising and I’m not having it.
I would like a magic button that I can push to erase “Two Girls and a Cup” from my mind forever. I tried massive amounts of wine, but that didn’t work. (P.S. if you don’t know what I am referring to, save yourself the trauma and DON’T FIND OUT! Trust me, Trust me. Trust me.)
I would like my husband to stop flipping channels so much. He may be able to keep track of 10 shows at once, but I certainly can’t. When you get up to go pee during a biography of George Clooney, and come back to see what turns out to be a documentary about firearms, topped off by an episode of Orange County Choppers, your entire relationship with George Clooney is shaken and things get confusing really quick.
I would like to turn back time to before I bought Ethan that can of “Insta Poop” and tell myself not to buy that darn can of “Insta Poop”, because let me tell you something friends…”Insta Poop” causes nothing but insta problems.
I would like to be as good of a singer as Rock Band makes me feel like I am.
I would like for all of my readers to have a great Holiday Break. I now have 72 subscribers and I feel the pressure, but I’m taking some time off to get my Fa la la la la on. I’ll catch up with you in January….
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