Dear Santa...

Thought of the day: All of my friends have very calm, chill, beautiful children. This concerns me because everyone knows of someone who has a little asshole child that everyone complains about, and this just in... they also complain about your asshole parenting skills. Five bucks says I'm the one who gives birth to a sociopath. Ever seen the movie 'We Need to Talk About Kevin' with Tilda Swinton? Aside from the fact that her skin tone is that of a corpse, that was one disturbing movie. Jesus. I've spent the last 2 hours having flashes of me in 10 years with my future child in some abandoned barn,  just waiting for some priest to give him/her their first exorcism. Truthfully, this shit keeps me awake at night. *I was told this weekend, that my kid is gonna be the most anxious kid alive. Pfft. Just because I think I'm dying and I think everyone around me is dying and I'm gonna be attacked by a whale or shark while sitting in my apartment, won't make me a bad mother. 

Since Christmas is coming and I have this much money in my bank account: -$890900.03, and I will be handing out high fives and smiles for Christmas, I thought I'd turn the attention on me and see what I can get out of the big guy this Christmas. Here is what my letter looks like so far: 

Dear Santa, 

What's up babe? Why you gotta be so cold? I know I probably shouldn't have written you letters while on my period in 2009 begging for brass knuckles, a switchblade and a Playgirl subscription, but cut me some slack. You try bleeding out of your penis and randomly crying at a paper towel commercial every month. Anyway, don't fuck me over again. Here's my list, make it happen. 

Wine glasses: I've broken 9 wine glasses from frantically wheeling around my apartment in my wheelchair this summer trying to find my Percocet. And my ass has gotten so big, it literally knocks shit off tables.  

Magic Mike DVD: If I have to explain why I want this, then you're a fucking idiot. 

5 Litres of Pinot Grigio: This should get me through Christmas Day just fine. 

A lifetime supply of saran wrap: I watch enough Dexter to know that you can never have enough saran wrap and I plan on catching the killer that sleeps under my bed any day now so please hurry. 

A box of condoms: You'll be shocked to hear that my unused box of condoms has expired. I plan on making 2013 'The Year Of The Slut'. Nothing says "I've got a new lease on life" like having casual, reckless sex with strangers. 

Bacon: If I wake up and there is bacon in my stocking, I'll know that God exists and I can reach for my dreams everyday. I wish I could wrap everything in bacon and not die. 

A box of diet pills: (preferably ephedrine) *Please see my fat ass reference under 'Wine glasses'. 

A subscription to Cosmo: Pffft, who doesn't want to read "35 Of The Best Sex Tips EVER" and "How to Have Sex for 16 Hours Straight Without Peeing" Some of their tips are laughable, but they may come in handy when I go balls to the wall being all Heidi Fleiss-ish in 2013. 

Gold hoop earrings: I think the gold will complement the white in my straight jacket. 

String: I don't care what kind of string, even make it a ball of yarn but I'm wearing my tv's remote control around my neck from now on. When I'm not swamped with being trapped in an elevator, lying on the floor or complaining about my life, I'm looking for that motherfucking remote control. 

An eliptical machine: I'm running out of closet space and I need something else to hang my clothes on. 

Life-size Justin Bieber doll: You don't need to know that I'm gonna make sweet sweet love to the doll what I'm gonna do with this.  But I will say, a lady never kisses and tells. 

Anyway Santa, this year has kicked my ass and I believe material things do bring happiness to people, particularly me. Let's do this right. 

You are the meatball in my spaghetti, I love you. 

Nanners Out.