A manless woman’s wish list

Dear Santa, I'm trying to be better, honest.

Dear Santa,

This year I’ve actually been pretty good. It might not look like it (compared to nuns, philanthropists, honest people, teachers, doctors, nurses, firemen/women, Angelina Jolie, charity workers, Jane Fonda, (left-wing)activists, pro-baseball players, and other random do-gooders…), but I have been.

I’ve been trying to get my shit together, Santa. I mean, I still like to get high, drink my face off, eat crap, and fuck around – but I’m really starting to evolve. I’ve been writing a lot. I’ve been working hard on my stand-up. I’ve been focusing on my acting, as well. I’ve lost a little over 30 lbs in a good way – not with cocaine or starvation. I keep my apartment clean, pay (most of) my bills, and have been trying to think before I speak/act, and I’m trying to be positive and kind to others. I’m trying to open my heart.

Some days I act like a huge bitch, but at least I realize it, and feel badly for it, after. I try to make amends. I try to pay it (my blessings) forward – but not like that terrible film that K-Pax is in. Why was that film so bad, Santa? Why?

Oh, and Santa, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’m on a Manbbatical. That’s right, you heard me. I’m not dating or even fucking. You know how boy-crazy I am, Santa… It’s not been easy at all. I’ve been tempted many times. Lots of cute boys are all around me all the time, which I often think might be an unrelenting gift from you, from last year. So, thank you for that, Santa.

I’m pretty blessed. I have everything I need, so I feel slightly badly asking you for anything. Since I’ve been so good this year, I think I’ll just put it out there, anyway. I mean, after all, lots of ungrateful brats and stupid assholes get shitloads of crap that they don’t need, am I right? I mean, the Kardashians, Santa? Seriously? What will they get, while other honest, hard-working people are circling the drain, and underappreciated or poor…?

Xmas makes my throat close up, Santa. It’s not that I don’t love my family – I mean, they’re no more insane than anyone else’s genetically-linked crew, but I just don’t like being alone during the holidays. Maybe if you could drop a bottle of Diazepam in my stocking to get through the day, it would really help? Maybe a few bottles of booze on the North Pole’s tab, as well?

You may as well stuff in some sex-toys for me, while you’re at it. I mean, my vibrators (Lancelot and Cletus) have been great, but a girl’s got to spice it up, if you know what I’m saying. If you don’t mind, I could use a few thousand bucks. I assume you’ve seen my vag-mobile, right? It’s no sleigh pulled by reindeer. She’s losing steam, and I need her for my work. Worrying about rent every month is no picnic, either, Claus.

Look, I know you’re really busy this time of year, but I don’t feel like I’m asking a lot. It’s not like I’m asking for something Herculean like world peace! I’m not that much of a douche! But if you could find it in your heart, or your big red bag (eeeewwww! SANTA! Grow up!) to bring me some love, health and happiness (codename: cash, drugs, and a fake penis) it would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks, Santa. Good luck out there this year. Don’t eat too many cookies. My family always left you pickles and beer. That’s when I knew that you and I could get along. Also, that’s when my parents were married, and we Brosseau(s) were a tight-knit little group. There’s much more of us, now. Everyone seems happier, but I’m still alone. Maybe you could arrange for me to meet “the one” this year? My Manbbatical ends May 18th, 2011.

Thanks for everything, and Merry Christmas! I don’t have a chimney, but I’m sure I’ll see you, flying high, in the sky, in your sled. I’ll most likely see that, because I’ll be intoxicated. Like, super wasted. It is the holidays, after all…

Brand Voices

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