Personal Post
Wherein I complain lengthily like a spoiled first world middle class white girl.
I really hate making Christmas Lists, because I hate asking for things. It makes me uncomfortable. It’s not that I don’t want things, because I do, of course I do, but I don’t like asking for them. Hey I know I can buy that DVD for myself, but I’d rather you do it, and then I want to rip to shreds that wrapping paper you also spent money and time on. Thanks. I’d rather watch a shitty movie and bake cookies and share life with my friends than exchange gifts. (I’m a pretentious asshole, I know.)
And beyond that, the things that I really want can’t exactly be delivered by Amazon Prime. (Unless Amazon has a secret Wish Fulfillment Department they’re not telling anyone about.) And isn’t that just the most cliched sentiment on earth? Money can’t buy happiness indeed. Except, you know, in some ways it can.
Because these are some of the things I want, soul-deep:
(Christ. Someone put on their woe-is-me panties today. Spirit of the holidays and all that.)
I really hate making Christmas Lists, because I hate asking for things. It makes me uncomfortable. It’s not that I don’t want things, because I do, of course I do, but I don’t like asking for them. Hey I know I can buy that DVD for myself, but I’d rather you do it, and then I want to rip to shreds that wrapping paper you also spent money and time on. Thanks. I’d rather watch a shitty movie and bake cookies and share life with my friends than exchange gifts. (I’m a pretentious asshole, I know.)
And beyond that, the things that I really want can’t exactly be delivered by Amazon Prime. (Unless Amazon has a secret Wish Fulfillment Department they’re not telling anyone about.) And isn’t that just the most cliched sentiment on earth? Money can’t buy happiness indeed. Except, you know, in some ways it can.
Because these are some of the things I want, soul-deep:
- Admission into the University of Chicago Graduate School. (Does Santa work in the admissions office?) Because I need to know if another city would fit better. Because I need to get out of my safe little comfort zone. Because I want it. Because I don’t want to regret it all later.
- To finish/publish That Book. Because it would be hilarious and amazing. And it’s almost done anyways. And the cover art alone would be worth it. Never you mind that it has nothing whatsoever to do with #1. That’s how I do.
- To write That Movie. Because why the fuck not? Adam Sandler is still making movies and we’re fucking funnier than that.
- That untitled Harlem Renaissance HBO mini series. Because, uh, duh. (How you doin’ Morris Chestnut?) And also that NBC sitcom. But not Fox - we’d get cancelled.
- For Shenanigans, Inc to be for realsies. Because see above. Because I think it’s something I’d be satisfied consuming my life and energy with. Because that’s a future I think I’d be OK with.
- See my friends more. Most of us live so close to each other and yet we just don’t. And the friends that don’t live close - I don’t want them slipping away. I need to remember that they’re real. That we’re real. And if I go to Chicago, the friends that were close and suddenly not and fuck.
- Italy. Peru. New Zealand. Greece. France. Scotland. Istanbul. The World. I just want the world - that’s not too much to ask, is it? It’s not like I’m asking for the moon. (But I’d still accept it, if anyone’s offering.)
(Christ. Someone put on their woe-is-me panties today. Spirit of the holidays and all that.)