Dear Christmas Gods,
I’ve been a sinner and I’ve been a saint this year. It’s been quite the rollercoaster. My moral compass may not have accurately pointed directly North (at the North Pole, the epicenter of morality as determined by Santa, as is my understanding) at all times, but I didn’t default on my student loans and I bought a container that says “RECYCLING” on the side.
My list is as follows, all of which I am expectant and deserving:
- May the fire escape the leads directly to my window not also lead directly to my murder this Christmas season.
- For all cookies that enter my gullet to be full of glorious dairy, gluten and sugar, may I not fall victim to “cookies” baked in trickery.
- I wish for my big girl pants to come in the mail so I would go for what I want and stop puttering around like I have nothing better to do than watch the entire series of Breaking Bad in one week. Essentially, for Christmas, I’d like to grow a pair of large ones.
- The expedient gentrification of Jersey City, as I am still sans a Chipotle.
- A human-sized hamster ball to protect from swine flu, regular flu and the germs of people who wipe their nose snot then grab the subway pole and make me gag in my throat. This also one-ups the people who wear medical masks on the subway.
- May I meet the gaze of a guy, nay a MAN, that still likes me even after he’s figured out what’s really going on here. While I’ve encountered this before, the second criteria is a man who I continue to like once I’ve figured out what’s going on over there. Please deliver with a big, red bow on top, if only for the sake of clarity.
- For my roommate’s evil white cats to peacefully float away to happy cat heaven. Where they shall frolic happy, wild, free and pee on cat Jesus’s kitchen counter rather than mine. I’d be surprised if they were on the list for any heaven because they’re the absolute worst, but they’re wiley, I expect they’ll slip the gatekeeper a fiddy. I would also like human heaven and cat heaven to never intersect. Amen.
- If the above isn’t possible, it is my Christmas wish that the cats are transformed miraculously into adorable teacup pigs which I will name Blue Ivy, princess of Jersey City. The other will be named Prince Harry and he will be the prince of nothing but my heart.
- For Aziz Anzari to be my sassy co-worker. He will crafts witty texts to boys, be my loyal lunch buddy and tell jokes over g-chat at 3 hour intervals.
- May my employment be gainful so I can cater to myself when the internet, Gwyneth Paltrow, and my friends convince me I am afflicted with expensive food allergies. Also, when my mother sends me medical diagnoses from the internet, may I be less convinced I am dying.
- Some wish for promotions at work. My Christmas wish is to be designated as official passive aggressive communal refrigerator note-writer. A position where I will LEAN IN. Freedom of speech and license to be as explicit as I would like will lead to severe verbal admonishments given to repeat rotting Chobani offenders.
- For a symposium of all the universe’s women where we all agree to forsake high heels. For they are a torture.
- The elusive white girl bubble butt. Thus far this my action plan has been as follows: 1. Eat a doughnut 2. Do a few (read: 3) squats 3. Cross my fingers. No bubble butt has come to pass…yet.
- I wish to know all the answers to the Friday New York Times crossword puzzle, (I essentially wish to have all the knowledge in the explored universe… I am really wishing to be Alex Trebek, or to take over possession of Alex Trebek’s brain)
Finally, World Peace.
With Love and Christmas Spirit,
–Jessica Lynne Beckett I