Wednesday, December 24, 2008
It's Christmas Eve, and I'm here glued to the computer/TV to avoid having to open my mouth to deal with whatever nagging awaits from her. Him, I don't worry about. Did I mention she wears the pants in this family, eventhough she attempts to be the supposedly submissive part of the relationship. Hah! She's got him beat down with her stick the size of the fucking Empire State Building. I just step aside to let them all crash. It's much easier that way.So remember when you were a little kid, you would always write the magical "Dear Santa" list and by some "miracle" whatever was on that wishlist would come true? Well, I've decided to do one this year, on Christmas Eve, in hopes that Santa actually reads it.
Dear Santa,
I know it's been...actually no, that was a lie. I've never written to you, never have I ever wanted to, but hey, there's always room for new traditions (eventhough I'm not of the same religion). Since I've never actually written to you, I figure I wouldn't be as imposing as some of the other elementary school terrors who write year after year after year. Gets tiring after a while innit? I think so. And I'm pretty sure you'd be more inclined to comply to everything on my list.
The first request isn't for me, it's for my mom. Please Santa, bring her a clue, and make it an obvious one too. Make her realize that the world does not revolve around her, and that there is such a thing as being in the wrong. Make her realize that curfews are pretty set things and that a 11 o'clock curfew is PATHETIC; even more pathetic: the fact that she randomly changes it to 10.30 and insists that it's because she doesn't want me speeding home? Maybe you ought to bring her a little bit of intelligence too. Just saying.
The second request still isn't for me (ah, the generous side), it's for both my parents. Please Santa, bring them a time machine so they can travel back in time and undo their whole relationship. Racial slurs on a weekly basis between both parts of my culture does not equate to a happy holiday. The tendency for the neighbours to call the cops isn't really the icing on the cake either. Again, just saying.
Finally, we've gotten to me. My third request is so that Chicago gives me an insane financial aid package so I can pack my bags and head as far away as Hyde Park for most of the year to avoid succumbing to irrational logic and overtly sensitive racists in their own right and keep my sanity in tact. Or better yet, give my parents a new layer of skin to make it easier for them to absorb my sarcasm.
There, nothing too materialistic about that is there Santa? There'll be Raspberry Milanos and milk on the table on your way out. Merry Christmas!
P.s. Watched The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas with William yesterday. My. God. I should've gotten the award for "Most Naive". Silly me, thinking that a Holocaust movie was going to have a happy ending (maybe Santa oughta get me some intelligence too), but nevertheless, the movie was relatively solid. Simplistic with depressing undertones - just how I like my holiday movies.
Merry Christmas everyone :D
