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Christmas List

Dear Santa,

I know you’re busy this time of year.  I know you’re probably inundated with adorable letters from adorable children; children who have probably spent their year trying to be good instead of calling people doucheboxes on the internet and secretly harboring fantasies of tripping people on the bus that were mean to them like I have.  So I’m not going to ask for anything too crazy or expensive, because I just might not deserve it.  But I’ve put together a list that I think will benefit everyone should you choose to grant any of my Christmas wishes.

1.  No more twerking.

2.  A do-over button on Candy Crush for when you notice the move you should have made right after swiping out something useless.

3.  A worldwide, yearlong ban on Kanye West’s name being mentioned in the media.  If any media outlet slips up and runs a story on him or even says his name, they face a punishment of spending an entire day with him and Kim telling each other how amazing, special, and talented they are.  No breaks, even for vomiting.

4.  The Blacklist should be a weekly show all year long – none of this “Season Finale” nonsense until we find Red.

5.  A pop-up box on Facebook anytime a user tries to share a story that says, “Are you sure?  Have you checked Snopes?”

6.  Speaking of Facebook, AnE1 WhO PoSTs a STaTus ThAt LoOks lieK DIs has to go back to third grade for two days.

7. Ditto to anyone who says “supposably,” “irregardless,” or “Valentimes day.”

8.  Every year at this time, we retire one awful Christmas song in the rotation and replace it with a new, good one.  This year I vote we switch “Wonderful Christmastime,” with “Underneath the Tree.”  Sorry, Sir Paul, but Kelly Clarkson rocks that shit and your song?  SUCKS.  So hard.

9.  My neighbor to please drop his new habit of whistling like a mass murderer as he’s walking up the stairs in the middle of the night so as to ease my night terrors.

10. Please let Jay Cutler not throw any interceptions in the endzone this Sunday; I simply cannot handle any more controversy.  (I know this will happen before Christmas, but trust me as I believe in you, if you lived in Chicago, you would feel my pain.)

11. Every news story about a celebrity or athlete being arrested or just generally being a moron is to be counteracted by a story of an athlete or celebrity doing something good.  There are more like Andre Johnson than there are like Lindsay Lohan.

12. Anyone cataloguing the triumphant exploits of their Elf on a Shelf must also show the aftermath, whether that be the cleanup or the careful explanation of why Elfie was in the car with Barbie to begin with.

13. On a personal note, I would like a nonstick pan.  And by nonstick pan, I mean nonstick even when it comes to eggs, or at least an honest advertisement which states, “Nonstick unless you are cooking eggs, in which case you’re going to be really mad trying to clean this.”

Pretty please Santa?  If you can’t accommodate them all, maybe just a few?  Or if you only pick one, can it please be the Kanye ban?

Merry Christmas,

Courtney

Also, can I get my cat to sit still long enough to take a fun picture like this?

Also, can I get my cat to sit still long enough to take a fun picture like this?

 

 

 

 

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Friday Blast Off: What I Said vs. What I Meant

profanityTook a week off from yelling at people in my head last week to bring you the lovely story about my glorious days as a tuba playing elk.  Despite this, I apparently still have friends that are willing to look past my awkward years, and for that I thank you all.  That being said, here’s some people that I wish would have been shot into the sun this week.

The Completely Clueless and Furious Attorney Who Kept Repeating Himself at an Increasing Volume for 15 Minutes:

What I Said:          “Sir?  Sir?  I understand – SIR.  I do apologize.  I did speak with Angela from your office, have you checked with her?”

What I Meant:      “You, sir, are an asshole.  Let me talk to your secretary as she is clearly the brains behind your operation.  Also, ‘all this new bullshit,’ you speak of isn’t all that new.  Last I checked, email has been relatively common in the workplace for about twenty years.”

Miss Fancy McGiant Bag and Her Extremely Animated Friend, Mr. Flailing Hands, on the Bus:

What I Said:         “No problem!  It’s crowded this morning!”

What I Meant:     “You dizzy bitch.  If you’re going to carry a bag the size of a rhinocerous, take a cab.  I have enough trouble keeping my brains in my head; I don’t need you knocking me in the face with your ten pound lunch.  And you, yes you, flapping your hands like a fucking pigeon – knock it off.  You’re telling the dumbest story I’ve ever heard – there is absolutely zero need to draw more attention to it.”

The Gentleman at the Bus Stop Who Yelled in Spanish Right in My Face Until I Could Escape:

What I Said:         “Lo siento.  No hablo Espanol.”

What I Meant:     “I understand you perfectly and no, I will not give you a cigarette, rodeo.  You’re wearing a fucking sombrero and clown pants at 8:30 in the morning and I refuse to contribute in any way to this foolishness.”

The Girl Dressed in Lime Green Spandex, A Skintight Blue Shirt, Red High Heels, Ornaments as Earrings, and about Two Hundred Extra Pounds:

What I said:          “Good morning…”

What I Meant:      “Excuse me?  Do you know you’re dressed as a bipolar Christmas tree?  Here’s a tip – ask for a full-length mirror this year.  Trust me.”

How was everyone else’s week?