Now that decorations have been set in the minimalist form of authentic pine-tree garlands, assorted Christmas balls and a couple of strategically placed nutcrackers all around this tiny yet cozy Brooklyn apartment of ours; it is a reasonable time to start pondering on a year's full of good deeds, mistakes and all. This process, although highly recommended for obvious spiritual and meditation purposes, can only mean one thing: "It's time to make that Holiday's wish list baby!" I don't know about you all but the only time I feel I don't deserve to be showered with lavish gifts at the end of a long arduous year of work-related (lower-end of the socio-professional ladder) power struggles, feuds of all kinds -- with neighbors, property management, post office moron clerks, car insurance company, any insurance company, -- bad hairstyle decisions is... oh wait, that's right: never.
Maybe it's just me, but I'm always under the rather correct impression that nothing should stop my family and hell, even close friends from going all on out and spoil the hell out of me. Ha! So in preparation for being the elated recipient of fabulous gifts belonging to the most fabulous of all fabulous lists, I want to go over the exclusive (and totally delusional) items that made the list this year. Oh and before I foolishly proceed and share the most unrealistic expectation list ever put out there, let me ask you guys about what your list looks like? And please note "I don't have a list you twat!" or "Grow up! what are you? 3?" and any other remarks of the sort aren't acceptable responses here. Um... much too serious opinions surely formed in some holier-than-thou mature brain. Yah, we don't need that here, cause we're barely engaging the thirties' turn and still believe in Santa!
Let's start with some of the heavy stuff right off the bat. Let's assume there actually was someone in my "next of kin" who could afford to stop paying their rents and mortgages for the next couple of months just so they could ensure my dying and waking up in Heavens happiness. To them, I would introduce the infamous $3,000 price range Chanel Chained Classic Flap bag. I wouldn't even dare be picky and accept any size. Really, any size would overwhelmingly do. In Black and/or in red, but any other less drooled-over color should also suit me greatly. This cushiony mad ego-stroking piece of leather is on my 2009 wish list and will remain for the years to come. Worst part is I don't think it can simultaneously hold so much as my current wallet and a pack of gum. It would force me to downsize a lot of the shit I carry around, but I can live that. Can you?
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