Dear Santa,

It has been another long year in college and I know you can probably find my name somewhere near the top of the naughty list, but don’t let that fool you — I’ve done some pretty great things as well. For starters, I help feed all the neighborhood raccoons so that they can continue to grow in population and overtake I.V., but they’re cute and like to cuddle sometimes, so it’s okay. You can also find me tucking in my roommates after a long night of partying and cr-omiting (n. crying whilst vomiting, or vice versa; can be used as a verb cause it’s hella flexible). It’s weird though, because strangers don’t like it as much when I try to do the same for them. They say things like, “Who let you into my home?” or “Why are you wrapping me into a blanket burrito?” A simple “thank you” would have sufficed. Anyway, considering that my kind heart has helped at least a few people this year, I think it would be safe to say that I deserve some pretty awesome Christmas gifts. The first thing I would like is some financial stability. Now, this may sound like a pretty hefty gift, but I’m only asking for about $30k a year. Or, you could just pay off my tuition. Come on Santa, you have your own monopolistic factory in the North Pole, which means I’m basically asking for pocket change. Cough it up. Next, I would like some emotional stability, meaning I would like to somehow manage schoolwork and my three jobs without wanting to rip out every hair on my head. Maybe if you just send a hot, blond male model with two tickets to Hawaii in one hand and an engagement ring in the other, that might just do the job. Also, I would love some socks. For some reason my overpriced washing machine, which isn’t even mine — we have to go to the neighboring complex because our landlord doesn’t care about our laundering needs — keeps hiding my socks. Seriously, do they get sucked into the depths of laundry hell? Which then makes me think, “Hmm, I am as single as my socks.” The fact that I just related my love life to a sock makes me want to cry. Maybe you should throw in some tissues as well. Also send a cookbook or a personal chef, please. I don’t know how much longer I can live off of oatmeal and quinoa. What the hell is quinoa anyway? Why does it taste like rabbit food? I can’t take it anymore, Santa. If I wake up on Christmas day and find fresh fruit under my tree, I will scream considering the fact that in order to buy a box of strawberries you must give up your left leg and your firstborn child. Help a sister out. There are probably a million things I could put on this list, but these seem to cover the bases. I will be waiting by the fireplace on Christmas Eve with a plate of pretzels and some bourbon (let’s be real — that’s all I have), so that we can
exchange the goods. Don’t forget to put my address in your GPS this time; Rudolph is still in rehab and you know Vixen can’t drive for shit. That being said, I will see you soon, old guy. Send my love to Mrs. Claus and the children!

XoXo,
Your overworked, underpaid, exhausted college student.