It's that time of year again. The time of year when all the urges to give to others and show your love for them is slowly overwhelmed by personal greed, like a carpet of moss verdantly taking over the gleaming blackness of wet oak bark.
Here's what I want:
I'd like a better thesaurus built into Microsoft Word. And dictionary. Please. For fuck's sake, I'll even pay for it. I need a dictionary that recognizes the words I use.
British school boys. Really, probably university students, not actual children, even if the age of consent is sixteen. Under sixteen, efforts at training boys are really wasted. Nineteen is better; still malleable, slightly less likely to wander off some day and squander all the skills you beat into them on some other woman. School uniforms optional… Or maybe not… *drool*
Cute panties from Subvert the Dominant Underwear! Three pairs minimum, five pairs maximum. [Why do panties always come in pairs anyway? Maybe because the word stems from "pants" which are also plural for some reason I do not know but can guess has Latin origins. (An OED search yields that pants comes from pantaloons which is French, but no explanation as to why it's plural when pantaloon seems like it can be singular. Those wacky French.)] Anyway, I want the witchy undies. I'd be more specific about which ones and sizes, but I'd like to preserve some decorum. Yes, damnit, I'm serious.
Cute t-shirts from Village Street Wear , especially the "Yes, they're real" one. And an Invader Zim t-shirt. And a Pervy Hobbit Fancier t-shirt. Specifically because they are illegal since "hobbit" is copywrited (copywritten?). As a writer, I understand the appeal of having your words trademarked. But it's been over FIFTY FUCKING YEARS. It's a wildly successful book series. Several movies have been made. Whose dumbass idea was it to copywrite the word "hobbit" so no one else could use it? Fuckers. HOBBIT, HOBBIT, HOBBIT, I say. And HOBBIT again.
An Ozzy Osbourne cd with "Iron Man" on it. I think I've got every song on "Ozzman Cometh" memorized already. At least, the lyrics I can understand and/or have looked up on the internet. And maybe some late-1970s British punk. My car likes boy music. Really. Not me. I swear.
A glass fountain pen and ink. So I don't bend the nib on a metal one. Despite my unworthiness. (see "26 Letters")
Boots... Real, honest to god, steel-toed Docs. Black. Never had a pair. Have no reason to have a pair. Want a pair. It is Time.
Lessons in something active. I've quit belly dancing for reals, and yoga is nice but not energy-draining. I'm thinking it's time to embrace my inner geek and take the archery or fencing lessons I've secretly always wanted. Both probably require upper body strength I don't have, but I think I'd prefer fencing, because in these modern times, in case of emergency, you're more likely to find a stick you can poke someone with rather than a bow and arrows just laying around. (Not that I wouldn't rather run, but you know, running is for those with smaller breasts.) A broadsword is more appealing, too (requisite joke and sizes of swords and, um, other things) but they're just too heavy, unless the lessons come with steroids as well. Which is a look I think we can all agree I should avoid. Moving right along…
To have something published, bound, and selling in bookstores near you. I know, I know, get off my lazy ass and fucking write something and then fucking send it to a fucking publisher. I'd much rather have someone else do all the work for me, thanks.
A slave or servant or secretary or clone to do all the dumb things that I have to do but don't want to do but can't reasonably avoid anymore, like learn financial stuff, do homework, have periodontal surgery, do the laundry, write letters to my grandma, and on and on and on until you die of boredom.
A better monitor. A chair for desk that isn't a folding chair. And a computer that doesn't crash almost every time I use it for no reason I can determine. *SUBTLE HINT TO THE HUSBAND*
Oh, and Peace and Happiness for Everyone on Earth. Why not?