I wish I believed in Santa Claus…

because then I could comfortably make a list of items I would like to be found underneath my Christmas tree. However, as a Jew, and one who will conveniently be traveling on December 25th, I imagine I will have to resort to alternative methods of capitalist perpetuation. Perhaps I can pray for a Chanukah miracle.

Since Chanukah starts obscenely early this year– December 1st to be precise, it may be a quicker means to material attainment. And yes, as a senior on the verge of a nervous breakdown, my list is rather long. I have abbreviated it for the purposes of maintaining reader interest.

1. Tickets to Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown, the Broadway musical based on the 1988 Pedro Almodovar film of the same name. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, I love musicals. They infuse an otherwise mundane reality with a choreographed form of spontaneity that inevitably makes my otherwise pessimistic state a little more optimistic. Yes, basically they make me smile; kind of like a grande skinny vanilla latte, but only calorie-free.

And this particular musical also captures some important life lessons about being a woman– in this case, in Spain– but in a more generalized sense, in a society on the verge of its own sort of post-modern feminist reawakening. Over the course of a 48 period, the lives of four women unfold on stage, and the power of sisterhood is both challenged and reinforced. Or so the online description claims.

I identify with the woman in red.

2. An Anthropologie gift card. I admit that gift cards tend to result in new obsessions for me. I mean my mother gave me a Starbucks gift card for Chanukah my senior year of high school, and well, she basically created a monster of the hyper-caffeinated variety.

However, as someone in the midst of refurbishing my wardrobe for my impending introduction into the real world/work environment, in which jean skirts and turtle-covered cardigans do not scream, “lean, mean, and professional,” I believe investment in clothing to be more of a necessity than anything else. And, as Michal can attest, I am fully capable of walking into and out of Anthropologie without charging my mother’s credit card.

Of course, in addition to purchasing appropriate professional attire, I am also kind of craving a certain Christmas-esque sweater that involves the Wellesley mascot: the Fearless Squirrel

3. Pre-order of the SmittenKitchen cookbook. This, in my opinion, is the most practical gift. Since SmittenKitchen is the reason I tamed my inner Western feminist and began enjoying the experience of being a 21st century woman in the kitchen, I feel it is only appropriate to purchase her official cookbook (set to be released early next year).

I suspect my grandmother may pay for this little culinary conquest, as she has countless of times reminded me, “Yaffa, dear, no man will marry a woman who can’t cook.” I know it’s wrong to play the marriage card, but if it going to be a constant matter of discussion between my grandmother and myself (the one she refers to as the “barren grandchild”), then I might as well find a means to profit from this inevitable pre-Sabbath phone conversation.

And seriously, who can resist sweet potatoes with pecans and goat cheese?

4. An apartment in the Webster Apartments— a relatively affordable means of living in New York without paying the egregious rents. Yes, I am still bitter that the Rent is Too Damn High candidate did not win the race for governor. The only catch with the Webster Apartments– no men allowed. Now I am almost certain my grandmother will not support this residential endeavor, but I believe that after four years of the ya-ya sisterhood, I can survive in a testosterone-less residence– at least temporarily.

Also, it strongly resembles a brownstone, which is what the Beloved Roommate and I aspire to own– ideally on the Upper West Side, but we are open to geographical, Manhattan-based suggestions.

5. A blackberry that is not possessed by some evil, developmentally slow spirit. My current blackberry, which I should mention is only a month old, has a tendency to act disabled. It freezes up on command– kind of like those fainting goats, who “faint” or fall over every time their muscles are about to contract.

And while I know I should probably drop by my neighborhood Verizon store, I am holding out for a Chanukah miracle. Or, at least waiting until I finish my finals period, at which point in time I can pretend to embrace the land of the living once more.

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One response to “I wish I believed in Santa Claus…

  1. I’m asking Santa to turn me into Laura Benanti for my Christmas present. When that happens, I will give you tickets to Women on the Verge…as many as you want! And then I’ll buy us that Brownstone on the Upper West Side!

    Alternatively, life in the Heights is looking better and better….after all, men are allowed there, last I checked.

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