Fuck Santa — the written blog

Fuck Santa

I’m sending yesterday’s audio blog out today as a blog because it was the #1 request I received in my inbox alongside your beautiful, manatee and hedgehog-filled birthday wishes.

(seriously — where do you find these pictures?!)

Some folks are readers. Others like to listen. And there are those who like to watch (pervs). This way, I can accomodate at least two of the types in my audience.

PS: Be sure to check the audio blog page’s comments yesterday. I’ll have winners selected by 9am CT this morning.

PPS: Thanks for being my best birthday gift.


Christmas Eve.

When I was a kid, this was the one day of the year where the universe gave me permission to dream.

To hope.

It was the one time of the year where I was told that it was okay to ask the universe (aka that badass, package-carrying, sleigh driving motherfucker Santa aka my parents) for what I wanted.

I could be unfiltered. Unashamed. It was okay for me to tell everyone exactly what it is that I truly wanted. The Sears and JC Pennys catalog were – as Sears so boldly (and smartly) marketed – Wish Books, filled with things that…

…if I would just ask

…if I would just make that list

Just might be mine.

And all I had to do is ask.

On Christmas morning, having slept the sleep of a college student coming down from a cocaine-drenched high, I’d wake. I’d rush downstairs. I’d wait for my brother, sister, and parents to wake.

I would make more noise than was necessary to ensure that this waking process was hastened.

And all because I couldn’t wait to see which wishes of mine had come true.

As I grew older, the lists became shorter. Santa became my parents. The sleigh became a bedroom closet where I could snoop when they were at work.

The list of wishes faded like Vanilla Ice’s career.

I realized that I wasn’t growing older. I was regressing.

There was no growing at all being done.

Fuck fuck and fuckity fuck fuck.

My lists of wishes and dreams faded until they disappeared. I built a life that saw birthdays and Christmases as the only days where I could receive without guilt. I still felt guilty for asking.

The world around me expected me to give, give, give and all the bloody year long.

But I had to wait. I got tired of waiting so I stopped asking. I told my heart and soul to shhhhhhhhhh and why couldn’t they fall in step with the rhythm of every day life?

Why couldn’t they just be content with the plain fact that people like me don’t get things/men/jobs like those other people. Those other people.

Those “other people” – I’d never met them but they were the ones who had it easy. Who got everything they wanted.

I hated “other people.”

And this, my dearest readers, is bullshit to capital Nth degree. This kind of bullshit is reserved for situations so dire and desperate, sad and costly. It’s the kind of bullshit that we spend our lives accumulating and then drowning in until one day we wake up to see the world as we’ve built it:


Without potential.

Lacking the Christmas Eve-style joyous anticipation that makes our hearts beat a bit faster…

Our sleep lose meaning because there’s nothing on the other side but more of the shitty and flavorless same.

And it’s time for all of that bullshit to end. Because bitches – it’s motherfucking Christmastime up in this joint and it’s about damn time you owned it.

Yeah, you.

The one who thinks dreams aren’t for you and that big people can’t make lists of wishes and wants and have all of them come true. You are the commandant of your very own army of summer hat-wearing hedgehogs, surrounding you – protecting you and yelling AY YAY YAY! *

*because all hedgehog armies speak Spanish IN MY MIND

– as you do the work every day to bring that Christmas list back.

And while we’re on the subject, who the hell made the rule that grown-ups can’t give themselves gifts? And I’m not talking about leasing a new pimpin’ ride or blowing your every dime on SHIT.

Shit is just that – SHIT.

We’ll bust ass day after day, working towards someone else’s goals and getting paid someone else’s money so we can buy shit that doesn’t matter that we eventually give away to Goodwill so it can be yet again someone else’s shit. Why? Because for a moment, shit makes us feel good. Like the cocaine. Like the endorphin-drenched rush of an ass-beating workout.

Like the rush that ruled our childlike hearts as we waited for our wishes to manifest on those few days where we were told it was okay to dream – because there was a day on the calendar where those dreams would actually come true.

Today, it’s Christmas. It’s your birthday. It’s all 8 crazy nights of an Adam Sandler kind of Haunakah rolled into one. And if you want anything worth having you have to treat every day like it’s





Right now. Make it.

Forget about all of the stuff you don’t want. Don’ts are for dickheads and you, my precious manatee of love, are anything but a dickhead.

Make the list that’s filled with everything that makes your soul smile. Everything that makes you uncomfortable to ask for. Everything that tells everyone that YES, I AM GOING TO END THAT SENTENCE WITH A PREPOSITION AND I’M GOING TO LIKE IT SO MUCH THAT I’M GOING TO DRESS UP AS A PREPOSITION FOR HALLOWEEN.

Everything that you shouldn’t have the audacity to ask for but by all that is chocolate and holy and served on a stick, today you will ask for.

Because it’s waiting for you – and it’s about time you stopped living a life waiting for permission.

Permission from some fat dude in a red suit who can only seem to get off his ass once a year to bring you only a fraction of what you ask for. After hundreds of years, it’s time for this asshole to join a gym and think a bit more of himself than causing his magical reindeer a metric ass ton of consternation because they have to haul his fur-draped sperm whale-sized self across the world’s nights skies in 24 hours. Fuck this guy and fuck him in his bloated spleen with a purple plastic goldfish.

Because you’ve got shit to do.

You’ve got shit to get. And it’s not going to be the kind of shit that just becomes more shit. It’s going to be platinum – the kind of shit you look at and spontaneously turn on your inner black girl for and go, “Awwwwyeah.”

And you’ll never get it if you don’t start making that list.

Because today is Christmas. It’s your birthday. Today and every day are the days where you can make that list for the universe and stop waiting.

Start dreaming.

Start asking.

Because baby – whoever lied to you and me and everyone else and said that the days of making wish lists are over – is a fuckwit and deserves no more of your time or attention.

You make that list and then you do one thing every day to put you one step closer to making at least one wish on that list come true.

But there’s a caveat –

You have to have a WHY for everything on that list. Why you want it and why it’s going to make this life of yours better.

Because otherwise, it’s just shit. And it’ll make you happy for a little while and then go back to being the shit it is and always has been.

So, my little manatees of love, assemble your Hispanic hedgehog army. Make your list. Get to marching and bring that itchy-can’t-sleep-because-I’m-so-goddamn-excited-about-my-NEXT feeling back to your life.

Because right now, we have THIS life. THIS life is our priority. And if we can leave it with a list of dreams fulfilled a fuckzillion miles long…

Just imagine what Christmas is going to look like when you get to that next lifetime.

Fuck Santa and fuck birthdays.

The fact that the sun came up today is the only permission you need to ask for anything and everything you’ve always wanted.


11 replies
  1. JosephRatliff
    JosephRatliff says:

    Oh Erika… I used to believe in Santa, until you just now told me he was YOUR parents… sigh. 

    Love the attitude of this post… the ULTIMATE bitch slap 🙂

    And everything you want doesn’t belong on some list, it belongs DONE.

    Just make sure it’s what you really want, that is all.

  2. KillianMIck
    KillianMIck says:

    This year, I did exactly this. It’s been a rough one for my family, and I wanted nothing more than to go to the sun drenched islands with my partner and my kids, away from the outside world, off the electronic grid for a week. I craved the time to reconnect, to prioritize what matters most to me. I had to work a little harder to make it happen, but it was worth every single second of effort.

    So, on Saturday, I am getting what I want. I am packing up the Bear, and the three Kellions, and heading to Miami. We will get on a shiny new cruise ship on Sunday, and sail off to the sunshine. We will lounge on deck chairs and talk while sipping tropical drinks. We will laugh at stupid comedians. We will eat decadent desserts. We will explore places we’ve never seen. We will snorkel the 3rd largest reef in the world, reveling in the kind of beauty found nowhere else. 

    There will be no email, no texting, no Snapchatting, no tweeting, no Facebooking. But there will be US.

    Merry Fucking Christmas. I hope it’s as blissful for you as it’s sure as hell is going to be for me.

  3. JackiViles
    JackiViles says:

    Spot on Erika. I hate to say it though… if I were you I’d want to know about it. You spelled ‘meet’ wrong. If I knew you personally I’d IM you… but I feel like a Dick now. But I still had to say something.

  4. Elliani
    Elliani says:

    I’m new to your blog and love, love, love your f-ing fresh writing style. I’m leaving the organized religion of my youth after fifty-two f-ing years so forgive my inability to throw down the f-bomb with any real literary style yet. But I’m f-ing working on it. Following your blog should prove helpful. 😉


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