Dear Santa,
This isn’t a joke, I’m just gonna give it to you straight this year. I’m not going to mess around and ask for any of the name brand bull shit I usually do. A Louis purse, Chanel sunglasses, a FUBO coat. Nope, I don’t need any of it this time around. All I want, all I really want, is for this week to be over. Not over-over, I mean I want to go to bed tonight, and wake up to find that tomorrow is Thursday and that I’m safe and sound in the wonderful state of Nebraska. For a man who travels around the entire globe in one night, I wouldn’t think this to be that hard. Clearly you have some weird time travel spell you’re already using. So pass the bottle or the bong or whatever it is you use to ingest your magic potion my way and let’s fast forward things to Thursday. I’m not playing here. I can’t take another day in the office. I need to be at home, on my parent’s couch, with a fridge full of good meat and cheese and a pantry full of Doritos. Enough is enough. I don’t want to hear any excuses about this being too much or too difficult because we both know that’s bullshit. Need I remind you of the little girl on 34th street who received a house for Christmas one year?! And a dad! Or how about 1992 when I got a cat and a Polly Pocket mansion. Granted, we had to give Snickers away two years later but you couldn’t have known that satanic cat would attack my brother in the night. Or did you… And what about that boy on your train who got a bell that fell off your sleigh? What was that all about anyway? You need a little more consistency here if you ask me. How do you get off giving one girl a house and then some poor schmuck gets a broken bell? Whatever. All I am asking for is a little time travel.
I just really need this right now. My spirits are low today, real low. See I had this hour script consultation with a guy from LA last night regarding the screenplay I’ve been working on for a little over a year now… It went… Well it went right into the shitter. He told me there is a lot of good stuff going on and the story itself is great, but overall I have a lot more to work on. “Tarantino usually spends 5-10 years on his scripts,” I was told. Well I don’t have 5-10 years. I need to sell this shit now, I’m so tired of not having a bathroom with heated floors. It was just one critique after another after another. He basically ripped my heart out and threw it against the wall and then took a big deuce on it. We ended the convo with, “well I can see you’ve got a lot of talent and potential, but you’re just starting out so it’s gonna be a long road. You picked a hard industry to get into.” No. If I wanted a hard job I would have followed my dream of being an Olympic gymnast. Or a crab fisherman. I chose screenwriting so I could sit at home and just hash out funny ideas all day about college shananigans and funny drinking stories. Everybody loves those movies.
I’m a dreamer. I know this. And rarely, very rarely, do I let people crush my dreams. But today, they’re a little crushed. I feel just like Michelle Tanner when she didn’t get to play Yankee Doodle. That SOB Derek just swooped right in and took it from right under her. Nobody wants to be Lady Liberty.
Alright Santa, that's it. Your choices are either time travel, or booking me an agent in Hollywood. I know which I'd chose if I were you. Hollywood people are awful.
Your fav,
Cindy Lou Who
AKA Taylor Momsen
