Letter to Santa Claus

Dear Santa,

I haven't written you in a while, because frankly, you don't exist. But I watched the old 60's claymation video about Rudolph the other night and got run-over by the dumptruck of nostalgia so what the heck. I think I've been a pretty good girl this year so here are my Christmas wishlist demands:

First of all, and most obvious, I want to be skinny and beautiful every day of my life until I die of natural causes at the age of 95. Duh.

I would really appreciate you buying me that $800,000, two bedroom, 1,000 square foot home next to the train tracks here in LA that we've been pining for. I wouldn't dare ask for the 3 bedroom - some things even you can't afford.

If there is any way you abduct Carrot Top , you would be giving all Americans a wonderful Christmas present. We have done everything but drop a nuke, but he's still around. I'm sure he would do well as an indentured elf or something like that.

Remember that My Little Pony Mansion with the real fountain with water you gave me and my little sister for Christmas years ago? I lost it. Why don't you whip up another one of those - but I want it all for myself this time.

A pony. I know I got one already, but the one you sent when I was 9 years old was crazy and hated me. I want a nice pony this time. With a pink saddle. But heaven help me Santa, if you mess this one up again, I'll tell Pixie that you sneak into homes at Christmas to eat little girls.

If there is any possible way you could make me into Gwen Stefani and I could lead the life of a rock star, that would be swell. I would even let you open for me. You'd love it!

I also need calf-reduction surgery. I've got bigger calves than the whole cast of Riverdance combined. Ever heard the term "cankle?" Doesn't even come close to what I've got. How's about you just slip me a plastic surgeon. I'm serious - this is a BIG problem.

And last but not least, remember that time when I was sick on Christmas day back in '87 and had to sit behind the couch with my puke-pot while all my other siblings were happily opening presents? Could you erase that memory for me? It's really depressing.

So there it is. My humble little wish-list. I know you'll come through for me because, as I'm sure you've noticed, I'm married to a powerful attorney and he knows about all that contractual stuff. I've been good. Pony up or I'll sue your jolly red rear.

Hugs and Kisses! Hollywood