Posted by: nastypen | November 28, 2006

Dear Santa…

Truth be told, I have not been a good boy.

Of course, I have not killed anyone. Nor have I plundered the economy for personal gain. Nor did I kill the chance for the Filipino people to know truthfully and in a quiet legal manner whether or not I cheated at the elections. Nor have I wasted my constituents’ votes by flying off to Las Vegas to watch a mindless form of organized violence instead of doing my job. Nor have I made a movie with this scene and this line.

No, Santa, I have been a bland taxpayer for the past year (as well as all the other adult years) dealing with numerous disappointments (We didn’t win a single beauty title at all!? Plus, Pow Chavez ousted from the Philippine Idol.) and irritants (like the typhoon Milenyo and the blackout) to the ghastly surprising (Melanie Marquez graduating cum laude) to the downright farcical (Willie Revillame still having a career and irritating my ears with that Boom-tarat-tarat song. I hope he can sing that to the families of the victims of the stampede last February). Not to mention thepanacea of personal problems too devastating to write them down.

What am I trying to drive at?

Well I took an online examination from the University of Pennsylvania’s personal “authentic happiness” index with a range of 1 to 5. 1 being miserable and 5 being happy as a clam and I got this as a result:

Truth hurts, kid.

Well, I know I can’t be all misery chick. I have a lot to be thankful for. I mean the boyfriend is great. He is befuddled by my histrionics but still loves me. Work is ok. Emotionally draining but ok. My mom accepts me and I assured her that I won’t be wearing her clothes and shoes. I just bought art materials so that I could start painting gain…now if only I can AFFORD time.


But 1.71? So, at least, that makes me not TOTALLY miserable?

Jesus, Santa, I deserve a gift from you.

But you know what’s funny? I may desire wealth, the perfect body, deep pockets of Euros (not American dollars, they’re weak now), mutant powers of telepathy, fame and the sheer luxury of not entering into a cubicle ever again…..but I find it funny that I don’t really want anything for Christmas.

Really I don’t. I have been racking my brains for what I want Christmas. Something I cannot get myself. A new life? I can do that on my own. New clothes? I can buy those. Books? I have too much of those (GASP! I can’t believe I admitted I have too much books!).

Ok, maybe just one thing. Please have Nora Aunor do a movie like this one again:


That’s not asking much eh? Ok, that may be asking too much from the Superstar Ate Guy.

But seriously, Santa, I dare you to surprise me with a present that will knock the wind out of me.

What could it be?

I wake up one day in a body of a male model with an IQ of 210?

I am stumped, Santa. I will ask for two things.

1.) to know what I really need (not want…NEED) and

2.) That I get whatever the answer to question#1 is.

I will be waiting but not holding my breath.

Keep the faith (the idiomatic expression and not the Bon Jovi album),
Constipated Diva



  1. kakaaliw letter mo kay santa!

    kisses from singapura! mwah!

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