The Secret Santa is a holiday staple of friend groups everywhere, and your favorite PGP writers are no exception. You may be asking yourself, “Wait, are you guys really all friends?” Well, kinda. Some of us have met in person some of us have never met yet text each other about political podcasts, bad dates, and sports, and some of us literally have no idea who some of the other writers are.
But you know what? When it comes to gifts, it doesn’t matter. I put the call out to my fellow writers to see who wanted to participate in the 2nd annual PGP Secret Santa, and they answered…because we, of course, will do anything for ‘tent, particularly if it means we’ll get a present. So here’s a recap of our 2nd annual PGP Remote Writers Secret Santa.
As of this writing I’m still unsure of who my Secret Santa was, but regardless, they knocked it out of the park. Many people know that I love golf, despite being awful at it, so getting a golf gift for me is a no-brainer. What isn’t as widely known is my love for public urination, especially on a golf course. When you’re slamming Miller Lites to erase the sting of your fourth consecutive 3-putt, you’re gonna have to piss a lot.
Unfortunately, some courses, like Ratliff Ranch in Odessa, TX, don’t provide enough greenery to provide adequate cover to do your business. Thanks to my Secret Santa, I don’t have to worry about that anymore. Now that I’ve got the UroClub Portable Urinal your boy is going to be discretely taking a leak on every hole if I damn well please. No more wobbly knees on a putt because I’m holding back a piss that I couldn’t find a spot to take it at. The whole golf course is now my pissing domain. Thanks, Santa. (Note from Jenna – it was SME_Annie who gifted the Portable Urinal. That’s a sentence I never thought I’d type.)
As I’ve grown older, the Christmas season has become less of a nostalgic, carefree experience filled with cookies and egg nog. Instead, it has turned into this holiday that sneaks up behind me while I’m trying to survive the winter months, and reminds me that I’m a poor student with a terrible procrastination problem and no real sense of finances. Thankfully, one thing that still brings me joy during these “jolly” times, is the PGP Secret Santa gift exchange. This year, fate was on my side, as I had the one and only Kevin Caulfield as my own personal Santa Claus. Imagine my surprise when I tore open the box to find not only a Wine-Saver tool made specifically for preserving my favorite beverage, but a hard copy of a novel I have been itching to get my hands on for months: The Autobiography of Gucci Mane. With these gifts, I will be able to extend the life of my endless bottles of cabernet sauvignon. In addition, I will be able to enjoy what I predict to be the greatest novel of our generation on my flight to Las Vegas today while I sip champagne out of a small plastic cup in economy. Stay icy.
I got the best gift of anyone and that’s not up for debate. The personal factor was extremely high, since my Secret Santa Jenna Crowley was able to deduce that I am in fact a crazy bunny lady. My gift included a tee-shirt pronouncing “best friends for life” as seen above, which is very much a true statement. I also received the cutest jar of Hershey kisses which were all eaten within 24 hours, because I have no self- control. I tried to get a picture of me wearing my lovely new shirt with my fat-ass rabbit, Popcorn, in the shot. However, he was not being the best sport when it came to having his photo taken, and blocked most of the shirt while simultaneously covering it in fur. I was only able to get one photo before he started thrashing around in my arms and had to be set back down so he could go back to his favorite activity of hiding behind my desk chewing on the Wifi Router cords. I now have even more street cred in the world of domestic rabbit ownership, and a very big thank you to my Secret Santa Jenna for providing the gear that made it possible.
For this year’s PGP Secret Santa gift exchange, the illustrious JR Hickey purchased for me a collection of paraphernalia from the greatest comedy to ever grace the television airwaves: Seinfeld. Knowing my penchant for writing articles that are related to Seinfeld, dropping references in my articles faster than Newman running to get a pot for the Soup Nazi’s soup, he first bought me a copy of Jerry Seinfeld’s only book, ‘SeinLanguage.’ In addition, he was kind enough to include a vanity New York City license plate declaring me, much like our friend Cosmo Kramer, the ‘Assman.’ This sentiment is, of course, true in my everyday life and I shall prominently display this in my house. Finally, JR included a lovely card with a hand-written note, where he professed his eternal love and desire to leave the capital-F fiancee to start our life together as orange vendors under the freeway in Tampa Bay. A great man, and some great gifts.
About a week and a half ago, a gigantic package came to my neighbor’s doorstep while I was at work. They started to lug it inside until they realized that it said my name in big, bright pink letters and realized that it was not, in fact, for them.
I spent a week and a half wondering what the hell could be in this box. Cooking supplies? A bowling ball? A typewriter? A science kit? A blender? A weight set? A really fat bunny?
Turns out, it was beer, something that I will never not love. Unfortunately, I haven’t had a chance to try any yet because it’s being housed at my girlfriend’s place and I’ve been too busy to pick it up. But either way, big thanks to Kelly for sending it my way! Although the note about listening to Creed was pretty fucked up.
Whatever Lola Wants
At a recent holiday work dinner, I was the only person to speak up when asked if the table needed another bottle of wine. (We did. Obviously) Crick Watson MD gets me and my unashamedly wine guzzling habits and came through with this dandy king size wine glass that holds an entire bottle. Am I afraid I will get reckless with it? Most definitely. The chance of more drunken weeknights regularly appearing in my future is at 100% and I am not mad about it. Luckily part two of my gift, a shiny new pack of colored pencils, will keep Drunk Me off the streets and cozied up inside with an adult coloring book through the upcoming winter months. Its peak season to get tipsy and pretend you’re creative and I can’t thank Dr. Watson enough for preparing me.
You may be noticing my absence on the podcast, so I’ll address the rumors that I skipped the podcast to watch the Patriots. They’re hundo P true. But, it was the biggest regular season game of the year. It was the fourth quarter and the game was tight! Plus I was home this weekend and watching with my dad. I don’t get many of those Sundays anymore since moving to Boston. Sue me. (We also had some people over and I thought it would’ve been rude to dip out on them, but it was 95% a football-related absence).
Okay, onto my gifts. First things first, I thought it was a Secret Santa, so why did Crash Davis Bandujo reveal his identity to me? No idea. HOWEVA, I’m glad he blew the secret because now I know who to thank. These gifts? St Elmo’s Fire flames emojis time a billion. Pure heat 11/0 gift. Because everyone knows I’m all about the brand the brand the brand. And nothing hammers home #thebrand like a solid marketing scheme. Promoting my Fire ‘Fit Fridays via a mug AND mouse pad? I mean that’s Jimmy Neutron levels of genius! I can’t over emphasize how electric these gifts are. Well done, Kyle.
PS – I might sue USPS because I paid extra for the 2-day ground shipping TEN DAYS AGO and my Secret Santa recipient hasn’t gotten her dope gift yet and I’m heated.
HUGE shout out to Whatever Lola Wants for hooking it the fuck up. 10/10. She killed it. In my opinion, she perfectly showcased all things me through the gifts she chose. Let’s start with the shot glasses. The Cubs winning the World Series is a top 5 moment of my life, and during that run, I downed more shots than I’d ever care to admit to my family. While the Bears glass represents those sad drinking times that the Bears have been responsible for in my life for the last few years (I still miss you, Jay). The book she sent to me is all about my first love, Whiskey. I love learning about all different types of Whiskey and I can’t wait to begin expanding my palate beyond its regularly scheduled programming of Jameson consumption. As for the booze. If I’m being honest, I have no clue what it is. It says it’s Icelandic, which scares me a little if I’m being honest, but I’m also giddy as hell to try it.
No, YOU have a drinking problem.
I’ve always been very specific with my gift asking. If you want your gift-giver to feel proud and happy and feel like they did something right for once, this should always be your strategy. I also believe one should strongly know thyself. So when you’re basic as fuck and ask for things like “fancy cheese” or an eyemask for traveling that says, “I Sleep With Strangers” on it, own it. Other items on my list included wine glasses with funny sayings, anything Kate Spade and a t-shirt that said, “If Found, Return to First Class.” I wanted to give my PGP Secret Santa options. Everyone loves options. But at the end of the day, my PGP Secret Santa really came through with two solid pairs of grippy socks for barre class, and a towel for yoga. Now I just have to find the motivation to put them to use…
Listen, I’m hard to shop for – I know that. What the hell do you buy a guy whose hobbies include stand-up, hot yoga, and being a band-wagon Golden State Warriors fan? A Steph Curry branded yoga mat? (BRB, googling if that’s an actual thing.) So, as much as I’d like to, I can’t exactly hate on Shibby for gifting me with perhaps the most unoriginal gift in this Secret Santa, a $25 gift card to ManOutfitters. However, I can totally crap all over his timing as that my e-gift arrived a mere 30 minutes before we recorded the Secret Santa edition of Don’t Take It From Us. Way to creep right up to the deadline there, buddy.
Crick Watson, MD
As most of you know, I spend 22 Mondays out of the year sitting on my couch from 8 to 10 PM EST watching the greatest television franchise in TV history, The Bachelor (Bachelorette, BIP, etc). Not that these shows need any additives to make them more entertaining but they are a great excuse to take a nice glass (read: bottle) of wine the face. Beloved fellow PGP contributor Best knows this and so graciously gifted me to engraved Bachelor wine glasses – one that says “Rosé over Roses” and another one “Right Reasons.” They are now the exclusive drinking vessels of Crick Watson’s Monday nights. See you January 1st, bitches.
Post Grad Shibby
This year I was selected by infamous PGP blackout extraordinaire, Charlie.
I couldn’t tell you what he got me, or even if he got me anything. You see the last thing he remembered was popping an Ambien and fading out slowly scrolling through Amazon while indulging in his drink of choice, a fifth of room temperature southern comfort with a Four-Loko chaser….
If only his night was that tame.
The next morning he awoke underneath the Chicago bean covered in glitter, chocolate syrup, cocaine, blood, and what he hoped wasn’t semen. As his mind slowly processed the state he was in, a wave of panic overcame him as he quickly patted down his pockets to make sure he still had everything. As usual his keys were secure in the left front pocket, phone in the back left, and his wallet in the back right. He sighed in relief and went to check his phone, the only evidence of his previous night a random number that he assumed was a tracking number….which as you can see above, it wasn’t.
After calling an Uber he finally arrived home. Feeling exhausted he stumbled his way to the shower, immediately tossing the glittery chocolate & cocaine covered clothes on the floor. However on his way into the shower he was shocked to see a new tattoo on his left butt-cheek reflecting back at him through the bathroom mirror. In what looked to be Spanish the phrase, “inserta drogas aquí” reflected back at him along with a giant arrow pointing right, which just happened to be the worst direction for an arrow to be pointing on your left butt-cheek.
And that’s the story of how Charlie spent this year’s Secret Santa as a drug mule for the Los Zetas cartel. My gift to all of you PGPers, since my Secret Santa forgot to send mine.
By the grace of the Secret Santa gods, my benefactor this year was my fellow New England sports fan, Cush. As such, I was lucky enough to be gifted with this awesome Patriots hat. Even better? It’s magical. As we opened our gifts, Tom Brady and Co. were in a battle to the finish with Pittsburgh and it looked like those pesky Steelers might pull off a W. But after I put on my new head gear, a shitty call by the refs that worked in our favor was followed by an interception, and my beloved team came away with the win. You can chalk it up to good defense, but I’m believing in the power of my new magic hat.
This year, Josh T. got me in the Secret Santa. I am always appreciative of these things because people know me as a huge New England / Boston sports fan so I usually get some sweet stuff with my favorite team’s logo. Josh came through with a couple of absolutely mint Celtics koozies, equipped with magnets sewn right into the side of them. I’ll be able to slap these bad boys on my truck for tailgating or to the side of a fishing boat. Partying just became so much easier. Thanks Josh!
Well, folks, you were about to receive 100 words on why Boston Max is a fugly slut who cannot be trusted. Instead, you get to hear about how the US Postal Service teamed up with the squeege eaters at my building to make sure I didn’t receive the package until two days after the virtual gift exchange. However, the gift itself is lovely: a family card game called “Joking Hazard” by the wholesome folks at Cyanide and Happiness. I can’t wait to make some memories playing this with my Catholic family who thinks “hell” is a bad word. Thanks Boston Max!
I’m not sure if Miss Mackay is a natural gift giver or realized from her experience as an educator and dealing with children (like myself) instilled this value.
I’m a huge Hey Arnold! fan. One of my favorite shows growing up and now I have a sick shirt for Christmas. A WVU bandana for my dogs, who frequently join in on the tailgate and, last but not least, an air hockey set for any surface, which I immediately tore open and used to fuck with my cats. Thanks so much!
My Secret Santa was none other than the one, the only, Taylor. The fact that she took the time out of her incredibly busy law school schedule to think of lil ole me was gift enough! Taylor sent me a sketchbook that will fit perfectly in my bag, accompanied with various pens, so I can write various to-do lists and draw and doodle until my hand falls off. Taylor’s generosity didn’t stop there as she also sent some required reading in the form of ‘Bossypants’ by Tina Fey – something I will be opening during the winter break that both Taylor and I still have, (a ha, suckers). The cherry on top? Burt’s Bees, to keep my lips moisturized and tinted all winter long. I hope everyone else is lucky enough to have a Santa that spoils them too. Thanks, Taylor!.