Sacred Haven of Debauchery

Hello, Grandfather Frost! My name is Exz. I am 17 years old! Not too young, not too old, but I believe and hope that you exist and are reading my letter right now. My mother is a very mean aunt. She doesn't allow me to write letters to you, so I'm sitting here in Wikipedia writing this letter. Mom only lets me go out to play until 5:23 PM. When I don't listen to her, she throws a frying pan at me and often hits me right in the fingers =( One day, I couldn't take it anymore and said to her: "abyrvalg!". My father works as a metallurgist, and when he comes home from work in a bad mood, he shouts: "Troekheromokhnoglaz!" and makes me fix his head. But I don't know how to fix anything, so I end up making jam. He gets even angrier and forbids me from playing "catch me with a brick" with my friends. My father also gave me a nickname, and now he calls me not Exz, but Primus! This is very upsetting. In general, Grandfather Frost, if you're not a jerk, you'll understand how bad things are for me. Dear Grandfather Frost, red nose, take me with you or send me a frying pan. Also, make it so that the people close to me love me and give me money for beer more often. My beloved Grandfather Frost, you are my last chance. I hope that for the New Year, I will find a frying pan under the Christmas tree. Grandfather Frost, understand how bad things are for me. If you don't read this letter or it doesn't reach you, I'm screwed. Remember that I believe in you, damn it!