Sitting outside at the caf頩n the piazza in Menaggio at Lake Como, gelato in hand.
Or possibly just at the Pike Place Market because there’s a gelato place there too and I could watch the cute boys throw the fish and get some expensive apple chips and look at the tourists and maybe go to the Aquarium after because if there’s anything I like more than gelato it’s echinoderms and they have a very good pet-the-starfish exhibit there.
In final negotiations with some magic moving company that waves its wand over my current house and transports all my stuff to the new place without my having to lift a single finger or sweat or curse or cry.
Responding to hilarious email sent to me by various excellent people.
Finishing up my brilliant, fresh, up-to-the-minute novel and going, “Well, that wasn’t so hard!”
Swimming in the pool at the ABL, wearing the pimp hat.
Setting up my new imaginary computer and finally getting this whole iTunes business.
Going to the Quiet Gardens and catching a glimpse of the infamous salt-water crocodile. And then my mom has morros and maduros for me when I get back and I go over to Marah’s house with Ashley and Manya and briefly, there are no husbands or babies and we just sit around together and hug each other and have a quietly good time and then their husbands and babies come back and we all go to Sir Pizza together and then for a walk on the beach at night and there are no dead man-o-wars anywhere to be seen.
Watching The Office again and fighting with Eliza about who gets to be Tim’s girlfriend. I think, though, that since Eliza and I are sensible women we will ultimately decide just to share him and that way no one gets hurt.
Touching My Friend Amy’s big pregnant belly. With permission, of course. You don’t think I would touch a pregnant woman’s belly without permission, do you?
On a funicular.
Eating grilled corn on the cob at a barbecue.
At a strip club with my girls, and since I know them I get a lap dance for free, but it’s from another stripper that doesn’t live at my house because that would be weird but this stripper who doesn’t live at my house is still a very nice stripper and while she’s giving me the lap dance we talk about long hair vs. short hair and she tells me her hair history and I tell her mine and we sort of laugh and say isn’t this a funny conversation to have during a lap dance and she goes “You’d be surprised” and then I invite her over for lunch with me and all my stripper friends and I give her a big tip and when she comes over she brings a really good taco salad.
Going through one single week without a canker sore on my gum. This week? It’s right underneath my bottom front teeth, like where my lip connects with my jaw, or whatever and it’s killing me. Does this mean I’m eating too many acidy things? Does it mean I should stop drinking the balsamic vinegar straight from the bottle?
Doing all sorts of deliciously nasty things that I’m not going to get into detail with because my mom read this, but you know what I mean. Yes. That. That too. And that, especially that.
Auditioning for The Real World except The Real World when it was cool which is also the last time I saw it…I read Gael’s piece about the show’s sad decline which made me sort of glad that I haven’t seen it since San Francisco but sort of sad that I have not as yet made a recording of myself singing a song I wrote about The Real World, the chorus of which goes a little something like this:
You’re so real to me
I watch you on MTV, yeah yeah
The camera’s inside my mind
It’s The Real World…and I love you so!
It’s beautiful, yes? You have to imagine it as a sort of breathy mid-nineties girly song a la Lisa Loeb with that “You Say” song, with a lot of “yeah-hee-yeah-hee-yeah!”s and “Whoa-ooh-whoa-ooh-whoa”s in it. Man, if I had sent in that song, back when they allowed fat girls on that show? I would have so been in it. You would have seen me on TV and you’d have gone “Hey, I know that girl!” and you would have wondered exactly why my hair looks like that and why I never stop talking, ever, for even one minute, and then maybe you’d change the channel and then the ratings would go down and then MTV would fire me and both Bunim and Murray would die prematurely and this would all be my fault somehow and maybe it’s best I never sent that song in.
Oh, you know, just in my house in my pajamas, sitting on the floor and listening to music and petting the cat and maybe eating some hummus or a Tofutti Cutie and feeling the sun on my shoulders since we just had the solstice but still it doesn’t get really dark until ten. Damn, doing anything, anywhere, but what I’m doing and where I am right now.