The Beginning Of A Beautiful E-Relationship

When I grow up, I want to be a brillant prose writer; pretending to know what I'm writing about though I've never lived it, pretending to know what my characters are thinking though they do not exist, thus do not think (see: I Think Therefore I Am), and pretending to know I am the best at what I do and can write worth two shits of a dime-store clerk. I want to introduce myself as 'a writer' and not feel like puking and blushing simultaneously as I excuse myself from the conversation. I want to wow the world with my wit, and stop giggling when I accidently use alteration (though that day will most likely never come, and I am secretly happy about that).

After that, I want to be a junkie. Not on drugs, of course, I'm too classy for that and far too squeamish; No, I want to be a junkie on something else, something that agrees with me. Pornography, perhaps. I want to wear long sweatshirts and tight-eighties jeans and get away with not brushing my hair, though it would always be clean. I want to have runny mascara and mutter to myself about 'life' and 'art' and have those rants sound like they do need air quotes when I spoke of them. I want to sleep on a mattress on the floor in the middle of a room with no furniture and think it chic. I want to write long rambling letters to friends about my life in the furniture-less room with my messy hair and my 'art', and making wonderful observations about the world around me, so that when envelopes with my writing on them arrived in the post, people would smile.

Then I want to make people smile. I love to laugh, and I want to share that. I like the idea of being a stand-up comic or a talk-show host, but have no idea where to start. I just want to laugh and giggle and snicker with the actors I know and love. I think Jeff Goldblum would be an amazing verbal sparing partner.

I'd like to be in a band.

I want to act. I want to be in a film that people talk about for good reasons and I want to go to the Oscars and take along a friend who would love the night as much as I would. I want to put on a different accent. I like the idea of having a professional do my eye-makeup. I would want to help pick out the soundtrack, to better fit my character. E! would get my greatest 'red carpet' smile as I told them about my life on the matress and how much I owed to Baby. I like the idea of being cryptic with the media. I'd hug big stars as if we knew each other for years, though I only made one big film and they didn't even know my real name (I would drop my last name and find another one, of course). I would start with Hugh Laurie; he has nice arms.

Then I would become a washed-up hack. I want a game-show to host, or perhaps a series of novels only die-hard fans would read, and even then it would only be to see if I had truly lost it. And I would. Loose it, that is. My hair would be messy again, and my jeans would be traded in for pajama bottoms with Scooby-Doo on them, and a baggy t-shirt that said 'NYPD', though I never was a cop or played one on T.V.. I would wear huge sunglasses and a hat when I went shopping, though no one would recognize me anyway, and if they did, they would think me someone I wasn't, and ask for an autograph (Which I would give, so starved for the stardom I gave up). I would miss my characters from my prose of yesterday. I would begin talking to them. In Public.

My E! True Hollywood story would have many commerical breaks, advertising Dove shampoos and Kellog's Special K cereal.

At my funeral, I want 'You Can't Always Get What You Want' to be played. Like in 'The Big Chill'. Perhaps William Hurt will attend my services, too. I want big gawdy flower arrangements with lilies in them, but only because of my name. No other meaning. I don't even like them that much. I want someone to cry for me, but they have to be wearing mascara that is not water proof to get the full effect. I want a woman in a wide-rimmed hat and Jackie-O sunglasses to weep at my grave, dabbing her handkerchief at her eyes with her white kid-gloved hands trembling. I want to have made a difference. I don't want any of my true friends to cry, just the woman in the mascara and the lady with the wide-rimmed hat. They would be paid in full afterwards.

I like the idea of all this.
But I won't practice what I preach.