Things I Want to Happen (That Never Will)

The title says it all. I’m a pretty big daydreamer, and even I grudgingly accept that some of my best fantasies will never come to fruition. But there is just SO MUCH STUFF I want to happen, I guess some of it’s bound to be impossible. Like…

Having sex with Cry Baby-era Johnny Depp. Yes, the man is like a fine wine that gets better with age, but dude is still OLD now! Oh, how I wish I had a time machine to waste on twenty-six-year-old Johnny.

Winning fifty billion dollars. Or inheriting it, I’m not picky. See, while some optimists might say this isn’t impossible, let’s be real–I don’t play the lotto, I don’t know of any rich relatives, and even if I did magically get a windfall of cash (pleasepleaseplease), it would never be that much. Fifty billion is “throw out scuffed Jimmy Choos” rich.

Being French. You can’t change genetics, and while I’d never toss away my own face and blonde hair on some weird French nose and mousy brown locks, I would die for the accent and access to tried-and-true beauty secrets (those French hold out in interviews, I swear–I’ve read French Women Don’t Get Fat, and I think there’s more to the story then they’re letting on).

Having an amazing talent. I am not without my skills, but I am not “the best” at anything. Wouldn’t it be cool to be, even if it was something dumb?

Being an amazing cook. I guess this is similar to the previous one, except I don’t want to be the best cook, or even halfway best, just pretty good. It will never happen. Never. I hate cooking, and I will always hate cooking, which is why literally every meal I eat has under 5 ingredients (never underestimate the stimulating powers of chili powder, lemon juice, lettuce, bottled sauces, and butter).

Seeing every country in the world. I started to write “every cool place in the world,” but I refuse to put that on a list of things that will never happen, because it’s one of my life goals, damn it! But it’s crazy to me how we live on a big frosty marble and don’t save the money or make the time to leave our tiny portion of it. Brasil, people? Ireland? Have you seen pictures of Greece? I’d even go to Antarctica, just to say I have.

To be honest, this list is starting to get a little depressing, since I want all these things and I feel like I’m condemning them to impossibility, so I’ll cut it short. And if a young Depp knocks on my door, I’ll take it as a sign from the universe that there’s still hope on that 50 bil.

Good Gifts for Your Hairdresser & Manicurist

I picked up a copy of the December Allure last night, and it was a real treat, like all magazines. Magazines are like candy that you read. They’re so glossy and shiny and beautiful, and, just like candy, you enjoy them for a little while and then they’re gone (read: you threw them out because you got sick of the cover model’s face staring up at you from your coffee table).

https://i1.wp.com/24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_me8agtzsmW1r6n4i7o1_500.jpg

But one little segment in Allure caught my eye. It was a section–a whole section–on good holiday gifts for your service people. Specifically, your hairdresser and your manicurist  “Why, how marrrrrvelous!” I declared. “I was looking for a good gift for Mr. Fekkai!” Oh, wait, no I didn’t, because I don’t have a hairdresser or a manicurist  The suggestion was probably written by one, actually, since they suggested you buy them a wallet or a cashmere scarf.

https://i1.wp.com/data.whicdn.com/images/44805335/tumblr_mdz3axWCcC1rqr6mzo1_1280_large.jpg

Now, I am all for gifting to the people that help make your day a little brighter. And I am sure that hairdressers and manicurists deserve a lot of cashmere scarves considering the insufferable people they have to make small talk to all day. But who the hell does Allure think is reading Allure?! I’m sure some richies do pick it up, but since it also sits next to the Reese’s Cups at the Wegman’s checkout, I’d say a lot more non-riches are regular readers. And who really needs advise on what to get their hairdresser? If you’re swank enough to have your own (which is now a personal dream of mine, after reading that article–it sounds pretty fab) and have the resources to buy them luxe presents, I think you–or your personal shopper–probably already have that on lock.

https://i0.wp.com/data.whicdn.com/images/44817202/tumblr_m75xpzII461rvva76o1_1280_large.jpg

That being said, I will do anyone’s nails for a cashmere sweater.

A Work of Living

Jobs are a bleak dreary horrible thing. If you are some kind of freak who likes their job, then you can just go sit in the corner with some construction paper and scissors and cut yourself some confetti. Otherwise, you are probably a normal person who wants to die for 8 hours a day.

Cats make the wanting-to-die thing a little better.

Do you know that movie The Island, where everyone lives on a secret hippie commune island and they all pitch in for food and shelter and get to live in a beautiful paradise together? That is what life should be. Instead, people work all day to survive, but they are wasting their lives at work. It’s a paradox, or a circle, or something smart-sounding: you work to make money –> you make money to enjoy life –> you can’t enjoy life because you’re working.

But what if you could have any job ever? What would you be? I never really gave this any thought because the obvious answer is “independently wealthy.” I am not at all ashamed to admit that I would gladly sit around and shop and drink tea and travel to exotic places and do nothing of value to society if I had the G’s. But if I had to have a dream job not titled “rich bitch,” I’ve figured out what I would be.

  1. A stylist. You get to shop for a living. And hang out with celebrities. And if you hated them and they were obnoxious and self-absorbed, you could put them in something hideous and call it “cutting edge.”
  2. A magazine editor. You get to put together a book full of shopping ideas. Plus, you get to make Anne Hathaway do your bidding, and I don’t care for her so I would make her do stupid things like fetch me lattes whilst on a unicycle.
  3. A museum curator. You get to shop for art for a living. And, you can help up-and-coming artists become the next Andy Warhol but less creepy and rude.
  4. An artist. I can’t think of a quip for this one because I would absolutely love making art for a living.
  5. A blogger, which if you get paid for it, is just like being independently wealthy while taking lots of pictures. (Hey there WordPress, wanna pay me?)

Rich and famous people always say you should “be what you love” and all that shit, and I am for chasing your dreams like a My Pretty Pony prancing through a field of daises, but in my opinion that only applies if you love garbage removal or difficult math. “I love to shop” doesn’t exactly translate into a stellar job.

So, the best I can hope for is the zombie apocalypse (totally not influenced by The Walking Dead playing in the background right now) so that I can steal all the clothes I want from abandoned malls and then go live in some former stylist’s mansion.

Let’s Hate Ourselves

If you live in America, you probably hate yourself. Don’t feel bad, it’s just a thing, like knowing the Pledge of Allegiance or owning Levi’s. (I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic, for which it stands, one nation, under God, with liberty and justice for all! Is that right? I typed it out of memory, okay?)

Anyway, people react to this whole society-makes-us-hate-ourselves thing in two ways: they either pretend they love everything about themselves and that their every flaw is a precious adorable diamond, or they keep a secret mental list of everything they would change about themselves if they could. An easy way to find out which type of person your friend is is to ask one simple question: “If you could get plastic surgery, what would you get done?” Absolutely everyone is going to swear they would never get it and they don’t want it, but the fine folks in sector two will then say, “But if I had to…” and then launch into their I-Suck List.

I am fully aware that this is kind of depressing and sad and blah blah blah, but it’s also totally fun if you still generally like yourself but have some things you would like to change. It’s like a game, except you can never win! Me, for instance: I would have thicker hair and perfect skin with a perennial tan and a ten-digit bank account. You just have to be careful not to play too much, or you might find yourself sobbing on the floor and slowly cutting off sections of your eyelashes.

This uplifting message has been brought to you by the WildHearts! And, big disclaimer, whatever you hate about yourself, someone else probably stalks you taking photographs of and wants to lick (your big feet, for instance). So just roll with it like our hippie-dippy friends in Sector One!

If I Had a Million Dollars, I’d Be Rich (But I Digress)

If I had a million dollars, I would not buy you a house, or a fur coat (but not real fur, ’cause that’s cruel), or an exotic pet.

Seriously, though. I wouldn’t buy any of the things in that song. No offense, Internet. It’s just that I already have a lot of plans for what I’d purchase with my fictional bucks. It’s a pastime of mine, daydreaming about all the stuff I’d have if I was rich. (What do rich people daydream about, do you think? Because they sure as fuck aren’t jonesing for Kraft mac-n-cheese or a twin-size bed. But I digress.)

If you eat caviar every day, this is a delicacy.

So here it is. The official WildHearts if-I-get-rich shopping list.

  1. Weed. Lots and lots and lots of weed. And a beautiful bong, and a cute little bowl, and a gorgeous vape. In fact, I would have a special room in my mansion (see Number 2) just to hotbox.
  2. A mansion.
  3. A butler named Jenkins. Or Watson. If he has a different name, I will force him to change it.
  4. A bunch of fluffy, friendly dogs and cats.
  5. A Porsche Spyder, and a Mini Cooper.

I probably put too many pictures of people smoking on here, but whether you’re down with the ganj or not, you have to admit that smoke is very aesthetically pleasing. Besides, I thought to myself, What would the lovely People of the Internet prefer, a photo of an old British butler, or a pretty girl? I made a judgment call. But, once more, I digress.

Other things I would like include a maid, a fennel fox called Sebastian, really nice leather boots, headphones that don’t just indiscriminately blast music to the world while barely reaching my ears (thanks, iPod), and a Hello Kitty water dispenser. So watch out, world. When I make my millions, you’re gonna…you’re gonna…well, you’re not gonna hear Ke$ha blasting from my head when I walk by, that’s what!