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.

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Celeb-brattys

All celebrities must kind of be assholes brats. I mean, unless you’re the bestfuckingpersonever, I don’t see how all the endless adoration doesn’t go to you head. (It wouldn’t go to mine, of course, since I’m so great, but I digress.) People dedicate hours to making fan pages for you, they cry if they meet you, they spend $10 to hang a poster of you over their bed. You are larger-than-life to the average person, and if that’s not enough to make you a raging narcissist, all your people–agents, friends, directors, show hosts, journalists–fall all over you to give in to your every need.

But probably the most brat-inducing thing about being a celebrity is that people. Fucking. Love. You. I don’t mean all the stuff written above–that they love seeing you, and your work, and blah blah blah. In addition to that, they love YOU. The human. They want to know every little thing about you–your favorite color, how much you weigh, what your childhood was like, what you eat for a midnight snack, what movies are your favorites. They love you so God damn much they want to crawl inside your skin and be you. And that’s a lot of power for someone like, say, Lindsay Lohan.

It’s also the thing that I think (besides the free clothes) would be the best about being a celebrity. You get to talk about yourself all the time and answer stupid questions–that’s fun! Why the hell else would everyone take an hour back in 2003 to fill out those 300-question surveys on MySpace? WE LOVE OURSELVES. So, that shit would be cray.

And so I’m gonna do it! You should too, my regular-ass readers, because let’s face it–we’re all pretty and talented and interesting enough to be famous, we just don’t have famous parents or a coke habit (I hope). So feel free to fill out the Celebratty Full-of-Yourself Questionnaire in the comments–I promise, it’s almost as fun as having the paparazzi stalk your every move.

  1. Place of birth. I’ll never tell. What?! I’m not the famous one here.
  2. Number of tattoos, and meanings. One–freedom, beauty, and love.
  3. Favorite food. Spicy tuna roll.
  4. Pets? One kitten.
  5. Worst thing about being famous. Free drugs.
  6. Best thing about being famous. Free drugs.
  7. Favorite designer. Bags, Balenciaga. Shoes, Louboutin. Dresses, Oscar de la Renta.
  8. Favorite childhood memory. The lake.
  9. Inspirational quote. “C’est la vie.”

This is dumb, now that I wrote it. I’m going to post it anyway. C’est la vie!