I have a rich fantasy life apparently. I got a voicemail last night, which I have yet to return, that prompted all kinds of outrageous ideas to pop into my head. And from the womb of these ideas, this list was born.
Things I have to develop once I land my New York or LA agent
1. a cocaine habit. Obviously.
2. a treatment for a biopic about my rise to greatness despite my short stature and working-class background. Oh wait... that's the log line for Rudy.
3. a sweatier, firmier handshake.
4. a love of oversized men's watches and decadent rims.
5. an outward projection of love for cupcakes even though I despise them on the inside.
6. a crush on a Weinstein.
7. a passion for earthquakes, riots, brush fires, muggings and street-smart ROUSs.
8. my own clothing line.
9. an interest in international adoption.
10. an understanding of the cellular telephone technology.
Do you see? There is clearly something wrong with me. In my mind I have already moved to LA or NY, spray-tanned my inner thighs and bought some friends. Because of one voicemail! Why can't I calm down about everything? I'm always in such a rush to dive off the deep end. I need some Paxil or a glass of red wine or an intracranial massage. Or better yet, I actually need an agent to say those three magical words: "As you wish."