Things that could entice me to leave Los Angeles

The Onion comes a calling.  This satirical newspaper is conveniently headquartered in my hometown (Chicago).  In my future blissful reality, the editors get a hold of Wine Will Fix It and stop at NOTHING to get me on staff as a writer.  Then I spend the rest of my life making up news and stuffing myself with free chips and pop in the writer’s room.  They pay me just enough to afford to live in Andersonville where I will drink imported beer at the Hop Leaf and share recreational drugs with my musician friends.  I will end up supporting my artist boyfriend who will eat soy cheese.  I will complain for approximately 10+ years about how much better the weather is in Los Angeles.

University of North Carolina decides I’d make a decent therapist.  In this scenario I get off my ass and apply for a PhD in counseling psychology. I work 80 hours a week and get paid slave wages in order to achieve three nifty letters after my last name.  I live in a basement apartment in Chapel Hill because it’s all I can afford.  I don’t see sunlight for approximately five years.  My doctoral work will pale in comparison to my dad’s.  I feel like a failure.  I die frustrated and angry surrounded by Duke fans. 

Villagers in a small island off of Thailand worship me as their God.  I sleep on palm fronds and eat exotic fruits.  I smoke their peace pipe and espouse my views on the connectedness of the universe.  I interpretive dance my feelings.  I give up make up and shaving my legs.  I end up pregnant.  My child does not speak English.  No one I know now hears from me for years.

My power hungry competitive self gets a job where personal assistants and Lincoln town cars are required.  I live in some place even more expensive than LA like San Fran or NYC in a loft.  You can see my kitchen, my claw foot bath tub and my mattress from every point in my overpriced room.  I am waifishly skinny because I don’t have time to eat.  I can inflict pain on my employees just through staring at them.  I run on adrenaline, caffeine and illicit extra marital affairs.  I wear fabulous high heel shoes and pay all of my bills early. 

Justifiable homicide lands me in San Quentin.  Finally, my love of the HBO hit Drama “Oz” comes in handy.  I learn to quickly assimilate within the social hierarchy of the prison system.  I am forced to do hours of laundry and go to confession.  I attempt suicide once.  I write my memoirs with my free time and pick up lifting weights.  I get a bitching tattoo. 

“They” choose me.  I’ve already said too much.