Things That Would Make Me Happy

I was just thinking materially, as I usually do and thought of a few things that would make my life better and more worth living. If you should like to buy me these things, please do, I shan’t stop you.

1. Burberry Coat:

Burberry_SS2011_Menswear5My life is an injustice in many ways. I don’t live anywhere remotely cultural, I’m nowhere near being famous, I never have enough money, and Victoria Beckham is not my mother. Granted, she would have been around sixteen, I think, if she had given birth to me, but I feel that if I were to be born into any celebrity clan, that would be the one. I would have certainly disappointed my father, David, since I don’t share his enthusiasm for the sporting things, but my mother would have worshipped me and quickly spun me into her muse. Her son, the one I should have probably been — Romeo, now does modeling for Burberry. He’s ten.

Romeo_Beckham_BurberryJust kill me. Put me out of my misery. He has everything I’ve never had! (Holla at the Ab Fab reference!) All I want is a Burberry coat of my own. I’ll have one someday, but I want one now. Well, not now — it’s mid-spring, but for this winter. I want to go to a Burberry store and I want a flute of champagne and I want a fancy ass coat draped on my shoulders. It’ll be like the time I went to Chanel, except I’ll actually leave with something I can wear. Harrumph. Harrumph at you, Romeo Beckham and your luck and fame and irresistible boyish charms.

2. An Ass:

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This is not me, obviously, I was not genetically blessed in the back. That is sad to me every single day. I think about it all the time. Muscles in general just don’t seem to work for me. The region where my abs are slowly developing is a miracle that I give thanks to the vanity gods every day, but I still have the world’s scrawniest arms and saddest excuse for an ass this side of the Mississippi. That’s probably not true, but it feel that way. I buy jeans and my lovely gentleman lumps don’t fill them out nicely. It’s a travesty to my potential admirers. I saw this “squat challenge” thing when I was stuck in Tumblr the other day. It takes thirty days and at the end you’re supposed to have a bootylicious — HOLD THAT THOUGHT, BEYONCÉ BREAK:

Isn’t it funny that Michelle and Kelly think they can compare with my Bey? Ok, back to my butt. “What butt?” my more observant readers might ask. “Shut up,” I say. I’m going to try that squat thing, I guess. Why can’t I just have the perfect body from walking and typing?

Oh, and if you were wondering, you can buy an ass — it’s a cosmetic surgery very similar to breast augmentation. Or, you can get excess fat syphoned off into your derrière. I think I’ll go for the implants.

3. Versace Underwear:

Versace

This seems to be a continuation of number two, but no matter. I could easily buy myself underwear, but I can never find them for sale. Where do you procure Versace undergarments when there is no Versace store around in these hinterlands I call home? Come to think of it, have I ever seen a Versace store? Thinking…bear with…bear with…bear with…don’t think so. But, and prepare to shout hooray, I found them online! What magic Google gives us. $40. I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much on a single pair of underwear. Whatever. It’s going to be worth it. Not really sure why I want a pair from them so much, I just like the Greek-styled waistband. I only buy Andrew Christian underwear, but…I might break my exclusive affair one time. Hurry up, payday!

4. A Home Depot Gift Card:

Martha-Stewart-Home-DepotThis may come as something of a surprise to you, dear reader, but I love DIY projects and have found that I’m rather good at them. I have an especially bizarre talent with electricity. In another life I would be an electrician. Who knows, I may end up one still. Nothing ever turns out the way we think it does. If life was made of rainbows and cookies and all our dreams came true, I’d be an Egyptologist-model that writes best-selling books in his spare time and does a few Oscar-nominated acting jobs ever so often. I’d be fabulously wealthy and have a few homes in select locations around the globe. Anyway, I always have a new project in mind, but that requires a trip to the Home Depot — I won’t go to Lowes, that’s for peasants, you know — and spending a bit more money than intended. That always happens. I currently have plans for my dining room that are driving me insane because I want to get started, but I have several other little things that need done first: redecorate my bedroom, finish the entryway, and prepare the kitchen for the installation of my professional range. I also want to redo the cabinets, but that will have to wait until school’s out ON MONDAY! Sweet lord, Krishna, I could not be more thrilled. Anyway, I could use some Home Depot cash. Maybe I’ll bump into my sprit animal, Martha, while I’m there. She always pops into them when she’s touring the country.

5. A Berthillon Cookbook:

IMG_0743The best ice cream in the world is found at a little shop in Paris called Berthillon. All of us Parisians are obsessed with it. When the weather gets just a bit nice, we all make a mad dash for the island and a cone of sorbet and a place along the quay. Listen to me, writing as if I still lived there…sigh…I HATE LIVING AWAY FROM PARIS. It’s where I belong. I don’t know what I’d do there to support myself. Why can’t a rich person take me in? Why can’t I become the muse of a fashion designer? Why can’t I hide away in the Louvre and live in one of the storage rooms — those are beautiful, by the way. Anyway, the ice cream at Berthillon is amazing and I have never had a bad cone. The cones themselves are heaven. Grapefruit sorbet is my favorite, but the chocolate is also delightful, and oh, the green apple was so good! I’m craving some right now. I love everything about the Berthillon experience. The convivial line, the people stripping next to the river and exposing their pasty white skin to the spring’s first sun. Sadly, I can’t recreate this experience because Berthillon does not, to my knowledge, share their recipes. WHAT CRUELTY! I hate when places don’t share. My beloved Pierre Hermé has published books on his macarons, but I still can’t make grapefruit sorbet. I hate everything.

Buy me something. Cheer me up. Cash works, too.

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