Someone who shall remain nameless, recently asked me to compile a list of all the things that I want for myself five years from now. I was asked to write down; where I hope to be, what I hope to accomplish, and who I want in my life. This may sound like an easy task for most, but for a person like myself, (who wishes that it was still 2002), this would not be any ordinary feat. (In hindsight, I think that was the very purpose of this exercise--looking forward, instead of back-- but none the less, this assignment would be a challenge).
There I was, sitting at my computer during one of my prep periods at school. (Prep period=kids are at some sort of special, are not in the classroom, and therefore is the quietest part of my day). I was supposed to be creating math homework for my students, but instead as gchat and facebook sat minimized at the bottom of my computer screen, I began to fantasize about my future, and the life I may have. I began to think about the things that I really wanted for myself five years from now, when I'm thirty-one. (Holy Crap).
On my list of five years from now, were things that would probably be on many people's lists. Oh, you know things like financial stability (having more than $4.32 in my bank account at one time). I'd like to still be living in NYC. I'd like to be in some sort of stable relationship, (ya know, not being persuaded by two Israeli soldiers to have a threesome, not being called a whore by a homeless man early one morning, and not returning a pair of boxers to their wrong owner) Yes, just some of my sexual highlights of this past year. But, one thing made the list that may surprise some of you. This may be an uphill battle, but it is certainly not unattainable. Five years from now, I would like to have written a book. (FYI: If you are reading this blog, and have had some sort of sexual encounter with me in the last ten years, you will be making it into my book, or erotic novel--as I'd prefer to call it). Don't worry--I'll give you a fake name, but consider yourself warned.
I have always enjoyed writing since I was very small. This was part of the reason I decided to became an English major at The University of Rhode Island, (a major that many deemed pointless), but I have a job, so it looks like I win.
Most recently, I have begun to aspire to a writer who really is top of the line in my book. A writer whose use of language, and word choice are that of perfection. Her writing is absolutely hilarious, pee in you pants funny. Listen, I don't use that phrase lightly. There is nothing funny about peeing in your pants. (As, I have been known to do this on many an occasion. Namely, after being motor-boated by Julia Kaplan in the Camp Schodack dining hall).
Who is this author that I adore? Her name is Chelsea Handler--and she just so happens to hail from my hometown, Livingston, New Jersey. (Hollaa 07039!) Her writing is unbelievably witty, smart and vulgar. The way Chelsea writes makes me laugh outloud alone in my room, outloud alone in the bathroom, and outloud (not alone) on the subway.
In the first chapter of her new book, Chelsea writes about a sleepover party that she attended in the third grade, where all of the girls practice masturbating. For those of you that don't know--let's just say this: I unknowingly humped (vigorously) doorways and chair edges from the tender ages of 6-9. Reading this chapter, I felt like I was reading from the pages of my own diary. For this reason and many more, Chelsea is my inspiration, and if you need a good pee, a good book to poop with, or just a good laugh until you cry, pick up her newest book, Chelsea, Chelsea, Bang, Bang...pronto.
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