This year has been tough…Way tough. I don’t have to tell you that. But also immensely interesting and enlightening. I turn 29 this year. Say it with me. TWENTY NINE. One year away from THE END OF YOUTH as I know it. By know I was supposed to have won a gold medal at the Olympics AND published three novels. So I have to pack as much life and fun and experience into this year so I can finally grow up and be responsible when I turn thirty and they hand me a rayon business suit and a rocking chair. And by the way, shouldn’t I have a child by now? And so, with less than 21 days until my birthday (that’s three weeks to you and me), I present, Jessica’s Birthday List, 2001. And this year, it’s not just things I want for MY BIRTHDAY (the actual day) per se, but things I want to accomplish throughout my final year of being twenty something.
This year, I want to have a lot of good stories to tell. Right now I’m stuck with my “Three Good Underpants Tales”, “The Bears Game”, “Lady I Killed Your Cat” and “The Telemarketer That Called Before The Wedding”. My arsenal is small, but colorful, yet almost everyone I know has heard those stories, so obviously, I need more.
And of course, once again I’m here before you wailing, on my bloodied, penitent knees, I want my book to be published, and for it to be called “touching, sexy and modern, a masterpiece by a talented, young, first time author,” in the New York Times. I want to see the Welder one more time so I can wink at him. I want Kerry Wood’s arm to heal completely and have him leave his girlfriend.
[sub](Baby)[/sub]
I want a dense white cake with sugary, thick white frosting and a lot of flowers on it. I want to be a waitress at the Wild Goose. I want season tickets to the Blackhawks, or at least to see a few games, and be close to the glass. I’d like to be really close to the glass and see Doug Weight. I’d like Doug Weight to be shirtless behind that glass. I’d like to go ice skating this winter, with all of my friends, and be able to play the music of my choice. I want to go back to the spa, or at the very least, get a good pedicure…or a facial. I want Sex, Drugs and Rock n Roll on CD. I want Steve Dahl to answer my email. I want to go apple picking.
[sub](Baby)[/sub]
I want the Bears to win more than six games, and for the Packers to win less than two. And while we’re at it, I’d like Brett Favre to break his arm. Right off, and have it lay on the field, with the ball still gripped in its palm while Favre cries like a little baby on the ground. I’d like the German version of Who Let The Dogs Out. I’d like to be so mad at someone that I could jump up from the table in a swanky bar and scream “we reap what we sow” and stomp out of the room dramatically. I want to learn more German and be able to use it in some crucial situation, like giving some handsome German tourists directions to my apartment. I want to make a good showing in Fantasy Football. I want to see a decent film adaptation of The Secret History and The Kommandant’s Mistress. I want someone who really really knows me well to recommend a book or a movie to me and have it become my new favorite. I’d like another inspirational email from Eric Bogosian, specifically one that says “let me read your book and tell you what I think”. And now that I think of it, I’d like to have that dream again…you know the one. Oh, you don’t? Don’t worry about it. But since we’re on the subject, what I’d really like is to have all of my best dreams at my disposal, like a video library, and be able to call upon them at will, whether it be on the train, or in bed or while I’m sleeping at work. JUST KIDDING BOSS!
[sub](Baby)[/sub]
I’d like a case of Goose Island Rootbeer always at my fingertips. I’d like a personal trainer, because I would like abs of steel. I’d like to be on a VIP list. I’d like a CD filled with just good, short soundbytes from movies and television. I’d like to have MTV2 and HBO. I’d like a laptop computer, completely configured and set up for the internet, handed to me with someone saying “you don’t have to do anything but use it”. I’d like to win big in Vegas and get a complimentary room…or even just free drinks. I want to go to Amsterdam. I’d like to go back to school and study history. I’d like to see the movie Pola X.
[sub](Baby)[/sub]
I want to find the best Turkey Rueben in Chicago. I want some matching luggage. I want to be a rockstar. A rock super star. And live large. I’d like to be rescued by a burly fireman who has to carry me for some distance, my luxurious hair waving in the breeze while his soot covered arms grip me tightly. I’d like to run rampant and naked through IKEA, with nobody there, $5,000 and Rammstein’s Greatest Hits blaring over the P.A. system. I’d like Godhead’s version of Eleanor Rigby. I want to paint my apartment. I want a couch. I want to be yelled at by Oscar Acosta. I’d like to eat a hotdog and not feel guilty. I want to be surprised. I want to feel pleasantly apprehensive, like at a haunted house. I want to have more "Girls’ Night Out"s I want to laugh so hard that I can’t breathe for five minutes. I want to find that old dog joke.
I want to not worry about stupid, unchangeable things.
I want to be perfect.
I want to be happy.
Oh, and I’d like a big, big bag of sour skittles.
