If there is ever a movie made about my life story, I would like to choose the music for it.
That will be one of my only requests along with that the actress who plays me should obviously be a walking, talking, breathing sexpot. And none of this Kristen Stewart business either. I need my alter-self to not look like she needs to eat a hamburger. And the film should end with me marrying Joseph Gordon-Levitt. On a beach. Because apparently, my life ends after I get married. HA HA! Ok, only funny for me. It’s fine.
I don’t want a lame soundtrack to my life story. Even if my story becomes irrelevant, I want the music to really resonate for a long period of time with a very eclectic and musically intelligent audience.
…So there should obviously be a lot of Justin Bieber and Spice Girls.
Is that someone’s job by the way? The person who gets to pick the music to movies? If so, sign me up for the next shitty chick flick, because I would be AWESOME at that. I would absolutely rock that career. People wouldn’t even watch the movies, they would just listen to the music and think, wow, whoever hand-picked this musical entourage really has got her shit together.
And I would blush and say, I meannnnn .. yeah I guess I am kind of awesome.
Speaking of careers, and my current lack-there-of, I’ve decided to opitimize the stereotype of “poor-starving- writer” thing by finding the perfect coffee house to write my memoir at (am I confused on the concept of memoir? Do you have to be dead to have a memoir written? Can you write one about yourself? This will obviously all have to occur post-wedding). Anyway, someday they will rope off a small corner of said establishment with a nice red velvet rope (movie-theatre style) and say, “here is where meg ruggieri spent hours writing her masterpiece. No flash photography please. Alright..you can take a picture. But only if you’re asian.”
Before I continue, you should also know just how terrible I am with directions. My GPS is not only a source of helping me get from point A to point B but also a close and personal friend who saves me from
occasional constant directionally challenged doom.
My point is, I have no idea where I am right now. I know I am in LA, not far from where I am currently staying and that it is in a decent area of town. It is beneath some (most likely) over-priced pilates place and next door to a drycleaners. I find this all comfortingly cliche. It’s small. Dark (but not too dark where it gets shady and far too hipster for my taste). The clientelle kind of vary from soccer moms talking a little too loudly about god knows what, grad students studying with about 5 different cups of coffee around them and maybe the occasional business meeting/ awkward interview (or first date?.. this conversation taking place in front of me could really go either way). There’s free wifi and all the beverages sold are written on chalk boards in a montage of pastel colors. Which I enjoy. And they sell grilled cheese. Which I think is a nice touch.
-That I just paid 1.25 for one apple (though this is kind of my fault and it was either make the minimum card limit with something healthy or cave to the red-velvet cupcake at 10 AM. I plan on drinking copiously this weekend so I decided this was a decision I really made for my health. Therefore, with this logic, the uber-expensive apple was an economically sound decision.)
-the fact that I had to pay for meter parking. However, this is Los Angeles and paying for complicated ridiculous parking is (as I am slowly learning) kind of synonymous with breathing.
– the lack of electrical outlets in my corner. WTF mate. This is a coffee shop. In America. Come ON. Electrical outlets should be plentiful. I should be overwhelmed by my electrical outlet options up in here. I should not be sitting here pondering just how I am going to climb over the nice young indian man listening to reggae to my left in the most effective/non-awkward way possible. This is extremely upsetting.
….I’m over it.
Mostly, I picked this particular establishment to be my first contestant in my writing lair contest because it’s called “Bricks and Scones” and honestly who doesn’t love a good pun? Very clever, barista friends. How’s that working out for you?
So, my plan is to go to a different coffee shop each day of this upcoming week and I’ll pick the winner by next Friday. Thus, through this, I’m going to be a caffeine connoisseur. (This is also code for: “I really have nothing better to do.”)
However, if I happen to get employed between now and then (or win the 640 million dollar lottery ticket, decide to go on a roadtrip to Vegas or get married), this contest might be put on momentary hiatus. I’ll keep ya posted.
Anyway, I’ve drank far too much coffee to write now. It’s all I can do to sit here and not sing along with Stevie Wonder over the radio while simultaneously doing jumping jacks and backflips and running around in short tight knit circles fist pumping like I’m at an Avicii concert. I think I’m also giving my Indian man friend to my left some serious anxiety with my constant leg twitching.
Besides, it’s Friday!!!!!
And it’s nice outside!!!!!
And the Jayhawks are playing in the Final Four!!!!!!!
..Annnnnnd my meter is about to run out.
Rock Chalk. Rock Chalk. Rock Chalk.