-Share a Pinks hot dog with Pamela Anderson
-Go underwear shopping with Britney Spears
-Eat dinner out of my hotel room once
-Pull up next to Paris Hilton’s new Bentley convertible, and show her how the gas gage works
-Call anyone I knew in an attempt to socialize
-Score tickets to an impromptu David Bowie jam at a small club in Los Feliz
-Stay awake to catch the last 20 minutes of Jesus Camp on pay per view (So what happens at the end? Does the rapture come? Does the mullet kid make it to heaven? Do all the Jews get annihilated? I must know!)
-Get close enough to Joan Collins to see the frightening contrast between her face and neck
-Sleep past 5 am
-Score an invitation to the Golden Globes
I did however get to witness this very awesome conversation between a woman who pushed her way to the front of the half-hour line at the LAX Burger King (But I’m late! My plane is already boarding–you must let me through!) and the girl at the register.
“I’m late for my flight. What can you make for me quickly?”
“What would you like, ma’am?”
“Well a sandwich of some sort for the plane.”
“A breakfast sandwich?”
“Just a chicken sandwich would be fine, thanks. No lettuce.”
“I’m sorry, it’s breakfast until 10:30.”
“So no chicken sandwiches?”
“I can’t just get a chicken sandwich?”
“Yes ma’am, I’m sorry. It’s only 7:15 and we’re still serving breakfast.”
“Okay, then. I’ll have a burger.”
“I’m sorry ma’am no burgers. It’s breakfast time.”
“Can I have cheese on it?”
“I’m sorry – we don’t have burgers until 10:30.
“No burgers? But this is Burger King. Absurd.”
“Would you like a breakfast sandwich?”
“Can I get a burger on it?”
“No ma’am. Just what we have on our breakfast sandwiches.”
She sighs audibly and looks around at the crowd–the crowd of people who let her cut in line in the first place–searching fruitlessly for sympathy.
“Okay then, how about chicken. Can’t you just put that on the biscuit?”
“I’m late for my flight. We’re already boarding. I just wanted a sandwich.”
“Why don’t I get you a breakast sandwich.”
“I suppose that will have to do. Such a shame.”
Here’s what I did do when I got home:
Opened my door to find a squealing, beaming, gorgeous little 18 month old girl running toward me screaming, HAPPY! HAPPY!
Ain’t motherhood grand?