The Lottery (not about stoning people)

The Lottery

You all know the conversation. The age old “what would you do if you won the lottery?” question. Someone recently told me that my list was a bit odd, so I thought it might make a decent blog post. If nothing else, it’ll allow me to sit here and fantsize about what I’d do if I happened to hit the Powerball that I never attempt to hit.

1. Pay off student loans, house/condo, and car for the immediate family.
I know, it’s not very sexy, but first things first. I guess mom wouldn’t really need to have anything paid off, so I could just pay back the money I owe her (thanks, recession) and upgrade her BMW. Maybe also some sweaters for her Mini Schnauzer. I’d also invest a chunk of money so I could live off the interest later if I needed to.

2. Fun with lasers.
First, I’d get Lasik. Oh my GOD, would I get Lasik. I wear a -11. For those of you who don’t speak nearsightedness, that means that the lady at the eye doctor always thinks she’s pulled the wrong file when I come in. Then, I show her my glasses (over a quarter inch thick, despite being the thinnest lenses science can muster) and she understands. Mom and dad gave me teeth that didn’t need braces, but I got effed in the a on eyesight and, the older I get, the shorter the time I can wear my contacts. I’m tired of avoiding ceiling fans, for Pete’s sake.

Also, I’d get laser hair removal of everything that needs shaving on a lady. I’m sick of doing it and I’m German and pale. Translation: you can see the hair when it’s still in my leg. SEXY.

3. Material Stupidness
I like my house, but I’d like my house more if it had new siding and light fixtures. I’d like an old castley church or a custom built gingerbread-style art house even more. Besides, you can’t tell me that you don’t think a gingerbread house would be totally kick-ass. One with pink flamingos in the yard that look like lollipops, gutters that look like Twizzlers, and a tile path made of fake peppermints. Do not harsh my ornate fantasy buzz, man.

As for the dream car, that would be a sensible hybrid of some sort for everyday use and a baby pink hearse for “special.” Or maybe a pink Prowler. Or a 57 Chevy which I would name Christine.

Hair. Purple hair. Expensive, huge purple hair. And roughly 20 grand in delicious shoes and clothes that I’ve never been able to afford. I really don’t mind my Goodwill existence (if I had 300 bucks to blow on a coat, you know I’d just save it anyway) but every now and then I kind of wish I could just go to the Betsey Johnson store and buy some completely impractical dress, just to wear it to the grocery store.

Also, a 9-foot concert grand piano, a kick-ass computer, a 60-inch flat panel tv, a gang of big vintage picture frames, and a piece of woven hair mourning jewelry. And a pony! (OK, not really a pony.)

4. Tattoos.
My right arm isn’t anywhere close to being finished. Eventually, it’s going to be a charm bracelet that wraps all the way up and gets anchored to a bolt on my right shoulder, maybe with some girly flowers thrown in for color. Then, I’ll add charms to the bracelet as situations arise, eventually turning my arm into a timeliney scrapbook sort of thing. The left arm stays blank. Yin and yang, you know.

5. Travel
WHAT? Yes, bitches, I said I would travel. She who has not been on a plane in 16 years wants to see Europe at some point, though she can’t guarantee that she’d ever actually come BACK from Europe. A couple of friends who live in Sweden tell me that it’s dark and cold much of the year, so that sounds good. Then again, they also say that there aren’t any good Mexican restaurants there. Wait, where were we?

I want to go to London and have enough money to shop. I want to go on the goth cruise, if only to say I did. I want to go to Wave Gotik Treffen. Whitby Gothic Weekend. Scotland. Ireland. Germany. Toronto. Yes, I DID just list Toronto as though it’s some far away fairy land. Humor me.

Oh! And Oaxaca for the Day of the Dead festival. And Japan has sushi and the Metamorphose store. Maybe also India, because why not? I just won a bajillion dollars. Then maybe to some posh hotel where I could sit around drinking blue drinks and getting manicures and seaweed wraps all day before heading out to have an entire dinner of desserts. Those special rich people desserts that don’t have calories. You know they exist; I refuse to believe that Nicole Kidman lives a completely cakeless existence. She’s eating magic rich people cake.

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