Mumblings of a Mad, Asian Woman with a Full Belly.

I should take a creative writing class, non-fiction. I have to learn more descriptors than "amazing," "fantastic," and "awesome." I know I tend to use "definitely," a whole lot. I can probably make a drinking game out of it (raise your hand if you know the Robin Scherbatsky "But, um" Drinking Game reference).

So, yeah, this is just me thinking aloud before I go to sleep; fair warning, this is the butterscotch budino (so f*cking heavenly) talking. BTDubs, I've been yawning since I got back from an (you guessed it) AMAZING dinner @ 112 Eatery in the North Loop area. I really wish money was no object and neither is weight, so that I can spend the rest of my days just going around the world trying out different restaurants, and reviewing them, and making friends with chefs and people in the food industry, and traveling to all these hole-in-the-walls to these great, 5-star restaurants and trying the best, ethereal food ever, and all that. But, in my real world where the student loans need to get paid, and the clothes are as inelastic as Joan River's face, I gotta do what I gotta do.

But, that said, would it be so criminal to have a pipe dream of being a well-respected/renowned food critic and/or travel expert (I can do a Samantha Brown, I just gotta cut my hair, die it blonde, lose the weight, and act super cheery even on the shittiest days, for the camera!). Or even a podcast opinionator who talks about random stuff that normal people like me listen to, like This American Life, or Planet Money, or Monkey See. I guess the common thread in these Lalaland jobs is that a) it involves me sharing my thoughts and b) you taking it.

Which could either be very selfish and/or annoying, or entertaining and/or bearable. I know I am an excruciatingly talkative gal, insofar as it has become an actual component of "feedforward" for me at work (I don't mind, I'm here to 'develop my opportunities' anyways). But, my theory is, everyone in this world -- you, me, Ashton Kutcher -- would like to think that someone, somewhere in the world cares about what you, me, and Ashton Kutcher are thinking and/or saying. I might as well say something potentially helpful or useful or damaging or enlightening or invoke a reaction other than "WTF?" I don't want to just share 140 characters of what I ate for dinner @ 112 Eatery or a short status update of how I just watched The Script in concert. That's fluff that'll interest your closest, most recent friends. I want to write objective, useful commentary with enough organic, witty comments without sounding like Jimmy Fallon desperately grasping for a laugh. (I wanna be Conan, not Leno, damnit.) Additionally, an important aspect of this lalaland job is listening to other people's opinions and sharing information, debating over superficial subjects like best jucy lucy or dingiest club bathroom in the Twin Cities; I'll leave the heavy debates to the politicians and the people who just really like to argue in circles.

And, of course, the best part of this lalaland job is that it'll be me doing stuff I am obsessed in: TV, food, restaurants, traveling, what-not. How can you call it a job if it's something you enjoy doing for free anyway, right? But, again, since this is lalaland, everything goes my way and I get paid stupid big bucks to do it anyway. :)

So, yeah, my eyelids are starting to close. I hope I have an amazing dream.


God damn, I really need to take that creative writing class so I can be a bit more wordsmith-y without referring to my thesaurus all the freaking time.