Some things I would like to do or say but I know I never will

Get a cute little tattoo on my the outside of my left ankle. When I sported a fake one for the entirety of this past summer, I quite enjoyed the way it felt to be "someone with a tattoo". Much to the surprise of those around me, the thing was fake and now that it's gone, I actually quite miss it. Maybe one day I'll get up the guts. But then again, eh, probably not. Plus, how would I ever decide? I have enough trouble keeping my Facebook background the same for more than a week, let alone a freaking permanent body drawing.

Totally and completely uproot myself from my current life and move to a brand new city and make a whole new life. I always hear stories about people who do that and I can't help but feel slightly envious of their guts and bravery. It is such a bold move that I cannot even imagine making myself but yet I have such admiration for it. How refreshing that must be, how clean and new, A whole re-start. Neat.

Look those creepy gym-starers right in the face and say "WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?" Seriously, we all notice those fellow worker-outers who always frequent the gym at the same exact time as us on a daily basis. Some of these fellow patrons become pleasant familiar faces, some neutral bodies, some minorly annoying and/or smelly, and some outright horrifying. By horrifying, I mean, the stare-ers. One particular fellow morning worker-outer at my own gym is the absolute worst. Every time I happen to enter the gym and he is already there, he does the inevitable head-turn-and-stare... and does not cease staring until I am forced to move machines due to my being-stared-at-uncomfort. I'm here every fucking day, dude, same person, still me. So, seriously, please tell me once and for all, what are you looking at?!

Tell the gross men who smoosh me every single morning on the subway to get the fuck off of me. Only with more conviction. With exclamation points!!!! GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME!!!! Personal space invasion!!! Alert!!!!! Alert!!!!!! That would be oh-so-cathartic. Alas.

Wear shorts to work. #nevergoingtohappen

Nicely ask the urban mothers who insist on knocking me over or running into me or rolling over my feet with their high-tech strollers on the street, in the elevator and everywhere else, that while I appreciate the miracle of procreation, those stroller collisions really hurt. I may not be a cute toddler anymore but I still have feelings. Womp womp.

Eat an entire box of Godiva white chocolates. This one I may actually do. In the near future.

On that note, good day, y'all.