I have many goals in life. You’ll probably find most of them ridiculous, but I am who I am. I’ll tell you about a few.
1. I want to be invited to the Festival de Cannes.
Not as a guest. I want an invitation. I don’t care what it’s for, I just want to put on a tuxedo, walk the red carpet, ask Tilda Swinton who does her hair (I want every hairstyle she has ever had on my head right now), drink too much champagne, dance at an after party and applaud some artsy film. I think it would be a fantastic time. I’ve been to Cannes. I’ve seen the festival complex, sadly not during the festival, though.
2. Attend a party at Highclere Castle.
I’ve known about this castle long before you all started watching Downton Abbey. I’ve tried several times, but I’ve never been able to get into it. Don’t know why, I love everything British. Anyway, this castle is where Lord Carnarvon called home. He is the man who funded the archaeological digging that unearthed the tomb of Tutankhamen. All my life (and surely several lives before this one), I have been obsessed with ancient Egypt. I would love nothing more than to attend a function there and explore the collection of Egyptian treasures. I’m getting excited at the thought!
3. I want to be best friends with Martha Stewart.
I love this woman. I can’t get enough of her. I feel like we’re soul mates–in a friendly sense, mind you. We would be best friends if I could just meet her. We’re both Leos, we’re both snakes, we both look good with blonde hair, we’re intuitively creative, we love animals, baking is a delight for the both of us, we appreciate good architecture, we both enjoy having friends in high places, we think there’s nothing better than a good espresso–well a cappuccino for her, we both live on farms and have an obsession with the color grey. I can’t even begin to think of all the fun we would have together if life were different.
4. I want an apartment in Paris.
[I took this picture on my first trip to Paris and it's always been one of my favorites. I always go back to it and sigh with a smile.]
Paris will always be home to me. I wasn’t born there, I haven’t spent the majority of my life there, but I have spent what, in my memory are, the best times of my life in that ancient city. As hard as I try, I am really not very American. I’m very European in my thoughts and mannerisms and I just like it there better. Not that I don’t love America, or anything, I just have my preferences. (When I run for President, make sure you, my dear staffer, deletes that line.) I can’t think of anything better than waking up to the noise of Paris and the sunshine streaming through the old glass windows. I’d wake up, put on some nice clothes like all the men do, and head down to the bakery where I’d chat with the worker before getting my poppy seed baguette and lemon tart and probably a croissant. I don’t diet in Paris, there’s no need, you walk so much you become instantly skinny. That’s the secret, you know? Just walk. We don’t walk enough in America. We drive two blocks if we can. I’d go to whatever job I had and wouldn’t be too bothered because the work week is only thirty-five hours and the health care is basically free and I could hop on a train to Nice if I wanted without totally depleting my wallet. I’d want an apartment in an old building with lots of windows and herringbone floors and a wrought iron balcony. It needn’t be huge. A one-bedroom will suit me down to the ground. I need to work on this. I love Paris so much.
5. I want to be an underwear model.
Not kidding even a little bit. I can’t think of anything that would be more fun than seeing myself in magazines or on a billboard wearing underwear. Mainly because it’s rather ridiculous. I used to be a fat, ugly person. I like transformations. Kind of like in Princess Diaries where Mia goes from nerd to attractive. I think it’s important to be pretty. Like I said in a past life when I was Oscar Wilde, I said, “It is better to be beautiful than to be good, but it is better to be good than to be ugly.” Preach. I was only kind of kidding about the past life thing. Anyway, moving on. I like looking nice and take considerable pride in my appearance, mainly because I used to be disgusting. So, I think that if I were to be an underwear model, that would be the epitome of the changes I started years ago. Abs are very philosophical subjects, you know?
That model up there is Miley Cyrus’ old boy toy, Justin Gaston. I picked his photo because I think that his body is very much what mine will look like when I finish with it. I need bigger arms, of course, and that’s something that I need to start working on, but his abs and chest seem attainable to me. So, I’m going to be looking at some more of him for inspiration and because why not?
I didn’t do a super job this week, but I’m a human and I need to eat and nap. Eating right and exercise is so tedious. As a vegetarian, though, it’s not awfully hard to eat good things and I’ve become so conscious of what I eat that I never let myself indulge too much. Except for Friday–too many margaritas and these delightful blood orange lemonade things. Let’s not think about that. I exercised like a maniac yesterday, though, and cut a few pounds–probably just water, but the number still made me happy. I want to get my body fat percentage calculated as I don’t believe my scale. It said 9.9% this morning…but I dunno. I also want to get a nicer tan. If I don’t indulge in some bad habit, I’ll live forever, and that will be beyond exhausting. Oh, and I made these:
I even went to my little photo studio today to take the picture, so it’s like the first professional looking one I’ve done so far in this series. I had lighting and loud music and a backdrop and a real camera and a tripod. It was basically getting ready for Vogue. I’ve been reading Grace Coddington’s memoir (love her!) and am realizing that I need to get into the fashion world somehow. It seems to be where I belong. In fashion and in Paris. Could life be that wonderful?
Let’s get some music:
I’m kind of shy this week. Oh well, YOLO!
Call me, Andrew Christian.
