WTF

Hi you,

I think there comes a point in every young girls life when she sits down and starts to think about her death. Now when I say "young girl" I mean 29, and when I say "think about her death" I don't mean, like, tomorrow or anything! Jeez, I'm not suicidal! I'm just a planner. I want to have things done and settled by the time I am done and settled.

There are a lot of things I would like to accomplish while on this earth. For one, I would love to have really long hair again. I know, I'm a dreamer, but I look at all those Misha Barton look-a-likes out there, and I can't say I don't churn with envy.

For two, I would like to be a repertory player on SNL. You're supposed to be really specific with your dreams, right?!! Well that's what I want! I can do lot of characters and impressions and I sing. So there, suck on that!
And I think that I would like to have a baby. Ucchhhhhh. I know, I just threw up in my own mouth, but it's true. At some point I should have a person come out of my body and I should name them and feed them regularly.
I would like someone to dress like me for Halloween. Come to the party as Amy. That would be great.
I would like to write for a magazine, preferably about some sort of procedure that makes your wrinkles turn into chocolate to feed the homeless. Or my child that I'm going to have at some point.
I would like to have two dogs. One big and one small. I would like to name them Silly Dilly and Josh. Josh would be the smaller one I think.
I would also like to have the power to make bees attack people I don't care for. Like the ones who don't laugh at my set at a show. Or Republicans.

These are dreams, I know, but dreams can come true. Just ask Peter Pan and Ross Perot! They know!

When I finally do die at the age of 92(but still with an ass you can bounce a nickle off of. Or a Wheat penny) I would like you all to behave in the following fashion:
1. Be classy America. Dress in black with little to no cleavage. Butt cleavage that is, boob cleavage, totally okay.
2. Cry. A lot. And hard. Cry so hard and dramatically. Throw yourself on the floor and then barf a little but keep on crying.
3. Sing a gospel song. Like Amazing Grace or...I don't know any others. So learn one. For my funeral. When I'm 92.
4. Tell a funny story about me. You can even make one up as long as it's funny! And preferably not one about you catching me farting in a car museum or passed out in the men's room of a retirement home. Again, keep it classy. America.
5. And finally, DANCE! That's all. Just dance your sweet little caboose off.

There we go! Now I feel better. All my wishes out on the table...oh,no, WAIT! I forgot the final rule!

6.Make sure my head is cryogenically frozen and pasted upon my new body that has been scientifically manufactured for me by the smartest of Japanese chemists who not only made me have Oprahs power but also her bust line. Win win!

Okay, that's enough.

Love,

Amy