Even Though You Don't Know Me There Are Things You Need To Make Sure I Never Do

Friday night I hosted a pumpkin carving party.

Certain women who were deathly ill, decided to come and cough on their hands, and cough on the pumpkins, and then cough on the hands and pumpkins of the other people who were at the party. Which, I think, was a pretty awesome way to wish me a happy birthday.

Anyway. Today I feel that on-the-verge-of-sickness feeling. Kind of stuffy. Kind of hot. Overly sleepy. And I'm having boring dreams, which is always a sure sign that I'm getting sick. Normal dreams: action-packed, me as Indiana Jones, get the money, kiss the boy, win the award. Sick dreams: generals sitting around a table, moving small game pieces over maps, saying, "And then we will move troops here. And then we will move troops here." Over and over, for hours on end. Gah.

Well, bottom line, today I chose what I--and nine out of ten doctors--think is the surest route to recovery. I spent the afternoon talking on the phone to M about love gone wrong (we do this often lately), drinking leftover party beer, and eating Snickers pumpkin-shaped candy while watching shitty TV.

And the shitty TV I've been watching is the reason behind the subject of this post: things you guys need to promise you'll stop me from doing.

Not that you'd necessarily know that I was thinking of doing these things, because you do only know what I post here (bet you're all a little surprised re: M, huh?).

And also, not that you'd have many "stopping me" options, considering that you don't know where I live, what I look like, or my last name.

But, I guess you could fill my email box with really pissed off e-cards or spam.

Which might do it.

Depends.

Ok.

Things you guys can't let me do. Finally.

As per the episode of The Knot that starred that annoying girl who sang with Celine Dion and cried like ALL the time during her entire wedding to a man from Wisconsin who won Fear Factor twice:

Don't let me release butterflies at my wedding. Like 90% of the butterflies just fall out, dead. And I don't want to commemorate my wedding day with butterfly death. I find butterfly death to be mega depressing.

Don't let me marry anyone dumb enough or desperate enough for attention to go on Fear Factor. Not even if I really, really like him. Got that? You guys are total strangers, who know basically nothing about me, and I'm currently slightly delirious and running a fever, but I'm serious about this. If he ate live tarantulas and drank blood on national television in order to win a paltry $50,000*, I don't want our genetic materials to mix.

*I actually didn't know how much prize money contestants won, and, since I had nothing else to do with my day today but sit on my couch and feel gross, I looked it up on the Fear Factor website. While on the site, I discovered a note assuring readers concerned for the wellbeing of various creatures used in the program, that handlers are present to "advise the producers how to humanely and safely interact with the animals." Which I thought was interesting, considering that some of the animals get EATEN ALIVE. But, apparently, there is a humane and safe way to eat a live spider. Good to know.

Anyway, back to things you can't let me do.

As per the episode of The Knot where the woman in DC gets married in an outdoor ceremony when all the cicadas were out last May, to that man who doesn't get along with her daughter:

Don't let me marry someone who's already been married FOUR TIMES. Because, come on.

And, if I DO marry someone who's already been married four times, don't let me lose sight of the humor involved in him sending me a note right before the ceremony that reads, "My love is forever."

As per the episode of The Knot with the cute blonde girl who got married in Jamaica right after Hurricane Charlie:

Don't let me write my wedding vows in the car on the way to the ceremony.

As per the brief portion of E!'s Britney Spears biography that I watched before napping:

If I'm ever famous, don't let me chew gum on the red carpet of any major awards ceremonies.

Also, don't ever let me make out with Colin Farrell. Because his love is forever in that "married four times" kind of way.

Ok. Totally let me make out with Colin Farrel. But, if he and I have a daughter, don't let me name her Farrah. Because Farrah Farrel would be a really stupid name.