Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me_ (And Other Concerns) - Mindy Kaling [20]
I NEVER HAVE TO WAIT IN LINE FOR BRUNCH
Like everyone normal, I would never have a bumper sticker, ever. However, if I saw one that read, “Hell Is Waiting in Line for Brunch,” I might buy a thousand and plaster my car with them. I’d like to be so famous that if I want to lazily eat out on a Sunday afternoon, someone whisks me past a long line of poor slobs waiting in the sun and to a private table.
I GET TO SEE THE LAKERS ALL THE TIME
Look, I don’t need to have Jack Nicholson seats or whatever—honestly, who needs to live in constant peril of a sweaty 7-foot-tall, 240-pound guy falling on you?—but I’d love to be so famous that people who do have amazing tickets would be psyched to have me come with them. I just want to sit close enough so that I can ask the Laker Girls questions about their makeup regimens.
TEENAGERS IDOLIZE MY “LOOK”
I was at Benefit Cosmetics picking up some lip glosses and trying to scam some free samples one Saturday a few months ago. While I was there, I saw two adorable ninth-grade girls getting makeovers for their semiformal, which was that night. They both had torn-out reference pictures of Emma Watson. When I was their age, I had done the same with pictures of Meg Ryan. I was obsessed with her edgy shag from the otherwise forgettable movie Addicted to Love. The edgy shag did not suit my face. If you must know, it made me look like a touring 1980’s road comic. A male one.
Copying a celebrity’s hairstyle is some enviable adoration right there. Since I don’t think anyone will ever want my haircut, it’d have to be something else. Maybe kids would want my perfectly hairless forearms.
IF I SUPPORT A CAUSE, I CAN ACTUALLY HELP IT
Sean Penn, like, lives in Haiti, right? That’s too much. I can’t do that. That’s some hard-core goodness right there. But I’d love to make an enormous impact by being the vocal spokesperson for a cause, somewhere on the level of Mary Tyler Moore ending horse carriage rides in Central Park.
THE FASHION POLICE SLAUGHTER ME, CONSTANTLY, AND I DON’T CARE
There’s a certain badass-ness to someone like Helena Bonham Carter, who just doesn’t give a crap about what the Fashion Police say. And when I say the Fashion Police, of course I’m speaking of the small group of screeching gay guys and fashion “experts” on that E! show led by the reanimated corpse of Joan Rivers. Joan, actually, is still pretty great. One Emmy Awards show a few years ago, she said my dress made me look like I was going to the prom from hell. It traumatized my entire week, but even I had to admit that it was a funny thing to say. The point is, it only traumatized me because I had the time to be traumatized. I want to be so famous and busy that I only ever find these insults amusing, and chuckle at them good-naturedly before I get on my private jet to be a UN ambassador to Cameroon, or wherever.
BATSHIT STUFF I WEAR IS IMMEDIATELY CONSIDERED FASHIONABLE
Kind of related to what I’ve just said. I want to rock harem pants or black lipstick like Gwen Stefani does and have people be like, “That’s just Mindy,” and then everyone starts doing it.
WHEN I GET OLD, I’M A SIGHT GAG FOR TV SHOWS
I want to be so famous that people put me in their TV shows as the desiccated old broad who gets big laughs simply because no one has ever seen such an old bag of bones recite memorized lines, and because the sight of me brings up warm, nostalgic memories of their youth. Future hipsters will love me ironically.
I CAN NEVER GO TO JAIL
It’d be great to be so famous that if I murder someone, I will never, ever, ever serve any jail time, even if it’s totally obvious to everyone that I did it.
I HAVE TO HAVE A PSEUDONYM
I read that Michael Jackson used to have prescriptions for Demerol under the alias Jack London. So much about Michael Jackson’s life was tragic and strange, but that detail is just so cool. I like thinking that Michael Jackson was like, “Let’s see, let’s see. Who do I want to commemorate