Typically narcissistic blogging.

Olivia Wilde

My birthday is a week from today, and I cleverly created a wishlist on Facebook of things I really really want.

We’ve had some movement on my requests for whiskey: I am now in possession of some amazingly delicious highland malts (that’s a hint, a loving hint. Possibly an anvil). I have also had some success with my requests for shopping sprees and even the request for piles of money.

But to the best of my knowledge, nobody has moved forward with my request for 1+night(s) with Olivia Wilde.

Really. Really.

Didn’t I have a truly godawful 2010? Don’t you love me? Don’t you care about my happiness? And honestly, don’t you think I deserve 1+ night(s) with Olivia Wilde? I do. I really really do.

It’s not like we have nothing in common. I mean, look: She’s beautiful, talented, smart, well-off, and she has all of her teeth. And I’m smart. It would be a dream match even in the worst of circumstances.

Also, she’s married.

Dream. Match.

Think about it, folks. Take a moment right now and think about it.

…Yeah. That’s right.

(As an alternative to Olivia Wilde, I will also accept gainful employment.)

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