Me & JT

Last night I took advantage of the rain and my boyfriend going to bed at seven, and had myself a full out dance party, the likes of which my tiny one bedroom apartment has never seen. Sure, there were songs from 6th grade, which is evident for those of you who are my facebook friends, but I also made sure to mix in a little Kanye West, both old and new, as well as the regulars, Whitney Houston and others of her ilk.

This dance party only reaffirmed my need for a sound-proof kareoke room in my fantasy house. Matthew woke several times to tell me to keep down my rendition of Beyonce’s Listen, for fear of waking the neighbors.

“Well,” I thought to myself sourly, “when I have my fantasy house, nobody will complain about my singing because I’ll be in my state of the art sound proof Kareoke room!”

That got me thinking…what’s going to be next to my sound-proof kareoke room? Perhaps, my home gym. Or maybe my private, mystical, whimsical office where I can be free to write, day and night without being disturbed, many delicious, witty sequels to The New York Catch & The Red Rock Cafe. Or maybe I’ll put my sound-proof kareoke room in a whole different wing?

Hold on, wing? Will I actually be living in a house? If my fantasy home is in Jamaica, I would most definitely be living in a townhouse or an apartment, for the security benefit.

So I would need an apartment or townhouse with a gym and ample room for sound-proofing.

But now I’m getting ahead of myself, aren’t I? Or am I?

A quick check of my bank account confirms that indeed, I am living in a dream world.

That put a somber end to my dance party indeed. Feeling defeated, I hurried to bed with hopes to marry a man with money….

Which began my dream with Justin Timberlake.

In the dream, Justin and I were in college. Hall-mates, as you say. Nevermind that I lived in an all-girl dorm for 4 years of college, and Justin still is without a college degree, this is my dream darn it! So yes, Justin was my neighbor, and despite the advances with other upwardly mobile girls on my hall, Justin decided that he loved me.

Yes, me!

So Justin and I were an item, albeit hush-hush due to tabloid speculation, but we didn’t care, because we were in love. So what if he was famous and I’m a random nobody? SO what if in the dream every other girl was more desirable than me? It’s my dream, so I get the guy!

Then just when things were getting serious, and I started to tell JT about my fantasy house with the sound-proofed kareoke room, something changed. He started blowing me off. I saw him consorting with Olivia Wilde and other such Hollywood sharletons. It was disgraceful and I told him so.

“How can you embarrass me this way?” I wanted to know. “Don’t I mean anything to you?”

JT eyed me like I was a bomb that needed diffusing.

“Lighten up, girl, I’m Justin Timberlake. I’m not the marrying kind. You’re not the first girl to tell me about her fantasy kareoke room. I’ve dated girls for four years without any kind of commitment. Why would you think you’re any different?”

My mind flashed like a wind through a day old tabloid, recalling his past relationships with Britney Spears, Cameron Diaz and Jessica Biel. The boy had a point.

Then I woke up, to find myself without Justin Timberlake, and alone in my apartment.

Well, JT, until we meet again…


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