I get to live in New Orleans, my dog behaves, my friends are interesting, and I get to play a lot, so I think I'm a pretty lucky chick.

Well, adolescent angst is no longer my primary emotion. And I have a lot more fun now.

In the Bayou St. John neighborhood of New Orleans (one house off the Endymion Mardi Gras parade route, one block from City Park, six blocks from Jazz Fest, two miles from the French Quarter... come visit!)

New Orleans!

Anywhere I haven't been before.

I haven't been afraid to venture into uncharted territory.

The internet already has enough smut.

I would eliminate my mountain of debt.

I've skinny dipped in the Mississippi River. That may or may not be surprising.

Living in South Louisiana is nothing if not interesting. Especially at my last job, which involved field work in the swamps and marshes. I can remember zooming across the marsh in an airboat driven by an old Cajun guy and thinking, "how on earth did I arrive at this moment?"

I'd do something about special interest groups buying congressional votes. Then I'd get off Dr. Kevorkian's back and instead concentrate on big corporations who get away with murder in much sneakier ways. I'd offer better incentives to responsible companies who provide in-house childcare facilities, set and meet stricter environmental standards than they have to, and provide their employees with decent benefits. And I'd change both the legal drinking age and minimum driving age to 18.

I'm off to the land of trench coats, penny loafers and Red Sox to attend Boston University. After that, anything could happen...

Well, I did go to Boston, and there were trench coats and loafers there, and I guess anything could've happened after that. So I was technically right, but I'm pretty sure that when I said "after that," I meant after graduating from BU in four years. Ha! O foolish, naive girl. I ended up changing my major seven times, finally graduating in 1997 with credits from four different colleges.

Preferably doing something I haven't thought of yet. Don't want to get predictable!

Wondering how I got to be 48 so fast.

None

Robert Burnie, you sly dog.

Man, I don't know, but I was exhausted afterward. I mean, every time I turned around, there was another person I wanted to talk to, and not enough time to really talk to anyone.

We lurked outside Lily's for a few minutes, but I just couldn't muster the strength to go inside.

Just gawking at everyone was the best part. And those salmon hors d'oeuvres were pretty good, too.

It felt so rushed. I felt like I only had time to get the superficial details from people, rather than really talking to them. I needed a little more time, in a relaxed atmosphere... maybe a day at the beach or something.