All these things made me forget what it wanted to say.
I'll play my favorite game: How My Entire Life Would Be Solved If I Only Had $6 Million Pesos. If you're a gringo, it's $600,000 dollars. This is the game I play when I can't sleep, namely every night.
OK. I'm at home, maybe troubling myself with all our financial problems. Then the phone rings. We hit the jackpot! A smiling kind lady tells me we just won 6 million pesos after taxes in the local lottery (fat chance since I never play but let me indulge myself). Great!! After confirming her veracity, I go out to the flower stand on the corner and buy all the white roses in stock, about a baker's dozen worth. I scatter all the petals on our bed and when Belendor comes home, I tell him the news and then we fuck each other brainless.
Next morning, I wake up leisurely at nine (because I haven't started classes yet), put on some casual jeans, and taking my beloved by the hand we head to the Lottery Headquarters to pick up our check. We proceed on to the nearest bank, and deposit it promptly. Then I go on to the office and kindly tell everyone there that they can take their translation manuals, their uptightedness and their flat chests, roll them up in a tight bundle, and shove them deeply up their dry behinds.
Then I come home and write two checks from my newly delivered checkbook: the first one is of $1 million and it's for my mother in law; this money will be enough for her to fund her own archaological project and ditch her culturally challenged husband and maybe help Belendor's baby cousins a little. The other check is made out for $1,100,000, which is 1 million plus the approximate sum I owe my mother plus assorted interest. I call her up first (we don't want to offend her by telling Coke first) and tell her this is the money I owe her plus a share of my very good luck, and that now that she has the money I only ask her not to build those horrible apartments at my grandma's garden.
OK. Debts and relatives have been seen to. I call up my good friend Dan, who also happens to be a broker, and tell her I have 4 million to invest and that he will be in charge of it. Dan makes some rapid computations and tells me that he knows how to invest that money in such a way so it gives us an approximate of $30,000 monthly, which is a more than adequate sum to sustain us comfortably and even leaves some actual saving margin.
After talking it through, Belendor and I have decided we won't move out of this apartment yet, because this money is just enough to buy the kind of house we want, and then we'd be left without money. So it's probably best to invest it now and let it grow a little. But we do take the million we've set apart and buy a pretty little white-and-orange MiniCooper for me and an awesome black X-Terra for him. We hit such good luck, that at the time we buy the cars there's a especial offer at the concessionary so you buy the car and they give you an armed slave soldier to watch over the vehicle for free, so we don't even need to find a garage for the cars. Sweet.
We still have $300,000 left. It could be enough for us to go to Europe and enjoy ourselves thoroughly, but we don't have enough time, to be honest. I want to spend a long time in Europe and I'll start classes in less than a month, in August. So we content ourselves by spending two weeks at Los Cabos. For the first time in my life, I travel first class. I discover it's not as great as I thought it would be, but it still beats the horrible food they serve you in coach. Anyway, we have a great time at Los Cabos, because it's not high season and besides Los Cabos is rarely crowded because it's too expensive, but, thanks to the generosity of the good gods, money has finally ceased to matter to us. We rent a house with a terrace that looks out to the port and we spend long afternoons seeping cold beer and iced tea and watching the ships come and go, say hello and farewell. We take long walks in the beach. We make plans. We make love.
[Of course I dress in a white bikini because since I got the money I could afford a hot-looking trainer who comes to the house everyday and works out for me and I've lost a gazillion pounds so I look Incredibly Hot and besides I had plastic surgery to remove the scar from the operation and they gave me a special experimental treatment that eliminated the stretch marks, the zits and the superfluos hair FOREVER.]
After having relaxed thus and seen the sea till we were a little sick from it and eaten pounds and pounds of lobster and giant blue shrimp, we come with uplifted spirits (not to mention a kickass tan.) We start working with renovated energies. Belendor takes his project to Trent Reznor's record company and gets David Bowie to produce his album. I start college and discover it's the greatest thing I've ever done and that I'm also very good at it.
One, two years go by. Coke's project has grown and she needs all kinds of people to work with her, so my brother packs up his things and moves to Chiapas with her so they can explore together the mysteries of Mayan philosophy. By then, of course, the project is co-founded by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism and the BBC, with which they've signed a contract for eight documentaries which, of course, Arwen will direct (given, of course, that she hasn't gone completely insane by then. If she has, I guess Phoenix will have to do it.)
Three years have passed. I'm already working by now, teaching Ancient Greek at the University. It doesn't pay much, but I don't care because I love it. Besides, there's a project with the Smithsonian Museum in which Mexican entities want to translate and document all the information they've got on the frises of the Parthenon both in English and Spanish, and rumor has it I'm a strong candidate for this project. I would really like that because it would be excellent curriculum, and because it would make a great thesis. One day, my OBGYN's office calls me and tells me my IUD must be replaced. I speak to him and tell him I don't want the IUD reolaced because it has made me feel moderately sick for four years. Belendor and I go back to condoms, much as I don't like them.
More time goes by. Then, one of the classical Christmases at our house, everyone is there, everyone who matters on both of our sides. Everyone has eaten till bursting and we are at the traditional toast time and everyone stands up and utters their stupid toasts, and then Belendor stands up and says "Hear me, for we has important news for y'all. Gaby first." Everyone turns to look at me and I feel a little embarassed, but I manage to say my professional exam will be around January 20ish and we will have a little reunion to celebrate. Everyone churtles approval. Belendor taps his glass again and says: "There are a couple more things worth mention: First, my new record will come out in March and I've already been nominated to MTV's Music Awards (*everyone applauds and cheers*) and second, Gaby and I are at this moment seven weeks pregnant." Etcetera etcetera dé rigour. blabbidi-blabbidi-bla.
When this round of chortles is over, Belendor will announce that we'll get married on April 30th, on Beltane, and not because we have to but because we want to. That will be a surprise to me as well, because he and I will not have talked about marriage yet, but Belendor has decided to give me a nice surprise. I'm very happy.
We get married in a small civil ceremony and then go on a honeymoon to the Mediterranean for a month. Then we come back and start looking for a house to move into as soon as I've delivered. We manage to find the perfect house, not too big, a centric, well illuminated old old house and we manage to buy it with the money we've been saving all these years. Then I let my mothers decorate (for I can't help it) while I spend my days enjoying my pregnancy in a constant state of bliss (Yes. I. Will.)
* * * * * * * *
That's as far as I can see. I get to that point in my fantasy and then it recycles itself. I can see no further, but it's far enough. Only two years ago, I couldn't see even one week ahead.
Now, I know this is ultimately stupid and childish and superstupid and dorkish, and on some level I hate myself for having so corny fantasies, but it still beats counting sheep.
Only $6 million.
I'll play my favorite game: How My Entire Life Would Be Solved If I Only Had $6 Million Pesos. If you're a gringo, it's $600,000 dollars. This is the game I play when I can't sleep, namely every night.
OK. I'm at home, maybe troubling myself with all our financial problems. Then the phone rings. We hit the jackpot! A smiling kind lady tells me we just won 6 million pesos after taxes in the local lottery (fat chance since I never play but let me indulge myself). Great!! After confirming her veracity, I go out to the flower stand on the corner and buy all the white roses in stock, about a baker's dozen worth. I scatter all the petals on our bed and when Belendor comes home, I tell him the news and then we fuck each other brainless.
Next morning, I wake up leisurely at nine (because I haven't started classes yet), put on some casual jeans, and taking my beloved by the hand we head to the Lottery Headquarters to pick up our check. We proceed on to the nearest bank, and deposit it promptly. Then I go on to the office and kindly tell everyone there that they can take their translation manuals, their uptightedness and their flat chests, roll them up in a tight bundle, and shove them deeply up their dry behinds.
Then I come home and write two checks from my newly delivered checkbook: the first one is of $1 million and it's for my mother in law; this money will be enough for her to fund her own archaological project and ditch her culturally challenged husband and maybe help Belendor's baby cousins a little. The other check is made out for $1,100,000, which is 1 million plus the approximate sum I owe my mother plus assorted interest. I call her up first (we don't want to offend her by telling Coke first) and tell her this is the money I owe her plus a share of my very good luck, and that now that she has the money I only ask her not to build those horrible apartments at my grandma's garden.
OK. Debts and relatives have been seen to. I call up my good friend Dan, who also happens to be a broker, and tell her I have 4 million to invest and that he will be in charge of it. Dan makes some rapid computations and tells me that he knows how to invest that money in such a way so it gives us an approximate of $30,000 monthly, which is a more than adequate sum to sustain us comfortably and even leaves some actual saving margin.
After talking it through, Belendor and I have decided we won't move out of this apartment yet, because this money is just enough to buy the kind of house we want, and then we'd be left without money. So it's probably best to invest it now and let it grow a little. But we do take the million we've set apart and buy a pretty little white-and-orange MiniCooper for me and an awesome black X-Terra for him. We hit such good luck, that at the time we buy the cars there's a especial offer at the concessionary so you buy the car and they give you an armed slave soldier to watch over the vehicle for free, so we don't even need to find a garage for the cars. Sweet.
We still have $300,000 left. It could be enough for us to go to Europe and enjoy ourselves thoroughly, but we don't have enough time, to be honest. I want to spend a long time in Europe and I'll start classes in less than a month, in August. So we content ourselves by spending two weeks at Los Cabos. For the first time in my life, I travel first class. I discover it's not as great as I thought it would be, but it still beats the horrible food they serve you in coach. Anyway, we have a great time at Los Cabos, because it's not high season and besides Los Cabos is rarely crowded because it's too expensive, but, thanks to the generosity of the good gods, money has finally ceased to matter to us. We rent a house with a terrace that looks out to the port and we spend long afternoons seeping cold beer and iced tea and watching the ships come and go, say hello and farewell. We take long walks in the beach. We make plans. We make love.
[Of course I dress in a white bikini because since I got the money I could afford a hot-looking trainer who comes to the house everyday and works out for me and I've lost a gazillion pounds so I look Incredibly Hot and besides I had plastic surgery to remove the scar from the operation and they gave me a special experimental treatment that eliminated the stretch marks, the zits and the superfluos hair FOREVER.]
After having relaxed thus and seen the sea till we were a little sick from it and eaten pounds and pounds of lobster and giant blue shrimp, we come with uplifted spirits (not to mention a kickass tan.) We start working with renovated energies. Belendor takes his project to Trent Reznor's record company and gets David Bowie to produce his album. I start college and discover it's the greatest thing I've ever done and that I'm also very good at it.
One, two years go by. Coke's project has grown and she needs all kinds of people to work with her, so my brother packs up his things and moves to Chiapas with her so they can explore together the mysteries of Mayan philosophy. By then, of course, the project is co-founded by the Ministry of Culture and Tourism and the BBC, with which they've signed a contract for eight documentaries which, of course, Arwen will direct (given, of course, that she hasn't gone completely insane by then. If she has, I guess Phoenix will have to do it.)
Three years have passed. I'm already working by now, teaching Ancient Greek at the University. It doesn't pay much, but I don't care because I love it. Besides, there's a project with the Smithsonian Museum in which Mexican entities want to translate and document all the information they've got on the frises of the Parthenon both in English and Spanish, and rumor has it I'm a strong candidate for this project. I would really like that because it would be excellent curriculum, and because it would make a great thesis. One day, my OBGYN's office calls me and tells me my IUD must be replaced. I speak to him and tell him I don't want the IUD reolaced because it has made me feel moderately sick for four years. Belendor and I go back to condoms, much as I don't like them.
More time goes by. Then, one of the classical Christmases at our house, everyone is there, everyone who matters on both of our sides. Everyone has eaten till bursting and we are at the traditional toast time and everyone stands up and utters their stupid toasts, and then Belendor stands up and says "Hear me, for we has important news for y'all. Gaby first." Everyone turns to look at me and I feel a little embarassed, but I manage to say my professional exam will be around January 20ish and we will have a little reunion to celebrate. Everyone churtles approval. Belendor taps his glass again and says: "There are a couple more things worth mention: First, my new record will come out in March and I've already been nominated to MTV's Music Awards (*everyone applauds and cheers*) and second, Gaby and I are at this moment seven weeks pregnant." Etcetera etcetera dé rigour. blabbidi-blabbidi-bla.
When this round of chortles is over, Belendor will announce that we'll get married on April 30th, on Beltane, and not because we have to but because we want to. That will be a surprise to me as well, because he and I will not have talked about marriage yet, but Belendor has decided to give me a nice surprise. I'm very happy.
We get married in a small civil ceremony and then go on a honeymoon to the Mediterranean for a month. Then we come back and start looking for a house to move into as soon as I've delivered. We manage to find the perfect house, not too big, a centric, well illuminated old old house and we manage to buy it with the money we've been saving all these years. Then I let my mothers decorate (for I can't help it) while I spend my days enjoying my pregnancy in a constant state of bliss (Yes. I. Will.)
That's as far as I can see. I get to that point in my fantasy and then it recycles itself. I can see no further, but it's far enough. Only two years ago, I couldn't see even one week ahead.
Now, I know this is ultimately stupid and childish and superstupid and dorkish, and on some level I hate myself for having so corny fantasies, but it still beats counting sheep.
Only $6 million.
posted by gaby san at
6/03/2003 10:45:00 PM
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