This is my imaginary dinner party: I sit next to Hugh Grant (obviously his hand is on my thigh), Charlotte and Emily Bronte sit across from me and we engage in witty conversation (Anne is not specifically invited, but is, of course, welcome). Gene Kelly sits at my left and asks me to dance every 20-30 minutes (I oblige, gladly). Every once in a while Gael Garcia Bernal cuts in (and every once in a while he says something flirty to me in Spanish). Ben Folds, Dave Matthews, and Jason Mraz provide music they have written especially for me. Margaret Sanger sits at one head of the table, Jon Stewart at the other - politically, we're covered. Conan O'Brien and the boy that plays Ron Weasley in Harry Potter serve drinks (because I think they are both awkwardly adorable). Homer Simpson provides comic relief, and Artemis (stunningly beautiful, yet cold, Greek Goddess of the Hunt) stands guard at the door, because, p.s. it's invitation only. (Erica was invited, but decided to go out with Patrick Stewart instead, her loss really). ***I have started my goodbye with Hugh- you know those kind of goodbyes take a while. It's not you, it's me. We had a good run. It will be better for both of us in the end. Yadda, yadda. I would like to extend an open invitation to Shia Labeouf and John Krasinksi. Both run a serious risk of falling for me, but if they're up for the challenge, they know where to find me.***