How My Life Could be Worse, Part II

• Let me start with the obvious: McCain/Palin could have been elected.

• I could be responsible for conducting the audit on Sara Palin's estimated $150K+ high-end wardrobe (more than Joe the Plumber's house, by the way), and then coordinating the subsequent "auction" to recoup a sliver of the costs. This would require me to go to Alaska. Ew.

• I could be dealing with a potentially infected gallbladder, threatening to burst, right by my liver, poisoning my bloodstream and causing my death within minutes. Dear Tim, I hope the gallbladder issue clears up for you, and thanks for some perspective. In the meantime, just say no to fried food until you're able to see the GI specialist next month. Hugs!

• I could be a Congolese from Kiwanga, fleeing my village because rebel forces have ignored the fragile cease-fire and have wrestled control from the pro-government militia, murdering all suspected government sympathizers. I could be running, running, with nothing but the clothes on my back to seek safety and shelter in an overcrowded, squalid, understaffed Kibati refugee camp, encaged with fellow compatriots, malnourished, terrified, and lost to family and friends.

• I could be Dmitry Medvedev. Let's face it: he's methodically clearing the way for Putin to run again as president. How good do you think it makes Medvedev feel to hold a job that on paper seems an impressive feat: President of Russia (never holding an elected office until this year)...but in reality is Putin's Puppet du Jour. How much do you think Medvedev has benefitted financially from this quaint little arrangement? What kinds of perks are involved? Swiss bank account? Super models? Tricked out luxury vehicles? A yacht with gold-plated everything? All to be a megalomaniac's stooge on a string? Medvedev, do you have a conscience?

• I could be a past my bloom Playboy Bunny, with starting to sag breasts, and crows feet beginning to striate the outer corners of my eyes, although still maintaining my size 2 figure, because after 20 years of denying myself needless and necessary carbohydtrates, I am used to and comforted by a feeling of starvation. I could be clinically depressed by my utter loss at how to make a living, barely a high school graduate, and never a college graduate, skilled only at posing for girly mags, opening bottles of champagne, and finally working as a trade show model at auto shows along the rust belt. Hooters would be such a cliché.

Gabi