7am: Wake up as the sun appears over the horizon. Climb off futon. Put kettle on for a cup of Celestial Seasonings brand "Red Zinger."
7:15 am: Light candles and say a morning prayer to velvet painting of Janis Joplin. Stroke jar containing Janis' preserved toenails and kiss lock of hair bought from Peggy "I was stark naked, stoned out of my mind on heroin, and the girl lying between my legs giving me head was Janis Joplin" Caserta.
8am: Breakfast at Denny's...repeat 10 times "I am just a good ol' girl from Leavenworth."
9am: Put the following phrases in a bag: Loving my lover. Leaving my lover. My lover leaving me. Loving being left by my lover. Where is my lover? Shake up bag and pick one to decide what new song is going to be about.
11-2pm: Yes I Am. No I'm Not. I Might Be But Buy My Album Anyway. Delete all pronouns from ramblings except for "me" or "I". Song writing completed for the day. Practice holding out long, raspy, bluesy notes without vibrato while opening mouth as wide as possible and throwing back head to denote passion.
2:05 pm: Plant rumor in Mother Jones that K.D. Lang owns a cattle ranch in Montana under the pseudonym "Jack Wagner."
2:15 pm: Still smarting from MTV's decision to air Sheryl Crow's Unplugged before yours, see "Leaving Las Vegas" on VH1 for the 25th time today. Hyperventilate, worrying that she, too, might get her own "VH1 Honors" special. In the throes of an anxiety fit, call all gay/lesbian mags to remind their readers that Sheryl Crow is a breeder.
3 pm: Simmer in hot tub with 15 close knit Hollywood lesbians fantasizing about Brad Pitt's buns of steel. Send this out in a press release, affirming that you are no "man-hater" and that you want Brad to donate the sperm for the turkey baster kid you and your lover Julie Cypher (who...you never fail to remind interviewers was married to Lou Diamond Phillips but divorced him to be with you) are gonna have.
4 pm: Call Jodie Foster's number. Panic and hang up when she answers.
4:03 pm: Call again.
5 pm: Invite duet partner/fellow hick wannabe Mr. Springsteen over for dinner. Dine on Hungry Man Sloppy Joes and polish off a keg of Michelob. While drunk, call up Annie Leibovitz/Susan Sontag's answering machine and belt out a woozy rendition of "Born to Run."
6 pm: Have a meeting with Prince Matchiabelli about new "Yes I Am" fragrance, to be made of patchouli mixed with special "lesbian pheromones" and a sprinkling of spores from the site of the Michigan Womyn's Festival.
8 pm: Go to the Sherman Oaks KMart to pick up 25 pairs of stonewashed 501s and 12 bottles of Lady Miss Clairol in "Frosted Ash Blonde."
10pm: In bed by 10 makes Melissa, healthy, really really really really wealthy, and a tad bit wise.