Sometimes I think about how I spend the majority of my day, my weeks, my years; and it can get a little disheartening. When I was a little girl, I wanted to grow up to be the person in the zoo who took care of the baby tigers. Yes, I was that girl with all the drawings and posters of tigers on her bedroom walls.

Nowadays, I sit in a cube. It’s grey, or ‘gray’ if you prefer, and fluorescently lit. It is akin to a stall actually, and sometimes does resemble a barn when odd odors emanate from the lunchroom down the “hall.”

Although the scenery leaves much to be desired, Graphic Designer Friend, Emo, and I have spruced up the place with “Bozo,” the blow up clown punching bag that we attack from time to time (think Office Space; copier in field scene), a number of Happy Meal toys, a plethora of pictures about inside jokes, celebrity crushes, and handmade seasonal decorations (like her Rob Pattinson turkey for example), and one foam sword used to fight off integrity violations and the work-day antics of ex-boyfriends who don’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer. And because we work in marketing, we seem to be able to get away with a lot more.

So, yes, the people are (mostly) good and we have more fun than we should in an office environment. But when I think of all the hours I spend watching my “career” marinate in its own dirty bath water, I wonder what else I might be doing instead.

My first thought of course jumps straight to firemen. Not as in doing firemen (dirty), but as in being one. Yes, a fireman. Not firewoman, or fireperson; fireman. As in a man fighting fires, sliding down poles, racing toward danger, saving people and kittens, and looking after the firehouse Dalmatian. I love the firemen. I don’t know why. The firemen make me happy. And if I were bigger and could haul a limp body from a burning building, I would do it. I would. I’m not afraid of fire, quite the opposite (drowning), and think I would be well suited for a job that helps people.

A less physically demanding option that still helps people would be a psychologist. I really love the stuff. I really love figuring out why people act the way they do and what’s really going on behind what someone is saying or doing. Or maybe I’ve just gotten used to having to do that in my own life. Either way, I think it’s fascinating and I think I’d be good at it. Plus, then I could make some serious coin (I’m so street) and move to Evanston in one of those great big beautiful Victorian homes with a giant yard and trees that reminds me of where I grew up only without the rural context.

A less physically demanding and less degree-requiring option would be to own my own flower shop. I love flowers. Flowers make people happy. And I like to make people happy. And I can futz around learning about and arranging flowers without any care for time. This is actually what I say I’m going to do when I retire someday. Because, you know, none of us is ever really going to be able to retire.

We all know, however; that I’m not going to go and run away to become a fireman, or a psychologist, or a florist. Which is why I’d totally settle for being Tina Fey when I grow up.

Because she’s awesome. Because she drinks red wine on her treadmill (actually, that one is Liz Lemon*) and I think you should be able to eat pizza on the elliptical. She’s funny- witty even, a key orchestrator of the inaugural Lohan intervention, a smart writer, mother, wife, actor with a killer Palin impression, a good role model, a feminist who still will don an evening gown, and a just plain down-to-earth woman who encourages other women to eat. Plus, she knows Alec Baldwin and everyone loves her.

Yup, I’d totally settle for being Tina Fey. Maybe a firefighting Fey, or Florist Fey…

*Did you know that when you google Liz Lemon, all these scary ass Jesus drawings come up? Try it, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.