I’m a big fan of lists. My desk is always “decorated” with dozens of neon yellow Post-its (sometimes pink, if I’m feeling saucy) to the extent that it defeats the point of being in any way attention-grabbing. Sometimes my penchant for lists can be ridiculous, and just last week I compiled a particularly lofty one that details everything I want to accomplish in my twenties; let me say that I hope I’m a diligent phenom and just don’t know it yet.

First on the list: Live in Paris for at least a year (London is an OK runner-up).

As I’m a journalist, I (naively) assume I can live anywhere and find a job — never mind my lack of fluency in French. I can just people-watch in a cafe all day and report back to Vogue about fashion trends — because I’m, like, really good at unearthing them.

Write a screenplay, and if possible, win an Oscar for it.

I’ve written a screenplay, but I’m embarrassed to show it to anyone. This could be a major hurdle to achieving this goal, as most studios prefer to read a script before they buy it (It’s true!). If I do get over this issue, I will most definitely cast Jason Schwartzman in the lead role.

Go to a party that Paris Hilton is at.

Just cause. All the cool kids are doing it.

Do research on the culture of internationally obscure countries.

This may blow some minds, but does it strike anyone as odd that the Icelandic Ministry for Foreign Affairs Web site promotes Bj