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I want to be an Almodovar girl like Maura, like Victoria Abril, a little bit clever, a little bit silly, going with Madonna in a limousine. I want to be an Almodovar girl like Bibí, like Miguel Bosé, forgetting everything and not going out of fashion, dancing the latest couplet with you. And not stopping traveling from winter to summer, from Madrid to New York, from embrace to oblivion, leaving you in the darkness listening to the sound of distant heels. Finding the way out of this grey labyrinth, without passion or sin, or madness or incest, having a different lover in each port, not shouting what have I done to deserve this! I want to be an Almodovar girl like Pepi, like Luci like Bom, selling my bedroom secrets to Garbo, putting on mourning for a matador. I want to be an Almodovar girl who begs her boyfriend to Tie me up! not to give my soul except to the one who steals it from me, to have breakfast at Tifanis with him. And not let those nasty things about Croatians and Serbians get on my nerves, go through life on the verge of a nervous breakdown, in skirts and crazy. Find the way out of this grey labyrinth, without passion or sin, or madness or incest, have a different lover in every port, not shout, "What have I done to deserve this!" How bewildered to write my memoirs, sign up for any kind of bombing, have no faith other than skin, no law other than the law of desire. Find the way out of this grey labyrinth, without passion or sin, or madness or incest, have a different lover in every port, not shout, "What have I done to deserve this!"