In short order I'd get a better apartment--or maybe a condo--and a real car, and quit my job. Pay off my debts. I'd buy a brilliant computer system, all decked out. Then I'd pack up a laptop and check myself into a tony weight-loss spa for as long as it took to get slim. When I came home, I'd buy a ton of clothes and redecorate my apartment into the perfect den of comfort. I'd go down to Pioneer Square and buy art for my walls. Then I'd travel, visit my online friends, the ones I haven't met and the ones I have. First I'd drive around the States until I got sick of driving, staying in nice hotels and dropping in to visit with people. Then I'd head to Sweden to see Torch, and to England to see anyone who wanted to hang. I'd wander through Europe, vaguely regretting my monolingual...ism, then come home, where I'd probably end up trying to write. Fan-fiction, or novels, or poetry. Because once I had a lot of money, I'd have to resist new types of distractions in order to accomplish anything--travel and shiny things, trivial, transient pleasures. But maybe I'd take cruises and bring my laptop along. And if being rich and slim and cute as a button wasn't enough to get me laid, I'd hire silky male hustlers to service me.
And I'd get a cat. And I'd invite friends over at the holidays to sit around my roaring fire, near the tree, and I'd serve them roast turkey. And whenever the whim struck, or when I saw a friend who needed or wanted something really badly, I'd spread crazy largesse around, saying things like, "Do you mind if I give you a huge wad of cash? It's sitting in my hip pocket like a freakish goiter and I need to get rid of it."
I'd startle the homeless beggars--the ones who made me sad and didn't piss me off--by giving them rolls of ten-dollar bills. I'd whip off checks every time some worthwhile liberal request hit my mailbox, and I wouldn't feel at all bad about tossing money at a problem instead of volunteering in a soup kitchen. Because I'd be getting a pedicure.
All in all, I'd be the same person, incapable of having a real life, but I'd be filthy rich and I think I'd giggle a lot.