Despite All The True Things I Already Know About The Moon
My friends could come visit, but their clothes would have to be NASA-issued to protect them from the elements or lack thereof or whatever. Because I live on the moon in this scenario, I could have my own wardrobe because I would have adapted well to that environment and wouldn’t need that kind of protection. This means I would always have the best wardrobe of all my friends.
There would be no good takeout, because you can’t make Pad Thai without proper pressure in which to boil noodles. It wouldn’t matter, though, because I would get very good at making my own recipes up with all that fancy dried ice cream stuff you can get in science museum gift shops
I would have a limitless supply of that fancy dried ice cream stuff you can get in science museum gift shops
The no-oxygen thing really wouldn’t be as big of a deal as movies and NASA make it out to be. I would be able to adapt perfectly to the atmosphere as I made my home there, much as the rom-com heroine moving Manhattan after four years studying English at a small Midwestern/New England college adapts well to the hustle and bustle of Mid-Atlantic life over the span of a clumsy but endearing montage set to a Kelly Clarkson song. It would be inspiring as all hell, and you would all be jealous.
The TV reception wouldn’t be very good, so I would never have to sit through the awful insensitivities of network TV. Any sexual assault would be appropriately devastating and reflect the realities of gendered violence, not thrown in to build character or to become nothing more than a casual mention in seasons to come. All my media could be carefully self-selected through Netflix and none of it would be by Aaron Sorkin. There would be pretty good WiFi on the moon, for this express purpose.
Christian Slater would never have existed, and as such I would never have had to suffer the displeasure of hearing his voice. There’s no Heathers on the moon!!!!!! My friend Heather is still allowed to visit if she promises not to mention Christian Slater though.
Extraterrestrial life would not exist, at least not on or near my new moon home, but sometimes water bears (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jz0mQcjyc7s) would come visit when they were done floating around in space. They go to sleep when fired out of the atmosphere, you know. Sometimes they die when they are thrown into the vacuum of space, but sometimes they don’t, so they could come hang out. It would be nice to have a tiny friend who has experienced so much!
Smoking would not be bad for my lungs on the moon, and if it was still bad for anyone else’s it wouldn’t even matter up there in my fortress of moon solitude. There would also be wind on the moon just to blow smoke away so that the air (lack of air?) would not constantly smell of stagnant smoke, and also to give me a nice breeze but not the kind that messes up my hair. I would finally look cute and wind-swept like Cosmo mag promised me I would someday be able to, and not like a cursed hag from the western seas.
The moon economy would prize napping and reading Gillian Flynn novels over industriousness and being a man. I would rise quickly to the top, but as the moon economy is a gentle and forgiving one the moon 1% would not be much different from the lowest levels of moon poverty. The human cost of production would be super low and only possibly ever measured in who had the worst bangs. That wouldn’t be me.