Since the last we spoke, I’ve been a wee bit busy with life, work, and general good times. Please accept my apologies for the hiatus. Much like your favorite TV shows that returned this week, I too am returning to somewhat of a regularly scheduled programming situation here on this blog, though I don’t have a wardrobe or makeup team and I’d really, really like one.
I’d like to preface this story with the fact that I am now twenty-eight years old.
To the age old question of what I want to be when I grow up, I’ve had the following answers: ballerina, actress, famous actress, Julliard grad who becomes a Tony Award-Winning Actress, and that’s it. Well, except for when I in elementary school, dashed off a story about aliens with matching uniforms. won a creative writing contest hosted by the town library, was given a desk handcrafted by Certainly Wood (the town’s handcrafted wood store), and had my face splashed across the front page of the newspaper. At that point I was evidently a “writer.”
My parents were proud. I had a new desk on which to write. We went out to dinner at The Ground Round (complete New England chain – does it still exist?). The librarians seemed to know me by name, which in of itself was better than any type of fame I’d previously imagined. For a while, this new profession didn’t seem so bad. The next year I wrote about magical gymnasts in fluorescent leotards and was relegated to third place. The prize was a bookshelf. Everyone seemed to find that so incredibly cute. Look at the little writer with her handcrafted wood desk on which to write and her handcrafted wood bookshelf on which to place her favorite books. If the newspaper reporter had asked the winners about their favorite books, I probably would’ve blurted out, “Any Babysitter’s Club book every written. Ever.”
I did not yet understand that impressions were important.
Guess I’ve blown them with you people. Oh well. Continue reading »
Most of my high school lunches were spent at the same rectangular table, with the same girls, eating the same lunch, drinking the same yellow Powerade. And it was because I’d wanted a group of girlfriends who would totally be in my wedding (they weren’t) that this lunchtime situation was ideal. I knew exactly where I fit in, even when I felt like I didn’t.
But life went on, as it tends to do, and things got tough, and I no longer have lunch with most of those girls. In fact, I don’t have lunch with many girls period. I went from being someone with a ton of friends to someone with a few really fantastic friends, and I much preferred it that way.
While I was evolving into this solo eater, someone was inventing Facebook just so I could see how many of my girlfriends of yore still lunched together. OK, I’ve seen The Social Network, and I get that my misery wasn’t the sole reason for its invention, but you gotta admit that the movie (even if it’s based on mashup of mostly fiction muddled with some fact) does sort of suggest that the pain of former relationships spawned Facebook and keeps it going. C’mon! You know you spend at least some (if not half, if not all) of your Facebook time stalking old friends, former lovers, or the can-you-believe-she-looks-like-that-ers? Continue reading »
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