this little girl from lancaster


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Thursday, July 31, 2003

I haven't written anything for a long time, but today I am trying to stage a come back.

Here is what's new. In the fall, I am moving from New York, my home of three years, to Los Angeles generally, and Santa Monica specifically, assuming I find an apartment for less that a million dollars a day. This will be my fourth new hometown in my 27 years. That kind of makes me feel nice, and pretty grown up and independent, this moving all over the country business.

Funny enough, I was reading an article today about sleep-away camps and how they encourage independence. I couldn't disagree more. I hated summer camp when I went, and cried my eyes out begging to go home after 4 days. Luckily, the camp was only 5 days long.

At the time, my parents got all worried that I would never leave home and all that nonsense. But now, I go and move all over the place, much to my mother's horror ("But honey, there are EARTHQUAKES out there!") So this is the message I have for all you parents out there who think your kids are big losers for missing home. It doesn't mean anything. Nothing at all. And just because your kids like sleep away camp, doesn't mean they won't move back in with you when they're 30.

Wednesday, October 09, 2002

I realized that there is no person in this life I wish to impress more than my eight year old self. I think a lot about my life and whether it lives up to the expectations she had of me. I have not become a famous rock musician, starring in music videos and touring the country on an all-stadium tour. I have not become an Olympic gold medalist. On the other hand, I have moved to New York, married the man of my dreams and gotten a job where I sometimes have to dress up in fancy suits for highfaluting meetings. But still, I worry. She had such high expectations of me, that little bitch.

Tuesday, October 01, 2002

I am having trouble sleeping, and I think it is because my world is colliding and I'm becoming old. Or maybe not. But I do know I've been spending a lot of time thinking about investing, in buying an apartment, in my 401K. When, exactly, did this happen? And perhaps this is the reason I haven't written the last few days, and if so, then I have reason to be concerned. And when I start putting away my childish things, will I start to lose my sense of joy?

Are those the beginnings of fine lines spreading around my eyes? Have they always been there?

Friday, September 27, 2002

This morning, the doors got stuck on the F train. Some flustered MTA workers, three very nice women, were bound and determined to keep things running. I could be wrong, but I doubt that they had any personal stock in whether or not the train went out of service. It seems to me that surrendering might have made their lives easier, given them an hour or so off to ride the train back to train headquarters and report the malfunction. Yet on they worked, opening up panels behind those poster holders I always thought were just for advertising. And then, miraculously, the doors opened, and then closed, and the women gave each other a knowing smile. Thanks to them, we would all get to work on time. The crowd let out a little cheer. And that made me wonder - did those nice ladies do it just for the cheer? If they did, I can't say I blame them.

Wednesday, September 25, 2002

It has been a busy morning. Here are questions I pondered before 9 am:

If women are better listeners, why do men remember more movie quotes?
If two subway cars are bumping up against each other, why doesn't one go express?
If you put something away in a special place so you remember it, why can you never find it again?
If you get more sleep, why are you more tired?
Where the hell are my tax returns?

Please, if you have any information regarding the above, with special emphasis on the whereabouts of my tax returns, will you be nice enough to get in touch with me at your earliest convenience? Thank you.

Tuesday, September 24, 2002

Having this site is supposed to make me write every day. I will try not to use it to further my own vanity. This will be hard, as my vanity often yearns to be furthered. I have friends, and they have sites, and I fear that they will think I am a big loser for following in their footsteps. This will confirm my worst and wildest fears - that I am, in fact, a big loser following in their footsteps.