This is just to say...

I love walking down 5th Ave and catching a whiff of chlorinated pool.

I hate that people were waiting in line to get into Abercrombie and Fitch. Really? So many great stores and that's what people wanted to get in to?

I hate that none of my friends ever leaves a comment on my blog (hint, hint). Except Naomi, she gets a gold star.

And I hate that Rob pretends he's too good to read any of this--and this was after he admitted that if my life was a reality TV show he'd be addicted.

I hate that I know I'm going to watch 90210 tonight.

I hate that I watched Gossip Girl last night. Except, I did love the moment when Blaire's new boyfriend switched from an American to a British accent flawlessly--there's a Juilliard grad for you. But really, c'mon. It was so dumb I may never watch again.

I hate when drivers don't observe the pedestrian's right away and then they give you a look like you're in the wrong.

I love goofy, little texts.

I love how excited I get about any text you send me.

I hate that I don't have unlimited texting.

I love that my friends embrace the extent to which I'm truly a dork.

I hate when people use their headshot photo as their Facebook profile picture. I have friends that do this and I love them (in spite of this little foible). But seriously, why is it that actors constantly feel the need to remind the world that they're just that?

I love my new purse from Anthropologie.

I hate that I didn't really have the money for my new purse.

I hate goodbyes.

I love that my Mom's coming in a month.

I love that I'm going to have a tea-party for my birthday. Even if it is thirteen years too late.

That's all... for now.

Stace, you know how you said...

...that the reason it worked with Nick the second go round is because you learned how to cook?

Well, I'm in trouble.

I tried tonight I really did. And the thing is, I want to like cooking. Trust me, it's not for lack of desire that I constantly come up short.

Dumplings. Sounds easy enough right?

Wrong.

They take much too much time to boil. Then, you put them in a frying pan slicked with a tiny, seemingly miniscule amount of oil and the little devils cause that oil to spring up onto your poor, unsuspecting arms and hands.

This was after I lost two of the little things down the disposal as I tried to drain the water. They slipped away like live fish and before I even knew what had happened I was left staring down at an empty sink, debating whether to go in after them. I know, I know that would have been bad. So they're still there. Sad little dumplings stuck in a drain.

And they weren't even that good. Jonathan was nice, he told me otherwise to make me feel better, but I know the truth.

I know.

Oh yeah, and that tiny, little bit of oil that managed to add calories but no flavor is all over the kitchen floor.

How will I ever become marriage material?

By the way...

  I like talking on the phone the old-fashioned way. With you.

Lets run away together...

How about...

buying more books than we can carry in El Ateneo and then wandering through San Telmo?

blending in withe the countless extras that populate Bollywood films as we meet street-dwellers and millionaires alike in the perfumed mecca that is Mumbai?

biking all over Amsterdam and getting lost in the clouds of smoke seeping out of the coffeehouses?

or following in the footsteps of all hopeless romantics and great intellectuals as we sit along the Seine wearing berets and smoking Gitanes?

sneaking through the dark alleys of Prague and getting a little lesson in history?

What do you think?

My scanner has created a monster. Volume II: The Early Years

 

The back of the photo says December '73. When I found it I realized that I sit just like that. My hand between my legs, my middle finger beneath my nose, my thumb under my chin and my index finger on the side of my face. Always, always I do this. I didn't realize I got it from my mom. Scary.

January of '86. My Baptism--its so clear Connor loves me, yes? I don't know, I think the jury was still out at that point.

I get the sense that my parents and everyone else was laughing at me at this point in their baptismal photo shoot.

Connor was trouble as a kid. We were at the family reunion. If you look closely you can see two different last names on his t-shirt. Nobody is really sure that the two are related, but we just kinda go on the loose assumption that we are. Polish people--a funny breed really.

Did I say trouble? I meant dangerous.

We were a handful to say the least.

This picture is proof that at one point my hair was not only blonde, it was curly. What happened?

Our expressions are priceless. We had just finished a romping round of trying to catch lightning bugs in our glass jars.