words

showing up to work at 6:15 a.m. only to get off and then spend six hours in a toyota camry to surprise my family on thanksgiving was perhaps the most liberating and cool thing i have done thus far in my young adult life. showing up on someones doorstep unannounced is an incredible experience for both parties involved. not only did i successfully surprise my relatives but also a handful of friends who were all in town for the holiday and also our five-year high school reunion. a truly incredible weekend; yet i can't talk about it. not because i'm trying to censor what happened, but simply because i have lost my voice.

fear of sounding like i'm trying too hard

mentally over the whole blog format and searching for a new platform

wondering if i'm just wasting my time and energy, if anyone is benefitting from this

more motivated to focus on writing a book

pure laziness

it is most likely a combination of all of these things/reasons/excuses. call it what you want to call it. fact of the matter is that something is inhibiting the thoughts in my head from coming to life on the keyboard, and that is like a death sentence to a writer.

so, i have resolved to the following solution: if i can't write words, i will read them. lots of them. from glenn beck's common sense to katie crouch's girls in trucks, the stack of words is grinning at me from across the table. "pick me! pick me!" they are chanting. "i will help you get your voice back." i reason that reading the work of other writers will help me develop and fine-tune my own writing style and push me in the direction that i need to be going. if the winningest coach in college sports history, a couple of experts on late bloomers, or a girl with a dragon tattoo can't help me, i don't know what will.

oh yes, and thank you public library.

5-year high school reunion...here we go!

dear friends and family,

be thankful for spontaneity. or, more accurately, the thoughtful planning of doing something spontaneous. okay. that's totally a type A person thing to say. i try.

and also, i'm thinking about starting a twitter account. thoughts?

off to volleyball training

more later,

theboomeranger

upon meeting a writer last night my friend quickly interjected by saying, "she's a writer, too," and all i could do was throw her a "how could you?" glance, blush, and assure him that i wasn't.

"well, i write, but--"

"then you're a writer," he said. "admitting that you are a writer is like admitting that you are an alcoholic. you must believe yourself that you are and even practice saying it out loud."

i'm a writer. i'm a writer. i'm a writer...

starfish

i now live in an office.

perks?

i get to take the dog on a walk whenever i please. i'm re-united with the all-mighty microwave. one of my new roommates can apparently fashion a halter bra out of a regular bra, which should come in handy one of these days. someone in the house subscribes to people magazine, so there's my celebrity gossip. and the owner just installed HD cable boxes on every television in the house, so the remote might as well be harry potter's magic wand.

downsides?

i have to walk five steps to catch a reflection of myself. whoever it is that made coffee and left half a pot sitting there to die apparently doesn't honor the same brewing code that i am used to. i can't walk around in any of my promiscuous sleepwear. and, my personal favorite: i have to resemble a starfish in order to keep my body elevated off the floor at night. goodbye mattress, hello blown-up mess. on the first morning following my first nights sleep in the house i woke up with my ass on the floor. i felt like i was the lettuce, cheese, and pollo in a soft taco. what ended up saving me was the little switch i found beside the mattress that slowly pumps air back into it. even though i haven't been sleeping well this past week, at least this switch prevents me from turning into a starfish at night.

to summarize: i miss you, mattress on manhattan avenue. why did i leave you for an office a mile away? well, i had no choice in the matter. the owner of the home i have been renting has brought his entire family here for the holidays so i had to vacate temporarily. to my good fortune he arranged for me to stay at a friends place, hence the reason why i now live in the office of a three-bedroom home. sounds like a giant step back but hear this: rent-free. yah baby, best perk of them all.

millionnaire overdose

i never thought i would be sick and tired of bouncing from one millionaire's home to the next. how can the novelty of a personal servant tossing you volleyballs and bringing you popcorn while you're half-submerged in a grotto be wearing off? when it comes to this exclusive los angeles lifestyle, i'm still brand spanking new...so why do i feel like i've seen all there is to see?

bullocks, right? i'm an idiot. only an idiot would forgo spending a day grazing over a feast of catered food, laying on plush lounge chairs, and, of course, playing beach volleyball. only an idiot would pass up the opportunity to eat, drink, and be merry--all at a strangers' expense. yet that's exactly what i did this afternoon. no guys and gals frolicking around in bathing suits for me.

i just couldn't witness another interaction between the seventy year-old man with a forty year-old's face (hello botox) and an ass-less, lingerie-laden model (who i thought should fight for her right to full financial and emotional repercussions from a hair extension gone terribly bad). although i couldn't conceal the fact that i was curious as to what in the world was making her light up, i also couldn't keep myself from thinking, "this girl has a father. where is he?" now i'm not trying to dump on modeling as a career choice. i am simply baffled at how some girls can put themselves in such tasteless situations to further their careers. i know the kind of faces and curves that make it onto magazine covers, billboards, and into victoria's secret underwear, but these girls ain't it. they're more of the, "i feel like bending over beside this muscle car" type.

enough about the girls. it's not about the girls. it's actually more about the guys. where are their wives? you are clearly fast approaching or already adding prozac to your laundry-list of supplements...where are the leading ladies in your lives? that's what bothers me. i like to see moms and dads and happy monogamous relationships. a.k.a., i grew up watching disney movies. simba would never cheat on nala. this i know. what i don't know is where the families are on these friday/saturday/sunday fundays i've been having recently. it's just a different world. when i'm in it i can appreciate the plush towels and mimosas...but in between a volleyball game and a dip in the pool i think about the people i wish were there to enjoy it with me. i am reminded of what's really important in life and that i can indulge in this world for a day and walk off the property leaving that world behind. it's fun and interesting (and one of the models last night complained of being cold for a good ten minutes before finally putting on a bra (light bulb!) but i'm leaving it at that.

newborn on the beach

last night was just weird. pathetic-weird. the kind of night that, if we were keeping score, would undoubtedly leave me with negative five-hundred points. maybe a thousand.

it was one of those nights where my main plan fell through (apparently eat, love, pray doesn't come out for another month) and, with that, so did my dignity. i became one with the couch. it started out innocently enough...me watching the latest episode of modern family while munching on healthy things like grapes and raspberries. one would hope that after channel surfing and realizing that absolutely nothing good was on t.v. that person would take that as a sign to turn the tube off and do something...go for a walk, read one of the books i checked out at the library, write a letter, fold clothes...anything! but no. i was suddenly seized with the burning desire to consume chips. i left my apartment and walked a few blocks to a liquor store where, after a brief moment of being blindsided by the aggressive artificial light, remembered that they require a minimum credit card charge of ten dollars. so one bag of chips turned into two bags of chips and the new bazaar. dear god, i should sign up for a program that automatically freezes my accounts when the clock strikes nine on a weekday.

somewhere between finishing the first season of entourage and starting on a season of sex and the city i managed to finish an entire bag of cheddar-enhanced chips and about half a bag of tostitos. i was watching that episode where miranda gives up sex and ends up filling that void with chocolate. one night she decides to bake a cake and keeps going back for seconds, thirds, fourths, because she can't help but indulge herself. after grabbing another chunk of the cake that was now literally in the trash, she realizes that she has reached an all-time low and pours dishwashing liquid all over the remains to prevent her from further tarnishing her dignity. even though it is just her, alone in her apartment, she still cannot escape the shame that befalls on her. i peered at the remaining chips that i had wrapped up and tucked away out of view--but not out of mind--and suddenly felt akin to miranda. so i did something that i have never done before...

i went to my bathroom and retrieved some hair spray so that i could spoil the remains of my own little fat factory...only what oozed out of the container turned out to be some sort of mousse, so i had to grab a back-up weapon: spray-on sunscreen. those chips were protected like a newborn on the beach. and i haven't looked back.