Some Advice, from My Favorite Seven-Year-Old

Dear President Elect Obama,

Congratulations on winning the election. Here are some things you can do to help our country. You can make new rules like you have to be at least thirty-eight years old to be in the army. Also, you can stop the war by breaking the enemy’s guns and cannons. Tell people to donate to charity and to help the poor. Health insurance and medicine should be a lower price. Also, please lower gas prices.

From,

Jackson Kelman

[J&J, your letter is coming. I didn’t forget!]

Robin Skinner, John Cleese: Families and How to Survive Them

“…this falling in love routine is very bizarre. You find perfectly ordinary, rational people like computer programmers and chartered accountants, and there they are, happily computing and chartering away, and suddenly they see someone across a crowded room and think, ‘Ah, that person is made for me, so I suppose I’d better spend the rest of my life with them.’ It borders on the occult.”

‘Til I’m Home Again and Feeling Right

It’s a very strange sensation, walking into my mom’s new house, seeing everything I associate with home (the dog, the bookshelves, the large dining room table, Mom) in a place I’ve never seen before in my life. It’s exactly like when you dream that you’re in your house but it’s not your house but it is your house. Dan’s standing there, in my house, next to my mom, which is very dream-like indeed, since I think they hadn’t seen each other in four years. Dan’s petting the dog, who is in a backyard I’ve never seen before, and Mom’s wearing an ankle bracelet I’ve never seen before. She lives in Connecticut now and I had nothing to do with this move. Her house is still in boxes. She shows me the bracelet — it’s from high school, when she went on a date with a boy. The boy is now a man and he is back in her life. She smiles as she holds it, her eyes getting a little dreamy. Continue reading

I Think I Might Be Hungover

Well, at least I finally got some sleep. Somewhere after three in the morning last night I finally went to bed. I just took the most memorable shower. This place has a shower that feels like a car wash. I started laughing in there, it was so sarcastic. “Oh, you need a shower?” SPLOOOSSSHHH! It knocks you back. The only thing it didn’t hose away was my intense headache from yesterday’s all-day drinking jamboree. I don’t understand why the man who rents this place doesn’t have nine girlfriends — one he dates and eight that date the shower.

I took a train by myself to Penn Station (meaning someone dropped me off at the train and someone was there when it stopped, so I’m not that bold of a girl yet). The entire time I had convinced myself I was on the wrong train. Then I went to the wrong meeting place but luckily so did my cousin.

Coffee, baby pictures, family discussions, catching-up. This was probably the eighth or ninth time I’ve seen my cousin in my life. We didn’t grow up near each other and he’s older than I am so when we were kids we really had nothing in common, so I find it amazing how alike we are. We have the same sense of humor, the same tastes. I wish we had been able to see more of each other. I love him very much and I’m glad I got to spend the day together, even if we did forget to call my mom to wish her a happy birthday until the very second the train was arriving to take him home. Next time.

Get yourself a friend who’s a concierge, because he can tell you where you are, where you want to be, where you want to drink afterwards and how long you’ll be at each place. We had lunch at a mexican food place with margaritas stronger than any Trudy’s Mexican Martini. We were giggly and stupid and then went to another place to meet up with another friend for more drinks and being stupid until we went to another friend’s place to meet up for more drinks and being stupid and there was even another place before that where we met up to meet up before we went somewhere.

So today I sound like Marge Simpson. My jeans are still wet from the rain that never stopped yesterday, and I’m ready to have a nice quiet bagel followed by a quick lunch with my editor and then some sight-seeing. Yesterday was just a day full of looking at the bottom of an empty glass. I just want some water.

Dear Santa

hope it’s not too late

Dear Santa,

I almost didn’t write to you this year. It’s not that I’ve been particularly naughty or anything, it’s just that I wasn’t feeling particularly Christmas-y this year.

You see, every year in my entire life I’ve spent Christmas Day with my family. And this year, I can’t do that. They are very very far away. The other day was my sister’s birthday. I couldn’t see her and hug her and tell her how much I love her.

This, Santa, has made me very sad. And I’m trying to pretend that it’s not Christmas, but I really can’t do that anymore.

Continue reading

I Best Recognize

not too late

I don’t think it’s too late to do this. In fact, it’s what I’ve been thinking about for the past few days.

I’m thankful that I got to go home this past weekend. I’m thankful that not only I got to spend time with my family, I also got to spend time with friends. I love the sound of a house filled with laughter. I saw my sister more than I can remember doing in a long time. I’m very thankful for that. People were smiling. The food was good. I stayed up way too late and talked all night. Everyone got along and I had a great time. I’m thankful that even though I won’t be able to go home for Christmas this year, I got to spend time with my family and have it be holiday-filled.

But…

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Goodbye, Houston

take care of them for me.

I think it’s safe to say the sad days at Squishy have officially begun. The next couple of weeks will probably be both sporadic and depressing. Deal with me, okay?

I’ve lost my voice. It was coming from this weekend, after a dueling Axl Rose session with both Matts (don’t ask), but I lost it big time last night.

That happens when I cry. When I cry for a long time. I tend to lose my voice.

Continue reading