I’ve lived in New England for most of my life. I used to get annoyed when non-natives brought up how unfriendly the East Coast is. I was all, “Why would I want to talk about the weather with complete strangers walking down the street?” Recently, I’ve begun to wonder, “Huh, I wonder what it would be like to live in a place where the major method of street communication is not honking?”
I talk to my iphone. As if it were a real person. I also stroke my iphone when it’s being good. As if it were a real person. When it’s being bad, we have a little chat as well. I call him “iphone baby.” I used think people that did this kind of stuff were nuts… but, nope, it’s totally understandable. [Edit: I have the original iphone - that's right, what's up you 3G namby pambies?]
Revolving doors and escalators terrify me. When did people have so much trouble walking through normal doors that someone thought to create a revolving death trap?
I’m tone deaf. I only realized this in college. Looking back on it, the elementary school grades I got in Music class were a bit unfair.
I’ve only ever dated and slept with men, but I still fully contend that I just haven’t met the right woman yet.
I consider myself a Skinny Bitch convert, except, you know, not vegan and without the penchant for eating highly-processed fake meat products made from soy. Soda = Satan.
I love Michael Pollen’s nutritional advice, “Eat food. Not too much. Mostly plants.” Really, I just love it any time a well respected PHd agrees with what I already tend to believe.
With the exception of a pearl earring in a London hotel room, I’ve never lost anything. I’m sure this is to be rectified some day soon when I lose my skirt in a freak escalator accident.
I'm a bit obsessed with perfection and becoming an idealized version of myself. I tend wish years of my life away as often as I wish that I could start it all over, more perfectly and with 20/20 hindsight, or wake up tomorrow a some else completely. I'm searching for balance and comfort. I'd hate to use the term quarter-life crisis.
I want to read the memoir of someone else's life, and find this confession, "I went through my life not knowing if any of the decisions I'd made were right. I wandered from one option to the next, always a bit in the last, always a bit in the next, always a bit in twenty others. I never knew which path was right, but I still wandered with an illusive, temporary sense of direction. Time quickened and I was forced to prefer some imagined outcomes over others, to choose some directions as rationally desirable. There were fantastic gains, lovely people, remarkable experiences - but where did they lie on the graph of the million outcomes my life could have come to? I pretended I knew, but I never really new. I spent a lifetime playing forty games against each other in my head." It's what you'll find in mine.
