It's Only Fair...

That you know about me before you decide to commit your precious time (most likely at work) to reading my mind. Literally, because I'm putting my mind down on this blog. So. About me. Well, I'm 26 and just moved from Los Angeles back to D.C. It only took me 4 years, but I realized I HATED L.A. I guess it's like when people graduate from law school or business school and think "Fuck, I don't want to do this." Basically that. Well, exactly that -- I wasted a ton of my parents' money and they can't brag to their friends about an illustrious career. I originally went out to L.A. to become a T.V. writer. Foolishly, I thought you show up with some samples and something will happen. I look back at my 22 year old self, shaking my head slowly with a tight-lipped smile. As the British and American Southerners say in the most adorably condescending way, "Awww bless." I knew NOTHING. I mean, I knew SOME things. Shakespeare wrote in iambic pentameter. Yeah. That's pretty much it. Moving on. I do greatly appreciate the friendships I made in L.A. I managed to find the few decent, empathetic, and smart people in this city. I think I actually located all of them. There are about 80-90 and they're aggregated on my goodbye party evite if anyone in the area would like an introduction. I miss them. Please don't cry. No, don't. It's not that big a deal! I text and google hang with them! I'm pretty much in constant communication with them. It's OK, I promise. Here, you'll feel better laughing at my attempt at intimidation (I'm all the way to the left under the whore drinking from an ale barrel.)

I made the decision to take a break from entertainment. "It's not me, it's most definitely you." I'm very happy with my decision, and one thing remains the same -- I still love writing. That's where this blog come in. I want to document my life back home. I'm sorry, did I neglect to mention I'm from D.C.? Yes, I'm currently living in my mom's apartment in the Watergate (where I bring the average age down about 40 years). My dad conveniently lives right across the Potomac in Roslyn, VA. My parents separated in 2006 and got divorced in 2008. Their divorce actually went through on my college graduation (which my mom so kindly whispered into my ear while we took a family photo). My Grandma Rose also lives in the area -- she's at Leisure World in Rockville, MD. What's frightening is that my parents were eligible to live in Leisure World about 10 years ago... Anyways, GMa Rose was 98 when my parents got divorced. My parents decided that there was no need to cause her any more stress (or a potential heart attack) and didn't tell her they got divorced. I mean, she was 98, we pretty much would say goodbye every time she took a nap. Well, GMa Rose is 103, and the charade continues. We do "family lunches" at Houstons, and my mom even comes to family events on my dad's side. I'll be working for my mom at her PR firm. And it turns out I'll actually see my dad every day, too. My dad does real estate, and didn't really have a home base. Well, until my mom so kindly gave him an office in her suite. It's technically the storage closet, so if anyone needed post-its or a stapler, you'd most likely be sucked into conversation with my dad. Yup. Me, my mom, and my dad. Every day. Every. Day. I just exhale/sighed very loudly if you were at all curious as to my mindset that I can't quite express in binary.

My mom says "It's so French!" Sure. If by "French" she means "Fucked." I will say, I'm extremely lucky that my parents' relationship is totally amicable. And that I get to see them (all the fucking time). And that I was allowed to move back in rent-free. Apparently groceries are a non-negotiable. I'll have to talk to my roommate about that. You're probably like "Wait, what? Wait, we'll get back to the whole Grandma doesn't know thing, what does this have to do with Lena Dunham?" As I so clearly state, I am NOT Lena Dunham. I don't have a TV show that I write, direct, and in which I star. I don't have a $3.5M book deal. I didn't go to the Emmys or Golden Globes. I know, it can get pretty confusing, especially since I'm living a "Tiny Furniture"-esque life, but let me say it again -- I am NOT Lena Dunham. Although this picture may prove otherwise:

By the by, that's a wig. However, I was at a supercooltotallyuberhiptrendyscene party celebrating "Young Hollywood" and the next day, received this email: "Has anyone ever told you that you may look like Lena Dunham? I’ve had a few people ask me today if Lena Dunham was at our party last night, people were convinced they saw her. And then someone said “it was definitely Lena, and I think she was shoving PopChips into her purse.” How do I know they were talking about me? I'd like to refer you to the "shoving PopChips into her purse" excerpt. Some more background about me -- I love free shit. LOVE IT. And if there's one thing that Hollywood does well, it's SWAG. At this party, there happened to be a giant PopChips stand. I fucking love PopChips. That combined with my feelings on free items, led me to take a few bags, and yes, "shove" them into my clutch. I was overzealous and attempted about 4 bags. When my clutch didn't close I thought "fuck it" and stuck it back under my arm. Much like Icarus, tempting fate became my downfall. And now I'll be remembered as the girl who MAAAAAAYYYBE looks like Lena Dunham, but more notably the girl who was "Supermarket Sweep"-ing PopChips into her clutch. I'll leave you with that image. A girl fucking stuffing free chips into a clutch, without end, and in slo-motion. Don't pretend like you wouldn't do the same thing. THEY WERE POPCHIPS! THEY'RE FUCKING DELICIOUS. THE END.