back with a vengeance.

Life changed enough that the path to repurposing my blog is now clear: Marriage to the atheist of my high school dreams provides endless supplies of new content if I can just spend some of my free time typing things out instead of cuddling him over episodes of Twin Peaks. Yes. Life is wonderful excepting for the stomach flu I contracted last night. But even then, I've successfully managed to keep down the following items: 1 glass of EmergenC, a bowl of cereal, 1 cup of Melograno special Italian tea, and an entire glass of water. I'll be better just in time to do some last minute Christmas shopping tomorrow, hop on a plane to Salt Lake the following day, lounge with the fam at a ski resort for Christmas, and make it to my own retrospective wedding reception a few days before New Year's. I'm not sure it gets much better than this.

moving forward.

Ok friends and family,

It's official: This blog is through. All of my writing efforts will now be poured into a graphic novel style memoir that I'm taking way seriously. We'll see how it goes; I'm excited.

The good news is that I have a new blog as equally egocentric and revealing as this one and possibly even more immature: I will be joining thousands of high school students across the world by posting a picture of myself daily. You will find my visual diary here: socialexplosion.tmblr.com.
I hope to expose weather conditions, love affairs, scenery, events, haircuts, and weight variations throughout the years.

It's been fun guys. Thanks to everyone who's ever bothered reading.

just a boring blog entry.

I cut my hair again. Big fat surprise.

People who've known me for years didn't even notice. My fresher Brooklynite friends were so excited to see my real self that they stopped singing momentarily to blurt their approval during branch choir practice when I walked in early for church the following day. It's great to have such overwhelming approval about peeling a layer back.

I don't know what to say. New York is a weird place. Brooklyn is a weird place. Everything in my apartment has been carried in by my arms. Except the stuff my roommate carried in. And the couch. I paid a long-haired smoker with an old van like the one my mom used to drive us around in $60 to move my lovely craig'slist purchase over the threshold and into my tiny abode. He was nice.

This hands-on lifestyle and obligation to forge my own sanctuary forces me to grow up. It juices out my maternal instincts. I've started cooking again. It's become my biggest hobby. I bake only for birthdays and work/church functions. Otherwise, I'm freezing soup, packing home-made granola bars, and pecking at the spinach salad I stuff into the same ikea tupperware I bring to work for lunch everyday. Oh, and oats. I'm obsessed with eating them raw and with jam and cinnamon and milk and honey and yogurt. I don't know why.

Running, on the other hand, makes me feel like a gangster. I own this place. Ask anyone who witnesses white puffs escape my mouth at 7 o'clock every morning. The numbers are few. I've pounded the gray gum sidewalk spots in every direction. I've battled the hills in jewish, chinese, and russian neighborhoods. The cold can't keep me in.