So, I haven’t written in nine years. Sorry about that. I’ve written up so many entries since the last one, and I never completed them, or didn’t get around to posting them, or had some sort of feeling that maybe I shouldn’t post whatever I was writing. I’ve been taught recently to really trust my intuition, and there were reasons why I didn’t actually go through with posting whatever I had been writing. A lot of entries I was writing were very emotional. If I wrote one that was horrendously pessimistic, by the time I would have posted it, I was no longer feeling so down – so I didn’t feel like openly expressing it anymore. If I wrote one that was particularly happy, then I’d be feeling too dark by the time I was going to post it to want to express that kind of glee. I never quite felt balanced enough to want really put any of my thoughts out there for the rest of the world to read, so I decided against it.

So, I was hoping to talk about things that don’t directly apply to my life and my turbulent emotional quakes. I thought maybe I’d stick to the light and fluffy nonsense so that I’m at least WRITING. I guess not every thought needs to be some dramatic statement about life and its meaning, even though I can’t let a dream go through my skull at night without addressing those very topics. Goddamn is that exhausting and unproductive. Why can’t I just dream I’m flying or something cool and fun like that?

Stupid stuff – let’s talk. I was thinking about how great life would be as a writer, a really successful writer. You work your own hours, you achieve worldwide recognition for your advanced written skills, you make great money, and you can live a normal lifestyle because most writers aren’t bombarded for autographs and pictures at the grocery store. Sounds great, if you’re a great writer – but I couldn’t do it. I can hardly keep up with my own website. I think writer’s block is the scariest thing in the world. I don’t know if there’s much you can even do about it. I told my coworker that it’s like having a job as a pianist, but every once in a while totally forgetting how to play. Just staring down at the keys thinking, “I don’t know what to do with this.” Oh my God, what a nightmare. So, I guess I wouldn’t want to be a writer. Also – I don’t know how well I do with working my own hours. I think I kind of need something set for me. I respond better to pre-established limitations.

So, the other day I was out for my friend Andrew’s birthday. We were out with the whole crowd – great group of just solid, fun-loving, NORMAL people (mostly East-Coasters – so that makes sense - but no offense to the few West Coasters in the crowd), and I found myself giddy about being a “grown-up.” There we were, a nice sushi restaurant, ordering as much as we wanted. We all drove ourselves there. When the meal was done, we paid for ourselves with our credit cards that we all pay off ourselves from the money we earn from our jobs, and then we drove ourselves home to our own apartments that we rent ourselves. I mean, this becomes life – but how fun is that? I mean, when I was in high school, I dreamed for that kind of autonomy. At 25, I find myself still getting excited to think that I can stay up as late as I want. How funny. It still feels like I’m 16. I mean, I’m the same person, but now I can do all these other things. Sure, I have all this new responsibility that I never had to worry about before, but I kind of like this. I don’t mind having the responsibility. And right now, I’m not as stressed. I don’t have any major debt or bills. I’m not even having to worry about anyone else yet – no kids, no husband. I’m so far off from buying a house or anything that stressing over that would just be stupid. A total and complete waste of energy. So, here I am, just living life that is mine. Being an adult is fun. I know a lot of people who wish they could be in college forever, in high school forever, who wish they could still be 6 years old! Ugh, total nightmare, if you ask me. No thank you. SIX?? I hated being six. Seriously, I didn’t like being a kid at all. I always wanted to be an adult. I couldn’t wait to grow up. I just couldn’t relate to other six year olds. I just didn’t feel right. I felt frustrated. Sure, I liked to play, but no friends feel like real friends back then. I never felt confident and safe. Maybe that’s just because my elementary school was filled with the devil’s spawn. I don’t know. Either way, I feel less stressed now than at six.

But speaking of buying a house - I have friends now that are looking into buying real estate. Fuck, I have friends now that already OWN real estate. That's so foreign to me. That's when you know you're really getting older - when your peers OWN LAND. What? I can hardly afford to borrow land, much less own it. It's simply crazy. My friends Dave and Jim are looking into buying a little vacation home in Vermont to rent out to skiiers. I know plenty of people who are buying condos. My first friend from high school is getting married in two weeks. I don't know what's happening. And if I'm sitting here still thinking it's cool that I can set my own bedtime, you can only imagine how far off I am from buying a house. Of course, I don't have enough cash to afford flying myself home for the holidays without some help from the parents, so the concept of downpayments, mortgage - ugh. I don't think I'm psychologically ready to own anything that huge, that important. Again, how the hell did this happen so fast? I feel like it was yesterday that I was using my meal card at BC Lower Dining at 1am to get mozzerella sticks and a jagged blue Powerade before stumbling off to my mod. Feels like last week when I was picking out clothes on a Thursday night for the big Oak Knoll dance on Friday night where all the guys from the all-boys schools would all be chillin' by walls checkin' out the ladies. Now I live in fucking Los Angeles of all places, flying home for weddings, renting apartments, going to my 9-5, and giving advice on which condos to purchase. You know what that means, right? It means tomorrow I'll be 50, and I have not even the slightest clue where I'll be, what I'll be doing, who will be around me, or if I'll be happy. That's one mother-fucking terrifying thought.

So, I’ve been thinking about other stuff too – okay, and maybe thisis “about life.” I guess I cannot avoid the dramatic. But seriously, I want to talk about this because this past year has changed all my theories about practically everything, and I’m sort of amazed about how differently you can approach and view life. I’ve been thinking a lot about this stress about career choices. I’ve had that discussion a million times that begins, “What would you do for a job if money were not an issue - if whatever you decided you most wanted to do would make you millions?” And I’ve never come up with an answer. You’d think it would be the easiest question in the world, but I really don’t know. There are a million different things I could think of, but this is also assuming I would know how to do it – that I wouldn’t have to go through all the work and all the training. This all made me think a lot about what makes me passionate, what makes me happy. And then I turned the question around and asked, “Why is it that your profession needs to be the source of your passion and potential happiness in life? Why is your job supposed to define your fulfillment?” Maybe I don’t have a profession that stirs passion in me. Maybe that’s not my life goal.

You know what makes me happy? My friends. My family. Seriously, nothing is more important to me than that. I don’t understand why that can’t be my passion. Maybe my job will always just be something that’s just fine, makes me a good, solid living, a place I don’t ever dread returning to everyday, and that is generally pleasant. Then my passion in life will be the energy I put into developing and maintaining my beautiful friendships, my wonderful marriage, and my amazing children. Is it just so passé to think that way? Does that make me some sort of failure?

Otherwise, things are okay. On some days, things are not okay, on others - things are fantastic. That’s pretty much how it always goes, right? No big whup.

Okay, what else. TV. I love this season’s Road Rules, and I really don’t know why. I don’t mean that I don’t know why in an offensive way, I just like this one. Not a lot of drama. I’m so over drama. I have enough people to be annoyed with when I walk down the street, I don’t need them on my TV scream. There’s some drama, but it’s just not a big deal. Still pissed Kina isn’t there. And that Ibis girl too. I liked her. The newest girl with the curly hair, she doesn’t seem that into the whole interviewing process. I can just hear the director, “Remember to explain it all in present tense.” So funny, because you’re retelling these events and your reactions to them way after the fact, but you have to talk like it’s just happening, so rather than saying, “It WAS so annoying…” you’d say, “I AM so annoyed right now.” Thing is, if you’re really in the moment, and say you were feeling sad, you would say, “I’m so upset…”, but when you’re recapping and pretending it’s present tense, you end up saying, “I’m feeling upset.” Who says that when it’s happening at that moment? No one. But when it feels unnatural and the director is like, “Remember, it’s present tense,” you end up beginning everything with, “I’m feeling this, I’m seeing that…” It’s a detail you may not notice unless you’ve been there. Whatever, that girl – oh Gillian, she’s hardcore on those missions though. Gets the job done.

New Real World. I like the idea of having two gay guys, one portraying the stereotying while the other breaks it. Then two tall, muscular white girls with blonde curly hair? Blonde curls aren’t that common – funny to cast two in one season. Then three very different ladies. Their house is pretty ridiculous. EXCELLENT job there. I’ve gotta tell you though, I’ve been to Philly many times in my life being from NJ, and it’s not my favorite city. I don’t feel sucked into this season just yet, but I’m just a little too involved with Road Rules to take on a new show. I’ll catch it on a marathon.

Another Battle of the Sexes coming up. Um…I’m not sure how many of these BOTS the producers are going to need to really grasp the fact that men and women do not compete evenly unless you’re including missions that involve life expectancy rates, birth pain tolerance, and the ability to have multiple fully healthy recoveries from lengthy and emotionally vulnerable relationships. I guess we’ll see, but I think it’s stupid. Why don’t you just have relay races with 6 year olds against 19 year olds. That’s fair, right?

I met Kelly Clarkson. How I've failed to mention this earlier, I do not know. It was Labor Day weekend, and I was hanging with the Minerva Crew, as I'll now refer to them. We go into Saddle Ranch for some cheesy entertainment and ridiculously good food. As I'm talking to Keith and Ginger, I suddenly catch a glimpse of her - it's Kelly, one of the few celebrities whose butt I may crawl up into if the opportunity did in fact arise. I go completely silent and cover my mouth. Ginger is like, "What is it? What happened??" and I reply, "It's Kelly Clarkson. You don't understand. I love her." So, they're all like, "Go talk to her!" but alas, I was only a few sips into my first beer, and she was with a group of friends who all looked ready to get the hell out of there. I couldn't go up to her. I just couldn't do it. I had so much to say, but I really didn't want to interupt her, so I sat there feeling quite flustered. Kelly and friends get up to leave, and Ginger says, "I'm going to go talk to her," and runs over to her. I have my head in my hands because I'm so embarrassed, and then I hear Ginger yell out, "Lori, come on over here!" while Kelly is turning towards me with a big smile and an outstretched hand. Ginger told her how much I wanted to meet her, and Kelly apparently said, "Oh, I'd love to meet her!" So, I walk over and act like the biggest loser in Saddle Ranch (and that IS saying something).

"Hi, umm...I'm so sorry, I mean, I know you're leaving, and I really didn't want to bother you. It's just...yeah, I just...I love you, yeah. I mean....I have your whole CD memorized, and it's just...you know, great, and uh..." all with my head down, barely looking at her. I couldn't believe I was capable of being so lame. I mean, if I had been relaxed, if I hadn't thought she were eager to leave, I would have loved to tell her WHY I love her voice so much, how much I try to learn from her, etc. But instead, I was a 2 on the scale of 0-10 of fan encounters.

I'm learning I need to be much more careful with what I say on this website now that I live in LA. Seriously, when I was living in Boston with NO PLANS to be a West Coaster, I felt as though talking about celebrities would never come back to bite me in the ass. Why would it? Those people are safely tucked away in my TV screen, and I'm all the way out in Brighton, MA, right? Well, I've now run into three people I've talked about who have read my site, read what I wrote about them, and then commented on it TO ME. Aaron Karo, Kina (via email), and Kimberly Caldwell. Honestly, I didn't want to flatter myself by thinking any of them would bother to read anything I ever wrote, but some have, and I'm thinking maybe others celebs may have enough time and insecurity to search the internet to see what people say about them. Shit, I'm about ready to dig through my site and cover up some shit. Thank God I've said nice things about these three.

Also, I'm fat. No, not Trim Spa kind of fat. Not fat like my heart is in trouble fat, but this is the biggest I've been, and it's not cool. See, I've had one friend who's been telling me this is the best I've ever looked, so obviously, this has not stopped the eating and laziness. I do like going to the gym, but I'm having a hard time getting there as often as I would like. Forget eating well. Look, it's just not going to happen. Food is my favorite thing in the whole world. Seriously, I LOVE food, all the flavors, all the textures, all the options. It makes me happy, and I'm not going to go on a diet. I just can't. It's a waste of youth. I wanted to pretend that I really wasn't gaining, but I need to face this fact - I don't fit into any of my pants. Come Friday night, I just don't know what I'm going to do about my not being able to sit in my jeans without undoing my button and fly. So, this week, I'm going to head to the mall and buy a pair of jeans the next size up. Maybe one day I'll lose the weight, I'll try on my new big-girl jeans and be SHOCKED that they fit, but as of now, when I squeeze my ass into my current pair, I can't even believe that these were ever comfortable. I put on some weight. I have no idea how I'm going to lose it. A slightly weighter daughter makes a mom happy. My mom was so afraid I'd turn skeletal being out in LA, but alas, I'm packed on my extra blubber for the winter...even though LA winter only goes down to about 65 degrees.

Okay, so I wrote. This should take you about a month to read anyway, so we're all set. God knows where I'll be a month from now. Have a good one. See you later.