lindsay leaves home

i got stuck in an elevator for an hour and forty-five minutes

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ladies who lunch

Three years is not a long time. Unless you’re at the very beginning of your life or the very end. We’re at the age now where we can pretend, if we want to, that it’s not much time. We’re just “young people” or “college kids.” You have to look at other details, new stages and new props, to quantify the time passed.

We used to have a double bottle (or two) on the couch and floor in front of SVU or TruTV or BRAVO, depending on who had the remote. Then we would get ready, saddle up, and go out because we were young and we could.

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it began the first week of summer

a strange and breathless time, when accident, or fate, bring lives together; when people are led to do things they’ve never done before.

With each passing day the feeling grew stronger. She was coming closer to the end of something and moving toward the beginning of something new. Change was in the air. It was only a question of when.

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in summer when chelsea, haley, and i were little

we used to spend all day outside. Sometimes, strapped for cash or other ideas I guess, the three of us would set up “carnival games” and try to con each other out of our nickles and dimes, and if you were lucky- quarters. They never lasted long, because even with the thrill of the win, you only ever ended up winning the Beanie Baby that your sister was no long in love with. So instead we would play “olympics.” We did cartwheels and scored each other. Chelsea was the Russian judge.

when you know what you want in the morning and you don’t anymore at night

It’s not that I’ve always known exactly how my life would turn out, but I didn’t doubt for two seconds that I would get where I wanted to be if I worked hard and made good choices. That’s what a healthy diet of Sesame Street and positive parent-teacher conferences do to a kid. Not that much has changed since then. I still know what I want, but getting there is infinitely foggier.

Roughly. (Smoke monster from Lost, anyone?)  

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classier than vegas

So while on a healthy diet of Downton Abbey, Jane Austen, and Agatha Christie I noticed a recurring theme- Gretna Green. If you’re tripping through historical British fiction like I am, let me catch you up. In Pride and Prejudice, fifteen year-old Lydia Bennet runs off to Gretna Green with the cunning Mr. Wickham. Lady Sybil Crawley runs away from Dowton Abbey with the Branson the chauffeur and the two head to Gretna Green to elope. In one of Miss Marple’s mysteries she comments that “There was no need for them to fly off to Gretna Green, they were of sufficiently mature age to marry.”

See?

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why i love desperate housewives

Whenever I tell someone that I still watch Desperate Housewives I always feel the need to add a disclaimer. No longer. The series is ending and I was caught off guard by how much I care. These four women have been constants in my life for eight seasons now and I’m not sorry. Sometime growing up I outgrew my stuffed animals in favor of a new kind of security blanket.

I remember nights of squeezing in one more episode so I wouldn’t have to end on a sad note. I remember being surprised to hear myself laughing out loud when most of my emotions at the time lived so deep down. I remember understanding their fear, heartbreak, and hope.

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