Why you’re here.

You’re the kind of person that only rubbernecks when in a car alone. You’ve secretly read you boyfriend’s email. You know how to chew silently and look really engrossed in the newspaper you’re not reading so you can eavesdrop on the first date sitting next to you at the cafe. You have nicknames for your neighbors like “can’t park” and “cries on phone.” You’re nosey and love the gruesome details.

So, here they are. Luckily, I have no shame. To be more precise, I have no shame when I write, dance, drink or talk on the phone. In real life, I won’t confess to eating the last good cracker and have no idea what happened to your very favorite coffee mug that you found broken in the trash can under suspiciously crinkled up wads of today’s paper. I also don’t wash my hands after I pee, but if you’re standing outside the door you WILL hear water running post-flush. Don’t be fooled, I’m too lazy to wash my hands, but I’m not too lazy to try to trick you into thinking I wash my hands. Gruesome details.

I’m a big fan of backstory. I blame John Irving and Days of Our Lives. Hence I will pepper in flecks of past diaries/emails/journals/random stories along with current events (fyi I was one of three members of the current events team in high school. Team. HA! Like we were somehow united in a common goal as opposed to being totally commited to destroying each other’s intellectual confidence) to give you the complete picture. And, you know, create the most stunningly refreshing yet complete work of female late-twenties auto-biography.

Oh, and I’m a 28 year old nanny from Texas living in New Zealand with my boyfriend, his psychotic 18 year old brother, incredible sea views and lots of digital media to mask the pain. I’m back to my original haircolor after 15 years of maintaining (or not and convincing myself that a big stripe down the top of my head is rock) my roots and I quit smoking exactly one year ago next week. I don’t keep pets and have only ever bought one CD (actually it was half a CD. The Charlie’s Angels soundtrack that I split with Emily. I kept the case and the burned copy and she kept the original. I don’t have it anymore because when I moved here I sold absolutely everything I owned bar two suitcases of clothes, a box of photos and a few gifts of pottery from my Aunt Susie.)

I’m incredibly homesick and torture myself daily with the “is it worth it” question. Then my boyfriend brings me a cup of miso soup in the badass $14 mug that he totally understood why it was important to spend 14 fucking dollars on and I remember. And, you know, the incredible sea views.

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