...I started a blog, or a weblog, as it was called then. Blogger wasn't owned by Google yet. If you wanted to make a nice background, you had to actually program the style sheet yourself. People didn't really use "widgets" yet, and "gadgets" were still the things my dad bought in the camera stores around Times Square. When you updated your blog, it stayed on the Blogspot home screen for a good five minutes, because there were so few being updated.
I thought I was going to lead a bohemian Henry Miller type of life, only I'd be Anais Nin, and I'd fall in love with Henry Miller types of men, and lead a nomadic life, dependent on just my notebooks and my ipod. I was still madly in love with an Unsuitable Man whose biggest assets were that he oozed charm and had a beautiful voice, but I had worked it out by then that nothing was going to happen with him, so I dated lots of other Unsuitable Men (I found them in the personals section of Nerve.com), and then would give a play-by-play recap of each date on my blog afterwards. I got a lot of readership from teenage boys.
Here's my first entry (a brief warning: I'm 25 in this post. So, you know, keep that in mind):
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Wednesday, March 27:
I'm about as happy as I can be right now. It's Easter, so the stores are packed with Marshmallow Chicks, and there's really nothing better for the soul than marshmallow fluff with a thick coating of sugar. At least not when it's raining and miserable outside. I have become quite zen about my relationship to marshmallow chicks in my wise mid-twenties. I guess that's about as good a way as any to start off a weblog - sort of like starting a new journal.
When I was a kid I used to start each new journal with all my stats - parents' names and occupations, favourite colour, favourite New Kid on the Block, best friend... But then I found that most of my Hello Kitty journal would be filled with my personal statistics, and I was constantly writing them over and over, so then I just started numbering my journals and keeping them in order so I wouldn't have to rewrite my biog each time...
So I could start this weblog by telling you about myself. Stuff you might want to know, like how old I am (25), where I live (everywhere...don't ask...wherever iTunes is, is home), my favourite dead composer (Poulenc), favourite live composer (Arvo Part), or whether I'm in love at the moment (I'm happily not - happily because I was in love with someone who didn't love me back for two years...ahem, no names mentioned...g... Before that I was unhappily cohabitating for four years. So this is the first time in a long time where I'm happily into myself.)
But I assume that if you came here early enough to be reading these first few weeks' worth of posts, you know me, or you know NomadChick. So there's not really a lot I can say here other than telling you that this space is reserved for my own travel tales and daily adventures - while it's linked to NomadChick.com, and is part of the website, it's really the place to see what sorts of scrapes I got myself into lately...go ahead, laugh at me...I'm sort of used to it...
So I'll tell you about my infatuation with Marshmallow chicks. I don't think they sell them in England. At least I didn't see them. But that's not the point. The point is that I used to be addicted to the creamy sweet gooieness of Marshmallow chicks from the time they'd enter the store (just after Valentine's day) to the after-Easter sales. I used to panic in April wondering what on earth I'd do for ten months without them, and I'd spend my allowance on a hundred packs at 12 cents each at the KMart sales. But then I'd get really sick of them by May. And I'd forget about them for another year and then be overjoyed at the first sighting in February.
See, this is where I've become zen-like...I've realised that the secret to true happiness lies in the cycles of Marshmallow chicks...to enjoy it when you have it, not force it longer than it naturally lasts, and not get attached to it because, though it's sad when the Marshmallow Chicks leave the store, if you go outside everyday and play in the sunshine and have a lot of love in your life, suddenly a year will go by and the army of Chicks are back at WalMart and the cycle goes on...
Impressive, eh?
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Just the other day I drooled over Marshmallow Chicks in Target, but I was strong and walked away, because of the whole dropping-pounds thing. And besides, now they make them all year round - you can bite the head off of a marshmallow santa - so I'm not missing them too much.
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