There was a time when I willingly risked broken toes to KY Jelly wrestling (explaining that to my parents was my first foray into public relations).  When I crawled through steam tunnels.  When the drummer from Guster saved me from being accosted by a homeless person outside of the Warfield.  When I ate an entire Vermonster from Ben and Jerry’s by myself.

I was a wild woman.  And though I’ve had my fair share of idiotic adventures in San Francisco, I’ve mellowed in my old age.

I’m pretty happy with life at the moment.  I have a job I love (and the start of a career I am really excited about), fantastic, incredibly supportive friends and family and the energy and time to work on hobbies that really make me happy (writing, kicking ass at bar trivia…and uh…something more substantive and socially acceptable than that last one).

Especially with regards to writing, I see this being a big part of my future — that’s something that has become abundantly clear to me over the past few months.  I’m not sure I have the wherewithal to make a career out of it (which is really just my way of saying I am insecure about my ability to be creative, ambitious and…well…crazy enough to go for it), but  I can’t imagine being happy if I couldn’t write in some creative, opinionated and maybe vaguely snarky capacity.  That’s part of the reason I love this blog.

Not really sure what the point of this post is.  I guess this is what happens when you combine two days of fever with three episodes of Dexter and way too much orange Jello.

I guess I should Meccanize navel-gazing..