The Last Decade Part One or What I Noticed Now That It is Over

Just realized I have been slacking with the posts. The whole "Text and the City" plan was abandoned because I realized that I am entirely too much in love with Manhattan and entirely too serious about my relationship with the city to actually write about it. As you've probably noticed, I only write about things that I am not serious about.*

This admission is not to say that I haven't been thinking about serious things because oh I have. In fact, I have spent the last few days pondering the best and worst moments (ironically often one in the same), as well as the lessons--both major and minor--of the last decade.

So, the moments, in no particular order...

Going to Italy all by myself just because.

Going to Italy and coming down with mono all by myself (not just because; yeah, Mr. Non-Disclosure, you know who you are).

Corollary moment:
Waking up in the apartment I was staying in only to find that the pipes had burst in the living room--yes, while I STILL had mono as people with mono usually do.

Discovering when I had to find a new place to stay that the only available room in the entire city was a suite in the Ritz! Mom, no, seriously, it was.

My first day of graduate school at New York University.

On September 11, 2001.

Kissing Paul.

There is--admittedly--no downside to this moment.

But "So what?" and "Paul who?" you are probably asking yourself. I can't for the life of me recall Paul's last name, but Paul's last name is not the point. You see, Paul was a recent Harvard graduate from South Africa** whom I dated for a few months in New York. Just prior to dating me, Paul had dated his college classmate Natalie Portman;the real point is that one rainy afternoon my friend and I actually took out a piece of paper and after an hour of racking our brains and IMDb we discovered that by kissing Paul I had in fact kissed Johnny Depp by way of a constellation of on-screen co-star kisses. This was sort of like playing the six degrees of Kevin Bacon minus Kevin Bacon.

Falling in love possibly twice. Falling madly in love definitely once.

Falling out of love three times due to the usual players: secretaries, geographical itches that I had to scratch, and more recently, Facebook.

Realization that James Franco may be my new Prince William/James Bond/Johnny Depp.***

Revelation that James Franco may be gay (it took my friends several weeks to muster up the courage to tell me this, and one of them finally volunteered to do so, sweetly and wisely, while my feet were in the hands of a skilled nail technician in a very public place). I'll be OK. Really, I will.

Realizing that when it comes to the plan for my life God has a sense of humor.

Realizing that when it comes to the plan for my life God has a sense of humor.

Finally (!) becoming a gold Starbucks card member, which saves me approximately $5,673 per year in coffee refills.

Which means I spend approximately $5,673 per year on coffee fills.

*English professor translation: I only write things about which I am not serious. Grammatical calisthenics are now in play as the spring semester starts in 6 days, though realistically-speaking spring does not start in this neck of the woods for five more months.

**the only downside of kissing Paul (which I did maybe twice) was that when I was kissing Paul, Paul was not talking in that very South African way Paul had of talking.

***to be perfectly honest here...

Dear Prince William,
Now that you've gone and proposed to Whatsherface I suppose it is only fair for me to tell you that I was less a fan of you and more a fan of the possible career change which surely would have ensued should I have married you.

Dear 007,
I like you, I really do, but you are a tricky one to keep track of, and I mean seriously, how many times can a girl meet you at a chateau in the French Alps or on a yacht off St. Barth's?

Dear Johnny,
You will always be my favorite, but I think I speak for all women when I say that the last decade was not your best. I mean, I get it. I get that the reason you have played no one but a pirate, a guy with scissors for hands, a Mad Hatter (whatever that is exactly), and a closet pedophile candy maker in the last decade is because you don't want to be George Clooney--that is, you don't want to be pigeon-holed as a talented, charismatic, handsome actor who basically plays himself. I think I also speak for all women when I say "It's 2011. New Year. New leaf. So pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease, go ahead, play yourself."

Next Post: The Last Decade Part Two or What I've Learned Now That It is Over