Two weeks ago, I was on TV.
The night my episode of “The Exes” aired on TV Land, I was in Las Vegas for work. My friends were concerned I would have to watch it alone, but I was secretly relieved. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it just in case my scenes were cut.
A few weeks ago I flew home for a family wedding.
I took my boyfriend, Jason, because I needed to win an argument we’d been having. (I also love him, but that’s not important to the story.) For most of the year, he’s been insisting that he grew up in a small town, just like me.
Nothing makes me miss the Midwest like autumn.
Growing up, I loved the crisp air, changing leaves, and trying to figure out how to hide my snow pants under my Cinderella Halloween costume.
Here in Los Angeles, it has been 90 degrees for the past week, and autumn colors are only found on ad campaigns for Bloomingdales, not on actual trees.
Last week, I moved in with my boyfriend.
If you are picking up the phone to call my grandmother, you can hang up. I’ve already told her, and she promptly proposed a double wedding with my cousin and his fiancé.
I was 16 when my father saved me from my very first date.
A popular senior had asked me to go to the Snowball dance with him, and I couldn’t believe it. Me? The girl who was the eternal friend? Who was usually relegated to the sidelines watching her friends attract cute guys as I still tried to figure out how to clasp a normal bra?
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