Hey!

Hey! Know what's a mostly bad decision? Starting a blog and then NEVER writing in it! Like, EVER! I mean, look at that last entry: a field trip? Man, I ain't been on no stinking field trips in months!

But don't worry, I'm still doing stupid things - like moving out of my beloved Park Slope. Nay, not just Park Slope, but all of Brooklyn. In fact, I moved out of the entire state of NY - the Empire State! I fear for my head when the Emperor (Jay-Z the Beneficent) finds out.

Yes, I am now an official resident of New Jersey, if you count postal addresses as official residencies. I don’t know, I “officially” change my address at least once a year through usps.gov, and aside from charging me a dollar for “verification” costs (aka, "the USPS is broke, please give us money" costs), I don’t think they really do anything to check how official I am. So if I didn’t mind my Shape magazine subscriptions going to complete strangers, I could probably be a "verified" resident of anywhere. 1600 Pennsylvania Ave.? Done - I just hope the presidential daughters don't walk off with my mail-ordered camping sandals. (They're probably too cool for that.)

So, yeah - moving has apparently turned me into the kind of major, major nerd who wears Tevas in public - not like, base camp public, but suburban half-price sushi restaurant public. And I eat at suburban half-price sushi places located in NJ strip malls. AND I LIKE IT.

How did this happen?

Well, the half-price sushi happened because it's awesome and delicious. That's all you need to know there. The Tevas and granola-making and showing up to class as the smelly kid with a bike seat hanging out of her backpack? I think it's a semi-subconscious anti-NJ rebellion.

Don't get me wrong: there is nothing inherently bad about NJ. It smells much better than you might think, flora and fauna abound, and there is a real-live Target Superstore. Heaven, no?

But, you see, I am not of NJ. I did not grow up in a subdivision. I do not quite understand how the Turnpike works. I like walking places. Rude people stress me out. Thus, living in a big house in a neighborhood with a lot of other big houses that all look the same, where people are terrible drivers who honk at you for STOPPING AT RED LIGHTS! JEEZ! sometimes makes me want to hide in a damp cave until summer is over.

Damp caves, however, are bad for the skin and worse for relationships (coming in at a close second to NY Bar Review), and so I do the next best thing. I slowly convert to hippie-dom. I do yoga and stand around outside and buy giant tubs of organic yogurt (BaNilla flavored! So good! So funny!). Maybe if I drape enough daisy chains over my head, I can pretend I am in Vermont. Or Park Slope.