Ten points for anyone who can name that movie. Twenty points for anyone actually reading this blog. Despite the fact that I write for a magazine, I am apparently destined to spend my days writing captions and tracking down impossible divas (which is redundant as well), so I decided to experiment with new outlets for my writing, diatribes or otherwise.
By way of introduction, I am a twenty-one year old female, blonde. English major. Editor. Writer. Pseudo-poet. In the past week I have been informed that being 21 does not qualify me for the next Methusaleh (sp? don't want to look it up). The informant was shocked that I agreed with him. Fact: I have yet to qualify for the quarter century club. I don't think I'm in line to bump any Biblical patriarchs from their record-setting birthday.
Other random thoughts about myself, which in truth is a dreadfully boring subject. But I suppose it must be done every once in a while. I've also been compared to Molly Ringwald, in various stages of her brief yet illustrious career. I'm flattered by such comparison, although I don't necessarily concur.
I've run out of patience with myself. Stay tuned for tomorrow when I throw myself a party. Truly.
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1 comments:
Will there be cake at the party?
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