For sure it’s been ages – but fear not, I’m still here.

Someone typed into the assignment-o-meter, “summer rainstorm” quite awhile back, and my word if there’s a huge one right now. I missed it twice while in the train today, but then, on my way back from the headshrinker my luck ran out. Out of that last train home I bought an umbrella and a six-pack of Sierra Nevada for the four-block walk home. I fortuitously caught a bus for three of the four blocks, but I got soaked to the teeth on the last longest block. I prayed a shallow prayer: “Please don’t let my obscenely expensive lambskin Prada sandals that are my only outward display of filial connection to the big fancy ad agency I’m now freelancing at get ruined." I don’t think they are ruined – but they’re wet. And yes, a precious little baby lamb is dead so that I can sell Tylenol to unsuspecting octogenarians and pregnant ladies in a style that matches the minimalist decor of the office. The rest of my clothes are my usual hippie garb. In fact, I was telling my hairdresser about the fancy ad agency, and she said, "and you're the little hippie girl right?" And I sighed cause she was right. So yes, the sandals are a ridiculous use of funds. But they are beautiful and I could probably walk from Brooklyn to Detroit (damn Lakers) in them without a trace of blister.

So anyway, the wind is blowing rainwater off the trees. I remember, a long time ago, when my first boyfriend took me home to his family in Princeton, New Jersey. It was fall, and quite lovely in that part of the country. We were walking in the midst of trees – I can’t remember if it was a park, or just a nice street, as all streets are in Princeton. A gust of wind blew across our path and suddenly we were all wet.

“Tree rain,” he mumbled.

And I said, “What’s tree rain?” (Cause we don’t get that in LA)

“It’s the rain that rains from the trees when the wind blows.”

Some tree rain just got on my arm through the window. And it all reminds me of the list I’ve been making in my head of all the real reasons that I need a boyfriend. Fuck the intimacy, and the sharing, and the having someone to drag to that show you swear will be good, or at least good fodder for a later anecdote. Fuck the fucking and the kissing and the birth control too. That’s not what I’m after. It’s been a full year since I was coupled, and there are some serious boyfriend things that I am missing in my life. In order of importance and consequence, the real reasons I need a boyfriend:

1. To install my air conditioner, which is collecting dust in the hallway outside
2. To steal cable for me
3. To make sure I don’t get screwed buying a used car (I’m buying a car!)
4. To carry an old PC monitor down the stairs, also collecting dust in the hallway outside and messing up my feng shui
5. To work out this knot in the right side of my neck courtesy of my mother
6. To eat all the not-yet-bad-but-going-to-be-soon food in my fridge so I don’t feel wasteful throwing it out
7. To buy the beer and cigarettes so I don’t have to do it and feel guilty for being such a slacker

In other news, I’m freelancing for a newspaper that has a website:
Youngsters Feel Thrill Of Victory At Fl. Meadows Soap Box Derby Read it and be charmed!

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