Once A Cynic...

it's friday night at 8 and i'm home in my cozy apartment with nothing but my cats, sex and the city, and vodka & diet coke (it's ketel one, though, so it's a classy vodka & diet coke) keeping me company.

well, and also you, imaginary internet friends.

so speaking of imaginary internet friends, here's a little tale my darling sister reminded me of just this evening.

[i do realize most of you will be reading this on monday morning, when you're busy avoiding work, as opposed to sometime this weekend when you're out living your real lives. but for now, let me pretend that you are all sitting at home with your respective pets and drinks, anxiously awaiting another entry. thanks.]

one day when i was but 3 years old and my mother was walking me into nursery school, she happened to notice that i was engaged in a rather heated conversation. with no one.

slightly alarmed but playing it cool, my mom asked with whom i was speaking.

"oh," i said, "i'm talking to my imaginary friend, julie."

[i think it bears noting here that a. children who have imaginary friends don't tend to acknowledge them as such; and b. her name was julie because everyone of my dolls was named julie because the only thing i could ever imagine being when i grew up was julie mccoy from the love boat. we're not all destined for greatness.]

(obviously.)

"well that's nice, dear." my mom said, not entirely knowing how to respond. "julie is a nice name. is julie nice?"

"no," i replied, plaintively. "she's a real bitch."

my point here is, of course, that after 26 years of growing and maturing and reflecting and fine-tuning my mental processes, i am still ranting and raving to imaginary friends.

but i swear, you're all nicer than julie.