I'll be at the Orgy, Sipping Merlot against the Velvet Curtains

I went to another wedding the tail end of my time home over the holidays. Although I had RSVPed, I seriously thought about ditching, but to do so would have been incredibly gauche and rude. Before the wedding, I decided it would be a good idea to make up some lies, some interesting and colorful anecdotes to bolster my flagging sense of self, to tell to the inquisitive folks- read: EVERY SINGLE PERSON FROM MY PAST- who wondered why on earth I did not have a job or have a boyfriend.

I'm giving myself entirely too much credit because not one single person I encountered cared enough about my well-being to probe too deeply into my Manhattan life. Ergo, I had no use for the lies I prepared, to name a few:

*"Why yes! Tina and I are collaborating on a screenplay, and I'M STARRING!"
*"I'm not really at liberty to discuss our relationship; it's a violation of his parole"
*"My memoir has generated a LOT of interest, so be on the lookout"
*"Steve* and I live in sin with our French bulldog, Lionel, thanks for asking"

Obviously, the judgment and skeptical eyebrows I anticipated were my own, but I still had to choke down some Tums before heading to the church.

Every time I come back to New York, I always delve further into my ongoing existential crisis and wonder if the choices I'm making are propelling me ahead instead of behind. And in a quest to answer some questions, I visited the self-help section at Housing Works in search of -I'm not kidding- some Kierkegaard, which I found, but not before I thumbed through Po Bronson's "What Should I Do with my Life?" The title is exactly as it sounds, and I don't want to spoil anything, but it's simply MARVELOUS and of course made me assess just what the $%#& I'm doing with myself.

So to reference the illustrious Nora Ephron, I will still wait for the opportunity to itemize every grunt, stretch mark, and unreasonably confident individual I encounter at the orgy. I can't wait.

I should have just said that at the wedding.

*a totally fictitious boyfriend concocted by some New York friends and me: wears glasses; quotes "Arrested Development" with remarkable aplomb; is a Brooklyn-based sports journalist; from the midwest; cooks more than Lucky Charms and FAGE yogurt which is MORE than I can say for myself