Annie says I should blog. She's an old friend of mine from college and she works in the world of New York media, so I'm thinking she must know something. And if some whiny girl could do it and then write a book without ever having met Julia Child or gone to cooking school, then maybe I can. Still, all this -- and I hate this word -- journaling feels like masturbation, but without the happy ending. I teach high school English and journaling is the last thing I want my kids to do. I know this sounds like I'm a bad teacher, but personal lives are one thing I wont get into. We can talk all we want about Hamlet's life with all that incest, premarital sex, homoerotic longing (I'm talking about Horatio here) and stupid friends with weird names, but don't start with the student's personal histories. There are several well-paid social workers in the main office planning potlucks who can handle them.

I've written stuff before, but most of it sits untouched, unedited and unpublished. Several friends have kindly read them and given me a pet or two like I'm one of those abused dogs in the ASPCA commercials. I was in theater, but nothing is as vulnerable as writing. I'd rather do a nude play in winter -- with a frigid penis as large as Michael Jackson's nose -- than submit my writing for publication.

So why am I doing this? Well, for one, no one's going to read this.

The real reason I'm attempting this is because of a New Year's resolution. I know New Year's resolutions are about as lame as those Sunday morning exercise infomercials or that shrill geriatric lady who sells cookware for people who dig crock pots, but I realized I need to change my ways if Hugh Jackman ever comes a-knocking. (It will happen)

I wouldn't call myself an alcoholic, or even an alcohol abuser. I just spend too much time and too much money drinking and meeting people who I don't ever remember the next day. I'm too old for this. Once I have two drinks, I'm done. Forget about reading a book or writing something. I end up watching my boyfriend's inane reality shows and feeling alternately disgusted and superior through my vodka-soaked haze. So instead of drinking, I'm going to write. Here. On my high-tech spiral-bound. Let's see what happens.