Dear Nobel Prize Committee,

I know it's a little late for nominations, but prior to today I didn't fully understand the requirements for qualifying for the Peace Prize.

You see, I thought it was hard.

However, upon further inspection (i.e. this morning's award), I'd like to throw my own hat in the ring and say:

I deserve the Nobel Peace Prize.

What makes me worthy of this honor, you ask?

• Three days ago I gave a box of Special K to a homeless man on El Camino Real
• I recently bought a hoodie with the words "Peace and Love" scripted on the back.
• I'm a lover of all mankind. But mostly men - kind.
  
• I like peace.
  
• I deliver peace in the form of baked goods on a frequent basis.
  
• I allow other cars to merge in front of me on the 5 (and try really hard not to merge INTO them).
• I apologized for all my at-fault car accidents.
  
• I've dated a few people that would qualify me for sainthood.
• I'm willing to be Brandon Flower's publicist/manager/wife/mother of future children, PRO-BONO.
• I totally bought a pair of TOMS shoes.
• I stay out of the way of good surfers.

I think the choice here is fairly obvious.

Reflections of Life upon Turning TWENTY-SEVEN

Yes. I turned 27.

And before we go on, I need to get the sordid details off my chest immediately: I now have an odd vertical wrinkle along the center of my neck and what I can only call a varicose vein measuring 1/4 of an inch behind my left knee.

That said, these twenty-seven years have made me impossibly wise.

For it is in my aged wisdom that I offer the following treasures of advice, acquired through my 27 years of living:

• ALWAYS make sure someone else is not already inhabiting the lane you're about to merge into.

Here's to the next 27.

Six Months Later . . .

I've become a bit California.

I never thought of myself as a Southern California person. I mean, don't get me wrong, sprawling beaches and 75-with-an-ocean-breeze 9 months out of the year is nothing to scoff at. I just always saw myself in a different place - you know, downtown-Manhattan-sans-car-loft-apartment-walking-everywhere-in-designer-heels-checking-out-art-galleries-and-boutique-openings.

Not to be too specific.

So imagine my own surprise when it hit me -

I. Dig. Southern. California.

I might be speaking too soon, since beaches and sunshine during the yuletide months might very well throw me into a downward spiral the likes of which California hasn't seen since Lohan and Barton returned to LA.

But for now, I'll revel in my contentedness. Namely for the following reasons:

1. Frozen Yogurt - People, it's worth moving here. Fro-Yo shops are like hot dog vendors in Chicago (only healthier and served by a long-haired 19 year-old surfer). I eat at least one a day. Sometimes, it's two. Okay, it has been known to take up all three of my major meals.

2. Surfing - In a shocking twist that even I wasn't prepared for, I. Totally. Heart. Surfing. Granted, as yet, all I have to show for it is a few scrapes, a wetsuit that's too big for me, bruises on my knees, hips and ribs, and up to 6 glorious seconds of actually standing up on the board.

3. Sunsets - Before moving to California I could NEVER have written a proper personal ad, as I had no appreciation for sunsets and walks on beaches. But seriously people. Seriously. That's all I can say.

4. Decent Drivers - because I'm still not one of them. I appreciate that they are defensive enough to stay out of my way.

5. My recent affinity for flat sandals and Chucks - my feet (and podiatrist) thank you, California fashion.

6. Strangers who propose to me on the street - And I thought I could never find a guy who would commit.

7. Blessed Produce - Ain't no berry like a west-coast berry.

8. Cooking - due to that nagging little requirement that I pay my rent, thus wrenching my prior habit of obtaining every meal from a restaurant, I have become quite a little cook. If you think this makes me more of an eligible young lady, well, so did I. I'll let you know if anyone else decides to second that.

Lest you fear I've completely changed my character, I will follow up shortly with a pessimistic view of everything lame about the Golden State.

It's hard to blog...

When you're spending this much time with Johnny Depp.


Whilst avoiding paparazzi.


Hollywood, we love you.

John Steinbeck and I have something in common.

A love of the written word? A knack for description? A deep, creeping cynicism?

Wrong.

The answer, of course, was California tragedy.

I know what you're thinking; What could go wrong in a state that houses both Micky Mouse and Shamu the whale? Where winter never arrives and body imperfections are quashed using only a scalpel and your rich boyfriend's bank account?

Well, aside from gross budget deficits, convicts running free on the streets and the threat sheer economic chaos, I can think of only one thing -

My Life.

What could have happened in a 24-hour period that would make me feel this way, you ask? Well, dear readers, I'll have you guess:

A - I got dumped
B - I got evicted
C - I broke the heel of my shoe
D - All of the above

CONGRATULATIONS! If you answered "D" to the above, you've won an all-expense-paid trip to my pity party.

It starts now. And lasts until noon, at which point this pathetic mess of a girl will be surfing, tanning, and once again realizing that nothing REALLY bad ever happens in California.

xoxo