Oh man. Can I still use cool French timestamps now that my life is no longer fabulous and I’m stuck in a hotel in Nebraska during the heaviest storm of the year? …Can you get any less fabulous than being stuck in a hotel in Nebraska? Why, yes. I could be stuck in a hotel in Nebraska without FREE! WIRELESS! INTERNET!

So you see, I remain a pentimento of fabulousness no matter where I am. And no, I don’t know what pentimento means. But I read it in the New York Times, oh benevolent deity of superlative writing, and am doing the best to integrate it into my vocabulary. If I use it enough everyone will think I’m smart, and eventually somebody will tell me what it means.

You know what? I am ready to settle down. Oh, am I ready. I have not lived in one place for more than a year for the past six years. I’m tired of being a nomad! I’m tired of living out of a suitcase! Give me a job and a paycheck and a mortgage and two kids and love handles and…a paycheck! Sure, I’ve been able to see a lot of cool places. But I, for one, am tired of buying brillo pads and scissors. I’m tired of buying hand towels. I’m tired of throwing away the canned beans we didn’t get to. I’m tired of having to fit my life in a backpack. I want to keep my crap, ok? Not to be materialistic, but to me, a home is where you have everything. And not just things you need, but things you don’t need. Like a leather puncher. Like extra toothbrushes. Like an extra pair of mittens and a fondue set. House plants, for god’s sake. I want a house plant! I don’t want to have to make my toothbrush holder out of an old shoebox and duct tape any more! Got it? I’m tired of always going somewhere and never getting anywhere. Not that I measure my life in material possessions, or anything. I mean, it’s not like I needed the other half of my wardrobe that’s in storage in California. Or anything.

So I think I’ll move to Arizona for six months and then move to California. And then I’m Never. Moving. Again. Although I may split time with my apartment in NYC when (cue celestial music) the New Yorker needs me.

By the way, my darling little Only Published Clip in the World is right next to an article entitled “Wet Weekend Dreams” that is not about water or weekends or dreams. I’m so glad they took my editorial input seriously.