I want to be living in this caftan when I get to Mexico in a few days. How gorgeous! 

I can't believe it's been a month since I last posted on this blog. Busy, I guess. It's strange to be living the life you wanted since the age of fifteen. I'm a writer. In San Francisco. People send me fan mail. I have lovely furniture. Vintage clothes. I'm going to Mexico for a yoga retreat. I mean, really? 

Except that I want more. I'm sorry if that strikes you as selfish. But I don't think my teenage dream included pauper-like finances, a sluggish rate of success in my industry, a relationship with a long-past used-by date, and a biological clock ticking away. Did I expect that at the age of 36, I'd still be searching for...everything? Yes, of course. I'm a late bloomer. Have always been, but hopefully won't always be.

Small things give me hope. Like when I went to open the window this morning and found a fortune-cookie message on the floor. It said, "Keep your eyes open for a special opportunity on Thursday." Well, today is Thursday. I'll let you know what transpires.

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Someone flashed me a shy, sexy grin the other day and now all I can think about is La Perla. Go figure.

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My second New Year's resolution is to learn how to ballroom dance.(Did I tell you my first? "No TV until 6pm"--it's going swimmingly, to my surprise.) Yesterday I had my first private lesson with a Russian teacher drenched in cologne. We learned three rumba steps. It was a lot of fun. But best of all, I think I have potential! My favorite learning moment from yesterday? As my instructor was showing me different frames (spaghetti arms!), he said, "Dance is all about pretty." He's speaking my language.

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Did you know this about me? I'm a trekker. I've been trekking all over the world, for weeks at a time. My favorite traverse being the Annapurna Circuit in Nepal. I walked for three weeks, fell in love with the world's most sexy Israeli (god I hope he never finds his way to this blog), got skinny and sunkissed. Twenty-one days of a dream. Well, I've got a hankering to do another big hike, this time the John Muir Trail in California (seen above). I'm making it one of my New Year's resolutions. If all goes according to plan, I should be trekking during the last half of August/beginning of September. Every time I think about it, I get butterflies. And from what I can recall, butterflies are a good omen.

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I usually begin every year with hope, and to be honest, I'm usually disappointed when I do the obligatory year-in-review. This year is no different. I'm cautiously optimistic for a joyful, abundant, healthy 2012, but I'm not going to actively hope for much. It's exhausting. I think I'll surrender instead. Whatever happens, happens.

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We're both broke, but we're headed downtown to check out the Christmas Eve sales anyway. We'll probably build up an appetite (the act of coveting objects is a huge energy sink, after all), so we're also stopping by the Four Seasons for our annual Christmas Eve cheeseburger. Then home to start my matzoh ball soup and smoked-salmon deviled eggs for tomorrow's feast. Season's Eatings!

PS. I just discovered this highly amusing--and highly accurate, in my estimation--Twitter feed. Good for a few ho-ho-ho's, don't you think?

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I die for these spunky X benches. (Sorry for the lack of holiday-themed blog posts, folks. I'm a lifelong scrooge.)

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