You wrote a blog entry addressed to me, so I feel I should write one back to you.
In response to your most recent blog post, I suppose I owe you an explanation on the "McDonalds Bet." I was sitting in a bar with my buddy Pat, discussing various foolish things when, and I can't remember how it came up, I mentioned French McDonalds. Pat insisted, incorrectly, that there was no such thing as a French McDonalds and that they were in fact outlawed from the land of France by government legislation. I informed him that he was incorrect (yet again) and he stubbornly refused to admit the errors of his way so I was forced to prove that there are McDonalds restaurants in the land of France.
Since you had just spent approximately a year living in the land of France, I considered you to be an authority on French fastfood and so texted you to verify what I already knew: namely that I am right. Your texted response proved my point and I thank you for your assistance. Pat continues to live in denial, as is his wont, but I have since realized that there is nothing that you or I can do to change that.
He's probably reading this right now.
At any rate, I am glad that my foolish childhood dancing antics (videotaped without first obtaining a signed release, by the way, from toddler Nat) continue to amuse and delight you. Rest assured that I like you too.
In regards to your impending lameness, I would like to welcome you to the club. I can't even tell you how many times I have turned down the opportunity to party with a busload of Scandinavian strippers, opting instead to order a delicious Lou Malnati's deep-dish pepperoni pizza and watch the entire 4th season of Mr. Show. I wonder if perhaps you and I are genetically predisposed to lameness. We are related afterall, or so I've been told.
In regards to your preference for the "real life," I personally feel that I have yet to find such an experience. Would you count living in the land of France as the real life? I spent eighty hours each week for over a year working at a theatre and did not consider it to be real life. I've worked countless straight jobs praying for that not to be the real life. I have my responsibilities; I pay my bills; is this the real life yet? Meh. It's life.
I think the difference between giggling freshman Vanessa and senior year Vanessa is not so much a penchant for real life but an expression of your maturity. At anyrate, I'll get off the pseudo pulpit and say I'm proud of my little sister who is most likely smarter than me. And I'm glad that you wrote a new blog entry - you should write more often - it gave me something to read.
Talk to you later, kiddo.