I was actually born in the spring. I grew up in Washington D.C. and I know all the words to “Hail to the Redskins.”[*] I am, sadly, the third of eight children. No, my family was neither Mormon nor Catholic. We’re mostly WASA (White Anglo-Saxon Atheist), though our DNA clearly has more in common with rabbits than most atheist families. There are multiple marriages and divorces among my parental units – while I’ve got seven siblings related to me by blood, I’ve also got step-siblings, ex-step-siblings, former step-parents with step-children not related to me, blah, blah, blah. My oldest brother made a nice PowerPoint presentation of all the relations for his wife when he got married. Sadly, it’s already out of date. That’s the problem with rabbits.
ABOUT EVERYONE ELSE
No one is identified by their real name in my blog. Yeah, the whole thing could be made up (like I could make this shit up). I’ve no plans to use real names until all my relatives are dead so they won’t kill me. It also took me years to find a guy as fantastic as Not-Andy, and I don’t want to offend him or his family unless he turns into a cheating bastard. (I know you’re going to sneak a look at this someday, Andy. You’ve been warned.) Plus, I’ll probably make fun of various bosses and the entertainment industry in general.
ABOUT THE TIMING
This is a mostly a memoir blog. The first hundred or so entries were originally emails I sent to my friend (we’ll call her “M”) when I first met Andy’s family. (Some, like my second post, contain interactions and dialogue I was too mortified to record until recently.) Since I like my stories linear and I was a history major, I’m starting with the past. If I type really, really fast, and get lots of positive reinforcement, I might catch up to current events. (Look! I also write fantasy.)
ABOUT HOW AUTUMN FLED TO LA AND NEVER LEFT
I went to a program three thousand miles away from D.C. to keep all my sisters from stealing my boyfriends. Yes, ALL my sisters. Even the baby sister once charmed my high school crush into ditching me to have a tea party in her gingerbread playhouse. I graduated summa cum laude with multiple useless majors, and no job prospects — but without having a single boyfriend jacked. So I stayed in L.A., rescued some cats, and took up dancing. I worked as an executive assistant at a production company to support my cats and dance habit. My little apartment served as a hotel for various sisters’ successes:
Genius Judgmental Doctor Sister: “I passed the MCATs! I’m going to Disneyland!” (Like it was ever in doubt.)
Brilliant Blonde Lawyer Sister: “I passed the bar in two states! I’m going to Disneyland!” (Even less of a shock.)
Gorgeous Skinny Singing Sister: “I got the lead in high school musical at age 15! Screw Disneyland, I’ve got a thong bikini and Rollerblades!” (And I got a sore throat from screaming, “Eyes front! She’s only twelve!” at lecherous older men.)
Boyfriend-Stealing Baby Sister: “We won the National Cup! I’m going to Disneyland!” (She had blast. I puked after two rounds of the stupid teacups.)
Pretty Space Cadet Sister (there’s one in every family, right?): “I got pregnant by an ex-con! Let’s go to Disneyland and celebrate!”
Because I lived in LA and had opposable thumbs, I wrote screenplays. They won some awards. No one bought them. Being both pig-headed and a fast typist, I turned one into a novel. Maybe someday you’ll buy it.
[*]Yes, Snyder is a jerk and the name should be changed and I will happily learn new lyrics.