Huh.

I will be astonished if I don't wind up marrying an actor. A successful one.

I'm not entirely certain of why, and it never occurred to me until today. Val seems to think that it's incredibly obvious.

I'm not sure how I feel about that.

And I don't think it has anything to do with the mythical French Welshman.

My Letter to Elijah Wood

Dear Mr. Elijah Wood,

I am on the verge of graduating from college with an Economics degree, and as such I am facing one of those woefully common "take stock of your life" periods. As a result, I have spent the past few days analyzing my strengths and aptitudes, and the facts as I see them are these:

1. I am never happier than when I am crashing on someone's sofa with only a toothbrush to my name. As desperately as I try to become attached to locations, I am truly more comfortable living inside someone else's life, even if I am only a side note there.

2. I keep an odd schedule. Some days, I wake up at five AM and others I sleep long past noon. I like watching movies at matinees; I like walking outdoors when everyone else is indoors and slumbering. I alternate weeks of productivity with months of lassitude, then roundabout again.

3. I am only comfortable with people who are fairly confident of their own talent and self worth. At the same time, they must be artistic and philosophical, preferably with a healthy sense of the absurd.

As I see it, this ideally qualifies me for life as a groupie. (Or rather as a courtesan in the oldest sense, but groupie is the closest that can be expected in an egalitarian society.) And so I am offering my services at no cost beyond room and board.

I am highly educated; I gook gourmet dishes including mushrooms and play half a dozen musical instruments. I can sew, and I drive a stick shift reliably. Not only am I a skilled writer, but I have a strong background in psychology -- I'm very good at understanding idiosyncracy. I fix electrical appliances, program websites, plaster drywall, play Scrabble, and always read the liner notes of CDs. I am beautiful when I want to be, and sometimes when I don't, and I wear a Chinese smoking jacket when I wake up in the morning. I get along with my parents, and I own more paintings than furniture.

I don't even need a sofa, really. Just a spot on the floor.

Warmest Regards,
Romie

P.S. My roommate insists I include a disclaimer that this letter is firmly tongue in cheek. I will simply assure you that I am not living anywhere near your current location, and am thus unlikely to leap out of the bushes unexpectedly. If you even have bushes. You are a marvelous actor, etc., etc..