I just lit my candle that cubegirl and riot gave me one very snowy night this winter when we all met for drinks at one of my favorite places. The tall red, glass-encased candle features the white-etched outline of an Indian in full ceremonial headress and says, " THE INDIAN SPIRIT for Alleged STRENGTH, LUCK And PROTECTION."

I don't know these girls all that well, but for some reason, I feel like they passed this on to me with the subconscious knowledge that even if I didn't think I needed it, I would some day. A metaphorical passing of the torch, they may not have realized it but they lent me their strength and the unspoken knowledge that they are now in my background ready to assist like fairytale godmother's. And Lord knows I could use several of them now.

I am 28. Do you think that's old? I don't. Or didn't until I sit with my peers and listen to them. I feel like their lives are in perpetual motion and I am stuck, like a broken cog in the wheel of life's progression.

I remember when I moved to New York City. I moved here because I had nowhere left to go, or so I thought. I was a 22-year-old Deadhead, fresh off the tour where the gatecrashers ruined everything and Jerry bought the big farm in the sky where he would play "Little Red Rooster" in perpetuity. With unredeemable ticket stubs in my pocket, I packed it in and came here in the peach silk suit that my mother made for me to wear to my college graduation.

And so the seed was planted. I had no fears because I had no expectations. I could give a shit about finding a career or an apartment or a job because I could leave. I remember those first days, falling into the crowd manipulating our way through the tunnels of New York's subway, in my suit and cheap heels with my guatamalan backback on my back filled with fresh issues of Dupree's Diamond News. 4/12/71 blasting in my walkman, I scurried with the suits and giggled to myself thinking that Jerry was watching me from Heaven, scurrying with the other rats in this New York Rat Race but for me it was different. Jerry was laughing because I was like him; I was in on the joke.

I don't feel like I am in on the joke anymore. I feel like I *am* the joke.

Somewhere, somehow, I joined the other team. Maybe I can blame Jerry and Phish for leaving me, Tenacious D for not giving me enough to build on, but not for who I've become. The blame lies within me.

Somewhere I stopped laughing at the celebrity circus I was invited into and I began to take it all seriously.

So while I bought Baccarat glass gifts and token trifles from Tiffany's for trendy parties at the Ian Schrager's flavor of the week, my friends bought carefully selected understated Kenneth Cole cufflinks for their new boyfriends - careful not to appear too much too soon.

As I draped backstage passes around my neck, they were ripping out DeBeers ads. I ordered drums, they ordered stemwear. I listened to Edna Swap and they bought into Natalie Imbruglia. I entertained hipsters with party conversation about Phillippe Starck's latest, they swapped stories about the newest Kate Spade.

This, is where I deviated. Was I wrong? Are my experiences less valuable? Wasted time?

I guess I'll have to wait and see where they take me. But I secretly hope, that somewhere, I will meet up on a plateau with my friends again. Just a little bit later.

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