I was speaking with my aunt tonight, asking about a cousin of mine who recently relocated to a new area with her husband. She told me that my cousin isn't working, but is trying to get pregnant.

"That's nice," I said. She said, "Yeah, I guess. But it would be easier for her to make friends if she were working. It's not easy to make friends when you aren't a partygirl like you," she accused.

I was silent. My screen name seems to keep popping up in the strangest places.

My father said to me tonight, all the relatives look forward to me coming home for weeks. They call in advance and ask if you are coming. I said, "Oh, come onnnn." He said, "No, they do. They think you lead an exciting life and they look forward to hearing all of the gossip and your New York stories."

Go figure, huh?

I told my 16-year-old Lolita cousin, who is way too hot for her own good, that I am 27 and she looked at me all wide-eyed and not-so-innocent and exclaimed, "Gosh!"

Gosh is right. A couple of weeks ago the post-grads at work asked me the same question and their reply was "Wow! We all thought you were 24 or 25."

I remember thinking I would never be 30, never. And here I am peeking at that summit called 30.

My 27th year wasn't nearly has horrid as I anticipated. Remember those birthday entries? Go back and check the archives if you missed them. I freaked in the way only a partygirl could. But, it's been a great year. For the first time in my life I feel like I am growing up.

I matured so quickly as an adolescent, I never got a chance to figure it all out. My body, boys, whatever. By 6th grade I had boobs and my period - I was 5'5" and wore a size 8 1/2 shoe. My parents thought I was going to be a giant. My gymnastics coach told me to throw in the towel, so I went into cheerleading instead. All the other girls were still running around playing tag and I worried about hiding sanitary napkins and holding my boobs when I ran.

It was a disaster. I was hazed into high school. By college, I was ready for some fun. And then I graduated and my group of friends went into show business and just kind of expanded this glamorous/bohemian type of lifestyle we were living. A bunch of kids playing grown up, hoping someone was going to come along and give us our ticket to stardom. But my parents kept me grounded, and I was smart enough to get a job that paid and had a future. I worked to play, and ran around jet setting with the jet setters. And that brings us to today.

On Christmas, we went to relatives and my little cousins who are in high school and college brought their boyfriends. I have never, in my life, brought a boyfriend home. Never. Mainly because my relationships last about 4 weeks. Or less.

The truth is, I have a problem with the whole intimacy part of the relationship. That's the truth. Smaller problems are that I have a hard time finding a guy that both interests me and likes me. Sometimes I like them, but they aren't interested in me, and vice versa. But that's the case for everyone, right? But the larger problem is that I haven't been mature enough to recognize that relationships take work.

Most people realize this in high school, but I didn't. I was too busy being the good time girl. Shot gunning beers and smoking pot. Cheerleading and tennis and student government and editor of the newspaper and honor roll and art classes and acting classes and Key Club and Pep Club and God knows what the hell else I ran. I come home and my bedroom walls are like a fucking mauseleum with plaques and trophies and certificates and medals and I wonder how in hell I did it all. And why the hell no one stopped me.

Ditto for college. But I was busy there too. I was President of my class, contributor to the newspaper, head of the off-campus student association. I had a major and TWO MINORS....took several months off to travel the world and was able to turn that into credited courses AND I managed to graduate in under 4 years. In the summers I worked 2 jobs, acted in summer stock and wrote for the local newspaper.

When I started out in New York, I worked two jobs to stay alive. And I went to anything and everything I was invited to. Meeting people. Expanding the circle. Out until 6 or 7 am and coming home and showering and going to work.

So here's what happened. I now have no idea, how to possibly do nothing. I'm off for a week and just freaking out. For my entire life, I filled every waking moment with someone or something. You want to smoke a bong, okay, I have you penciled in for the afternoon.

I always though it would be great to live alone because alone, to me, is a novelty. Get it? I'm alone for a night? Great! Because I know the next two nights are filled. And I need to be ON. So conserve energy.

At work, I'm on. I entertain people. I get them pumped up. I have ideas and my ideas generate ideas from them. I'm a quick thinker. I'm creative.

When I'm out, I'm a filler. You can put me in the corner and I can draw a snail out of its shell. I have no idea how I do it but I do. For the most part I like it. I am happy when other people are comfortable and happy.

I crave making people laugh and smile. I overwhelm and then I suck you in. I want you in.

But again the problem is intimacy. The one-on-one. I dig the group fuck. And what I am doing when I am out, is the group fuck.

That, my friends, is a major problem.

Or is it? I'm not so sure anymore. I wonder what heights I can take this skill to? I wonder, if it translates here, where else could it translate in my life? And more importantly, I wonder if I could tailor the group fuck to a relationship? Could it be as fulfilling? Or will I only be happy, with the love of everyone? How many more people do I need to win, to feel fulfilled? Is fulfillment even possible for people like me?

I see other people like me, who are actually famous. They're still not happy. What will help the Andy Dicks of the world?

Is age the answer? Fame certainly isn't. Fame is the short term answer. And you are happy before you have made it because you have hope. You hope to reach that goal. You work with hope. But then you get there and here's what happens: the hope is gone. And then you have nothing but wealth and position. You no longer have to get up to work, people work around you. There is nothing to work for, because you have it all. And what's left?

I would like to think that the desire to help others keeps you going. Recognizing that there are less fortunate people in the world and bringing them some happiness. I would like to think that, but I don't think it's the case.

So here I am, at home with nothing to do. No parties, no plans,no projects. Nothing. And I am at a total loss. I stand up and walk around, then I sit down. I can't organize because it's not my place. I have no work to do. I am empty.

I am going out of my mind.

Send a search party. Send any party. Get me the fuck out of here.

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