Apron Anxiety by Alyssa Shelasky Read Free Book Online

since my childhood in Longmeadow. They were also raging cokeheads. That didn’t bother me—I did plenty of partying in New York, but it was usually encased in work, and since I was always scared about appearing strung-out to my family, nothing got too excessive. But in L.A., no one was watching. I made my own rules and did whatever the hell I wanted.
    While Shelley was finding her place with the beautiful and successful showbiz types, I was transfixed by my new, screwed-up friends, and my nights with them were becoming a bit corrupt. They were delighted to bring me (and
party supplies
) everywhere they went—to outrageous parties in the Hollywood Hills, unbelievable barbecues in Malibu, and underground art shows in Venice Beach. They were wickedly funny, highly promiscuous, and totally reckless. They didn’t wear seat belts, they never needed sleep, and best of all, they didn’t let me so much as mumble John’s name.
    One night, we went to a party at a rock star’s glass mansion in the hills. I ended up so messed up from mojitos and more that I did a strip show on the deck while the nabes cheered me on. We found a disposable razor in the pool-house bathroom and I had one of the Guns N’ Roses guys shave my entire body. We called it performance art. It was exhilarating to be so out of control.
Fuck John. Fuck the dating blog. Fuck it all
. When the hot tub found me, things got even crazier with an infamousdrummer I had grown up listening to. Later on he told me he had a wife. And that she wanted to join us next.
    The nabes and I did the same thing the next night, at a different mansion, with a different crowd, breaking different rules, with a different drink and different drug. And then we did it again.
And again
.
    I easily could have found my happy place in the risky world of sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll, especially on this other coast, where nobody knew what I was up to. All that raw inhibition felt way too natural for me. Becoming an artsy, tortured fuckup was so incredibly tempting, and the road was
right there
for me to take. But I didn’t. After eight months in Los Angeles, I broke my lease and moved back to New York. The nabes had too many demons and were rubbing off on me in addictive and destructive ways.
    Shelley and I would stay best friends, but her life in Los Angeles was too
Hollywood
for me to handle, especially when it wasn’t part of my job anymore.
    My dating blog for
Glamour
received substantial traffic, but also armies of haters because of its feather-light content and general lack of substance or self-analysis (I never took it seriously and it showed). Suddenly, I was petrified that I’d made a mockery of my professional self and had ruined my writing career for good.
    And John? After almost a year away, I still thought of him every day. His incandescent eyes and boyish humor, and how deliriously good it felt to be near him no matter how grim the circumstances were. I made peace with the cruel fact that I’d never be quite the same again, that losing John broke me in a way that couldn’t really be rebuilt. But I came to think of heartbreak as an impetus to becoming a wiser woman, sister,friend, and writer, and, in a way, I felt chosen to have had such a healthy dose of it. Strong women don’t just happen.
    If nothing else, my sad ending with John got me to L.A., which might have been a bit too sublime, but it did my soul some good. As I flew up, up, and away, back to New York, I knew I was moving somewhere in the right direction.

    Sarabeth’s Velvety Cream of Tomato Soup
    SERVES 8
    When I waitressed at Sarabeth’s, I would watch in amazement as people bowed down to their bowls of creamy tomato soup. All these years later, whenever I mention that I once worked there, what’s the first thing I hear?
Oh man, that soup … 
Well, I finally tracked down the original recipe, posted online by Sarabeth herself, after thirty years of secrecy, and this is it, exactly. The soup tastes just as