Galina Nemirovsky

Galina Nemirovsky's picture

Galina Nemirovsky

<p><span>I put off writing the </span><span>ABOUT ME</span><span> section of my blog for a long time. Partly because the Me changes so often. Partly because I don&rsquo;t know how to stop once I start writing (especially about Moi). I tried to write a bio-type blurb and 5 pages of narcissistic crap came out. So I started a memoir. </span><br /> <br /> <span>In the meantime I feel like I owe my visitors some semblance of imagery for the girl who spews a lot of randomness (yes I still call myself a girl). But it&rsquo;s this collection of notated randomness that has defined the life I&rsquo;<span class="blsp-spelling-error">ve</span> lived so far and the opinions I&rsquo;<span class="blsp-spelling-error">ve</span> crafted so far. I change as life changes.<br /> <br /> That said, I&rsquo;m adding a disclaimer that this document is organic, dynamic and guaranteed to change.<br /> <br /> So until my scandalous revealing book comes out (no, it won&rsquo;t be called ABOUT ME), here is an arbitrary list of things <a rel="nofollow" href="http://www.heartseverywhere.com/1974/08/about-me.html"><span>ABOUT ME</span></a>.</span><br /> &nbsp;</p>

Stories by Galina Nemirovsky

In the grand scheme of life, and with all the hormones that course through my veins, it won’t surprise me if, in retrospect, my forty-weeks of...
I’ve been a daddy’s girl for as long as I can remember. I called for papa while I was still in the crib and he would try to appease me;...
I started my blog after I lost my advertising job in 2008. The pent-up writer in me found an expression for her pseudo-voice and a place to foster my...
I pull down my pants and begin the squat for the toilet in one fluid motion. As the pee starts flowing, I turn to the right and automatically notice...
She was buxom, plump—altogether about one hundred pounds too heavy. She wore faded black leggings and a black fitted t-shirt. Her softness...
It wasn’t until my third summer in my apartment that I really started enjoying the luxury of a New York City balcony. By balcony, I mean fire...
My shit stinks too—just not in someone else’s bathroom—mostly because I won’t drop my load there. How ironic for those who...
I made this list when I first created a MySpace page. I’ve since deleted the page, but a hunt through old files revealed this list. It’s...
To the virgin 97th street walker, the old, hunched-back woman begging on the street, dodging cars with her small handmade cardboard placard,...
When I write my first official blog post, I believe that it will focus on a rant spawned by a business women’s leadership luncheon I attended...
I can’t describe a mother’s love. It would be like describing a song to a deaf person—or the perfect red to someone who’s...
Meeting Poetry originated in the havens of New York City’s court system as I was sitting in Jury Duty two years ago. Human entertainment and...
Part 1: Shit, it’s a stick! We rented an Alamo car through Priceline. Ten dollars a day and what’s better than that? Well, turns out I...
We wanted a serene, deserted, untouristy, unpopulated, local paradise. We wanted silky golden sand, azure waters, and peace. Buck-fifty beers were...
The Holocaust altered the course of history and humanity. Destruction, tragedy, annihilation—it was an attempt to bring an entire race to...

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