The Illusion of Romance

After a certain age, daily life isn't as romantic as it should be. I barely feel the breeze on my cheeks, even on a brisk fall day. I've become jaded. Living here nearly 2 years, I don't even notice the way the clouds form a halo around Mt. Rainier anymore. I'm just trying to survive, head down, coffee in hand, to work and home again.

But sometimes, just sometimes the right moment strikes. Yesterday, after a sunset beach walk the husband and I went to Abbandanza, an Italian restaurant in my neighborhood. Perfect for romance, the lighting is low and the windows overlook city streets. A man played melodic Spanish songs on his guitar. It would have been a great Wednesday evening if it weren't for the most annoying couple on the planet.

A mid-age couple with graying hair, dressed alike in all-black formal wear sat directly in front of us. The woman raved about everything from the plump waitress to the Gnocchi specials. In an exaggerated voice, she'd say things like,

"Oh this is just simply divine, just simply divine."

Or "Have you ever tasted anything so heavenly?"

That was just about the food, which was good but undeserving of such accolades. The Spanish guitarist made her weep and she stood up, clapped, and exclaimed "Bravo", loud enough for the other 6 other patrons to hear.

I started giggling and couldn't stop, almost bursting into tears myself. I felt like I was watching an SNL sketch. Either this woman was a theater major in college or she hasn't been out in a very long while.

Nothing ever really lives up to my expectations. I can't stop and smell the roses because I'm always striving for the next big thing. Music never makes me weep, unless it was written by Elliott Smith. I would certainly never openly cry at a restaurant unless I found a roach in my food. Or if I was being dumped.

What made this woman proclaim loudly that everything in the place was fantastic or wonderful when it really wasn't? Am I so screwed up, that I can't appreciate such things, or is she just a nut? Whatever the answer, it did make for a fun night, although a non-romantic one.

Are rich kids really this stupid?

I loathe rich kids. The funny thing is, I love watching them live out their shallow, meaningless lives on reality TV. Not only does it give me a good view of a totally different world than my own, it is effing hilarious. Sometimes I feel like I'm watching a nature show -- only with less narration and more "like..." and "that's shady" in between descriptions of random hookups.



I've often wondered about the life of the rich kid. What would it feel like to get every thing you could ever want from the moment you're born? I have a hard time when people say, "oh they have it rough, you don't know what goes on behind closed doors." Sure I do. They get the keys to a new Mercedes, then crash it three days later. Or they have a crazy pool party while their parents are traveling Europe. Or they have a 100,000 Sweet Sixteen bash, then bitch when their parents don't get them a horse.



I've recently applied a scientific theory to the Hills and NewPort Harbor. Rich people don't have to be smart. Look at the products of their procreation. These kids can't even articulate a simple sentence without saying, "whatever," or "that's ghetto." And yet, these are the ones that end up at Ivy League schools because they are legacies and well connected. The whole system makes me ill. How does Heidi already have her own office? She is engaged to a guy who painted "Hollywood," graffitti-style on their apartment wall. Did she ever finish college? I've never seen any of them go to school and somehow they landed really prestigious jobs.



Yes, I'm well aware that reality shows aren't reality. But I've actually observed rich kids that act like this. Then, the rich kids turn into rich adults and they are still just well-groomed assholes whose lives are about as fufilling as an empty martini glass. Me thinks the proletariat should have another revolution.

Things I hate

Writing about things I like is too easy. I could talk at length about how I love coffee and drink it everyday, and how I like to sit on my porch while reading the newspaper, but it doesn't make me any more unique. I'm more of a hater. I despise everything I find fake, pretentious, or just annoying. I probably even hate you.

Things I hate:

• People who say, "It's all good in the 'hood." Someone said this on the bus last week and I would have shot him. If only I had a gun.
• Anyone who could "taste the fat" in their latte. Fuck you.
• Public transportation guy. He's the city dweller that loves to go on and on about all the best bus routes and what time they arrive. Jesus, is life really this sad?
• Man bags. My brother started me on this and I noticed one yesterday. Get a briefcase.
• Cinephiles. If you don't sometimes watch Patrick Swaze movies because you're above them, I hate you.
• People that swear they don't have a TV and yet have mysteriously seen all the episodes of Flight of the Conchords and other "hip" shows.
• On guys: vertical-striped club shirts with the sleeves uncuffed; tight, straight-legged jeans; androgynous hair; and faux hawks.
• On girls: those new, hip Castro hats; tiny dogs as an accessory; obviously fake tans; long nails; and mom jeans, (which are supposedly "in", but WHY?).
• Anyone who thinks they are a character from Sex and the City. If you say something like, "I'm a Carrie" I might kill you.
• Men who think that because they own a pit bull, they are street, or that having a mean dog makes you more of a man. Just get a fast car like everyone else.
• People that name their pet using "obscure" film or art references. I once met a cat named "Georgia O'Keeffe." Lame.
• Rich kids. Sorry rich kids out there, but I secretly loathe and envy you at the same time. Make it up to me. Do some charity work or something. If you are waiting for a trust fund, don't come around here. Period.
• People that actually like Cupcake Royale. Ummm... news flash the cupcakes should be moist, not dry and crumbly. You obviously fell victim to the lure of their cool sign and pink color scheme.

I've been waiting forever to get that off my chest. In my next blog, I'll try to stop the bitterness and be more open and positive. Promise.

Got a parking violation and a stain on my shirt

Parking tickets suck. Appearantly, on 7/20, which I can't even remember (of course), I parked somewhere I shouldn't have. WHERE?? And they charged me double because I didn't comply to the first notification.

GRRRR. I'm frustrated and the rainy season is coming and I can't find my umbrella.

An ode to old friends

I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12 - Jesus, did you-- Stephen King

I grew up in Chicago. Whenever I think of "home," I think of the neighborhood I lived in along with the 7-11, Dominicks, and Beggars Pizza that lined the street and defined my youth. Even though those sacred places are still there, that cliche "you can't go home again," rings in my ears everytime I get on a plane.

Chicago is still the same place, the Sears Tower hasn't fallen yet and my neighborhood still has the same A-line-framed houses it had before I left. But as I see kids happily riding bikes through the street, I know that even though my house still stands, "home," is long gone.

7-11, Dominicks, Beggars Pizza, the Dollar Store, the Mt. Greenwood Pool, and Mt. Greenwood Park hold some of my favorite memories. The places are still there but the people that shaped my most important years are all grown up. Some have jobs and homes and some even have families. Some I lost touch with and it breaks my heart.

These are the most important friends, the ones that know all your secrets and would never, ever tell. The ones you played basketball with well after dark or sometimes even at sunrise. The ones who slept over on your living room floor. These friends loved you even if you had lice or mice or problems at home. They are the ones you rode bikes with, the ones you chased boys with, the ones who braided your hair.

I don't really miss Chicago, I miss the people that made Chicago my home. The people that made going to Dominicks an adventure. How is that possible? I constantly try to recapture that excitement, the sense of "anything can happen," and my expectations are never met. Although I lead a fabulous life, that childlike thrill can never be replaced or relived.

So when did it all end?

Yesterday

Jake and I went to the beach then had dinner and drinks at Jak's Grill, which was fantastic.

At the beach, a seal poked its little head out of the water. At first, I thought it was a black lab then it dipped back down into the water. So cute. I'm still amazed that I have seen both bald eagles and seals since I've lived here. I have yet to spot a whale. :(

When we sat down in the bar section of Jak's, there was a gorgeous girl sitting alone with a glass of white wine. She sat there the entire time we were there, texting someone and looking towards the door, obviously waiting for her date.

After an hour she left and the waiter took away the remaining wine. Ostensibly someone stood her up and it made me feel bad. Who would do such a thing? When I was dating that was my worst fear. I hate being in restaurants or bars alone. I feel like everyone is staring at me.

On a side note, I'm done with film. I really need a digital camera. The film store mistakenly sold me slide film, now I have to go through each one and get those converted into prints. I haven't used slide film since the last photography class I took, where our pictures were put on the projector for the whole class to see. Then, I accidentally bought a role with space for only 12 pictures. C'mon!!

Only 1 month, 1 week, and 1 day until I leave for Hawaii. I can't wait. The last trip I took was a year ago to see my mom on the East Coast. Since then, all my disposable income has been used to fly home to Chicago.

Also, I decided to take my freelance side career a little more seriously until I go to grad school. I'm suddenly inspired to get off my ass and not settle with being a copywriter. I'll let you know how it goes.

Good Question

At 26-years old, I'm screeching towards 30 like a bullet train. Only four stops left to go before I hit the big 3-0.

And with that, comes the pressure to have kids. Ever since I got hitched two years ago, women feel like it is their right to intrude on my personal life by asking this life changing question.

When are you going to have kids? When are you going to start a family? Then they follow it up with, you know, your chances go waaaay down after 30. These women are harmless enough and most of them are mothers, so instead of snapping, I smile and shrug my shoulders.

I've been putting off the answer for so long. I've never really been much of a kid person. Sure, my niece is fantastic and my nephew is cute. If anyone could make me want kids it would be them. But I've baby-sat maybe twice in my entire life. I'm unqualified for the job.

Then there is my life that took so long to build. I can finally add "writer," to my resume, a career I decided on and pursued since high school. I moved 2, 300 miles away from my family to live in my personal utopia, the Pac Northwest and will have no outside help if I decide to become a mother. I would have no choice but to pack a U-haul and high-tail it back to the Midwest.

Also, I would probably be the worst mom on the face of the planet. The all-day work it requires makes me squeamish as does the thought of moving to the suburbs and attending play dates.

Part of me wants to live out the rest of my life child-free without the expense and responsibility. My Saturday morning routine of drinking coffee and reading the Stranger while sitting on my balcony would be replaced with feeding cheerios to a screaming child. Not exactly a pretty picture.

Then there is my newest dream, which is to become a travel writer. I'd like to write travel articles for the paper and then continue to write some guidebooks, and maybe a memoir. This would probably be impossible with a child.

If I finally make the concrete decision to live a child-free life, am I going to regret it? I decided not to even think about it until I turn 30. Until then, I plan to travel and frequent fancy restaurants, living out my 20s the way I always pictured. If I catch the baby bug, so be it, but I have lasted this long without a bite.