Gone Travelin'

I'm headed to Hawaii tomorrow! I feel that slight tingling in my stomach the way I always do before a big trip. I also feel a cold coming on.

I've never visited the Islands and can't wait to explore. I should be packing right now, but my empty house is for once peaceful and I need to relax.

I never thought I could do the things I'm doing right now. I never pictured ending up with a beautiful husband and enough money to travel. Growing up, Michigan was my family's only vacation destination. I didn't step on a plane until I turned 19 and visited my cousin in California. I never stopped. Thanks Brandy.

For now, I'm prolonging the moment, anticipating and pondering what is to come. If only I could feel this way everyday.

Moments of Happiness

The world can eat you up inside. Negativity feeds on my insides like maggots, turning me into a shell, unaware of all the beauty that surrounds me everyday. Somewhere along the lines I stopped believing in the basic good of people. I started to prefer concrete landscapes to pastures, I started to perfect my image. I started defining myself by what I do and where I live, which are only one small pieces of my real self.


I'm afraid to point out the beauty of the world. Afraid it makes me seem earnest, naive, and boring. Does anyone even notice anything anymore? When I ride the bus, headphones tucked in my ears, I do notice the mist that surrounds the skyline, the beauty of the water under the bridge, the wonderful people on their daily ride to work. I even notice the raindrops forming freckles on the window.

As I take that first sip of coffee or indulge in a croissant, I feel happy. It is so easy to get lost inside my labyrinth brain, but I'm coming out and trying to enjoy these little moments. I'd like to kill the cynicism and press the reset button just for today. I'd like to forget the difficult moments in my childhood and remember the good ones. There were so many good ones.

If only we could all reflect on these tiny moments of happiness and forget the crap that comes along with life. Forget becoming wrapped in an image and admired. Point out the good things, the real things, the reason we are here.

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?