Today is my last day in Seattle and I'm spending it with my parents again. I never, ever, ever thought I would feel this way, but I am homesick for L.A. Either I've started to like living there, or I just really hate Seattle. Probably the latter.
I feel bad though, because I know my parents miss me and are hurt that I don't want to be closer to them. The fact is, my parents are great people and I have no problem spending time with them. My dad and I have a lot in common, so we tend to get into these long discussions about subjects that I actually find interesting. My mom spoils the hell out of me by taking me shopping and cooking my favorite foods when I'm here.
The problem is not the parents, but where the parents have chosen to settle down. I recently caught up with someone that I grew up with, and he shared my sentiments about Seattle. He has traveled all around the world and has lived in many different countries, which I admire and envy. However, there is one crucial difference between us that doesn't leave me wishing I could trade places with him: after months of living like a gypsy, he always returns home.
I asked him why he keeps coming back to a place he hates, and he simply answered, "Family."
Sorry, Mom and Dad, but I'm a little too selfish for that.
Which brings me to my next point. I'm at the age right now where many of my friends are starting to have kids of their own, or at least want to. Every time this topic comes up in conversation, I always adamantly insist that I have no interest in having children, and the person I'm talking to always responds with the same utter disbelief.
"You don't want kids? Why?"
Well, let's see. Disposable income. No 18-year leash to a man I no longer want to be with. Free time to do what I want. The ability to travel and move around without worrying about uprooting someone in their developmental years. Fewer mouths to feed. Not having to stay at a job that I abhor just to have a steady income. No PTA meetings. Being able to sleep in. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.
Sometimes I think about how much my parents have sacrificed in order to raise my sister and me. (Yes, "me" is being used correctly here. Look it up.) They worked long hours, always worried about money, and had to put off doing what they wanted every Saturday in order to drive us to piano lessons. When the family took a vacation, we went to Disneyland even though I'm sure they would have preferred Italy.
The worst thing of all, though, would have to be giving up everything for a child, only to watch her grow up and move far away with no intention of ever returning.
I used to joke that my biggest reason for not wanting children was that I would never enter any relationship in which I am guaranteed to not have the upper hand. But when I examine the relationship I have with my parents, I know now that I wasn't joking.
Sometimes the narcissist in me thinks it would be great to produce a bunch of carbon copies of myself, because clearly, I'm awesome. Then again, why would I ever want to have kids knowing that they will inherit from me the tendency to be stubborn, selfish, mouthy little brats who think they're smarter than everyone and will undermine parental authority at every turn? I am many things, but I am definitely not stupid.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Monday, April 9, 2012
"Does smart-ass run in your family?"
Last Tuesday, I flew up to Seattle to stay with my sister, Donna. Here's my assessment of the trip so far:
Seattle is sunny, but cold.
I mean that both literally and metaphorically. The sun has been out every day but I've yet to leave the apartment without a jacket. Even though I'm supposed to be on vacation, I still worked. And while my sister's apartment has been buzzing with social activity all week, I, for the most part, have been rather antisocial.
On Wednesday, we went to see The Cribs perform at The Crocodile. I saw Gary Jarman in the audience during the opening act and our eyes met. For some reason I didn't introduce myself to him, which is unusual because I'm not normally shy, and he was standing there all by himself anyway. I'm still kicking myself over the lost opportunity to meet the lead singer of one of my favorite bands.
On Thursday, I borrowed Donna's car and visited my parents. As soon as I entered the house, I made a beeline for the piano, where I stayed for the better portion of my time there.
On Friday, Donna and I spent the afternoon on her sofa. We both had our laptops open and somehow managed to communicate almost entirely through Facebook, even though we were sitting right next to each other. Later that evening her friends came over, at which point I locked myself in the bedroom to write an article while they drank beer and ate chips and played drinking games.
On Saturday, I fell asleep on the couch while another group of friends occupied the living room and filled it with an apparently fascinating conversation.
Sunday was Easter, which meant going over to the parents' house - this time the whole family was there - and having dinner. I played piano again.
And all throughout the week, when I wasn't sleeping, playing piano, or writing an article, I was trying to plow through a book that I found on Donna's shelf the day I arrived in Seattle. It's a pretty large volume and I don't expect to finish the whole thing, so whenever I have the opportunity to read, I do, which means that I'm often buried between pages while my sister entertains her friends. Luckily, a couple of the guys that were over on Saturday saved me some time, by giving me an essential spoiler before I fell asleep in their presence.
Have I always been this uninterested in other people? I used to think of myself as a person who preferred the company of others to being alone, but I find that the older I get, the less tolerance I have for stupidity. It's not that I think my parents, my sister, or her friends are stupid - on the contrary, they are all great people whom I genuinely like. It's more the fact that I've had to deal with so much stupidity over the years that socializing now bores me. I've reached a point where small talk and getting everyone up to speed on what I'm doing with my life feels like work that is draining and tiresome.
I have a friend in Australia that I Skype with on occasion. Because of the time difference, we usually have to meet on the weekends when neither of us is working. He likes to make fun of me for staying in on Friday nights, and I don't bother making excuses for it. The funny thing about all this is that we don't even talk much when we're logged on, because we're too busy playing each other in Words With Friends or Draw Something.
When I reflect on the various aspects of my life, I realize now that I was never as good with people as I thought I was or would have liked to be. I was horrible at sales, I had no talent for customer service, and I hated doing group projects in school. The jobs where I excelled the most were jobs where I could work independently and didn't have to deal with clients - playing piano, writing, editing - and during my college years, I was happiest studying alone. Even in my leisure time I prefer solitude. I shop alone. I eat out alone. I go to the movies alone. I travel alone. I know that there are probably many people who will think this is lame. Guess what? I don't care.
Self-discovery is an interesting thing. When I first moved to L.A., I never thought of myself as an introvert; I was just someone who hadn't lived there long and didn't have a lot of friends in the area. But in my hometown of Seattle, where I am surrounded by familiar faces, it is obvious to me now that I am definitely an introvert.
I used to think that because I was confident, unafraid to talk to people, and always joking around, that there was no way I could possibly be an introvert. But I, like most people, had it all wrong, and it wasn't until I started reading more on the subject that I learned what it really means to be introverted. It does not mean that I am shy, socially awkward, rude, arrogant, or uncaring (even though I have been known to exhibit these qualities from time to time). It simply means that I am less interested in the world around me than I am the ideas inside my own head. And you know what? There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. The stuff that goes on inside my head is fantastic.
I did make some social "progress" earlier tonight, though. I looked up from my reading long enough to have a short conversation with Donna before she went to bed.
"Did you finish the book?"
"No. But I read the most important parts."
"How did you know what the important parts were?"
"I skimmed for keywords based on the spoiler your friends gave me."
I won't reveal the name of the book, but I will give you the spoiler. Are you ready?
Everyone, whether they know it or not, wants the same thing in life, and that is to find someone to love, and be loved in return.
I know what you're thinking. Duh, right? Well, falling in love requires human interaction, and let's be honest, most humans are idiots. I am aware that my cynical outlook on my own species will probably doom me to a life of loneliness, but that doesn't make it any less true.
Now that I think about it, the majority of conversations that happened this week did revolve around love and relationships. Funny how I don't pay any mind to what people are saying, but if I read the exact same thing in a book then it must be something worthy of consideration.
Maybe it's time to start getting friendly. Not because I want to change my personality, but because no one will realize how lovable I am until I put down that book and talk to someone. As soon as I snatch up Mr. Right, I will go right back to ignoring him.
Seattle is sunny, but cold.
I mean that both literally and metaphorically. The sun has been out every day but I've yet to leave the apartment without a jacket. Even though I'm supposed to be on vacation, I still worked. And while my sister's apartment has been buzzing with social activity all week, I, for the most part, have been rather antisocial.
On Wednesday, we went to see The Cribs perform at The Crocodile. I saw Gary Jarman in the audience during the opening act and our eyes met. For some reason I didn't introduce myself to him, which is unusual because I'm not normally shy, and he was standing there all by himself anyway. I'm still kicking myself over the lost opportunity to meet the lead singer of one of my favorite bands.
On Thursday, I borrowed Donna's car and visited my parents. As soon as I entered the house, I made a beeline for the piano, where I stayed for the better portion of my time there.
On Friday, Donna and I spent the afternoon on her sofa. We both had our laptops open and somehow managed to communicate almost entirely through Facebook, even though we were sitting right next to each other. Later that evening her friends came over, at which point I locked myself in the bedroom to write an article while they drank beer and ate chips and played drinking games.
On Saturday, I fell asleep on the couch while another group of friends occupied the living room and filled it with an apparently fascinating conversation.
Sunday was Easter, which meant going over to the parents' house - this time the whole family was there - and having dinner. I played piano again.
And all throughout the week, when I wasn't sleeping, playing piano, or writing an article, I was trying to plow through a book that I found on Donna's shelf the day I arrived in Seattle. It's a pretty large volume and I don't expect to finish the whole thing, so whenever I have the opportunity to read, I do, which means that I'm often buried between pages while my sister entertains her friends. Luckily, a couple of the guys that were over on Saturday saved me some time, by giving me an essential spoiler before I fell asleep in their presence.
Have I always been this uninterested in other people? I used to think of myself as a person who preferred the company of others to being alone, but I find that the older I get, the less tolerance I have for stupidity. It's not that I think my parents, my sister, or her friends are stupid - on the contrary, they are all great people whom I genuinely like. It's more the fact that I've had to deal with so much stupidity over the years that socializing now bores me. I've reached a point where small talk and getting everyone up to speed on what I'm doing with my life feels like work that is draining and tiresome.
I have a friend in Australia that I Skype with on occasion. Because of the time difference, we usually have to meet on the weekends when neither of us is working. He likes to make fun of me for staying in on Friday nights, and I don't bother making excuses for it. The funny thing about all this is that we don't even talk much when we're logged on, because we're too busy playing each other in Words With Friends or Draw Something.
When I reflect on the various aspects of my life, I realize now that I was never as good with people as I thought I was or would have liked to be. I was horrible at sales, I had no talent for customer service, and I hated doing group projects in school. The jobs where I excelled the most were jobs where I could work independently and didn't have to deal with clients - playing piano, writing, editing - and during my college years, I was happiest studying alone. Even in my leisure time I prefer solitude. I shop alone. I eat out alone. I go to the movies alone. I travel alone. I know that there are probably many people who will think this is lame. Guess what? I don't care.
Self-discovery is an interesting thing. When I first moved to L.A., I never thought of myself as an introvert; I was just someone who hadn't lived there long and didn't have a lot of friends in the area. But in my hometown of Seattle, where I am surrounded by familiar faces, it is obvious to me now that I am definitely an introvert.
I used to think that because I was confident, unafraid to talk to people, and always joking around, that there was no way I could possibly be an introvert. But I, like most people, had it all wrong, and it wasn't until I started reading more on the subject that I learned what it really means to be introverted. It does not mean that I am shy, socially awkward, rude, arrogant, or uncaring (even though I have been known to exhibit these qualities from time to time). It simply means that I am less interested in the world around me than I am the ideas inside my own head. And you know what? There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. The stuff that goes on inside my head is fantastic.
I did make some social "progress" earlier tonight, though. I looked up from my reading long enough to have a short conversation with Donna before she went to bed.
"Did you finish the book?"
"No. But I read the most important parts."
"How did you know what the important parts were?"
"I skimmed for keywords based on the spoiler your friends gave me."
I won't reveal the name of the book, but I will give you the spoiler. Are you ready?
Everyone, whether they know it or not, wants the same thing in life, and that is to find someone to love, and be loved in return.
I know what you're thinking. Duh, right? Well, falling in love requires human interaction, and let's be honest, most humans are idiots. I am aware that my cynical outlook on my own species will probably doom me to a life of loneliness, but that doesn't make it any less true.
Now that I think about it, the majority of conversations that happened this week did revolve around love and relationships. Funny how I don't pay any mind to what people are saying, but if I read the exact same thing in a book then it must be something worthy of consideration.
Maybe it's time to start getting friendly. Not because I want to change my personality, but because no one will realize how lovable I am until I put down that book and talk to someone. As soon as I snatch up Mr. Right, I will go right back to ignoring him.
Monday, April 2, 2012
"These idiots will buy anything from a smiling white face."
There is a popular trend that's bothered me for quite some time now, but out of courtesy to the many friends of mine who are guilty of following this trend, I've never said anything. Well, it is a crime against English, and as a writer I can no longer hold my tongue. Pen. Fingers. Whatever.
So at the risk of alienating my friends, as well as my entire readership of 11 people, here it is:
Using hashtags on websites that don't support hashtagging is stupid.
On Twitter, a hashtag links to a search query that populates tweets similar to yours. On almost every other website in the world, a hashtag is just an eyesore that doesn't do anything. See? #eyesorethatdoesntdoanything
Try clicking on that. Oh, you can't.
I'm not exactly the biggest Twitter fan, but I do understand that a 140-character limit requires a few workarounds to get all the information out to your followers. At the very least, a hashtag used on a supporting website will actually take you somewhere.
But what the hell is everyone's excuse for using hashtags on Facebook?
Most people write poorly enough as it is. The last thing we need is an excuse to string together a bunch of words without any spacing, capitalization, or punctuation. There is far too much ugly plaguing the English language already, now that text-message shorthand has made its way into our writing. Let's not add to the cancer.
#dinosaurloversunite
So at the risk of alienating my friends, as well as my entire readership of 11 people, here it is:
Using hashtags on websites that don't support hashtagging is stupid.
On Twitter, a hashtag links to a search query that populates tweets similar to yours. On almost every other website in the world, a hashtag is just an eyesore that doesn't do anything. See? #eyesorethatdoesntdoanything
Try clicking on that. Oh, you can't.
I'm not exactly the biggest Twitter fan, but I do understand that a 140-character limit requires a few workarounds to get all the information out to your followers. At the very least, a hashtag used on a supporting website will actually take you somewhere.
But what the hell is everyone's excuse for using hashtags on Facebook?
Most people write poorly enough as it is. The last thing we need is an excuse to string together a bunch of words without any spacing, capitalization, or punctuation. There is far too much ugly plaguing the English language already, now that text-message shorthand has made its way into our writing. Let's not add to the cancer.
#dinosaurloversunite
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