Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Suburban Girl with City Dreams, Part 1

This is started as a quick post about how I love my new neighborhood and how it's like no place I've ever lived.  It's rapidly expanded into a 2 part series about how I'm finally getting to live out a dream.  Here's part 1.  Tomorrow I'll actually get to the original intention of the post. 

I often feel like I missed out on an important part of being a young, single, broke adult.  Sure, I was once young, single and broke but it was nothing like you see on TV.

I guess it never is.

I’m not a partier or club goer.  My idea of great Saturday night, both now and when I was in my early twenties, is having a nice glass of wine, wearing something comfortable and playing a rocking board game with a few friends.  Apples to Apples is my jam! I’ve always known that about myself and by the time college was over I knew better than to get gussied up, squeeze into a pair of spanx and head to the club.  Why fight to get a bartenders attending for a drink when there is an easily accessible six-pack in my fridge.  Why awkwardly dance to obnoxious electronic music when Ben Affleck is hosting Saturday Night Live?

This is how I feel when I'm at popular bar. 

I’ve accepted that isn’t who I am but I do feel like I missed something important- city life.  I’ve been a suburban girl since birth.  I grew up in the ‘burbs.  My college, while slightly more urban was still in a residential area.  After college I did a year of volunteer work.  While most of service sites in our program were  old convents in the inner city, our new suburban home felt palatial, but bland.  (Though we did have roaches.  So it wasn’t pure clean suburban bliss).  

Me and my fellow service giving, suburban living, roach surviving community members

After my volunteer year, when I decided to stay in Savannah, I decided to be practical and find a cheap apartment on the outskirts of town. Every bit my soul cried out to live downtown.  I wanted to walk to the bar on a Tuesday night for a quick drink.  On Sunday mornings I wanted to stumble my hung-over behind to a coffee shop next door, finding salvation in a sugary, caffeinated concoction. I wanted to fall asleep to the lull of traffic, sirens and lost tourists.  My wallet, and lack of credit card debt thanked me, but my soul was sullen with my decision.

I thought if I ever met the guy of my dreams, we could start our lives together in a cute rental in an historic building downtown.  That chance never came as the man of my dreams came with home in the burbs, in walking distance from absolutely nothing.  Not that I’m complaining.  Having Mr. Dreamy and a safe, comfortable home is a pretty good gig.  I accepted the fact I would always be a suburban girl, with manicured lawns, homeowners association, good schools and neighbors you didn’t know. It wasn’t a bad life.  In fact, it was a life many peopled dreamed about.

Then, three months ago, Mr. Dreamy came bursting through the door at 9:30AM on a Monday. He shoved his iPhone in my face.  My eyes adjusted to the tiny words on the screen.  “Dear Mr. Ourlastnamehere,  Congratulations! This email contains your offer…..”

And what an offer it was.  We were moving to Cincinnati!


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