Saturday, March 31, 2007

Hello, Boston ... nice to meet you.

Let me explain something about why I moved here in the first place.

My mom, in Chicago, in response to hearing my plans to go to New York for St. Patrick's Day:
"Be careful ... don't drink too much. And don't go near any bodies of water."

My aunt, in response to the same plans:
"Don't drink too much on St. Patrick's Day. Wait, I don't think that's even possible ..."
A supporting argument:
My aunt, to my cousin's nanny, who was sick at the time and on multiple medications:
"Do you want a glass of wine? Oh, you're sick, I'm sorry. How about some whiskey?"

I first came to Boston four years ago, where I took a writing class at Harvard, lived in a 4-story condo with my family (with the fourth floor being a bar), and nannied my cousin for approximately 3 hours a day. That is if sunbathing by the outdoor pool and drinking wine from plastic cups while your cousin is in swim lessons can be considered nannying. Boston and I ... we hit it off from the start. You provided me with fancy restaurants with bills that exceeded $500, interesting people, bars that somehow let me in even though I was nineteen, and my first true shot at freedom and independence. I fell in love with the city. Well at least from what I can gather about the concept from watching numerous romantic comedies. But like most relationships, that kind of fell apart after I realized it took a lot of work. Instead of that love growing after being with a person (or city) for nearly a year, it was just starting to irritate me and make me want to break up with it. (Try to follow the metaphor here). I started to compare it to cities in my past, and it kept coming out the loser. I considered seeing other cities and started to ignore its phone calls.

In truth, I'm not sure why I didn't see this coming. I walk and talk fast - perfect for the east coast, right? Yet I am the girl who put up a three-year long fit when we moved to a house twenty-five minutes from the town I grew up in. Always a cheeky kid, I frequently told my parents they "were going to regret this" and that "they ruined my life." But I've never been one to sit still for very long, so I think I kind of wised up and realized that whatever I had back in the Midwest is something I can find here too. I think I was just afraid that if I stayed here too long I would turn into some weird New Englander who uses "summer" as a verb. Nothing personal, Chicago. We were great as a duo, but sometimes you just have to move on. Also I don't want to have to find a new hairdresser. I still totally want to be friends though.

1 comment:

ashley said...

A little comment from the author. I've changed my mind again. I'm giving this town one more year and then I'm calling it quits. Screw you, New England! Not yet, though. I still have one more year so please be nice to me. In the meantime I'm probably going to throw out the word "wicked" here and there.