I think of recent conversations where friends predict upcoming "quarter-life crises" for most of our set. I think that if such a crisis were to technically occur, they should have happened five or six years ago, judging generously by the average age that we all make it to. As one of my friends pointed out, nobody lives to be a hundred, anyway.I will be getting on in years, to be commemorated once again this week. I find it appropriate that a year ago, friends feted me with cake and a tiara, and a year later, I headed back to celebrate these same friends and their wonderful company.
I had another marvelous weekend. Sometimes I don't get how lucky I am, or how happy I can be. Do I just have such low expectations that anything can turn out great? But I know that I am functional enough member of society to know the difference. I thought today -- on birthdays and being happy -- that the gift of getting older is having more happy memories to look back on.
So I was back in San Diego, with Natalia at the funhouse on Bonus Street. I took last looks at the magazine-worthy decor of the place, because it was her last night there. Later, Air Conditioned looked like a shady dump from the outside, deceptively hiding the hip little Shangri-La within. How do sardines party? Try that North Park joint if you're into being shoulder to shoulder with other barflies. But the difference in San Diego, which I rely on, is the lack of self-consciousness that handicaps an otherwise good LA bar experience. There was Cirrus, so terribly du jour. "I read your blog as if it's InStyle!" (Aww, bella!) And as the night got more interesting, the little oddities added up... unable to escape guys of a certain name, of a certain profession. A neat little moment where a drink was bought for me from across the bar. And on my way out, Mr. Brightside remixed as if to send me out on a high note.
So then Natalia and I dashed off to the old place where we would always get Chinese food so late, it's early. It was just two blocks from my old digs and I felt like I had never left. I saw the new Italian place that had once been an Asian-owned bagel joint that had once been Bruegger's before Einstein Bros. ousted it from business. I thought a lot about Third Avenue and my many days exploring the blocks with curiosity and buoyancy. And then one last night in that blue-striped Martha Stewart bed. I was awakened at 6:30 am by Natalia's roommate, who not too soberly screamed in surprise that I was there. She retreated to the living room, and I willed myself to get back to sleep despite the booming house music that seemed inappropriate at that hour.
The next morning, Adrian whisked us to the crawfish boil in Coronado. I thought about high tea and the soft sand of the Hotel Del as we zipped along the bridge. There were a sea of shirtless drunkards and steaming cauldrons of seasoned shellfish. I blithely sipped on beer and tried to avoid the sunburn, but ultimately just gave in to the gluttony when we all attacked the crawfish dumped onto our table. Ian made fun of the disgusting pile of heads and tails I created in front of me, mixed up with potatoes and corn cobs. I threw my head back laughing, and noticed how clear and blue the sky was.
Peeling crawfish is hard work, so Po took me to the nail salon. We gabbed about dumb things and smart things, among them celebrity hookups and San Diego's best attorneys. We fromped around Pacific Beach and wound up in her hot tub as a little energy boost before heading downtown to On Broadway. It was unusual that we sent more than one dish back to the kitchen, but we know what we like. The night's events reaffirmed for me that a little more volume in your hair and an extra inch in your heels can go a long, long way. I strutted my stuff. Full of ulterior motives.
This morning, Advil helped immensely. Erik awaited us at the Broken Yolk and it was a longer breakfast than I've had in quite a while. Po put so much butter and salt on her toast that Erik dryly commented, "You'll have a heart attack in five years," but then quickly retracted it because it belied his gentlemanly ways. Maybe we'll all die of heart attacks, between all the eggs and cheese consumed this morning.
The sun was relentless, so we spent it doing the things we did best in law school. I felt so at ease and remembered every road, every spot, and details about a different life. And then, at a very certain point in the day, I thought about places much more dreary that I had actually longed for -- and how silly it seemed now. I felt a sense of calm in realizing that the things you most want really are usually well within reach.
Tomorrow, I begin French lessons. Today, I rest blissfully in the idea that I am at a stage in my life where I enjoy weekends like never before. Even this shredded wheat I'm eating tastes better than I expected. Who needs a hundred years to live, if you can do so much in just two days?
posted by Lucy Sloan @ 10:49 PM
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