I Know That Neighborhood…

Yesterday I went to a BBQ within biking distance of my apartment. I didn’t want to move my car from the coveted parking spot on the street on the annual Drink And Yell On The Beach Day (I don’t know what it is about 4th of July that makes people louder) . I’ve lived by the beach for 15 years without a parking space.

“How do you live without a parking space?” people ask.

I don’t know. Magic, parking karma, and a high tolerance for pain.

This party was a block away from where an old boyfriend used to live.  I used to exclusively date guys who live within walking distance of my apartment. Not consciously, it just worked out that way.  Gradually, the guys that I have dated reside further and further away from me.  Do I even need to bring that one up with my therapist?  Maybe I’m progressing towards dating people who live in Europe or Africa. Who needs physical proximity when you can cuddle up with your iPad and Twitter?  (I don’t really have an iPad).

Riding my bike to the party brought back memories of visiting my then-boyfriend and remembering my then-craziness, also connected to my high tolerance for pain.   It felt strange to be in the same neighborhood while feeling, generally-speaking, less crazy and having a somewhat lower tolerance for pain.

The party was really fun.  I’m really good at parties.  Put food and wine in front of me and I actually become fun.  I even told some jokes. If they bombed, nobody let me know.

Just for today, I can visit old neighborhoods.



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