Monthly Archives: March 2010

Inadvertent new experiences

10 Wednesday Mar 2010

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Saturday night, I went with some friends to see Dar.  Though my concerts have become fewer and further between (which makes me inconsolably upset), a Spring Break night at a folk concert has become somewhat of a tradition.

You know what’s not a tradition?

The South Side on a Saturday night.

Recall my experiences on that end of town: Sunday afternoon brunch.  One New Year’s Eve outing that ended sooner rather than later and did not involve walking many blocks through the crowds.  The occasional weekday dinner.  Maybe like four in the past two years.  A few weekday concerts (because that’s how folk music rolls in Pittsburgh).  For instance, I saw Dar two falls ago at Club Café, which is in the South Side, but it was also a Monday night.

Sweet merciful holy hell, I never, ever want to do that ever again.

For those of you fortunate enough not to live in Pittsburgh, I’d give SS an equivalent of, say, Arlington.  It’s where all the popped-collar d-bags go, the ones who say bro and then all the girls who follow them in their rainbow sandals.  And then.  Oh, there’s more.  There are many sports bars.  Which means there are many yinzers afoot as well.

That is an incredible combination.

Also, inexplicably, there was a St. Patrick’s themed crawl going on, though, unless I’ve been unaware of a calendar change, St. Patrick’s Day isn’t for another week from today.

Needless to say, the streets were absolutely packed with people and cars everywhere.  I was meeting people for dinner on one end of Carson and the concert was closer to the other end.  I parked about three blocks from the concert end (I figured if I was going to get stabbed, it would probably be later rather than earlier, and it was a 9pm show).  And then I had to walk, by myself, to the restaurant.

Information you need: I am 5’2” and was raised on a steady diet of the culture of fear surrounding what happens to 5’2” females when they walk alone at night, especially in cities.  Also, I have a severe problem with anxiety.

And so I trudged, trying not to get hit by cars, trying not to accidentally wind up in a bar fight that spilled into the street, trying not to get mugged or stabbed or “accidently” shot by the police.  And freaking the hell out.

As I walked, I was kind of mad at myself.  Mostly for being afraid.  “Your sister walks by herself in Manhattan all the time, and she’s fine,” I lectured in my head.  “This is Pittsburgh.”

But, as expected, I made it.  And my wonderfully tough Joey butchly walked between me and her girlfriend, which I’m positive warded off any ne’er-do-wells.  (Ridiculous assumption as another woman we had dinner with told us that some popped-collar boys decided to remind her of her dyke status when she got out of her truck.  Thanks, bro.)

Dar was out one voice, but did the concert anyway.  I know just about everyone was pissed about that, but I find her charming whether or not she can actually sing at a show.  Also, we were the tools who showed up late and got sequestered in the empty balcony section.  Which was spacious but for a few tables and stools, so it was like hanging out in my regular life, but Dar happened to be there, too.  Sweet.

Post-concert, Joey and her girlfriend walked me back to my car, and then I delivered them safely to theirs.  The world didn’t end.  And now Spring Break is half over, and I’ve yet to do much of anything productive.  Perhaps that should start about now.

Welcome to the world, baby girl!

08 Monday Mar 2010

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Travel back in time with me if you will – we’ll stop somewhere in the fall of 1995.

I’m in fourth period, seventh grade American history.  There is a boy in the class who does not seem to ever do work.  He plays his Game Boy or fiddles around on the Mac in the back of the classroom.  This, apparently, is not a problem.  When I don’t do my work – in class or otherwise – I have to watch as my parents go to yet another parent-teacher conference.

This boy drives me absolutely crazy.

The next year, he’s in my civics class for about a week before he switches teams.  But not before we have a quiz, and as I already struggle to answer questions, he finishes the quiz and starts shuffling a deck of cards.  I’m pretty sure I want him dead.

And so my friends and I, we make fun of this boy well into high school.  We laugh in tenth grade, in newspaper class, when a senior turns this boy upside down and teases the boy about his camo.  But as that year presses on, I start to think I want to be this boy’s friend.  He’s smart and funny and starting to be less obnoxious about it.  I’m still a big-mouthed spaz, but I’m working on it, too.

So in eleventh grade AP US History, we sit near each other (hey, alphabetized seating charts!).  He finishes his tests before I can read two questions.  When we take the SATs that spring, he sleeps through two sections and still scores a 1400.  I stay awake for the whole test and will never, ever see a 1400.

But in between those two times, we hang out one night, go see a couple of friends play at an open mic night.  I drive us out to downtown Fairfax, and, in what becomes a regular habit I hold to this day, I get us drastically lost on the way home.  We circle around the greater parts of Fairfax County for an hour before finally finding the right way back.

As we drive, and he’s totally patient with me, I decide, to hell with my other friends, I am totally going to be friends with this boy.

And so I do.  And we have great fun.  I share things with him I haven’t had the courage to share with anyone else.  I do this because he has the courage to share first.  And he does things like offer Judy coffee when he skips her class to go to Starbucks, and he totally bails on the writing portion of our SOLs, even when they try to drag him back into the cafeteria.

We make it out of high school, go to our separate colleges, and reconvene during breaks.  Topher’s basement; IHOP; just driving around the Beltway.  He’s the one I call when I say I need to go out for breakup ice cream even though it’s December.  He doesn’t even question it.

This boy dates girls at his college, and then the time comes when he meets this one girl in particular.  And this girl is fantastic.  She’s just as smart and as funny and can totally keep his ass in line.  She probably deserves a medal.  This continues.  They get engaged.  And then, in 2007, they become the first of our friends from all those years ago to get married.  After the ceremony, we laugh in the warm August air in her parents’ glorious backyard.  She is beautiful; he is handsome.  Everything is wonderful.

We work on being grown-ups.  There are master’s degrees and jobs and long phone conversations about all the possibilities in this great big future.

And so it was today that I am trying to comprehend just how many books could possibly be written about James Joyce.  I receive a text message at 3:03 pm.

“And we have a baby girl : ) Kayleigh Brenna, 9 pounds 2 ounces, 20.5 inches.”

Which makes me want to jump and yell.  Instead, because I really need to not get kicked out of the library, I smile an absolutely ridiculous smile and laugh at myself when my eyes get all teary at the thought of my friends becoming parents.  (Truth: writing this? Teary again.  The boy tells me he loves me for this.  The girl, I’m sure, will make fun of me for it later.)

I can’t wait to know this baby girl (and take her to her first folk concert – already called it) and to watch my friends become the fabulous parents I know they’re going to be.

(Her first Facebook picture, which I totally downloaded about thirty seconds after the boy put it online.)

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