Confessions of a Boring Suburban Wife

Have you ever had one of those “how the hell did I get here?” moments? Today, while starting at my desk around 3:35, (which as well all know, 3:35 on a Friday should be the stopping point because no real work gets done after that) I had a sort of out of body experience.  It was like the cynical bartender with a potty mouth rose up out of me and went, “what the fuck are you doing?”

I’ve only been here three months, and honestly – it feels like I have been here forever. I have a bright and colorful cube with my puppy sleeping next to my desk, I’m working hard at my job at the amazing company that shall never be named in this here blog, and I’m going – dude – what happened?

So in three months I moved from New York to California and my life could not be more different. I have an apartment that is not falling apart or slanting (though the roommates that do it like jackrabbits are a nice reminder that nothing’s perfect) we have a REAL couch – as in, not from IKEA, and it’s so nice I’m afraid to eat anywhere near it. I bought a Toyota Corolla (whoa dream big!)

I grow flowers now:

Without killing them – and dude they are thriving! I pick up dog toys that are strewn about the house, I vacuum, I wake up at 6am and go to bed at 10pm, I cook (but only occasionally) and I work from 9-5.  Oh, and did I mention I joined a book club that I LOVE and we spend our Saturdays at farmers markets and university football games? My husband works from 9-6, and I spend the hour between 5-6 at the dog park with my puppy.

When did I get so goddamn boring?

And you know the scariest part?

I LOVE it.

I honestly don’t think I have ever been so happy before – maybe it’s the whole newly married thing, but really I think it’s just that this was what my life was supposed to be. As it turns out if you work hard enough and are super motivated, life will stop shitting all over you and things will turn out for the best. I mean it took six years – but hey! I’ve finally figured it out.

You see, for so long I thought I was a city girl. I packed up at 18 and moved to Los Angeles. I thrived there, loved the weather, the people, the constant activity. I loved getting all dressed up and putting on heels and going to Hollywood with my friends. LA was my kind of city. I surfed and went out, and had a blast. Every weekend was something new, from going to museums, to shopping, I soaked it all in. I spent all of my money on fancy clothes and cocktails, bought my first car, and bragged about all of the fun stuff I was doing now that I was out of that small town.

And then, I fell in love with a boy. And I was restless, over the whole LA scene – which as it turns out is much more focused on who you know and what you eat (which for me was no one and everything) and he asked me to move to New York with him. Good thing I was accepted to NYU for grad school, because I gave up a great job in Burbank and packed my bags and headed for the big city. I was so excited for culture, and of course, the cosmos.

But as it turns out when you are poor, and new to the city, you can’t afford to live in the city. It’s not so great for the starving artist lifestyle that it so often is associated with.

So I moved to Brooklyn. And don’t get me wrong I LOVE Brooklyn – I could have easily lived there for a very long time, I just didn’t realize that I was losing myself over there. I became this angry awful person who didn’t give a shit about all the reasons I moved to New York in the first place – I just knew I didn’t belong there.

Basically that whole tangent of stuff you already know about me is to reaffirm that yes, it’s true, I am an 89 year old sell out who used to be cool and lived in the city to a suburban working wife. Though I still have plenty of attitude, mostly due to my experiences – so fuck off if you’ve got an issue with me –hehe

Mom, please don’t yell at me!

Should I change the title of this blog to Confessions of a Boring Suburban Wife? I don’t know, but I do know that I am very happy with my new adventure!