In An Effort To Fit In, I Start Trombone Lessons Saturday.

Ladies and Gentlemen (whoever’s left actually reading this blog), a miracle has occurred! 

 

(Cue the choir of angels!)

Okay, maybe not a miracle, but I wanted to get your attention.  I do have news, though… Are you ready?

Man and I are moving.

Most of you may recall this post where I divulged to my best beloved that I hate—with every fiber of my soul—living in the suburbs.  The truth is, I’m just not cool enough to pull off living among the tree-lined streets and manicured lawns of American suburbia. 

You know what I mean.  Every neighborhood has at least one slightly too-cool-to-live-there family of hipster parents sporting elaborate tattoos at every neighborhood association meeting or block party.  Though the “normies” of the ‘hood tend to look at them with a small mixture of suspicion and mistrust, it’s secretly nice to have them around.  They lend a certain air of realism to the area.  They fool the other residents into believing that maybe they aren’t so far removed from their own abandoned rockstar dreams of the early 90’s.

I’m not that awesome.  When I leave for work in the mornings I’m just another suburbanite upstart wondering if I have time to stop at Starbucks on my way to the office (or in my case, the restaurant).  Whenever I allow myself to come to this realization I die a little inside.  If I’m going to retain any shred of my former “cool” I’m going to have to live someplace… Well, cooler than here.

Now that my personal economy is on an upswing, Man agreed that we can start looking.  Hopefully by the time promotions, raises and bonuses rain down from the apex of the corporate mountaintop we’ll have something picked out.  Though I wish it could be the million dollar condo of my previous post, chances are closer to not.

Personally, I think we should move into Treme before HBO causes it to gentrify.