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January 26, 2015

i think the city is finally getting to me.  i no longer bat an eyelash at an overpriced beer (or, as the case was last night, monster truck rally snow cone in commemorative cup) and my nose doesn’t tingle at the scent of day old bar trash slurping down the street.  i’m aware of and affected by homeless men begging for change in grassy medians on a sunday morning…but it is what it is.  and i no longer have any delusion of a charming southern gentleman casually bumping into me at some capitol hill bar and sweeping me off my feet.  hell, i don’t even dream of aforementioned politico buying me a drink.  it just doesn’t work that way.

pardon my bitterness/reality check/pessimism.  but this is my city.  it is cold and callous and exceedingly unromantic.  especially as i get older.  i say all of this not for your pity – do not feel bad for me, i happen to kind of love this place – but because it’s the first step in me accepting it.  this is not some sex & the city drama.  this is not more 20-something self help aspirational/inspirational lifestyle mumbo-jumbo.  this is real, real.  like, day old trash slurp dripping off my sneakers sitting in the corner of my 860 square foot apartment i share with a roommate and a dog real.  this is get me off tinder and hinge and match.com and just find me my capitol hill prince already real.  this is rolling your eyes because metro is delayed for a water main break and charity gala tickets clouding up your email inbox and searching craigslist on the daily for a little slice of northwest real estate (i’d even settle for noma).  this is contemplating a juice cleanse and then making reservations for bottomless brunch instead.  this is the city at 29 and still frantically single.

i think the city finally got me.

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