The Comfy Corner

Let's say I just graduated from college and I started dating this guy and all of my friends from school don't know this guy so they demand more information. Well, naturally when I talk about him they are gonna wanna know what he looks like. Well, in the olden days they would have had to wait for an in-person introduction because, back then, people didn't trade pictures of themselves on the first date to show to their friends for approval. That would have been absurd! But now, with Facebook, there is an expectation that you will immediately be able to produce a picture of the significant other. And so when I have these conversations I brace myself for the inevitable, "Lemme see a picture of him..." routine. This is where the stress builds. What picture do I show them??? The one of him making a stank face at a party? No, too informal. His headshot? Too formal. This picture he took of himself in the mirror? Perhaps... but maybe they'll think he's conceited or something. This picture of him with friends? Too far away, you can't see him that well. This picture of him in a show? No it doesn't show his personality in the right way. THERE ARE SO MANY OPTIONS!! And if you're like me, you wanna choose a photo that best represents the person you are falling for. Am I crazy? Maybe. But, in a way, the picture is replacing that initial introduction so for him and for me, I want it to be a good first impression.

So I choose a picture and then there is the awkward moment where they look at the picture and you wait for the, "Wow, he's cute!" or "Oh, you'll make such a cute couple." I dunno. Maybe it isn't that weird. But, it feels weird to me. Like I'm trying to sell him or something. I'd rather go back to the days of in-person introductions and real photos. So much more gratifying, no? I think so.

I went to one of my favorite bakeries in Boston called "Flour" and I was with my friends Noel and Beth. I had just finished giving my order to the woman at the register and I was hovering next to the little bar where you put cream and sugar in your coffee waiting for my friend Noel to finish with his order so we could find a seat. I was leaning very close to my friend Beth kind of staring off into the distance, zoning out per usual, when I noticed that she had bought a raspberry seltzer. I stared kind of longingly at this raspberry seltzer regretting that I didn't get one myself because they are three kinds of delicious when suddenly Beth looks at me kinda crazy. I realize that she is staring at me and without looking at her I say, "Ugh, those are sooo delicious." There was an awkward moment, so I looked up and realized that it wasn't Beth at all!

Gee willikers, was I humiliated? I jumped back and got kinda short of breath and quickly muttered, "Sorry, I was totally just creeping on you..." What?!?! I couldn't have just said, "Oh excuse me, I thought you were my friend Beth. So sorry." Nope, I just went to my weird place. She was downright offended that I had stood so close to her for so long. I guess I would be too if I was her and she was me. But come on, it's not like I'm a homeless person or a crackhead or anything. Wouldn't you want an attractive young half-Asian hover around you while you doctor your raspberry seltzer? Don't answer that. That's my story. Bye.

I got into Boston late after having done a show and after struggling to maze my way through the financial district (basically someone threw up on a map and called it a neighborhood) and after struggling to find a parking spot near my apartment where I felt safe that my car wouldn't get stolen, I realized that I was hungry. By this time, it was about 1am so I decided that I would go to my go-to, late-night pizza place that I love so much. "New York Pizza," the only place in Boston that is open till 3am. What a great way to come back home, right? Well, I got there and they changed their hours and were closed! "What the hell?" thought I, but I wasn't too concerned because I knew I could go to my neighborhood bar where they serve the most AMAZING mac and cheese. But when I got there, they has JUST closed the kitchen. At my wits end, I begged the bartender for anything to eat. She brought me a bowl of chips.

So there I was sitting there sadly with my bowl of chips and a glass of water trying to convince myself that I shouldn't be eating late anyway when this crackhead woman comes up to me and abrasively says to me, "Hey! Can I have a chip?" I looked at her flatly and said, "No, absolutely not." And for a moment she looked like she was going to punch me in the face. But then, she got distracted by something and walked away.

So I realized several things in this short amount of time 1) I still HATE Boston and don't want to go back 2) I need to stop eating late because it is becoming a habit 3) I need to stop being afraid of drunk people and homeless people that I can clearly beat up

So I grew up in a little ole town called Asheville in the little ole state of North Carolina. Nestled in the heart of the Appalachian mountains, Asheville is quite atypical of your average Southern town. It is littered with hippies, drum circles, and gays. Every single store downtown is local (except for a subway and an Urban Outfitters). Growing up there, however, I was always in the suburbs of Asheville which is just the opposite. It is all chain restaurants and Wal-Marts (we have five!!) and since my dad hates hippies and dreadlocks (he claims that the bugs will jump out of their hair and get in his food... pah! Asians...) we never ventured downtown where all the fun was. So I avoided developing an "Asheville personality." Since then, I have fled North Carolina and planted myself in New England and only recently am I beginning to feel this strange urge to embrace my hippie, Asheville roots. I'm being brought back to the days when I would sweat with the hippies in a barn doing the contra dance to fiddle music (no joke, every Thursday).

This summer I have purchased a pair of John Lennon glasses, I tie dyed a shirt for the first time, and I wear bandanas on a regular basis. I am literally seeking out hippie clothes! And on this hunt, I found the coolest place on the planet. It is called, "The Fantastic Umbrella Factory." It is a little Rhode Island hippie village with a cafe, several shops, green houses, the most awesome collection of vintage sunglasses, and goats and emus that you can pet and feed. Basically, Asheville in a bottle. Strangely, I felt very at home and very much at ease in that environment. Perhaps this is me trying to develop a unique personality in my journey into adulthood. But, I think it is more the freeness and openness that comes with the hippie lifestyle. I'm not REALLY becoming a hippie. No dreadlocks for me. And I like Starbucks. But, I also like incense. And I like tie dye. My family will be so disappointed. But to them I say, shut up.