Left turn

Once one is old, birthdays are celebrated semi-decadally. And with my 35th coming up soon, I thought a party might be in order.

I used to like parties: having them or attending them. But really the days of good parties are behind me. The purpose of a party, at least when you are in your twenties, is to forget your problems and goof around. And having a good party was easy enough: alcohol, tunes, and an appropriate number of single women.

I'm panicking about the idea of throwing a party.

• I live in a "worse" neighborhood than anyone else I know. Houses here cost less than $500k, and there are no white people.
• My house is a deathtrap for babies: nothing is child proof and there is no fence to keep them from running into the street.
• There is nothing to do here: no LAN parties, no pool table, nothing.
• I can't really cook.
• I live farther west than everyone I know save Bao and my brothers.

I feel that I'm just opening myself up to ridicule by asking people I know to drive a million miles with babies in tow to be bored and eat bad food in an ugly house in a crappy part of town .

Now, reflecting on my feelings, a couple of things are plain. One, I've lost some of my backbone. I used to be a little better at saying, "this is my life, and fuck you if you can't deal with it." After all, most of what I do for housing is based on an attempt to make solid financial decisions. I've got to live within my means.

Two, life is harder for me because I'm single, and in some sense, self-made. I don't want to downplay the fact that Mom provided a nice, clean, rent-free home for me when I was in school and undergrad. Dad helped out some when I was in high school as well. Rent-free living is a massive bonus. But since then, I've led a financially independent life. Most of my friends that live in nice places either started with family money or have two incomes. I'm remarkably bitter about this, which is pointless.

Three, I've lost all sense of proportion. To think that my place is not nice when I lived in a tin-roofed shack in Costa Rica demonstrates that my thinking has become provincial.

I know why I'm here. The decisions I've made that led me here were not ill-considered. The shame I sometimes feel is just a part of the fact that I'm walking a different path from my friends.

I need friends that are walking the same path as I am, so I don't feel alone.

And I need a pool table.