Country Clubbin' It

When I wasn't researching LA apartments and jobs this weekend, I spent my time relaxing at the pool. I didn't plan on it being such an eye opener to the woes of my teen years.

I've always viewed myself as having a normal, surburbia childhood. By normal, I mean your typical, middle class life. Though I grew up on a golf course, had easy access to tennis courts and pool, and lived in a nice house, I never really thought twice about it. Now I realize that I had it good and shouldn't have spent so much time in my adolescence complaining about how miserable my life was. Even if I did have to scrub the kitchen floor every weekend before I went out, had a lousy curfew, and spent half my high school time grounded in my room for no apparent reason.

At any rate, as I was listening to Rubber Soul on my iPod, contemplating life, I happened to take notice of the situation I was in. Some would kill for it. Girls with perfect figures in their perfect bikinis. Moms with their kids waiting for dad to meet them for a dip after a round of golf. Babies with floaties on, going for their first swim. Truth is, that is where I grew up. And I never noticed before. It was all just sort of there. I never was really the country club type, although I was born into a better than average golf game.

I don't think I'll miss suburbia. All my life I've been drawn to big cities and yet I continue to live in family land. The rebel in me exists because I was raised in this lifestyle, but never really wanted it anyway. Not to say that I want a crappy life, but I have always been a bit turned off by the ritzy. Don't get me wrong, I want very nice things in life and shoot for the moon, but one must have their priorities straight. Mind over matter. Ya know what I'm sayin'?

Had it been ten years ago and I realized all this, I would've stomped off and drove out blaring some NIN out of my car. These days, I just take it all in because when I do have my city life in the Hollywood Hills, I'll be looking back on these as the good old days.

Sidenote: As I could not pull myself out of lazy land this weekend, I ended up checking out the fireworks up at the club, as well. Not bad, not bad. And thanks to my good ol' buddy Meredith, I had Stella to quench my thirst from the dry, night, golf course air.