The Anti-Hipster...

My generation is a generation of hipsters.  For those of you over the age of forty, under the age of five, living under a rock or maybe in Oklahoma: a hipster is, as defined by the urban dictionary,  "a subculture of men and women typically in their 20's and 30's that value independent thinking, counter-culture, progressive politics, an appreciation of art and indie-rock, creativity, intelligence, and witty banter."

I have come to the {happy} realization that, despite the pressures of today's culture and my age bracket, I am not dating a hipster.  While I myself may or may not possess some hipster tastes, BF does not.  Am I alone here?  In a sea of hipster men {weird amalgamations of nerd and metrosexual}, does your man stand out as anti-hipster, and dare I say, more stereotypically manly?  Hipster men, don't get me wrong: you're OK in my book.  I just don't want to date you {or anyone besides BF for that matter, but you know what I mean}.

You know your man is anti-hipster if:

• He sports neither man-bangs nor some other such Florence Henderson-type 'do.
• His pants would never be mistaken for jeggings.
• He believes cardigans are for Mr. Rogers (though I kind of dig cardis.  See what I mean?).
• Vintage paraphernalia, in his opinion, is dead people's stuff.
• The artsy-fartsy type annoys the crap out of him.
• He doesn't know what an "etsy" or an "urban outfitters" is.
• His glasses are functional, nothing more.
• His shoes have laces.
• You immediately know he's male; he's not even a little androgynous.
• He likes what he likes, even if it's mainstream.
• He doesn't need his iPod surgically removed from his ears.
• He doesn't have/want/read a blog.
• He has not had a philosophical phrase/symbol tattooed anywhere on his person.
• He doesn't even wear a scarf if it's cold.
• He thinks bicycles are toys.
• The only time he uses the word "progressive" is in relation to sanctification.
• His only hat is a beat up baseball cap.
• He weighs more than 100 pounds.

{I must note, however, that BF has had an ironic mustache, wears witty t-shirts, and displays public nerdiness (though his is genuine)}

These hipsters are the more educated and less apathetic hippies of my parents' generation, and while they have their charms, I am glad I'm not dating one.  Mostly because of the whole androgynous haircut and jeggings thing.  So don't hate-- celebrate-- if you too are one of the few and proud to not be dating a hipster.  Which maybe is a hipster mindset in and of itself...? 

{image found here}

Stay tuned for my opinion of this generation's d-bag style.

A Birthday With Sisters...

Can you believe I've posted here again... twice in one week?!  What can I say; when BF is away, Amanda will play on her blog.  Can you blame me if I'd rather spend time with BF than blog?  I don't think you can. :)

But I needed to document my belated bday celebration with my sisters.  We have a very unique relationship, I feel.  Each of us is unique in her own way, but when we come together, we have that sister/friend thing going on that is inexplicable.  I try to explain to BF how two girls who don't share my parents are actually my sisters, but there are really no words.  Closing in on a decade of shared experiences, common faith, and real love for each other will do that.

My sisters know me well.  They took me to my favorite part of town: Hyde Park.  There's a little park with a fountain and tall trees in the midst of cute shops that are much too expensive for my blood, but not too expensive for my taste (mmmm.... Anthropologie...).  It reminds me a bit of Chicago, but not quite.  And I like it because it's not Chicago.  It's a little slice of city somewhere else, a little retreat from suburbia that is right here at home.  Beyond the shops of this little section of town are gorgeous, well-kept homes that look like they popped off the pages of a "Better Homes and Gardens" magazine.  Victorians to make your spine tingle.  Bungalows to make your knees buckle.  It's all too much yet not enough for my little heart.

But my sisters know that.  They took me there and we did what we do best: photo shoots, laughter, and exuberance.  In the glow of the sun I opened their cards, more precious than any material gift.  And then we shopped, and I came out of my favorite store, happily laden with bags.  And then we tried something new, thanks to Bestie's new toy (her beloved iPhone): Amelie's, the most fun little French bakery I may have ever eaten in this side of the Atlantic.  A chocolate croissant later, we were on our way to dinner...

...Where we got a free sundae because the waiter felt bad about my hoarse voice.  Guess there is still compassion in this world.  Either that or he was hoping for a huge tip or a phone number.

Then we three headed home: they to their husbands, me to my empty apartment ready to get a call from BF, the international traveler extraordinaire.

And it was nice just knowing that I have sisters who know me well and love me, in that inexplicable sister/friend sort of way.

A Bit of Birthday...

 

Here are my delightful parents, fresh in from snowy Chicago, enjoying the Florida sunshine. :)

So... I've neglected my blog.  I'm sorry (that is, if anyone even reads this anymore).  But life has a way of getting crazy.  I have some deeper thoughts to share, but those will come later.  Here is a picture tour of my birthday weekend, in all its glory:

 

And this is BF and me.  He asks, "Do I need to have a real smile?"  And then does this.  Maybe it's Opposite Day, and if I say, "no, you need to grimace," he would smile normally.  He tries. :)

We went to Tarpon Springs on my birthday for some fantastic Greek food.  I mean really, this place is tops.  Saganaki (flaming cheese) may very well be the food they serve in heaven.  Here I was surrounded by my favorite Floridians. :)

This picture makes me laugh so hard.  BF looks more awkward than I ever intended to make him feel while taking pictures.  I love it.  PS, my birthday cake was the best baklava I've ever had, but with only one candle, because twenty-seven is a fire hazard.  Twenty-seven!!!  YIKES!  Late twenties?!?!

 

It WAS at the sponge docks, after all.

We had a bit of a photo shoot, much to BF's chagrin.

I took the group one on a timer, set atop a newspaper thingy.  Haha, success!!

And one of my favorite items of the weekend is the above purchase: two vintage dishes.  We went to an antique fair in my little town, and I got these for a song.  I mean, not literally.  No one would give me anything for singing, I'm that bad.  But $25 for the pair is pretty good.  And I picture them on a Thanksgiving spread someday in my own house, on my big dining room table, passed by family members. :)

 

But the most special item of the weekend was this treasure, given to me by BF.  Relax, it's on my RIGHT hand.  It's another claddagh ring, this time white gold with my birthstone (aquamarine), and it's special for a couple of reasons.  First, Mike remembered that my parents gave me mine fifteen years ago, on my birthday.  Secondly, it's a promise from him, that someday he'll give me another ring. :)

Classic V-Day...

Yesterday was not my first Valentine's Day.  And yet, it was my first Valentine's Day.  Know what I'm saying?  It was the first year I'd ever actually had an honest-to-goodness valentine.  I have always loved the day, for whatever reason.  Don't lecture me about Hallmark-- I know, I know.  I know it's all ridiculous, but I love it.  I don't think I love it for its romance though; I might love it more for the pink and purple hearts everywhere. 

But this year I got to experience the quintessential Valentine's Day.  I'm the kind of girl who would be happy pulling on sweats, making grilled cheese, and popping in a new movie on Valentine's Day, but BF likes to pamper me.  It began on Sunday.  I had ruined his plan because I decided to have a five-day fever that meant I might or might not be at work on Monday.  So just in case, he brought over my first gifts that were intended for my desk Monday morning: a dozen long-stemmed red roses and a box of candy (let's get this straight: not waxy chocolate bon-bons with finger indentations to see if it's a toffee or a nasty eggnog cream... Lindt Lindor truffles, only the best chocolate ever).  As classic as hot dogs at a Sox game, evergreens on Christmas, and Lady Gaga having some sort of weird relationship with a food product/animal/shape/color.

Then on V-Day itself, he stopped in on my free period at work and brought me a teddy bear.  Not just any teddy bear, a Vermont teddy bear resplendent in Captain James T. Kirk's uniform.  That's right.  I don't know if you know this, but BF is a Trekkie (but a cute one, not a creepy one).  I loved it.  So... while a teddy bear is classic Valentine's Day, his garb is decidedly... "us."  After work, he came by my place and gave me one more gift: a framed DIY ancient-looking print of my favorite Psalm, in Hebrew.  That's right folks: DIY.  It was shocked and awed, in the best possible way.  He then informed me that we were getting high-class carry out, and he proceded to pull a tablecloth, placemats, and candles from his backpack.  This was BF's version of "cooking" for me; what girl doesn't love that?

As if that wasn't wonderful enough, he then cut up strawberries and put together little strawberry shortcake dessert, paired perfectly with our sparkling white grape juice.  We finished our evening of classic V-Day activities by heading to the beach.  Surprisingly, we were alone; two cold masses huddled in the sand, staring up at the impossibly bright moon and stars.  I flung sand in his face unintentionally and later crunched sand in my teeth, but that's the price one pays for romance, isn't it?

And thus was my very first Valentine's Day.  It didn't disappoint.  But as I wrote, even grilled cheese and my sweats wouldn't disappoint, as long as I was with my valentine.

The Claddagh Ring...

Let me explain a little Irish tradition: the Claddagh ring.

This ring, given by one who loves the wearer, has much meaning.  The little hands symbolize friendship, the crown is a symbol of loyalty, and the heart is a symbol of love.  Tradition holds that when the hand holds the heart pointing outward, towards others, the wearer's heart isn't taken.  When pointed inward, the wearer's heart is indeed spoken for. 

Just about everyone (including the men) on my mom's side of the family wears one of these rings.  I received mine on a snowy night in 1996: my 12th birthday.  My parents had taken me out to The House of Hughes for that special birthday, and gave me my Claddagh ring. 

For fourteen years I have worn that ring, the little hands holding the heart pointing towards the world, waiting (albeit guardedly) to give my heart away to one who would be worthy. 

Just a couple nights ago, I turned my ring around.  My heart is taken.  And, like my new ring position, it takes some getting used to.  It somehow feels both natural and foreign.  That little ring had molded to my finger and was comfortable where it had rested for so long, just as I had become comfortable in the singleness I'd lived for so long.  So now it fits strangely; the crown is bent upward just a bit, and it catches on my clothes.  I'm learning how to live with it, waiting for it to become just as comfortable as it had been, just as I am learning to live with this new relationship, waiting for it to become just as comfortable as my singleness had been.  Only, it's a much more enjoyable process than getting used to my ring's new position.

Funny.  Fourteen years ago, as I shoved the too-small gold ring onto my chubby right hand ring finger, I thought about the day I might turn it around.  Many times over the past fourteen years I've thought about the when and the where of turning that ring around, and especially the whom.  But never in those fourteen years did I anticipate the rich blessing, the great joy that would accompany such a seemingly insignificant event as turning a little gold ring around.  As I flipped the ring and slid it onto my now-slender right hand middle finger, I thought about all it meant and all it will mean... and maybe all that will occur in my life in the next fourteen years.

photo from flikr