From Sea to Shining Sea

My roommate is back. The best friend one, not the other ones who have been here the whole time but have done nothing significant enough to be written about. We decided to kick off the final month in our home celebrating the U.S. of A.

After he and I spent a solid hour convincing each other we had made the right outfit choice (but in a really masculine way, I swear), we threw some very American Coronas into a bag and wandered to Williamsburg.

For those of you imaging Colonial Williamsburg because you're not familiar with New York City (or thought we were incredibly patriotic), Williamsburg is arguably the trendiest place to live in the U.S. It's in Brooklyn, which means I had to travel from Queens, through Manhattan, and back under the river to get there. Visiting is chore enough, but if you want to live there, you'll have to turn your attitude dial to "Chill as F*ck" and budget $3K/month to live in a bird cage, but it will all be worth it because the bar around the corner is one of the only places you can hear the best Indie Rock while eating vegan tartar paired perfectly with any of the 15 gluten-free craft brews on tap.

To be fair, this was the first time I had socially been to Williamsburg, but I still could have slapped the mother of every single person I came into contact with and not felt guilty.

We ended on the rooftop of a $3K birdcage to view the fireworks artistically placed over the bridges of the city. As I looked over the most inspiring view of Manhattan, I couldn't help but shiver

because I was so fucking cold in a stupid t-shirt and jeans trying to look effortlessly cool in Brooklyn. Clearly, the wrong outfit choice had been made and my roommate was to blame.

But I clutched my beer and crossed my arms and turned an appropriately aloof gaze to the sky. I was BK chic.

You've seen it a hundred times in movies - Cinderella at the ball, Eliza Doolittle throwing the slippers, Dorothy in Oz, this blog post in Could It Get Any Gayer - when the protagonist is finally found in what appears to be the ideal situation, until something happens that reminds them they are not where they belong.

I stood gazing out over the center of the world feeling entirely off balance. And I was only two beers in. I had followed the yellow brick road all the way here to say the right thing at the races and wait for the clock to strike 12.

I've reached the 11th hour, and as I start to realize there might not be anything in that black bag for me, there is a place

behind the moon, beyond the rain.

I don't know, guys, I had a martini or two. I'm moving to Los Angeles, alright? That's the point. Opportunity: taken.

And also that Brooklyn is really dumb.

With a dream and my cardigan,

TJB: Making It