On this, my 30th birthday, it seems only right to thank the wonderful people who brought me into this big bad world – my parents. My parents are amazing for many reasons. One, my mom birthed me in August in Washington, a disgusting time of year to be pregnant. Two, my parents never let their worry keep me from l.i.v.i.n.
When I told them I wanted to live in Asia after college, they thought it was a great idea. When I hopped trains around the middle of nowhere, they just asked for an email from time to time. And when I wanted to try out every activity a kid could ever be interested in (trumpet lessons, hang gliding), they paid for the lessons and hoped something would stick. Second only to their unconditional love of course, I really appreciate how much freedom they gave me and how much they trusted me.
Neither of my parents is American and have both traveled and lived around the world. So if they had ever tried to tell me to stay put, I could have pulled out a picture of my mom in front of the Taj Mahal at 20 and put up a fight. But it never came to that. They have been the most supportive, generous parents a girl could ever ask for and I’m eternally grateful.
I have had the same guitar for 16 years, which implies that I am good at playing the guitar. I am not. I kind of suck. While I have owned a guitar for a decade and a half, I haven’t played it that much, even though I toted it around the globe with me. It was there when I lived in Tokyo, there when I worked in Belgium, and now stands proudly in my living room in DC.
I remember sitting in my parents’ backyard with other choir dorks belting out “Uncle John’s Band,” while I strummed away on the guitar in high school. If I had just kept up that act, I bet I would be pretty good and have mastered doing a B chord without grimacing from pain. But I didn’t. In fact, the number one thing that has kept me from being good at the guitar has been vanity. I just hate chopping off all my nails so I can strum away. Isn’t that sad? It’s like a girl not wanting to be a ballerina so she can have beautiful feet. Or not reading because you don’t want to strain your eyes. Basically, I am a narcissistic gal who plays bad guitar.
But that’s all going to change. I’m turning 30 in 19 days and I think it’s time I can embrace short nails and strum my days away. Or at least a few minutes a week. Maybe I can increase my repertoire from three Indigo Girls songs and a Joni Mitchell tune I sang at camp, to well, a whole Indigo Girls album. I’ll finally become the folk guitarist I should have blossomed into in 1995. It’s never too late!
Here I am looking rather horrific with my prize guitar. I stink at playing it but man do I love it!
The nice thing about working for 21 hours straight, and there really is only one nice thing, is that I get to take a comp day to make up for it. To fully take advantage of my three day weekend, I came up to New York to catch up with friends and spend money like I have it.
One of my best friends from my days in Tokyo, Sylvie, lives here with her husband and one year old baby. When we new each other in Tokyo, Sylvie worked a fabulous high-powered job at Chanel and I was busy seeing how many shots it took to do permanent damage to my small intestine. Sometimes, when she was done making sure Coco Chanel’s mantras lived on, she would join me and we would take over Tokyo’s fine nightlife establishments one toss of hair at a time.
Tokyo’s expat community is a funny place, and at that time, filled with American/Brit/Aussie bankers making a killing in the land of the rising sun. When they got away from their buy/sell/trade jobs, they would go to one of four places which sure enough, were where every expat girl was too. It was a wonderful world of living in a bubble and with Sylvie at my side, it was a blast for a couple years.
And now she’s just about the most glamorous mom in NYC. We had lunch at the Mercer hotel together, played with her baby this afternoon, and now I am recovering from my run across the Queensboro bridge before we head off to dinner. We may not be making eyes at I-bankers while taking vodka shots with the Australian rugby team anymore, but it’s just as fun. Because frankly, Sylvie could make a dinner of dirt and an afternoon in a trailer park elegant. Off I go!
Oh those fabulous days in Tokyo. Here we are at my 25th birthday party sweltering and happy.
And here with two other friends in Tokyo, Rie and Daphanie. This is taken at the Oak Door in Tokyo, where we basically lived. We once chatted with the Black Eyed Peas in the lobby and one of them told Sylvie she was really hot and she brushed him off and said we had somewhere to go. It was kind of awesome.
![[del.icio.us]](http://nakedthanks.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/delicious.png)
![[Digg]](http://nakedthanks.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/digg.png)
![[Facebook]](http://nakedthanks.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/facebook.png)
![[Google]](http://nakedthanks.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/google.png)
![[LinkedIn]](http://nakedthanks.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/linkedin.png)
![[Technorati]](http://nakedthanks.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/technorati.png)
![[Twitter]](http://nakedthanks.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/twitter.png)
![[Yahoo!]](http://nakedthanks.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/yahoo.png)
![[Email]](http://nakedthanks.com/wp-content/plugins/bookmarkify/email.png)
