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Mildly Young at Heart

My name is Danielle and I turned 27 two days ago.  So far, I am much enjoying this age.  My back creaked a little yesterday while exiting my vehicle after a long commute;  however, I won’t attribute the pain to age, I will instead blame the slouch I adorned the entire ride while listening to the ever-so depressing, Fiona Apple (yah, so, I’m a “Shadowboxer,” too…it is depressing). 

It always tousles my feathers a bit when my friends complain about turning 30, 29, 25, etc. We ain’t getting’ any younger my dears, so buck up, purchase aging cream and do something with your life!

My ten-year high school reunion is soon approaching, and although I practice what I preach by stocking my cabinets with proper aging remedies and bucking up often, I still feel like something has yet to be done with my life…like everything is just mildly in place.

Career- I earned a bachelor’s degree in journalism with an emphasis in public relations and landed a job right out of college at my dream agency that represents spas and hotels around the world.  My parents gleamed with pride following my quick success and felt their money had been well spent on the daughter who trekked to a community college then eventually transferred to California State University of Northridge. 

Two years after being with the agency, I received a “too good to be true” offer from a wealthy family to become their personal chef (as a hobby, I cooked for families on the side).  I put my two weeks in and my last day working for the Man, the family called me and revoked the offer, leaving me jobless.  Since then, my mission has been to find stability as a personal chef in the homes of L.A.’s rich and fabulous…So far?  Mildly stable.

Love- Not necessarily love as in a husband, but as in a companion who loves me, rather than someone who is just trying to gain access to my special place.  I recently dated a guy constantly…about once every three months.  This lasted for two years.  When we saw each other, it encompassed bliss, excitement, countless laughs and cheers..It felt like forging the river on Oregon Trail successfully–I always left exhilarated, wanting to brag to the world. 

I reminded my heart to stay out of it because this guy is self-proclaimed “trouble.”  So, for two years I partially (and just recently,  finally) pushed it aside.  I thought he kept me around to use me, so I kept him around to use him (even though every time I saw him my heart fluttered despite my best efforts to sustain it). One evening, after yet another night of jokes— (“Matzo balls…yah, they’re circular shaped, but why balls? Can’t they be breasts? Matzo breast soup?”  We went on for hours with that one)— he sobered the mood with a monumental confession:  “I love you.”


 He then sobered it more, “I’m not capable of showing that I love you.  I can’t say it and change my ways to seem like I love you.  I’ll probably disappear.  I don’t want you to think that tomorrow I will be different because I said it.  I want you to know that I love you, I just know that I’m not capable…I’m not built to be capable.  And I know you understand this, and I thank you for understanding this, I’m so sad that I can’t give myself to you because whoever ends up with you is the luckiest man in the world.  I want to end up with you, it just might take awhile. I love you. And you probably won’t hear me say it again until we are married.”

 Heh?!?!  He loves me. He loves me not [capable].

 Mildly loved.

 Travel- I studied in Firenze, Italia six years ago and due to my “mildly stable” career, I unfortunately can’t afford to extensively globetrot.  Mildly traveled.

 Residence- I live in a quaint bungalow in West Hollywood that is the size of a sneeze–a petite and cute sneeze.  It’s near Jones Café, Trader Joes, Target, Ralphs; .8 miles from Melrose, my new favorite restaurant CUBE, Runyon and the Metro; 1.3 miles from Yogurtland, etc. etc.  This place is walkable and I love it.  A year ago, I never could imagine myself anywhere other than Santa Monica, but now I got myself a corner bar where everyone knows my name. What else can a 27-year-old ask for (well, besides the above mentioned love, career, travel stuff, of course)?

Mildly drunk (thank you corner bar).

 The day prior to my birthday, my family surprised my grandma with an 80th birthday party. My little pianist-virtuoso cousins ages 5, 7, and 10 played concerto pieces as their gifts to her.  I wanted desperately to upstage them so I learned “Happy Birthday” on my accordion and harmonica in an attempt to play them at the same time; I failed miserably (mildly talented).

Afterwards, a few of my grandma’s friends approached me and paid me a compliment that, despite my failure, made me straighten up my slouch and gleam with pride:  “You, my dear, are just like your grandma.”  At 27, I notice I do things my kooky grandma does, like talk to strangers about anything and everything.  At 80, she does stuff that I do, like wears cute hats. 

 I hate when my friends complain about their age…Our ten year is soon approaching, and although I’m “mildly” in place in my mid-to-late 20s, I’m friken happy.

One Woman Band
Published inDanielle