This weekend, I will attend the wedding of a dear friend. Many of my other dear friends will be present as well, and we will all join in a tremendous celebration.
Ironically (not in the literal sense of the word, but the transitional sense) the bride was responsible for introducing me to the acronym “FOMO”, used to describe a nagging anxiety that someone, somewhere else is having fun without me.
FOMO often nags at me, but less now than it did a few years ago. I’m a few years older and more content with what I have. But still, I hate when I have to work on Halloween.
So days before this ironic marriage, I sit in “Another Cafe” (terrible name) on Nob Hill and gaze up at the iconic visage of Sutter street. It’s a sunny late summer draught Sunday in Northern California. I woke up uncommonly early and got a little jog in. It’s just past 9am and I am doodling idly and making long term plans for my art. I hear a joyous noise in the distance and it’s swells as it approaches. A group of happy young people wearing provocative and brightly colored outfits skip and leap down Pine street. I pause for a moment to admire all of the fun they are having and I am genuinely glad for them.
These giant, amorphous shit-show day-drinking events are so common in San Francisco, I am not sure if it is perhaps St. Patrick’s day or Bay 2 Breakers or Hardly Strictly or if we’re partying for Canadian holidays now. I think for a moment that I should glance to Twitter for answers, but ultimately I just add a packet of sugar to my coffee and go back to sketching a pretty older lady and I barely notice the entire morning roll by.
I only notice it’s lunch time when I smell a panini sandwich cooking and realize that I’ve grown hungry. I glance up at the chalk-board menu when, for just the second time in the day, a noise rises in the distance. But this time it is a terrible racket. It is sad and angry and confused and whining and aggressive and horrible and it is getting closer. It’s the same group from before. They are coming back home, I would guess from around Civic Center. They host some shit shows down there. Isn’t Pride down there? Is this weekend Pride? I’m not sure. They are all sick from too much sun and beer. The day has gone poorly, for them. Before dinner, they will all have hateful hangovers. I imagine them all trying to get out of bed before Trader Joe’s closes so they can get a frozen pizza, then eventually giving up and settling for a can of soup from the cupboard. And as I imagine this, I also remember that I told my girlfriend I would grab some brie from TJ’s to eat with dinner.
The Joy of Missing Out.
Originally published at www.checkthisoutbabe.com on November 13, 2014.