Dear Dana…I think I get it….

Dear Dana,

I think I get it now. I must say though getting, “it” took a quite a few people actually. Including, a shy secretary and a long haired, suave motorcycle rider from Barcelona. Two bubbly, gabby, happy girls form London who would make me look, goodness forbid, “reserved,” a vibrant grandma from San Sebastian, a Kiwi (A New Zelander) and (can you believe this?) even a local boy from Newport. Of course it all went along with the moon, some live music, paella, 50 cent beer, a shot of tequila, getting locked in a porta potty and refusing to buy cocaine. But lets, start with the local boy from Newport.

I arrived at my hostel, Center Point in Barcelona. Of course I got lost for 45 minutes trying to find it. (*Note: If you want to go backpacking be prepared for being lost, ALOT.) Circling the block over and over again until a nice receptionist used some sign language to tell me, “its on the corner.” So I check in, chit chat with my Australian dude roommates and my Canadian chick roommates. Then I move it up stairs to the, “social room.” I get to the room and realize this hostel is a prime spot. I have a birds eye view of the entire city, theres a bar in here, games, free internet access, cable TV and snacks. So I decide to go to the bar and get a drink when the bartender tells me I need a ticket. Huh? What you have to do in this joint is pay for your drink through a vending machine that dispenses a ticket for whatever you want to drink. It will say, “Mojito” “Margarita” “Water” “Coffee” or “Blood” j/k. So I get my ticket, get my beverage and sit it when a boy from accross the room says, “I did the same thing my first day. Im Jeremy. This is my buddy Kyle. You are?” “Irvina” “Crazy name where you from?” “Orange County, CA.” “No way Im from OC what part. “ “Well I was raised in Newport.” “No way so was I!”

From there we find out that even though Jeremy is only one year older than me we grew up in the same beach town. He went to all private schools from elementary through high school. I went to all public schools in Newport. Which in “local terms”pretty much means that I spend my 4th of July down at the beach on a bike, he spends his on a yacht, docked in Emerald Bay. Nevertheless we are both, “Locals.”

Jeremy and Kyle invite me out for the night to cruise in Barcelona in search of some Paella and Sangria. We park it right on Las Ramblas where people are eating, drinking, dancing, painting, shopping etc.. Kyle tells me he is from New Zealand, hes a musician and does alot of his travels by being part of a band that performs on a cruise ships. Hes been all over the US west and east coast with this gig. He loves it, he might consider living in Canada one day, but he could never stay permanently. He loves New Zealand. I say, “I love your Apples. Their my fave!”

Jeremy tells me that after he graduated from Mater Dei he went to college at San Francisco State. Then moved to New York City to train at an acting academy. While in New York he dated, clothed, fed and all but flossed the teeth of a girl from Kansas City for 2 years. She also was an aspiring actress. He always told her she should be a model, but her insecurities held her back from pursuing it. Their breakup supposively was so dramatic that it stopped Time Square stone cold silent as the two of them wrestled each other to the floor kicking and calling eachother names you are not allowed to use in a elementary school. Six months after that incident Jeremy walked in to Dolce and Gabana in South Coast Plaza and found out his ex was the new model for D&G. He appeared as bitter as a lemon peel. But, maybe he was just being, “dramatic.” He actually has plans to move back to OC to run his dads business for him.

I laugh at this point and point out to Kyle the Kiwi that this is “Typical OC.” Youare 18, go to college, have your fun, drink what you must, smoke what you must, do whomever you must, but just dont do too much that you end up in rehab killing the family name. If you do all of this “properly” the family business will be waiting for you with a red eye latte, powerbar and a corner office that has the most breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean that would make Trump himself jealous.

Jeremy laughs my summary off and says that his moves to San Francisco and New York were his pursuit to try and “de-program” himself of Newport. Our kiwi friend Kyle doesnt get it. So I try to explain again. I say Orange County is like those doll houses that Playskool makes with the plastic dolls and cars that come with it. The ones you have in preschool. All the houses look the same. Every body looks the same. Most people interests are the same. Mostly because everyone is trying to look better than everyone else, but that only leads them all to looking the same. There isnt any real depth. No culture. No excitement. Its shallow like a bird bath. So I turn to Jeremy. So whats the story? Eight years out of the birdbath? Have you grown into an albatross yet? Are you deprogrammed? Have you removed the computer chip? He smiles and says, “I tried, I tried, I tried. But, its impossible to reprogram something that has been put in you since you were that big. (He puts the palm of his hand very close to the cobble stone ground.) But, I really think its impossible.”

All the sudden. I feel like I am sitting with the enemy. How dare he say that! You are not what you are born into. You make a choice man! I´m disappointed. Another power hungry Newport mafia member. At least he can admit to it. That calls for a refill.

We see a girl sitting by herself during dinner and invite her to come along and cruise with us. We head out. We walk on Las Ramblas buying 50 cent beers on the street and from Kyles instructions we end up at a club listening to some very chill reggae-meets-jazz music. I end up feeling kind of bad about thinking Jeremy was one of “them” He actually is a nice guy. He shoos all the guys away from me who keep offering me coke (by the way the phrases here is “Quieres coke?”) And when he uses the”pay for use” Porto potties and it accidentally goes on its automatic cleaning cycle while he uses it. He laughs it off.

After the reggae-jazz bongos we end up going to a bar, taking shots and shooting pool with some locals. Its me and Jeremy against Fernando the motorcycles stud and his girlfriend Vanessa. Minus Vanessa. She doesn’t want to play. So Fernando takes both of their shots. I go and sit next to her and try and chit chat with her. She is a mellow girl, a secretary at a advertising company, went to school in Madrid has 3 sisters and 1 brother. She crosses me as “A good girl.” Definitely the balance to Fernandos loud charisma. I ask her, “Of all the cities in Spain which one is your favorite.” She doesn’t move her eyes from me when she says with a smile, “Barcelona.” I say, “But, we are in Barcelona. You grew up in Barcelona. Pick another one.” She says, “But this is my favorite city. My parents are here, my sisters are here, my boyfriend is here, my friends are here. Everything I love is here. That is why it is my favorite city.” I try and mellow up the moment by saying, “And you guys sure can party too.” She smiles.

I said bye to Jeremy that night, he was headed to Germany the next morning. I met some girls from London the next day who were bubbling over with freakin spunk like you have never seen it. I loved how when they described how much they loved a club, my jeans or Abercrombie T-shirts they would say “Oh its HECTIC” the same way I would say “Oh its knarly.” When I asked those very well traveled girls what their favorite city in Europe was (mind you they said that it takes at least a MONTH to travel Italy PROPERLY) they said their favorite city was London. (Again the same dialogue) “But, you are from London!” They went on to explain that London has so many diverse cultures, places to eat, a crazy night life, colleges, its close proximity to European countries (did I not mention they were on a 5 day “holiday” in Barcelona then back to college life that’s get this…. in a castle.) So I accepted their answer.

Then on my way to San Sebastian from Barcelona I met a very nice little old grandma of a lady who sat next to me on the bus. She gave me cookies and candies, couldn’t speak a word of English, but knew to nudge my leg when the bus stopped for a lunch break and wake me from my dead asleep. I asked her, “De donde eres” Where are you from? Shes was from San Sebastian and visiting her daughter who just had a baby in Barcelona. I asked her what her favorite city was and what do you know? San Sebastian it was.

It was then, looking at the little old Grandma in the red suit all tidy and perfect and well lived that I understood why you (and I even) love Orange County. Over the years I know we have had family move away and mock the OC for its traffic, its morals, its craziness (heck I just did it.) But, something keeps us here. Its the friends and family that make this crazy ridiculous place a little piece of heaven on earth. I understand now why a ton of land, dollar signs, boats and a more closet space (not that you need it) don’t appeal to you. Its who is around not whats around you that matter to you. It makes the essence of who you are and what you stand for. Now, I think I get it alot more than I did before.

O.C. ain’t that bad, it has me! (Dude, we should make that into a TShirt. Super cute!)

Love you sis,

Irvina

xoxoxo