Don Bauder 4:30 p.m., Dec. 9
Let me begin by telling you that I’m not a d-bag, a frat boy, or a surfer dude. I live in PB. That said, I buck the trend of a typical resident as best I can. Anyways, I’m what I’d like to call a hybrid. Born in Houston, Texas, I’ve spent my whole life shuffling back and forth between San Diego and Houston. I’ve been settled here for the last ten years; high school and college done, I made the decision to stay where I had the most friends. But back to PB – the sun-soaked, bikini-clad, bar on every corner, place that it is. I like it here, for the most part. But for the last 6-months I’ve been harping on a possible move to North Park. Show me five people you know who want to move from North Park to PB, and I’ll show you a unicorn. It doesn’t happen. And depending on who you ask, it’s not supposed to happen. Why leave the sun and fun for an area that’s just beginning to explode with vibrancies? Well, my answer for that is conversation. I am a thirty-year old man. I’m in pretty good shape, I still have my hair, and I usually don’t have a problem meeting the fairer sex. But I don’t believe it to be because any of the above mentioned attributes. My best feature, in my opinion, is my ability to converse. I have a personality that people generally like. I’m not boastful, I’m funny, and I am somewhat an every man. All this matters because the women in North Park generally have a little more substance. Something to say. A story. They are not fresh out of college looking to blackout on the $3.00 Dos Equios. I’ve met these women. I’ve slept with some of them. I never date these women. Not that I’m looking for a relationship or anything, but liking who I’m sleeping with is an unfortunate character flaw. 30 and 22 are very different places when it comes to the game of life. North Park women seem to be a little older and mature. But it’s not just my dating life that’s made me want to move north. It’s the constant that blesses as well as curses. Monday night is an option that can turn into a Tuesday hangover. I both like and hate that fact. My thought process is living alone and getting a dog in North Park. Drinking wine and going on dates to places that don’t have sports teams plastered across the walls. I come to the realization that PB sucks! Or does it? Well that depends on you and what you want. I recently realized that PB isn’t just an endless amount of frat guys and d-bag, but a community where people from all over the world move to for whatever reason – whether it for the ocean or the seemingly endless amount of bars that inhabit the area. What I’ve learned is that PB has a reputation – whether it good or bad. And just like anything with a reputation, perception becomes reality. I used to love PB when I wasn’t living in PB. Then I moved to the area and just like every one of my past relationships, it grew old and tired, and I took it for granted. But I can’t deny it, it’s beautiful here: The people, the weather, the beach and bay – it’s all right out of a Baywatch fantasy. I love running along the beach and walking to the bars. I love the beautiful women that are my neighbors and beyond. It can at time be overwhelming, but all in all it has its positives. So what I’ve learned is this: 1) If I want to avoid d-bags one weekend I can just cab it to North Park. God forbid I pay a little extra to take a cab for a mini-get-away. 2) A community is what you make it, and none of them are perfect – no matter where you live. And 3) It’s San Diego, so matter where you are, it’s better than living anywhere near Detroit or Arkansas.