Who's Not a Hipster?

Despite my past, fleeting urges to be a hipster, I have long come to terms with the rock solid fact that I will never be cool (or "Deck" according to the hipster website above) in that regard. To me a hipster centers around music, clothing and social attitude. I like music that is played on the radio. I hate the "alternative" radio station. Yes, I want corporate producers deciding what I listen to. No, I'm not going to wear skinny jeans. I can barely wear fat jeans.

Fast-forward ten years.

Recently, family and friends have feared the worst. Have I have become one of those people who live on the east side of Lake Washington and feel they never have to go to Seattle and that it's just too far to drive? Quite possibly.

Yesterday B and Brody were determined that we would make the most of our Sunday morning. It's almost time for my big brother to head back to Columbia University for some higher education, so every minute is precious. The coffee nuts agreed that we should make Bauhaus (our most favorite and perhaps the most well-known, supremely delicious coffee house in Seattle) our destination.

I stalled a bit before we left the house. Why were they making me leave my safety zone? The baby was sleeping. It was pouring rain because after all, it is August. Finally, buckled the baby in, we left the burbs and headed downtown.

We all had 1-2 layers of fleece and raincoats. Brody fit in (scruffy, zero percent body fat), but as always, I felt like thumb. A thumb that was sore and stuck out. Even the urban hipster babies wear skull hoodies. I held my bouncy, pink shroud of cuteness; celebrated her and my delicious coffee.

After coffee, we drove up to Broadway for some Urban Outfitters love. The remodel threw me for a loop, but I managed to succeed at shopping. I enjoy buying and looking at the festive though often absurd home decor therein.

Hunger struck.

We drove (because everyone in Seattle drives, according to the adopted New Yorker) up to 15th where Brody promised to introduce us to a hip, new breakfast place. We walked by Coastal Kitchen which was jam-packed full of happy people eating satisfactory food. We reached "22 Doors" which had a cool sign, but the coolness stopped there.

Long story short; the menu was very limited and they were "out" of two full dishes and several ingredients and sides of other dishes. I was so frustrated that I gave up trying to figure out what I could eat. "Are you're sure you're not hungry?" the overwhelmed waitress asked. "Just tell me what you do have." I ended up eating overly fragmented scrambled eggs that resembled rice Krispies. Mmm. Yummy. Brody never got his side, which I'm sure we ended up paying for. A couple hours later, all three of us didn't feel well. Avoid, at all costs, 22 Doors.

After breakfast at 3 pm, Brody was very excited to cross 15th to Sonic Boom Records. I snagged Thievery Corporation, Mandy Moore (seriously) and curbed my interest in Justified and the new Maroon 5. I also ventured out a bit, getting a CD by someone I had never heard of, on Brody's recommendation. I haven't opened it yet.

I don't need to be a hipster. I can go to Sonic Boom and buy Mandy Moore AND sneak into Bauhaus and swoon as I drain my Hershey's mocha!