Chivalry is dead so I hear, so ok, I'll bring it back.

I was struggling with how to write this, if I should do it in first person because then everyone will know what is happening with me and I wont be mysterious anymore, or if I should do it and leave myself out but when I thought about how I would write it instead it just didn’t work out. I decided to write the truth because I have a question. Not exactly a question so much as when this happens I grunt to myself and I know why, now after many grunts and ‘what the fuck’ faces I decided to finally answer it on paper and get it out of my head.

I recently became a “girlfriend” for the first time in my life, I’m 22 years old. Of course I have dated and you know but to deem someone my “boyfriend” is quite a meaningful, kind of a big deal to me, it’s like a push away phrase of any guy friends. But have one and he is freakin amazing and always down to do fun things like me. One thing, he doesn’t pay for me most of the time, actually never, really.

There are two ways that I’m thinking about this.

Way #1 is we both are traveling. He lives in Australia and he has come to America to travel around with me for the whole summer. So he doesn’t have that much money at the moment and he needs to make it last the summer.

But…

Way #2 I is m your girlfriend. Doesn’t that mean you won over other guys A.K.A I could have not picked you, so shouldn’t I be like your princess. But is that old school of me to think that the boy is always trying to charm you and I guess one way to do that is paying for me, to make me feel protected or taken care of or some shit.

I can’t seem to let this go and I’m afraid that it will eventually come up, drunkenly or sober.

While writing the title of this article I thought of one more thing. The definition of chivalry is the qualifications of a knight, including courtesy, gentlemen, and generosity, especially toward a woman you want to be yours.

Open the door for me. Whether it be a door to enter a building, house, car and always let me go first into the door, where are your manners?

Wow, this piece is making my boo sound really bad. If he just opened the doors for me, the second part of that outburst would not exhist.

I should just ask / tell him what I want, its not that hard to ask or to open the doors for your lady, and we will both be happy.

The Green Tortoise

Fred told me about this hostel in San Francisco that he stayed at, he told me that it was one of the best, if not the best, hostels he had ever stayed at. It’s by north beach, by the Beat museum, and by the Garden of Eden and tons of XXX shops and clubs. Its located here, where it all began, where the hippies first made their marks. I thought we should stay for a night.

We checked into our room, 2 bunk beds and 4 beds. Fred and I were in the same room and in our room were 2 guys from Sydney. Tristan and Josh. Tristan was born in Australia then moved to New Jersey until he was 11 years old then moved back to Australia. His accent is not that deep. Josh had a stripped button down shirt, I think it was neatly ironed. Then we went down to the ballroom. It’s a large room with funky carpet with flowers and swirls and colors. A bunch of tables and booths like old school diner booths, a pool table, fooze ball table, a little risen stage with guitars, drums, bongos, stereos to hook up ipods. I have my ipod in right now listening to red hot chili peppers with my friend Chris playing a guitar next to me. I met him last night, he’s from Jersey and he just came from Portland. Fred and I met loads of people last night.

We all had a great time drinking beers and story telling. I had one of the funniest conversations of my life last night with my two Australian roommates and 2 Australian chicks. We were talking about head towels. You know you see some people with towels on their heads. I guess they don’t have a hat. Tristan had the idea of maybe openings up a head towel shop for those who need head towels. When we checked in the girl at the front desk told us that we can drink and smoke in the ballroom after 9pm. At 10pm Fred was rolling all of us a joint at a table in the middle of the ballroom. Some guy in crutches who had knee surgery and looked like a yeti with black hair and beard sold us an 8^th, he was just sitting at a booth smoking a spliff. No big deal.

That’s how it should be.

Pieces of the world come together at a hostel.

Different parts of the world come together and share memories, evenings, stories, and each others lives.