Ah, the Marina. So glittery and shiny in the mornings. Almost as if the wealth of the multitudes living in it's cloistered walls oozes from their bodies at night, coating their front doors and sidewalks, their Beamers and nannies pushing strollers with the glean of gold and diamonds. I'm teasing. I love this neighborhood; I truly do. And I assume that it's negative reputation spawns more from envy than anything else. Well, at least, that's what I tell people. "You're just jealous" I say as a friend scolds the yuppies in the Marina for being, well, so yuppie-ish.
It's true that the familiar pseudonym for the local Safeway is "dateway," and it really is so appropo. When my roommate, Shirley, we'll call her, and I venture there after a long day of work wearing our bulky and so untrendy sweatshirts and slippers, we're faced with serious blows to the self-esteem. The girls are either decked out in their best Jeans for All Mankind and Prada shoes or matching sweatsuit/spandex ensembles complete with post-workout sweat beads on their collar--that actually make them look better!? I know, I know. It's unbelievable. But don't feel too sorry for me and Shirley, we're quite brilliant at drowning our sorrows in chips, salsa, and cheap wine.
Or we'll go out and get awesome Thai food (trendy or more authentic), pizza (pie or slice), sushi (bar or restaurant). Certainly there is always something to do in the Marina, day and night. And though I will not pretend that it could find me a decent burrito to save it's life, I appreciate it for giving me 24 hour donuts. In fact, sometimes I embrace the yuppiness myself, grabbing a latte and meandering down Marina Blvd. and Chrissy Fields on a Saturday morning. Watching the dogs frolic and the fog escape, reminding myself how lucky I am that I don't live in the Sunset where the fog doesn't dissipate know matter how much you will it away.
But it's not all sunshine and non-fat capps. I'm often frustrated by my fellow spoiled neighbors. Take the family that lives across the street for instance. They have a beautiful home, as in an actual house, with a yard and everything. They own a nice car, and have two very cute kids ( a boy and a girl). Their life appears to be the epitome of perfect, and yet, after only one night in my own humble basement flat across the road, I heard the makings of the classic dysfunctional family: Lot's of yelling and unkind words over a stupid thing (where the car - Land Rover - was parked). Then there was the time The BF's car was broken into (right on our block!) or all the numerous times we've been yelled at for parking too close to someone's driveway...at least THEY have one.
But the thing to remember is that all of the neighborhoods in SF suffer from these same problems, they just don't look as good doing it.