Based on the title of this blog, some may assume:

• I’m old and cranky
• I hate Santa Barbara
• I would rather live elsewhere

All completely false. I’m still in my thirties (barely) and relatively happy, I absolutely love living in Santa Barbara, and, having been born and lived almost my entire life here, find the thought of moving elsewhere hard to imagine. I mean, never say never, but at this moment I’m perfectly content paying outrageously high rent for a small 1-bedroom apartment, driving a 6-minute commute to work, and having access to a stretch of breathtaking beaches less than a mile from my front door. Not that I’m a “beach person,” per se, but how many people can actually say that? If I wanted to sit in the sun all day and get skin cancer, if I wanted to squeeze my boo-tay into a bikini, I could.  Just sayin’.

So why all this fluff? What reason is there to “rant” about Santa Barbara? “Who wouldn’t want to live here?” you ask with a furrowed brow. “Love it or leave it!” you shout with a clenched fist.

Yes, yes, I get it. Santa Barbara is a wonderful place. There’s a reason there are 7 (sometimes 8 *cough*) digits in the asking price of homes, even the crappy ones. But it’s come to my attention that all is not perfect in Santa Barbara and, as a native, I think it’s only appropriate that I be the one to share those imperfections with you, my captive audience. It’s similar in theory to when a [insert ethnicity of your choice] person tells a joke about a [insert same ethnicity] person. It’s perceived as hip and edgy when they say it, but you’ll forever be known as a dirty racist if you even think about it.

On a somewhat personal note, this blog is also meant to pay homage to someone very special to me who has opened my eyes, ears, and soul to this truth. Not that some people are dirty racists, but that there is sometimes a little bad to swallow with the good, a touch of yang with the yin, an occasional gnat in the complimentary glass of water of life. While Santa Barbara may be one of the top tourist destinations in the world, it’s also teeming with tourists. Tourists who ignore crosswalks, talk on cell phones, smoke cigarettes, and read street maps. All at the same time. While driving. And it’s not only the tourists. Here’s a teaser for an upcoming post: “Trader Joe’s Shopper, You Forgot Your Manners in the Car. Please Retrieve Them Before I Ram You With My Cart.”

And so, I encourage you to join me on this journey of truth, awareness, and self-discovery. Listen to the sound of the waves crashing against the shore… Take a deep breath of cool, salty air… Watch the seagulls glide in with the early-morning fishing boats… And if you listen ever so closely… Wait for it… Someone just rammed their Trader Joe’s shopping cart into the back of your SUV.