So if you read the comments on the last entry you won't be even the tiniest bit surprised that moments after I wrote it I connected with the inimitable Marilyn Wann, fat activist extraordinaire. She actually came and got my sleepy ass from the hostel and she and her squeeze Orion took me out to lunch at Cliff House, an amazing spot with an amazing view where we had amazing popovers and fancy drinks and made the other diners jealous of our scintillating conversational skills. It was wonderful, really, there aren't superlatives enough in the world to cover how great it was to hang out with those two. So much fun. Afterward they dropped me at the hostel and I took my much-needed nap. It was a thing of beauty. My hostel bed was ridiculously comfy and the quilt they gave me was sooo toasty warm. Best nap ever.
I finally got myself out of bed around 6 or so and bussed over to Marilyn and Orion's place for dinner. Marilyn roasted a duck and we chatted around her kitchen table until Orion got back from class, then had dinner and conversation ranging from terrible Icelandic liquor (it's salty!) to the world's creepiest pick-up line (it involves baby poop...I'm just saying). It felt like we'd been great friends for years. So lovely.
The next day was the big V and I was determined that this single lady was going to have a fantastic day. I took myself shopping for some new jeans (the ones I brought were somewhat ill-fitting and holey) then made my way to Pier 39 to immerse myself in all the touristy goodness. I had thought about catching a ferry to Sausalito and poking around there for a bit, but my jeans trip took too long and by the time I got to the ferry place to buy tickets I was told I would have to stay on the ferry and come right back if I didn't want to sleep in Sausalito. Which I didn't. So I took a bay cruise instead, very touristy but it was such a gorgeous day I didn't care. Got some nice shots of the GGB and the backside of Alcatraz, then it was time to head back to shore. Orion works in a shop on Pier 39 so I headed over there to say hello and get lunch recommendations. He pointed me to a seafood restaurant with a lovely view of the bay and I took myself out for a very fancy lunch there. Crab cakes! Coconut shrimp! Overpriced cocktails! I didn't care, I was worth every penny, baby!
Post-lunch I headed back past Orion's shop where he waved me inside and gave me a box of chocolates for Valentine's day! What a sweetie :) So with my fancy cruise, fancy lunch and fancy box of chocolates I was feeling pretty well-valentined. Not a bad day at all.
That evening was the coming out party for Dear Sugar on The Rumpus, the main reason I came to SF. It was a beautiful night as expected and I was so glad I went. I even met some new friends in line outside. After Sugar was revealed and she spent some time with each of her adoring fans, Sugar, Mr. Sugar, some other friends and I went out in search of a good burrito. Hilarity ensued when half of us ended up going to the wrong joint but I did end the evening with a beer, a burrito and a conversation about writing in the darkened back corner of a San Francisco dive, so it wasn't a total loss.
The next morning was my last in SF--I was getting on a train that night to come home--and I didn't really have any solid plans except maybe lunch with Marilyn and Orion again. I checked my email and got a lovely note from one of the folks (a boy!) I had met at the Sugar thing asking if I had lunch plans. Since I did, we made arrangements to meet for dinner. In the meantime I planned to sit in the hostel lobby after checking out of my room and actually get some homework done so I didn't have to do it on the train. When will I finally admit to myself that this will never happen? A few minutes after I turned on my laptop, Marilyn texted and said she wasn't doing anything so why didn't we hang out? Why not indeed? I love hanging out! So she picked me up and we did a little shopping before meeting Orion for dim sum.
Somewhat later, after pleasantly stuffing ourselves full of odd little dumplingy things, we made a group decision to go naked hot tubbing at a secret location in Berkeley. You guys, I went naked hot tubbing with Marilyn Wann! I know you're jealous right now. It was as amazing and body-affirming as you might imagine, though the water was so hot it did kind of feel like my skin was dying. The best part was getting out of the scalding water and laying out all naked on a wooden platform in someone's backyard under the trees and the squirrels and the shining sun and puffy clouds. I loved every minute.
Marilyn and Orion dropped me off for my exciting hot rendezvous with the new boy I met at Sugar's thing on Valentine's day (if you think that sounds like a movie, just wait). I stowed my giant backpack in his office and we walked to the ferry building for a delightful, low-key dinner. Conversation flowed, we were both as charming and interesting and funny and attractive as two people can be and the whole evening was somewhat perfect. After dinner I grabbed my bag and we walked to the streetcar station. When it got there and I got on, not realizing he wasn't coming with me, not wanting to be done talking, I suggested he ride his bike to Pier 39 and wait with me for the Amtrak bus. And y'all, he did it! Seriously. There was even a little moment when I got off the streetcar where he was leaning against his bike with a sly little smile and said "what took you so long?" (swoon)
So we waited for the bus to come and things suddenly got a little quiet. Because really, what is actually supposed to happen next? We had only known each other for about 24 hours at that point. I wasn't expecting a tearful goodbye. I definitely wasn't expecting what actually did happen.
The bus arrived and the bus driver loaded my bag into the storage compartment below. He was waiting for me to get on, but new boy and I were just standing there, not quite sure how to say goodbye. The bus driver (god bless him) said "you want to get that last kiss in, huh?" with a smirk. New boy turned to me and was all "how about it?" and we kissed. It was very very nice. Then I got on the bus and went home with a smile on my face.
So let me just recap the amazing movieness for you: I met a boy on Valentine's day while on a trip in a strange city, he asked me out, we went out and had an amazing time, he biked all the way to Pier 39 so we could keep talking, and then he kissed me goodbye before I got on the bus. Tell me I'm not living in a movie here.
Of course the bummer about the movie is that after she gets on the bus she's still going home to Portland and he's still living in SF and maybe one great date isn't remotely enough to make a long term relationship seem like a good idea, but I'll take it anyway. I always did want my life to be more like the movies.
Now I'm back and reality is impending. Tomorrow it's back to work, back to figuring out what I want from life. Right now I have one thing on the list: more trips like that, please. :)
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Monday, February 13, 2012
Have reached destination. Want bed.
Hi friends! I'm writing this from a hostel in San Francisco. Yes, after 17 hours on a train, 30 mins on an Amtrak bus, 15 minutes on a Muni bus and a half-mile walk, I'm finally, finally here. And all I really want to do is sleep. Truth is, you wouldn't be getting this bit of bloggery goodness if the good people at the hostel weren't making me wait until 3pm to check in. Let's all shake our fists at them now.
So the train...was...amazing. Seriously. I didn't want it to end, I wanted to lock the door to my compartment and just stay on until LA, maybe even stay in there until it got all the way back to Portland. It was so cozy, and not in an uncomfortable way, but in a very safe-feeling way. I had my little sliding door and I could shut it and lock it and keep out the world while I hung out in my compartment and watched a movie or read a book or effed around on the internet. I loved it. I only ventured out of there to go to the dining car for my prepaid fancy meals. Some people don't like the dining car because they make you sit with people you don't know, but I love that. Force me to make friends out of perfect strangers, Amtrak. I got this. During dinner I sat with a fellow from the Oregon Historical Society and we had a discussion that ranged from Portland to writing to historical journals to Wordstock to the cult of Apple (you guys already know how I feel about that). Never in a million years would this gentleman and I have spoken two words to each other if we hadn't been forced to by the dinner situation, and we both enjoyed ourselves so much we sat together at breakfast this morning too.
I want a nap so bad right now.
I spent most of the beginning of the trip writing a paper for my Buddhism class. I know, I was going to do that before the trip but unsurprisingly, that didn't happen. Anyway, it was fun having an official-looking task to do. At least it made me look like an adult rather than the giddy schoolgirl I felt like inside. Man, when you have a sleeper they treat you soooo nice on the train. All the hot coffee you could possibly want...good stuff too. Tiny bottles of champagne. Fresh fruit. A newspaper. Turn down service, wake-up calls, whatever you could want. I could even have asked them to serve me meals in my compartment. Incredible. I'm going coach on the way back, no sleeper, so we'll see how spoiled I've become (my guess: very).
Hey, did you guys know it's kind of rainy in San Francisco? Like a lot? It was only cloudy and gray when the Amtrak bus drove over the Bay Bridge but once we got to Fisherman's Wharf the sky opened up and pretty much soaked me to the bone. Luckily the folks at the hostel were willing to let me take a shower even though I can't have a bed. Y'all, that was the best damn shower. There was no changing area or anything so I had to get all naked in the showering area but I tell you what, by that point I did. not. care. Didn't care. I just wanted to wash the traveling and the rain off me, feel warm and clean for a moment. So I did. And the, again, selectively nice people at the hostel let me stow my big backpack in a locked closet so I don't have to babysit it until I get a bed. And now I'm killing time in the lounge/lobby area in my pajamas wondering how I can trick someone into bringing me food or letting me sleep in their bed for just a little while. Because man, I am depleted. Just worn out.
Four more hours...
So the train...was...amazing. Seriously. I didn't want it to end, I wanted to lock the door to my compartment and just stay on until LA, maybe even stay in there until it got all the way back to Portland. It was so cozy, and not in an uncomfortable way, but in a very safe-feeling way. I had my little sliding door and I could shut it and lock it and keep out the world while I hung out in my compartment and watched a movie or read a book or effed around on the internet. I loved it. I only ventured out of there to go to the dining car for my prepaid fancy meals. Some people don't like the dining car because they make you sit with people you don't know, but I love that. Force me to make friends out of perfect strangers, Amtrak. I got this. During dinner I sat with a fellow from the Oregon Historical Society and we had a discussion that ranged from Portland to writing to historical journals to Wordstock to the cult of Apple (you guys already know how I feel about that). Never in a million years would this gentleman and I have spoken two words to each other if we hadn't been forced to by the dinner situation, and we both enjoyed ourselves so much we sat together at breakfast this morning too.
I want a nap so bad right now.
I spent most of the beginning of the trip writing a paper for my Buddhism class. I know, I was going to do that before the trip but unsurprisingly, that didn't happen. Anyway, it was fun having an official-looking task to do. At least it made me look like an adult rather than the giddy schoolgirl I felt like inside. Man, when you have a sleeper they treat you soooo nice on the train. All the hot coffee you could possibly want...good stuff too. Tiny bottles of champagne. Fresh fruit. A newspaper. Turn down service, wake-up calls, whatever you could want. I could even have asked them to serve me meals in my compartment. Incredible. I'm going coach on the way back, no sleeper, so we'll see how spoiled I've become (my guess: very).
Hey, did you guys know it's kind of rainy in San Francisco? Like a lot? It was only cloudy and gray when the Amtrak bus drove over the Bay Bridge but once we got to Fisherman's Wharf the sky opened up and pretty much soaked me to the bone. Luckily the folks at the hostel were willing to let me take a shower even though I can't have a bed. Y'all, that was the best damn shower. There was no changing area or anything so I had to get all naked in the showering area but I tell you what, by that point I did. not. care. Didn't care. I just wanted to wash the traveling and the rain off me, feel warm and clean for a moment. So I did. And the, again, selectively nice people at the hostel let me stow my big backpack in a locked closet so I don't have to babysit it until I get a bed. And now I'm killing time in the lounge/lobby area in my pajamas wondering how I can trick someone into bringing me food or letting me sleep in their bed for just a little while. Because man, I am depleted. Just worn out.
Four more hours...
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Fingers crossed
I'm at loose ends lately, literally and figuratively. At this very moment about a third of my belongings are packed into cardboard boxes neatly stacked by the front door, another third in bags awaiting transport to Goodwill and the final third deemed too necessary for my everyday quality of life to be rounded up just yet.
I find it hard to determine whether I prefer moving or not moving. At least with moving there's the distraction of the magical, perfect life that awaits in the new house. There's always a magical, perfect life waiting. But it comes at a cost. I have to delicately pry my white-knuckled fingers away from the things I hold onto, the sense of home, the place of belonging I've created for myself. It's terrifying. Every time it's terrifying, and yet I do it anyway.
I relish it, truth be told, because as scary as it is, there's always something more interesting in the churning sea of unknown that waits below. I guess that makes me some kind of adrenaline junkie. I'll admit it, I've had my share of love affairs with the new and different and exciting. It never works out for long because there's always a sexier new out there, but in the moment I'm always sure that this time...this is the one that'll stick. This is the place I'll stay, this is the me I'll be. This is the lie I'll tell myself.
I'm buying the house this time, you know. Buying. I'm making a commitment to a mortgage company that's intended to last longer than any relationship I've ever had...yes, even that one. It's madness. It goes against at least 60 percent of the fibers of my being. What happens, I ask myself, when the urge to move again starts its determined creep up the length of my spine? What happens when I get tired of being this me, of living in this place, of being practical?
Or worse yet...what happens if I don't? What if I "settle down" and become complacent in this incarnation? What if, at the tender age of 34, my promising life becomes something akin to a tired gray wad of chewing gum that's long since lost its flavor?
No, I don't like the sound of that. But it could happen.
Of course some of me is excited about the settling down. After all, it's something I've never really done before. It's unknown. It's interesting. And maybe if I can find some way to stop moving all the time I can use that cash for other new things, like books, or a new bike, or a mind-blowing writer's retreat in a faraway land. Maybe if I can commit to just this one little thing I can see what happens when the world stops spinning. Maybe, I tell myself. Maybe this is the one that'll stick.
xo,
C
I find it hard to determine whether I prefer moving or not moving. At least with moving there's the distraction of the magical, perfect life that awaits in the new house. There's always a magical, perfect life waiting. But it comes at a cost. I have to delicately pry my white-knuckled fingers away from the things I hold onto, the sense of home, the place of belonging I've created for myself. It's terrifying. Every time it's terrifying, and yet I do it anyway.
I relish it, truth be told, because as scary as it is, there's always something more interesting in the churning sea of unknown that waits below. I guess that makes me some kind of adrenaline junkie. I'll admit it, I've had my share of love affairs with the new and different and exciting. It never works out for long because there's always a sexier new out there, but in the moment I'm always sure that this time...this is the one that'll stick. This is the place I'll stay, this is the me I'll be. This is the lie I'll tell myself.
I'm buying the house this time, you know. Buying. I'm making a commitment to a mortgage company that's intended to last longer than any relationship I've ever had...yes, even that one. It's madness. It goes against at least 60 percent of the fibers of my being. What happens, I ask myself, when the urge to move again starts its determined creep up the length of my spine? What happens when I get tired of being this me, of living in this place, of being practical?
Or worse yet...what happens if I don't? What if I "settle down" and become complacent in this incarnation? What if, at the tender age of 34, my promising life becomes something akin to a tired gray wad of chewing gum that's long since lost its flavor?
No, I don't like the sound of that. But it could happen.
Of course some of me is excited about the settling down. After all, it's something I've never really done before. It's unknown. It's interesting. And maybe if I can find some way to stop moving all the time I can use that cash for other new things, like books, or a new bike, or a mind-blowing writer's retreat in a faraway land. Maybe if I can commit to just this one little thing I can see what happens when the world stops spinning. Maybe, I tell myself. Maybe this is the one that'll stick.
xo,
C
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