the honeymoon phase!

brain-ologists (yes, that is their official title) have determined that the honeymoon phase in a relationship can last from six weeks to three years.  in the case of my turbulent and occasionally abusive affair with San Francisco, our honeymoon phase is three and a half years late. if this goes on for three years i may never get out of here...
this city is finally getting cozy. i have people to spend time with. i have fun city events to attend. i am getting to like my job. (i am still broke) but my bank account is no longer in the negative.

today i saw (at the risk of sounding stupidly white) a 'gangster-y' looking guy on the bart who was practicing plies (plee-ays, for those of you not hip to the ballerina beat). 

yesterday i went and saw Jace Everett  play at Hotel Utah (the bar I played MY show at!) and got to talk to him, and gaze lovingly into his eyes. yeah, so he's married. people leave their wives ALL the time! there's a 50% divorce rate in this country! (translation: i have a 50% chance with this guy!...messed up...but TRUE)

tuesday i saw Ryan Gosling play at Bimbo's in his band Dead Man's Bones .  HE by the way, is too pretty. it hurts a little bit. honestly, i just want to hang out with the guy, be his buddy, and make music with him. the show was amazing. the show was a production and they were having so much fun doing it.  not to mention the fact that not only was the opening act a local talent show, but the kids' choir that performed with him was local too! which means he gets local talent for every different city he plays in. and that is just super.
really. what a swell guy...
i HATE when they are cute AND creative AND fun AND famous. irritating.

and now my bathroom is clean and smells like lavender. and a beautiful french boy out there misses me and keeps urging me to visit. and friends keep coming to town. and old awkward acquaintances have become friends. and i feel SO much better.

dorks + musical genius = glory.

and this is where that phrase comes from, because really, the covers never do the books justice. i have never seen so much dorky musical magic flow forth from the pouty lips of one city before.  just when i was thinking i might not be cool enough to live here, san fran hurls its best and worst at me all in the form of music. brain-bursting songs have been exploding at me from the most unexpected faces...LIVE! hey. thanks buddy.

it all began with justus bends.  i met justus while i was doing time at the ole flower stop shop.  turns out, if you are gonna use peet's coffee's bathroom everyday at exactly 10:30am, you are going to get to know those handsome faces above the aprons (pssst! and you get free coffee!) well, thanks to my timely bladder, i had the great fortune to become one of the many to have encountered, and enjoyed the company of, justus.  let me first tell you that this young man is one of the most joyful, genuine and enjoyable people i have ever encountered. seriously. brimming with enthusiasm and gusto for life, justus has an uncanny ability to suck you into his bubble and before you know it, your face aches from grinning so wide.
not what you'd expect from a gangster rapper eh?  but apparently this is the stuff it takes to have clever and catchy lyrics sprout from your face.  because justus bends is one talented rapper.  and by talented i mean mind-blowing and tummy-tickling and butt-shaking-til-your-knees-collapse.  go here to see his stuff and afterwards, you'll be on the bends-wagon too.  http://www.myspace.com/justusbends it's not anything like hearing (and seeing) him live, but listen to the words and how fast he says them. that should be enough.
with rhymes that cover subjects as profound as "we just want to make money and fuck" to lyrics that declare "i want a soda and a spaceship...you know what i mean?" justus has the ability to appeal to all audiences.  he can convince you he loves and respects all women, and in the next song declare loudly and openly how he wants to fuck them all too...but you don't hate him. you love him. you agree with him. and you don't want him to stop his white boy ranting. ever.

up next, the elbo room and the gyrations of the girls from ye olde holistic health program fill me up til i start shakin' it too.  the thursday night group, called afrolicious, has been the sponsor of the few times i get to share space with these lovely ladies. tonight was a special treat though. tonight i was witness to yet another geeky show of talent.  tonight i danced to yogoman burning band.  these guys don't look the part, but they sound just like it. starting to the left.
the trumpet player's trumpet, first of all, is about the size of a lunch box. it seems like the sound emitted would be akin to a bicycle horn, but it isn't. it croons and bellows and groans just like it's papa would.  the trumpet player himself is a funky lookin' white guy, wearing orange pants, and a shirt that is a different shade of orange. he also specializes in the cowbell.
the sax player is a spunky asian kid who was all over the place. how he has enough energy to not stay in one spot for the entire hour long set, i have no idea, but i liked it. a lot. also wearing orange.
the trombone player is a doughy young man (guess what color he's wearing) with a meek smile, but that is the only thing meek about his mouth, as the tunes emitted from his horn were juicy enough to slurp from a straw.
next up, the drummer. up front and center, this rivers-cuomo-esque lead singer can rasta, rap, sing, squeal and even howl at the moon like he's been doing it since he shot out of the womb. 
all in all, frickin' amazing. go here and jam out with your KABLAM! out. http://www.myspace.com/yogomanburningband

how awesome was this evening you ask? so awesome that i only had time for one beer. that's how awesome. and who would have thought that so much fun could be found on an evening that began with a pap smear?

this robot makes me want to self-destruct.

my friend blake and i have this joke.  the hilarity began the evening he and his boyfriend broke up and we were ruthlessly bashing the ex, as bitter old batties are wont to do.  blake began listing all of the infuriating habits of said old flame, and we started in on that age old dialouge, which we tirelessly revisit, regarding how incompetent men are when it comes to dealing with oversensitive (we like to call it "passionate") people like ourselves.  (psst! we just want you to shut up and cuddle. no need to talk. it's that simple.)
the joke goes like this: what if customer service representatives behaved towards their customers the way boyfriends behave when faced with difficult moments in a relationship? they would be SO fired!
customer: "hi, um, i wanted to talk to someone? this isn't what i ordered...i got the..."
customer service/boyfriend: "stop. ok? just stop."
customer: "but, this isn't what i wanted. this is the wrong order..."
customer service/boyfriend: "look. i had a long day. i don't want to talk about this anymore."
customer: "this is ridiculous! my order is wrong! where is your manager?"
customer service/boyfriend: "why do you keep going over the same problem? we talked about this already. just stop. okay? stop."
customer: "i'm leaving! this is the worst service ever!"
customer service/boyfriend: "you make EVERYTHING about you! i can't just stop my life for you ok? just go. i don't want to deal with this."

FIRED. right? and hilarious.

so today i noticed that a magazine out there somewhere, that i've never heard of, has decided that i would love a subscription to their publication.  they were so considerate as to go so far as to charge my account FOR ME! so i don't even have to worry about it! isn't that sweet?  the best part, and what was just peachy, was that in order to cancel this unasked for subscription, i got to talk to their voice robot for, like, 30 MINUTES. best reason to stay after work, if you ask me.
but this really was a good thing, cuz it got my little brain cogs turning. what if boyfriends acted like voice robots? wouldn't THAT be AWESOME?!

robot/boyfriend: hey! i'm so glad you called! what's up?
you: hey...look this isn't really working out...
robot/boyfriend: i'm sorry, i didn't catch that. can you repeat it please?
you: i think we should break up.
robot/boyfriend: i'm sorry you are not pleased with our relationship. but listen! why don't we just stay together? for, like, two more months? and then if you STILL don't like it, we can break up.
you: no, really, i just, this isn't what i want. i don't think i wanted it from the beginning. i want to end it.
robot/boyfriend: are you sure?
you: yeah
robot/boyfriend: i'm sorry, i didn't catch that. can you repeat it please?
you: yes, i want to break up
robot/boyfriend: i'm sorry, i didn't catch that. can you repeat it please?
you: YES!
robot/boyfriend: i'm sorry, i didn't catch that. can you repeat it please?
you: OH. MY. GOD.  what is wrong with you? i want to break up! ok?
robot/boyfriend: i'm sorry you are having so much trouble speaking clearly, here are some tips:
a) try to relocate to a quieter area, outside noise can interfere
b) if your phone is having a bad connection, please try to call again later
c) make sure you only say things i want to hear, otherwise i won't process it.
can you please repeat?
you: AAGGGGGGHHHH!!!! (heavy restricted breathing) ...look. i. don't. want. to. be. with. you. any. more. ever.
robot/boyfriend: i'm sorry you are not happy with our relationship. but hey! you could date me AND one of my douche bag friends for the next two months, and you won't have to pay for dinner EVER! would you like to do that?
you: what?! no! why would i want to do that?
robot/boyfriend: ok. ok. how about you can date my brother AND my friend AND me for four months! and you wouldn't have to give any of us blow jobs! and we would clean our hair out of the drain after we took a shower! would you like to do that?
you: what the hell are you talking about!? that doesn't even make sense! that's actually gross...DUDE. i just want to break up! why is that so hard to understand?!!
robot/boyfriend: please hold while i let you talk to my mom.
you: oh. my. god.
*click*

i think i may be onto something here.

because mondays are hard sometimes.

i have had a lot of moments in my life when i feel like my world sort of pops open.  the first time i felt this way, i flipped out and probably scared the poo out of my boyfriend at the time (i ended up sitting in his car for about two hours being hysterical...it was pretty awful).  suddenly i could see how things might not be okay in the end and that something slimy might creep in between the cracks of my insulated, warm and cozy reality.
kind of similar to the feeling you get when you stare at the stars for too long and think about how big everything is and how that blackness just goes on forever and no one has any idea really what is way out there...
i have been getting that feeling a lot lately. like an uncomfortable and frightening deja vu. it is not fun and i. don't. like it.
i think it is some sort of anxiety; i'm mildly flipping out about ridiculous things like days going by unnoticed...i keep catching myself thinking, "is it always going to be like this? am i always going to be like this?" and i'll be honest, that thought freaks me out.
i don't know where this feeling comes from. it just feels like everything is too big, there are too many options, and what if i don't grow up to be a strong, competent and loving person? what if i slowly fall apart? what if i somehow estrange myself from everyone i love? what if i'm already in the process of doing that? how bad could it really get?!?!
and then something little happens. something really tiny and insignificant. like the bart driver giving directions to a woman and both of them being open and smiling at each other. and the feeling goes away for a little while...what a lunatic.

blood and bowie

Music is a funny thing.  Some days it feels like you've listened to every freakin' song you'll ever like.  You're over it. "I'll just listen to the traffic!" you say, in irritation, thinking of that stupid habit you have of listening to your favorite songs over and over again until you know all the words and then listening to them more as you find live versions until you really can't listen to it again because your roommates/coworkers/friends/neighbors might kill you.  No.  They really might.


Other days, music finds you!  New bands, new singers, old singers singing new songs, new singers singing old songs, or even old singers singing the same old songs but for some reason, on that day, those old tunes tickle your ear hairs a new way.  This new tickle pleases you.  And you spend all day, when you should be working, following the magical musical trails that You Tube provides you with, finding songs like this:  (sorry the videos are so big, i couldn't figure out how to fix it...anyone?)





Or this:



And this one:



this!



this!



and sometimes it's more about the actual video than the song:



Whatever happens in the air on days like this, I want it to happen all the time.  I feel bloated with melodies, giddy on the new, weird, beautifully sad, and hilariously funny.


Thanks universe.  This was lovely.

i feel like...

sometimes San Francisco just does it to fuck with me. I descended into the Bart tunnel feeling grateful and relieved that I lived through the day, and was greeted by my favorite punk-rock Johnny Cash sound-a-like rockin' out on his acoustic. I enter the tunnel and get on the train, which is when the calls begin. My roommate's number pops up on my phone, and I ignore it since I'm in tunnel. Then he calls again. And again. And again. The strangeness begins.

I exit the tunnel and begin my four block trot home. While I spent the first block contemplating if I should buy an enourmous bag of Sun Chips or maybe a tub of ice cream to cuddle with my angry hungover tummy (i decided not to, thank you very much. there is a remnant of will power left in this mopey body.), the strangness ensued on the second block. I come upon a young man and his very young little son staring straight up into the sky. Staring. Not looking, not gazing, staring. Straight up. So I stopped and asked them, "What are you guys staring at?" Unfortunately, these two didn't speak very much English and so their explanation was a little...muddled. Here is what I heard, "There are stars, up there, you see? 30 stars. It's the ozone!" Oh ya, did I mention it was 5:30pm? That the sun was shining? That the sky was blue, and presumably NOT falling...

I looked, I stared, I peered, but all I saw was bright blue sky. So I kept walking, but now I'm walking down the street trying to ignore the irrational side of my brain that is now convinced that the ozone has broken open and any minute all hell is going to break loose.

But then I saw a teenage boy execute his first successful parallel parking job! Which was adorable. And uplifting.

But then a mexican man waiting on the corner started following me and calling me all sorts of "sitas" that I didn't know. Which was creepy.

But then I crossed the street and saw a young woman playing with a kitten that was in a yard on the street. Which was adorable. And uplifting.

And this entire time, my phone keeps ringing and ringing while my roommate's phone continues to accidentally call me, over and over and over.

What a weird twenty minutes...

a tribute

To all the single ladies,

My Friday nights have become a complete joke. Thanks to my genius decision to train for the Nike Women's Half Marathon on October 18th (which *gasp* is in *choke* less than a *hyperventilation* month...), I don't leave my house on Friday nights for fear of ruining any chance I may have of not sleeping through the cruelly early Saturday morning runs. While this strategy is not 100% successful...it is actually about 25% successful...ugh...I still refuse to go out on Fridays. This often results in a wardrobe change into pajamas around 7pm, crappy TV show watching beginning around 7:30pm, and the ever present, but for some reason much stronger on Fridays, desire for a burrito around 8pm. Last night, however, was a very special burrito trip.

Papalote is a little Mexican food restaurant about 4 blocks from my humble abode. Touted as having the "Best burrito in San Francisco", this place is usually overrun with your typical adorable San Fran duo out on a fun and quirky adventure. With their left pant legs rolled up, their enormous purses/messenger bags, and their fierce love for tall cans of PBR, they are the textbook definition of the couples you love to hate. You know they've got big plans: a rooftop concert complete with circus acts, maybe an underground showing of once banned communist propaganda films set to soundtracks from bands you've never heard of (but feel pressured to pretend that you have), or perhaps a simple open mic in bar (that you've never heard of) with vintage velvet paintings and $2 Hamms. All it takes is a simple shake of their head to clear their eyes of their side swept bangs to remind you that all you are doing tonight it absolutely nothing. With nobody.

Last night had its share of these inked up pairs, but there was also present a new demographic, oft underrepresented in San Francisco. I'm speaking of the cute, single young woman who wants nothing more on a Friday night than to wear her grubby sweatpants, watch her crummy stories, and gnaw on her gummy burrito.

Yes, you read this right. I am not the only one.

Last night, there were four of us. Standing in relative solidarity in the way of all those perky couples, waiting for our orders, thinking only of our sofas, I like to think we all recognized in each other a bit of ourselves. That our simple presence, the knowledge that we were all there for the same purpose, were going home to the same fates, gave us that rare but priceless feeling of 'I'm not alone in this world.'

So this is for you, you three beautiful women at Papalote, ordering take out on a Friday night, in one of the most exciting cities in the world. I hope that while you shuffled the two-five blocks to your Victorian converted flats, looking over your shoulder every couple of minutes to be sure no one was lurking behind you, that you felt stronger, smarter and prettier, knowing that there were other women like you. That we worked all week, that we struggle to better ourselves everyday, and that in the context of all the pressures we're under everyday, that we freakin' deserve a burrito at the end of it all. I hope you lifted your head a little higher, took a deep breath, and felt, at least a little better, as you settled into your sofa and prepared your DVR to display to you the next ridiculous but tear-jerking plot twists of Grey's Anatomy. I know I did, and I thank you for it.