707/415 and Other Distractions

I’m in motion, true to the name of this blog.  Where I’m going is not as clear…  I feel like I’m in transition.  Not the kind that sends you flailing through the atmosphere, more like bus travel…  Slow, steady, mostly enjoyable until someone takes a shit in the bathroom.  In bus travel, change is not so abrupt.  The scenery goes by, you watch the mountains morph, the coastline wane, the In ‘n Out’s fly past, and by the time you get to your destination, you already feel like a slightly different person.

Sometimes it’s scary to see the life you’ve always imagined begin to manifest itself.  How do you trust that what you want for yourself is what is best?  How do you react when what you want is profoundly different from what you used to want?  Who to trust is tough also.  Candid moments seem to reveal someone… although, I watched someone give a hand to a man that needed help standing.  When this someone turned around to face me again, they didn’t look proud, but I am still apprehensive.

I’m getting a new phone this week, I’m switching to a 415 area code. I have a strong feeling this is just as symbolic to others as it is to me, but probably not in the positive way that I view it.  I hate, more than anything, explaining myself.  Concerning explanations, those who know/love me don’t need one and the rest don’t matter.  My sister made it seem as though I’m giving up a basic part of my identity by switching area codes, which made me want to even more.  Really though, I’m seizing a rare opportunity.  My motivation is purely superficial, I’ve had a 707 my whole life and more than anything I love a good change.

Lastly, I gave up Facebook for lent.  Feels liberating.  Michelle changed my password for me and there is no way I’ll be signing on before Easter.  Woahhh…  Okay, watching Mad Men and then going to bed.

Maybe without FB I’ll blog more, lucky you.


Not Going Into The Laundry Business

For those of you who might be wondering what happened to my Twitter account, I DELETED IT.  I got rid of it like a foosball table at a garage sale.  It got old (and I hate to say you told me so.)

Since childhood, my mind’s eye has constructed an image of who I want to become, where, and what I’m going to do.  This image serves as an aid when I make important life decisions.  Sometimes I have a moment of clarity  and I realize that I’m doing something I only dreamt of doing as a child, like going grocery shopping for myself, or going out with friends for drinks.  These things are great, and at this point my plan is to build upon this list of things I’ve always wanted to do or (are you ready for Marxism) to have.  Simply having pinot grigio, prosciutto de parma and aged asiago in the fridge, or drinking fine cappuccinos on a regular basis aren’t the negligible moments where I’ll realize that I’VE MADE IT.  No, it will be the day that I can hire a laundry service to wash and fold my clothes.  I don’t want to do my laundry for a moment longer than I have to.  I always have and always will despise folding…  I enjoy dishes, sweeping, vacuuming, mopping… but laundry is just disgustingly tedious and it takes far too much time. I know this day will eventually come, I can hardly wait.  On that note, does anyone know how to pull lipstick from cotton?


Sophia, Salami and Soccer

Hello!  Wonderful things are happening.  First of all, my Grandma got a new puppy, here is the picture.  I’ve never met her but she has my favorite name (Sophia) and she looks like my new best friend:

Second, a story:  When I went to Boston over the Summer to visit my sister, one of her friends was eager to know how the Salami Love story ended, and I was regretful to inform him that it indeed had ended, not to mention on a somewhat sour note. Do you remember my Salami Love story from last Spring?  A year later, to my dismay, Salami Love has been resurrected.  I no longer know how ethical it feels to use this story as a narrative for my blog….  It sort of seems like the plot content of a 90’s teen movie… you know, the kind where the person finds out, feels used, so the journalism student has to make a grand gesture?  They apologize for using the person in a story and confess that it began as a lead for an article but that it had become so much more… you know these kinds of movies.  It’s like 10 Things I Hate About You and She’s All That but with a twist of 27 Dresses.

Of course, Salami didn’t begin as just a story, I turned it into a story. I thought writing about it in a humerous way would keep me objective, sane and allow me some perspective to laugh at myself.  Some things happened, a lot didn’t happen, and I thought it was a closed book until he went into the sandwich shop (9 months later) looking for me the day after my last day working there.  We reconnected and since we both live in the Bay Area now, we went out for a glass of wine on Saturday. He actually seems like the great guy I always thought he was.   A life lesson is in there somewhere, perhaps.  But then again, the story isn’t over.  I don’t think I’m going to write much more about it, I just thought my readers in Boston would like to know…

Also, since I’m on the topic of salami sandwiches, I had the best sandwich I’ve ever had from the Molinari Deli in North Beach.  I’m telling you…  amazing, words don’t do it justice.  Heaven in my mouth, go there as soon as you can.

Third, I compiled a soccer team!  It’s outdoor soccer on Saturday afternoons.  I have a captains meeting on Wednesday, more info to come.  Gotta run, XOXO