It's really, really cold. I'm wearing a pair of sweatpants, a flannel shirt, a sweatshirt, and a fuzzy, blue robe while the heater is on at full blast in my house. It's freezing and it's pouring rain. Non-stop, all day. It's OK though, it's not like there's a beautiful beach at my doorstep or some awesome, mammoth, architectural wonder that I want to see. This is Piedmont, California not Siem Reip, Cambodia. It's the town where I spent way too many weekends getting wasted of Mickey's forties and bacardi limon in my friend's basements or from red keg cups filled with cheap beer provided by our high school kegger--usually in the cemetary, someone nonsensically named Donut Shop. I don't know who thought of that, but it was a code word so cops wouldn't know what we were talking about. Cops weren't dumb--we were. They knew about our cemetery antics--there wasn't one that I went to that I didn't have to run away in a frantic, drunken, panic hiding behind random trees and scaling fences while laughing and whispering with my friends. Oh the days of my youth.
I can't be in Piedmont and not think of my high school days. Everything is reminiscent but it's not fun anymore .... it's not high school and all my friends have grown up and gone away. Is it sad that I kind of miss it? Typical that I'm back here again .... it's temporary and I have to remind myself of this on a daily basis. My life is really in San Francisco. All my friends are there, my social life is there, yes, my bed and my clothes and my parents are here, and I love them, but I find myself, on most days in San Francisco, as a temporary guest in my sister's or friend's beds.
The last few days i have been semi-content sitting on my ass at home, cuddled up with my body pillow in my bed (which is coincidentally, also blue and fuzzy), and stuffing my face with random things in my parent's house. Yesterday while it was also pouring rain, during a commercial break of Dream Weddings on The Food Network, I found myself perusing my parent's usually empty pantry. To my surprise, I found a box of Oreos. This is strange yet fantastic for a number of reasons. My parents, have never, ever, ever bought Oreos in their entire life. I was one of those kids who only had health food in their house--fruit, whole grain bread, carrot sticks--the types of things you hate when you are young. I would be the kid who would go to their friend's house and eye their pantry with envy. Theirs was always full of more delicious, unhealthy things my parents wouldn't let me near--fruit roll ups, cheetos, twinkies .... So, naturally, finding Oreos in my parents pantry, even at the age of twenty-six was a treat beyond treats ... an unexpected and fabulous surprise. I ate them and I watched Dream Weddings, and it was awesome. Ok, seriously, mid that last sentence, I just came to the realization that my life as I know it has gone on a downward spiral. The most exciting thing to happen to me in two days was finding Oreos in my parent's cabinet. Oh, and what makes it even more lame, is that yesterday was Valentine's day. Wow, my life has taken a turn for the worse and I still miss traveling. It's ok to get a kick out of Oreos and The Food Network, isnt? It's temporary ... really, it is.
