San Francisco Love

My lack of inspiration these days is palpable. I started writing the book I have always wanted to write and it's coming out exactly how I don't want it to come out. I don't know what I'm doing. I write because I love it but I sit down to write a book and I start doubting myself. Does anyone give a shit, who doesn't have to give a shit? I know my parents and my sister read my work because they have to, but what about all those millions of other people out there who don't? Am I really that compelling? Fuck if I know. Still working on it though, still writing, still looking for a job in San Francisco, still trying to figure out my shite.

Its been over a month since I have been back from my trip and it's gotten a lot easier. Traveling will never really go away, but the urge to pick up and go right now, is slowly fading the more I hang out in San Francisco and feel connected to my friends. I'm having a blast. Yes I'm broke which is a constant issue and I don't have my own apartment yet, but I still have so much fun going out, and as of late, been meeting some pretty cool people too. Sometimes I feel like the social attitude I had when traveling has now been translated to my life at home. I'm more confident, I can talk to anyone, and I love connecting with new people the way I did with randoms all over Asia.

I saw this really awesome set of djs, Flosstraudaums, on Saturday night at Mezzanine in San Fran. It rocked, I don't remember the last time I danced my ass off like that or had so much fun. I got trashed of vodka Red bull and boogied my ass off. I'm fan Flosstraudamus, I am a fan.

Ok, I have lots of fun. Next step on my life's train: a job ...

Oreos on Valentine's Day

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.

Back in Action

I got a manicure and pedicure yesterday in preparation for a party my sister was throwing me, Inbal, and Denny for making it back home. A welcome back party as people often call it. Cat treated me to a mani-pedi, because I'm broke and she's a good friend. The last time I got a pedicure was right before I left for Asia. I left the paint on for over four months, slowly watching it fade and chip off, but never actually removing it--partly to piss off Denny and partly because I just didn't give a shit. When I got back a few weeks ago, I still had some red peaking off the tips of my toes. Now, they are scrubbed down, clean, and pretty--painted with a shiny, poppy-red hue that makes me feel like a new woman. As I was getting the bottom of my feet scrubbed and my arms massaged with lotion, I came to the realization again--this backpacking trip is really over. My new nails are like ... a new era in my life. My feet are no longer disgusting and I'm wearing heels again--something I wouldn't even consider, nor was it an option, two weeks ago. I hate heels.

I still miss traveling daily. I waited for about two weeks to completely unpack my backpack. There's something about home that makes me so, so lazy and I didn't want to face the reality of what unpacking really meant. I washed my clothes and was looking at all the dresses I wore for four months. It made me do that thing I do when I miss a person or a place--when I broke up with my ex, I had a bunch of his old t-shirts and whenever I really missed him, which was often post-breakup, I would smell them, which had that aroma that was distinctly him, and think of him. Somehow nestling my head in his t-shirt would bring him back to me a little bit. Wow, that sounds pathetic when I write it all down, but it's true. Anyways, I started to do the same with my dresses--they smelled faintly like my backpacking backpack, a little bit like incense, the beach, and laundry detergent. I started thinking about all the amazing things I did, and saw, in those clothes. How I ran around the beach in Indonesia in my sun dresses, my hair full of salt water, my skin tanned, and my feet sinking in the sand. How I hiked all around Angkor Wat in those shoes--those dirty, dirty sneakers that I can now, never get rid of for sentimental reasons. I didn't dare smell the sneakers though.

Last night was truly a blast. I love having all my different groups of friends in one room, talking together, drinking together, and co-mingling in a drunken state of bliss. I ended up getting drunk, running around the bar, smoking cigarettes with reckless abandon, and stuffing my face with quesadillas and nachos at 3 a.m. with my posse. I woke up and found a lemon, three coasters, and a plastic drink menu in my purse. I think it was a variety of friends who put them in there when I was drunk and oblivious. That being said, it would be really easy for someone to steal from me at a bar. Too easy. We also always end up playing the butt grabbing game, where we run around the bar and pinch random people's asses. It's awesome and somehow hilarious, albeit inappropriate. Pretty typical San Francisco night and one of the best in ages. It made me feel happy to be home. It made me think that home, isn't so bad--it's actually really fun and only furthered my belief of having the coolest friends in the world. I do, I really do.