Leggo my Eggo (or, How I am Proud of Myself Today)

It is funny how I receive the most validation for my job well-done during Parent and Family event days. Myriad families pass through the Academy-sponsored parent breakfasts and orientation events and somehow compliments of my knowledge, ability, and overall helpfulness and easing of a child's transition to college filter down to me, from the executives to the assistants and helpers. It makes me feel great to hear my name's mention get back to me in the matter of a few hours. I love gossip.

The Satiability of Friends

I am not close with my family. That is an understatement, to say the least. I have always had great resentment, deep sadness, and a horrifically mortifying view on and relationship with that which is familial to me. This is not new nor developed with age, and since the time I was very young I made every effort to reach outside of what I was born into and grow roots among friends instead. When I was a young adolescent, I practically lived at my friend Sarah's house. I will always been grateful to her and her family for letting me live with them without questioning the whereabouts (or wherewithal) of the woman who was supposed to be rearing me.

When I went to college, things changes because the roots that I had put down among strangers were pulled up and essentially wrapped around myself. I became my own greatest resource of strength and resolve. I studied, loved, worked, worked some more, and paid my own way through burgeoning adulthood. There were of course, hardships through which I had a hard time and never thought I'd see the end of (mostly financially), but I did and for the most part they passed. I remained pretty good friends with Sarah but because my own trajectory of independence was so ferocious and we were, in effect, moving through life at such radically different paces, our friendship changed to a more superficial, but enduringly loving one.

When I concluded my collegiate studies and moved to San Francisco, I became good friends with Conor, and we laughed and talked and made trouble and I truly had an intellectual match in him. We danced the night away for years and spent many nights with our faces close together, whispering compliments back and forth. He is still one of my best friends, and any divergence we have had is because in my old age of 26 I am settling down and Conor is always getting started on his next big adventure. I owe my much of my adult tastes to him and from him learned to never settle for a substandard life (You should see him turn down not-quite-right clothes or shoes that his mother buys for him - it is hilarious and totally copacetic).

Now that I am no longer dancing the night away in the clubs and I prefer to spend quiet time with my boyfriend and our adorable pooch, I have been in quite the friends rut. It feels like there isn't another 26-year old on the planet who can be intellectual, mature, and fun at the same time. This does not preclude drinking and clubbing of course (I am still a party girl at heart, after all) but it does mean a little more balance of game nights and conversation and wine instead of pre-party shots and trying to avoid roofies once out. It seems like a strange time and I have missed having as much friend action as I'd like.

Last night my friends Kevin and Lisa (and Lola) joined Scott and me (and Bailey) for an afternoon-play-date-turned-night-of-drinking-and-scrabble. Lisa and I polished off a bottle of whiskey. I was quite proud of us. Besides just having an awesome time, I truly, truly adore Kevin and Lisa. They are both smart, funny, interesting and interested people. I am so glad that they moved here and we have gotten to know one another as adults (as opposed to teenagers in science and general PE, respectively). We all have some pretty cool (and important) things in common that I don't have with other friends: books, music, movies. I look forward to much soul-feeding with them in the future.

Friends are so integral to who I am as a person. It's hard to properly thank people who have so ultimately touched me simply by being my friend. I don't want to get sappy, but I do hope that I am, at least, returning the favor.

One Moment

It was a sweet night
of sweet things and sweet tastes
trickling, teasing, tip-toeing across the tips of tongues
and I held you
at arm's length
but close enough for a good look
and I looked with my eyes half-slit into small open intervals
of a number line
and I saw
You
and we watched as the waves crashed and the tides turned and all the other big cliches
in that little book
held their meaning
and you held me
for just one moment.

Aspirations, Aspirations

Aspirations, aspirations (and perspiration, too - under my arms, mostly).

It is a hot and muggy day in San Francisco. This morning, the citizens of the city by the bay awoke to news of a rampage run against bicyclists during the wee hours in the city's Mission and Potrero districts. The SUV crossed lanes, drove the wrong way, and all in all ran down a total of 4 (innocent?) victims. The suspect remains at large and dangerous--if you consider a penchant for injuring bicyclists danger.

I kid, I kid. Bicyclists are wonderful and an important faction of our city. True, they block pedestrian crosswalks during red lights, pedal on the sidewalk, run stop signs, and slow down an already too-slow Muni with their damn use of racking. I kid, I kid. I am a car driver and a pedestrian in this city - truth be told, I don't have the balls to ride a bicycle down any one of the major streets here. I know for a fact how totally inattentive and incompetent the drivers here are (whether native children of bridge-and-tunnelers). The fact of the matter is that we are all crammed into this 49-square-mile city together. Pedestrians, unsupervised children, bicyclists, vehicle-drivers, Frank Chu, dog walkers with too many dogs, and even Parklets. There are curb cuts and endless DPT ticketing. There are potholes and pissed off crackheads. There are Smart cars and even Hummers (a very strange sight indeed). There are smiling hipsters on their way to Dolores Park and stern ladies with arms full of pink grocery bags. And there is almost always a fight on a Muni bus. I love this city.

Today I decided that my as-of-yet-unrealized life dream is to be a journalist. I want to be a one-woman Matier & Ross, and I want to be the one making the life of the homeless-but-hard-working Shoe Shiner a lucrative one. (Disclosure: I realize that C.W. Nevius broke the story of Larry the Shoe Shiner, but Matier and Ross are just so much more likable.)

So in order to self-actualize (isn't this what I constantly preach to my students?) I've got to write. This is a paltry blog entry, I realize, but it's a start. I shall opine daily henceforth on that which I find annoying in my beloved city of San Francisco. This should be fun.