Monthly Archives: June 2010

Letters From The Bay, Week 49: Little Earthquakes

My cafe au lait swayed rhythmically in the big white mug I drink from every morning, like a hula dancer’s hips, perfectly in time to the beat.

Or in this case, the rumble of the earth as a magnitude 3.3 earthquake twitched through the Presidio at 8:00 Monday morning.

My first earthquake.

While my coffee was certainly shaken, I – I am proud to say – was not.

In a few short weeks, I will be celebrating my one year anniversary of living in San Francisco and being a city girl. That celebration will include, but not be limited to, sharing a bottle of Chateau Monthelena with former roommates and good friends, rehashing my first days in the city, the bizarre color of our living room, the epic nights of bar crawling and bonfires, wine tours, moving out, moving on, men, and on and on.

I feel like I’ve lived a whole separate lifetime in just a year here, and it still seems impossible that this whole separate, glorious, wonderful life is now my actual real life.  To quote another fabulous city girl, the mind reels.

I’ve had the worst job of my life (MY. ENTIRE. LIFE.) and a job so wonderful I couldn’t have dreamt up a better one. I moved in with random strangers, terrified I was making a horrible choice, and ended up with two wonderful women who will always be my friends. I’ve dined with dignitaries, a diplomat, a reality TV celebrity, ravers, crackheads, hippies and a New York Times bestselling author.

There have been moments over the past year that have cause so many internal earthquakes – leave or stay, move or don’t, get out or dig in – that I felt I had no choice but to grab on and wait it out.  Luckily, just like a real earthquake, the tiny terrors and uncertainties pass quickly.  A twitch, a shiver, a quick Hawaiian sashay in and out.

And just like that, you’re back to real life. Glorious, wonderful, real life.


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Why teenagers are not allowed to plan weddings

Old Journal


“Hydrangea centerpieces, the Rose Room at the Plaza Hotel in New York, on-command lighting…tiara?  YES!”

Is on-command lighting even a thing?  Is it possibly related to Buzz Lightyear and Star Command?

All I know is that I wanted that tiara bad.


Related note: I had not, nor have I still, been to New York city.  Or this mysterious Rose Room that I so coveted for my own wedding, once upon a time. Where did these bizarre fantasies come from?

For the record, 25 year-old me now wants to get married in a field and eat burritos at my reception.

Hope that’s okay with you guys.

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Letters From The Bay, Week 46: Pink paint and man time

I need a little more woman in my life.  I’ve come to realization that, for the last few months, my life has been all man all the time here by the Bay.  D, man friends visiting from out of town, my man roommate, dear coworkers, The News, and now my brother…I feel like it’s too much man here in the city.

Some would argue you can never have too much man, but when fart jokes are hilarious and you end every statement with, “that’s what she said…” – even completely random statements like, “I think I’ll go to the grocery store now.” – you start to see how this could be true.

Because here’s the thing about men, lovely though they are: they are not the same as women.  At their best they are commanding, yet graceful, like giant cats.  Comforting, satisfying, protecting in a way that women usually are not. At their worst they are rude, stern, sometimes awkward.  They fumble around emotional moments, cheapen the beautiful, and roughen up your day in a way that can be messy and incredibly frustrating.

Women make things easy, smooth.  They listen and really hear.  They protect you from heartache, and sometimes from yourself.  Women love wide and deep and encompassingly, in a way that I’ve never yet known a man to do.  Yet.

I miss my real friends. My woman friends. My sisters, my soul mates, my partners in crime, the keepers of my life’s memories and experiences.  My best friend lives 5,350 miles away (yes LP, I google mapped you) and the rest of the KDs are scattered all over the world.  I miss them, and sometimes man friends just won’t do.  Even when they’re at their best, as most of the men in my life are 99 percent of the time.

Today’s experience: typing to the sound of paint rollers.  The News has moved out of our house and out of my life, and his replacement is a lovely new roommate.  Who is a woman.  One who is painting The News’s former room two brilliant shades of pink.

The News, for all of his good qualities, is also just a man.  One who is selfish, and who doesn’t listen, and who is only interested as long as things go his way.

New Roommate is fantastic, and soon, we’re going to plan a dinner party together.  One where we will talk, over wine, about things that are of interest to everyone, and we will listen to each other, and we will really hear, and we probably won’t tell any fart jokes either. It will be the start of a beautiful friendship, even when things don’t always go our way, and I think right now that sounds just perfect.

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Filed under Friends, Gentlemen Friends, Letters from the Bay, Thinking