Hey guys, holiday hangover is here! You know, all the feelings you get after the hype, food, booze and gatherings have passed. When you find yourself back in your apartment wondering how you are going to get that tree out and and how you are going to ween yourself off of sugar. Well that is what is happening right now.

Don’t get me wrong, I had a fantastic weekend. The icing on the cake was my aunt asking about my love life and then slipping me a Victoria’s Secret gift card during the gift exchange. 

On to the New Year!

I’m in a weird holiday funk. I usually get in a funky mood around this time. This year it’s not so bad but I’m definitely walking a fine line. For me, it begins with the anticipation and nostalgia and then crashes with melancholy and a not so subtle holiday hangover. Please tell me I am not alone.

Anyway, I have a few days to fly under the radar until the festivities begin. 

Oh yeah, and then there is this gem. 

I’

I work in the Civic Center/Tenderloin area which is never short of surprises. One evening after work I was people watching while was waiting for the 21 Hayes at Van Ness. I accidently made eye contact with a with a crazy man across the street which prompted him to point and then run across the street towards me. I turned my head and was fully prepared to ignore him but he still kicked the bus stop and then pointed at me and called me a “stupid fucking bitch” before casually walking away. 

Another guy walked up to the bus stop with a quizzical look on his face which made me feel less awkward, obviously. 

I avoided laundry for a few weeks and had no choice but to wear the ugly underwear at the bottom of my drawer. You know what I’m talking about. The ripped lace, the holey cotton, the tacky cherry print thong, the granny panties. None of which say “I am sexy,” “I feel sexy” and most importantly, “sex me, baby”. 

So, as I sorted my laundry and hoped no one would see my god awful panties, I decided that they needed to go. No more snug panties that I never got around to returning, no more faded polka dots, good bye once red now pink thong. I purged my underwear drawer and threw all those disheveled undergarments out. I must admit that it was difficult. I guess I figured having a ridiculous amount of underwear, even ugly underwear, is better than not. Wrong! I want sexy underwear, even when I don’t feel sexy. Especially when I don’t feel sexy

However, I could not and would not throw out the very pair I hate the most and always make fun of: tacky pink booty shorts that have stripped sprawled across the back like a makeshift tramp stamp. Oh yeah, and they were purchased at a Christina Aguilera concert a bazillion years ago

Yes, I kept them. A girl’s gotta remember where she’s been and where she’s goin’.

These are awesome and completely true! Here is the link!

When should you make out with someone? Whenever you want to! But also:

1. Because he or she is really hot, and you can forsee telling your friends “Oh, we made out once.” with extreme pride.

2. Because the conversation isn’t actually that interesting. (Or because it’s so interesting that you could just kiss them.)

3. Because they smell really, really good.

4. Because if you wanna know how he loves you so? It’s in his kiss.

5. Because you actually believe in your friend’s ability to not be weird about it the next day.

6. Because you think they might be famous one day, and want to make out with them just in case.

7. Because they’re moving away and you’re never, ever going to see them again.

8. Because you happen to know your ex is on a date right now.

9. Because you had a huge crush on them in high school, and your 15 year-old self wouldn’t want you to squander the opportunity.

10. Because you had a few drinks, and you’re feeling happy, flirty, and bold.

11. Because you feel like making out with someone, and they are someone.

12. Because you just need to remind yourself that you can make it happen.

13. Because he or she just put the absolute best song on the jukebox/beat you at darts/ordered a whiskey neat/is wearing a Battlestar Gallactica T-shirt.

14. Because you’re a really good kisser, and when you have a talent you should share it with the world.

15. Because you just had the best date of your life, and think this might be the start of something serious.

The other night a friend sent me a link to this article and it got me thinking.

I have had a long, tumultuous relationship with my curly hair.

As a kid I hated it because it would get tangled and knotted. As a young adult I hated it because it made me different and suddenly defined who I was. I straightened it because I thought I wanted sleek hair, because I thought it looked better and because I thought the boys would like it. 

Things have changed and now I love my hair. My hair is crazy and wild and gets everywhere. Sometimes it attracts good attention and other times negative attention. Yes, like any other relationship we have good days and bad but I am happy with what I have and have come to terms with what I will never have.

So the article reminded me of a poem I had written a while back about my hair. I haven’t worked on it since and think that it has potential to become a masterpiece (ok, maybe not a masterpiece). But in the meantime I wanted to share it.

This for all you curly ladies out there.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                .                                                                           

 It brushes against my face

Flows down my back

No rhythm

No rhyme

A flurry of waves

An enigma of spirals

.                                           

Sometimes it’s mess atop my head

And has a mind of its own

It is unpredictable

It will puff

It will pouf

It will tangle

Sometimes due to carelessness

But most often due to it’s unruly nature

.

I hated the way it made me feel

The way I thought others saw me.

It wasn’t like anyone else’s

Not shiny nor silky

No single movement

No one wanted to play with it

No one knew what to do with it

No one would run their fingers through it

                                                                                                               .

It was a burden

It was different

I ignored it

flattened it

Burned it

Tormented it

Insulted its character

Just to be one in the same

.

But as I’ve grown and changed

I have come to realize

It is beautiful

It is different

It is natural

It is mine

It is fun

It’s me.

Last night, while I was fretting, packing and looking for a place to live I had a little meltdown.

In an attempt to save my sanity I walked over to the corner market and bought a 40oz. Corona and a Klondike bar. 

That’s what happens when you are a single female in her early twenties living in San Francisco and trying to find a new apartment.

But it worked because after dating three different apartments over the last three years, I have finally found “the one”. My two lovely friends and I have a kick ass home in Western Addition.

Yesterday was a wonderful day despite occurring in the midst of having my hours slightly cut. So on my full day off I decided to make the best out of my eight hour less work week. Since it fell on the first Tuesday of the month, which is “Free Tuesday” at SFMOMA, I decided to take full advantage of the situation. 

It was the “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” of a twenty something year old graduate living in San Francisco, and now with a full day of now work in the middle of the week.

SFMOMA is incredible and I’m so pleasantly surprised every time. The big attraction for the summer is The Steins Collect exhibit which showcases some incredible artwork by Henri Matisse, Paul Cezane, Pablo Picasso, Gertrude and Leo Steins just to name few. 

I loved seeing this artwork in person. Staring back at me with vibrant colors so more surreal than could ever be captured in prints and photos. I enjoyed it all, but Matisse was incredible. Not only was the artwork amazing but the story behind the family that collected the pieces is somewhat enchanting. Bohemian Paris. Early 20th Century. France. Art.

Amazing.

What was not amazing was that it was crowded.

But it was less than half the price for the exhibit and the rest of the museum is free so I could handle some crowding. Not only is the exhibit and it’s story entertaining, the place is chalked full of colorful patrons and larger than life personalities.

Yes, it was great Tuesday after all. 

I haven’t written in a while. I could call it a dry spell but it’s not. I could blame it on being preoccupied and lazy, but I won’t. I have some great material and many adventures and blissful experiences to write about but don’t feel compelled to do so.

I have been having a lot of fun over the past few months. It’s so uncomplicated yet I find it so complicated to explain, so I don’t. And it’s not fun sharing an experience when you need to be cautious when doing so.

But who knows, maybe it will end up in my memoires.

Anyway, I’m sitting in a Starbucks down the street from my house and as soon as I walked in I had the urge to write and share this story.

I walked in and noticed a man that I have been seeing in this very Starbucks and around the corner of 9^th and Irving almost every morning on my way to work. Over the past week he has acquired quite the collection of crap. This morning I saw him standing in the rain with a suitcase. This afternoon in Starbucks I found out what was in the suitcase. I walked in and he was unpacking a large computer tower (no monitor, of course) and a few other electronic devices. He sat between two tables with people on their laptops for about twenty minutes, packed everything up and then wheeled his way out of there. 

I went out with friends for a few drinks and some dancing. While the dance floor was heating up, a guy I had had bumped into earlier and making eye contact with joined me. We were getting down and having fun. 

I didn’t really talk to him or catch his name but he was cute and asked me for my phone number. Why not, I gave it to him.

As my friend and I were heading out later in the night, I walked past him and mouthed a goodbye. My friend and I hurried across the street to grab a cab and as we stood there he darted across the street.

Him: “Hey, I don’t mean to be a creeper but can I have your number”

ME: “You already got my number. So, that makes you a double creeper.”

Look of shame. 

Taxi came and I we were off. 

Game over. 

Double creeper n: a guy who asks for your phone number twice in the same night. 

One of my neighbors hasa little pet pig. They let it run around outside and their kids play with it. It really bothers me for some reason. The first time I saw it I though it was a small dog and went to pet it but then realized it was actually a pig. It felt coarse, it was in no way cuddly or cute and it really bothered me. Now if I walk by these people and their pig, I just give them the “oh how cute and quirky” fake smile while hoping it doesn’t come near me.

It’s just strange. But then again, I had a pet rabbit for a short period of time and many friends, acquaintances and complete strangers weren’t keen on the idea.

I was thinking today that it’s too bad I didn’t keep that bunny so I would be able to take it outside and start a petting zoo. Just to create yet another scene amongst the antics that take place on this street. Although a pig and a rabbit may may not be as enthralling as my young, loud, scantily clad neighbor across the street fighting with her drug dealer boyfriend in the middle of the street until the cops come. Or the neighbors next door to them who found a grenade in their house which created quite the traffic jam thanks to the five cop cars crammed into the street. Or the neighbors with the loud, drunk fighting outside which ended with more cops and cars being towed away. 

Ah I love my not so quiet street, even the pig. 

I agreed to go on a date with a customer. I only did this because he has been coming in to my work ever since I began working at my current location and he seemed like a normal guy. He lived in the area, went to the same school, yada yada yada. I told him I wasn’t supposed to date customers but he insisted and I figured why not. 

So, we started off at happy hour by my work. Other than talking my ear off it seemed to be going well. As soon as we got into the car to head to dinner tried kissing me and then told me he wanted to mack with me later. Really? Mack. The last time I heard that term was probably in the eighth grade and it didn’t get anybody any loving back then either.

So we got to dinner and he decides we should grab one more drink while we waited for our table. So we did. I tried to find out more about him but I could sense that he was totally full of shit and beating around the bush. So dinner. Finally. We ordered a bottle of wine. I had a glass and he had the rest of the bottle. By the time we left he was pretty drunk and already acting like an ass. He wanted to go sit and talk someplace with a view so we did and that’s when the real trouble started.

He tried groping me and grabbing my waist and then tried kissing me. When I told him to stop he began listing all the reasons why I should like him and go home with him. He just continued to ramble. Then he tells me he’s sorry and he’s just used to going out with easy girls. I was so flattered. So finally it’s time to leave but he decides to he has to pee. So he does. He peed on the street right in front me. 

Date over.