I cant.

Today was a great day for equality (Prop 8 was declared unconstitutional!) but a horrible day for ME. Today was the day I cried not once, but twice in public, both times because of evil MUNI employees. I realize how ridiculous that sounds, but that's what went down.

I rarely cry in public. Just the other day I saw an article on Jezebel.com titled "How to deal with public weepers" and thought to myself "Why would anyone cry in public? God, people are so weird." In retrospect, this is all probably karma for thinking that. Awesome.

Let me start from the beginning. I woke up this morning and before I even opened my eyes, I could tell it was going to be a bad day. I couldn't even summon up the energy to do my morning affirmations (a new thing I've been trying), because telling myself "I am a powerful creator of good in my life" just felt lame and annoying. I tried on five outfits and still walked out the door looking like shit. I was doomed. I jumped on the bus, swiped my Clipper Card (bus pass) and instead of hearing the "BEEEPPPPPP" that it usually makes, I instead heard the "beep beep beep" of the card being declined for lack of funds.

That bus driver didn't seem to care, and I figured it was a fluke because I set that thing up to autofill itself every month, so I continued on to Embarcadero station, the second stop on my route. This time I had to scan my card to get through the gates, and when it declined for the second time, I had no choice but to go talk to the man sitting in the ticket office. I explained to him that my Clipper card was being declined, but autopay was set up so I didn't know why. He started barking at me that if I didn't have a receipt for the payment MUNI police was going to give me a ticket.

Flustered, I stormed over to a newsstand ten feet away and started rifling through my purse for coins to buy a ticket. After watching me do this for a good two minutes, the ticket man came up to me and handed me a transfer. Nice, right? Well when I walked back up to the gate and waited for him to buzz me through, he took the opportunity to start lecturing me about my "attitude" over his microphone. So that everyone walking by could hear. I was forced to apologize and hurry down to the Subway, fuming at this point.

The second I got on the bus, the fucking tears started coming. I tried holding them back, taking deep breaths, looking down and then up, but they wouldn't stop. I finally resigned to crouching in my seat, hiding my face with my hair and wiping my nose with my sleeve. When I reached my stop, I rushed off and tried as hard as I could to pull it together before walking into work.

Surprisingly, the work day went by pretty smoothly, and I was convinced that things were looking up for me. I had gone online and put more money on my Clipper card and printed out the receipt, just in case there was an issue on the way home. There was. Getting back onto the 38AX bus, the card again was declined. I turned to the bus driver and explained that I had refilled my card, but as it said on the receipt that I was showing him, it can take 72 hours for the payment to process.

"YOU PAY FARE!!!" he screamed at me, as the other passengers filed past me, taking all the good seats. I tried explaining again, as I dug through my purse for coins that I knew weren't there, but to no avail. He just kept screaming. Overwhelmed, embarrassed and defeated, I simply turned and walked off the bus. A second later, the tears were back. I was crying in public again, and now I was on Market Street (the busiest street in the city).

Some days are just harder than others. The simplest things become monumentally difficult and frustrating, and usually the more upset you become, the worse things get. Today was definitely one of those days. Just existing was a challenge, let alone riding MUNI. Call it a mood swing, quarter-life crisis, whatever. It was just a bad day...part of me wishes I had followed my instinct and not even ventured out of bed.

There is a silver lining, though. Once I stopped crying for the second time and gathered up the change and will to hop on the next bus, I called Clipper card services. After AT&T dropped my call four times and I sat on hold for 20 minutes, I was connected to a wonderful gentleman by the name of Julian...or Joseph...or Juan. He listened to my issue, agreed with me that bus drivers are assholes, and credited my card $6 for my troubles. It doesn't sound like much, but after the day I'd had it restored my hope in humanity (and public transportation).

Another bonus is that I finally felt strongly enough about something to write again! MUNI, as much as I hate you, you are my muse.

xoxo

Jess

Living Alone

So I was just returning from happy hour, thinking about how amazing it is coming home to my own little studio, everything just the way I left it and noone to answer to but myself...

And this is what I walk into: shattered glass all over the floor. A picture had inexplicably fallen off the wall, a picture that has hung happily for four months with no issues, now suddenly on the ground. I stood there staring at it for about two minutes, and came up with three possible explanations:

1. There was an earthquake. This is San Francisco, its totally possible.
2. My upstairs neighbor, who has a penchant for stomping around, usually between the hours of 6:00 am and 7:00 am, got a little overzealous doing...whatever it is he does up there. Zumba? Capoiera?
3. I have a ghost. I'm not really ok with this explanation, and I don't have any sage or psychics handy so lets consider this a highly unlikely explanation.

Now I have a fucking empty space on the wall, which is totally noticeable and annoying. Also, even though I did the best job I could sweeping the floor in 4 inch heels and with 3 drinks in my system, I'm not entirely confident that I got every single shard. So what if I get up in the middle of the night to pee and step on glass, fall down bleeding, and my cries for help are not heard for days? Will anyone even wonder where I was?

I've really loved living alone thus far...I can watch Hannah Montana and order pizza and play dress up and sing dramatic renditions of "Careless Whisper" as much as I want. Not that I do any of those things. I'm just saying, they are things that I could do if I wanted. My point is, I've never felt scared or lonely once since I moved in in March.

I'm not going to let this strange little incident change that. All I'll say is, to my friends, if you haven't heard from me in a few days...just call me, k? And if I don't answer, come check on me? K thanks!!!

xoxo

Jess

Miss Independent

One of my friends, who is 24 years old like me, saw a financial adviser yesterday to go over all that boring crap like her 401 k and the status bank accounts. She emailed me this afterward

"My goal was to own a condo by the time I am 30. I was informed that it would be virtually impossible unless I experience a drastic increase in income.

She said that I could aggressively save 10-12 more years and hope its enough to put a down payment on a condo in that market. She said that she did not want to discourage my dreams, even though they are not feasible. She paused and then suggested, 'or you can get married in the next 5 years and you would definitely have enough!'"

(In case you were wondering...yes she really writes like that in casual emails to friends. Love it.)

If I were Carrie Bradshaw (just saw SATC2 by the way...meh), my commentary would go something like this:

"We're taught as little girls that we don't need a man, and we can achieve our goals all by ourselves. But what happens when we really do need a man to achieve those goals? Was woman's lib...just one big fib?"

Well Carrie Bradshaw I am not...so I say:

What a fucking bitch!!! If my financial adviser told me that I would spit on her. then I would tell her that I am a lesbian and this state doesn't ALLOW me to get married and make her feel really awful. I mean seriously, is suggesting that a 24 year old woman get married within 5 years in order to afford a condo really considered best practices in financial advising?

I would respect this woman more if she had told my friend to fly to Columbia, smuggle a package home, cut it with some baking powder and head to 16th and Valencia to sell that shit. Or whatever the fastest way to make 100K is these days.

So, to my girl, here's to you for not being a gold digger and I'm sure we can find you a better financial adviser on yelp or something.

xoxo

Jess

NEED

Have you ever wanted something so badly that you NEED it? You are going about your daily, mundane life, accepting all of the things that bother you but you know you can tolerate because you've been doing it for so long, and all of a sudden this THING presents itself to you, this THING that will change everything, that will make things possible that you haven't even dared to dream of because you are so jaded and beat down and resigned to the mediocre?

I understand why people stay in bad situations for so long. Even if the situation is bad, at least it's familiar. Nothing is scarier than putting it all on the line, admitting you aren't happy and you can do better for yourself. The second you try, you open yourself up for failure. The second you try, you openly admit that your everyday reality is not good enough. What are you supposed to do then, if this opportunity, whatever it may be, doesn't work out? Just go back to your subpar existence and pretend you don't know what else is out there?

When you want something to this degree, every single breath feels like it could be your last. Or your first. Your entire being is consumed by it. You CAN'T pretend that everything is normal, because it's not. Once you've seen what you are missing, what life could be like if only this one thing could just work out for you this one freaking time, the status quo just doesn't cut it.

Or maybe you are making too much of this. Maybe nothing can change your reality until you can change your way of thinking. Maybe all you really need is air and water. Maybe you are certifiably fucking insane and if this one thing doesn't work out for you you are going to be even crazier, and the world better watch out if it doesn't because there will be hell to pay.

This has got to be the most unbearable state of existence. At the same time though, it is the most alive I've felt in a while. I apologize profusely for this post. Also: I am slightly intoxicated. I'll follow up when I'm sober and sane again.

I ♥ SF

I think I've found the love of my life. It's a city...San Francisco, specifically. I realized this yesterday while lounging in the sun at Hippie Hill in Golden Gate Park. Hippie Hill is exactly what it sounds like...a hill full of hippies...but what makes it amazing is the drum circle. I've only been on sunny days, but each time I've been there is a communal drum circle at the bottom of the hill that anyone can join, and it never stops. Yesterday the drumming continued without pause for the entire 3 hours I was there. How amazing is that?

My romance with San Francisco began over ten years ago. I was growing up two hours north in the dreaded Ukiah, a small Northern California town where nothing ever happens...at least nothing good. My oldest sister lived in San Francisco, and since she was an adult already, I was allowed to visit her for entire weekends with no parental supervision. She lived in Bernal Heights, and I remember walking fascinated through the bustling Mission district, perusing the discount clothing stores and eating delicious Mexican food. I would beg her to play 94.9 on the radio, which at that time focused mainly on dance music (remember this?). When my dad picked me up and drove me back across the Golden Gate Bridge to hell, I would silently cry in the back seat (we've already established that I'm overly dramatic at times).

My senior year of high school, I got the idea that I needed to move to Southern California. It seemed so glamorous and idyllic, like a movie. I ended up at UC Santa Barbara. It was everything a party school promises to be, and I was satisfied. For a couple years. Then I started feeling claustrophobic, like I was surrounded by clones in Juicy Coutoure and Chanel sunglasses (which is strange, because that is an exact description of myself at that time...go figure).

I missed Northern California. Not Ukiah, but San Francisco. How is it possible that I missed a place I had never lived? I don't really know, but every time I drove home for a visit and passed through the city, something about the air here just comforted me. I decided to transfer to UC Berkeley. I didn't get in. I appealed the rejection, and prayed every night. I was finally accepted.

Six years later, here I am. Looking out the window on a foggy Sunday morning, pronouncing my love for this city. I think what I like most about San Francisco is that it is so open-minded and accepting. There is always someone weirder than you, and there is a place for everyone. It's a city that embraces music, food, art, progress, innovation. And it's freaking beautiful...I can walk to three different beaches from my house, all of which take my breath away every single time.

The one drawback about San Francisco is that it's small...avoiding someone, or even the memory of someone here is difficult. Walking down the street you will suddenly stumble across a place that reminds you of a time that reminds you of a person...but that is also a beautiful aspect of this city. I may never leave.

Island Living

Sooo...getting back into the daily grind is proving to be a little difficult. I was gchatting with a friend, and she calculated her hourly wage based on her salary, which turned out to be a pretty depressing figure. And I make less than her per year. This naturally caused us to question our career choices...why are we trying so hard (well...sorta hard) to climb the corporate ladder to afford our metropolitan lifestyles? Is living in the city THAT worth it? Obviously we needed to consider an alternative: community island living.

The scenario I have in my mind is a collective of about 50 really cool (preferably attractive) people ages 23-35 pooling together all of our savings or even just emptying our checking accounts and building a huge commune in, say, Bali. It would be helpful if some of these people had family money to help start us off, but it's not a prerequisite. Once we've established ourselves and done a Costco run (is there Costco in Bali?), then we will figure out how to become sustainable. Obviously we can fish and grow pineapples for sustinance, but we will need a means to pay the electricity bill and the cable bill (I still want to be able to watch Vampire Diaries, ok? It's my new favorite show).

So far my friend and I came up with cocaine and pies as a way to generate income. I think that part of the plan needs about ten more minutes of solid critical thinking. The point is, we will find a way to support ourselves without relying on corporate America. At this point, the real living can begin.

Our days will begin with group yoga, followed by a brisk run across the island and back (um how big is Bali again?). Then everyone will make breakfast (fish and pineapple) and head to the beach for a good 6 hours of sunbathing. We'll return to the commune for siesta, followed by book club. Then we'll prepare dinner (fish and pineapple) and get ready for the nightly party. Yes, there will be a party every night, and we'll play our own music and dance as we sip homemade rum. Finally, we'll drift off to sleep under the stars.

I get that I'm not the first person to have this vision, but really I'm wondering why more people don't go this route. We made a list of pros and cons and the only cons we could come up with for leaving society for good were:

• no happy hour
• no Sephora
• no restaurants

I can't believe it either, but these are the only things that motivate me to be a member of society. Obviously I won't need happy hour on the commune because I won't need to unwind since I won't work. Restaurants I'll miss, especially on a diet consisting solely of fish, pineapple and rum, but it's not a dealbreaker. No Sephora...this is a problem, I'm not going to lie. However, if I'm really tan, which I undoubtedly will be after sunbathing for 6 hours a day, I won't need much makeup.

The writing is on the wall...I'm actually surprised it took me this long to come up with this plan. It's probably because I was scarred by small town living for 18 years. That's totally different than island living though. I'll just have to be really careful when selecting the 50 members of my commune and make sure that everyone is really interesting and fun so that I don't get sick of them. Does it sound like I'm starting a cult?

Never mind...who's with me???

Eat, Walk, Party

Focus for a moment on the images above. Notice how one of these things is not like the others? The first picture is of Opium, a breathtaking nightclub on the water filled with beautiful people in Barcelona. That is where I was Friday night. The second picture is of Bay to Breakers, San Francisco's annual massive race/street party aka the greatest event of the year hands down. That is where I was Sunday, in my warrior costume. The third picture is a cubicle. In a climate-controlled sterile office. That's where I was today.

Is it just me, or does life have a way of leaping from one extreme to the next? A week ago I was in Paris eating creme brulee and now I'm glued to the couch going through a box of kleenex (it was basically inevitable that I would get sick considering the amount of germs I've been exposed to in the last two weeks. That doesn't sound right but it stays). Anyway, you may have guessed that I've been traveling in Europe--Germany, France, Italy and Spain to be exact, which explains my absence. It's really annoying because if I don't write for a while I start blogging my experiences in my head...as I'm experiencing them. It's incredibly cheesy.

I don't want to go into full detail about Europe because, let's be honest, hearing about other people's trips is kind of boring. I could tell you how amazing this:



or this:





were, but really its not the same unless you experience it first-hand.

And no, I didn't hook up with any European men. That seems to be what most of my friends really want to know. Ok, I may or may not have made out with a Parisian in a nightclub. But making out isn't the same as "hooking up"(it's 2010). Besides, only God can judge me, and I visited a LOT of churches on this trip so I'm golden.

There is one thing I absolutely have to discuss that was discovered on this trip, however. It is the French hot dog. I'm not even sure where or how I procured one of these, but it was around 6 am on Sunday morning after a long night out and it was mind blowing. Imagine a fresh baguette shelled out with not one, but TWO hot dogs inside, smothered in melted cheese. This description doesn't even do it justice. I would show a picture, but the picture REALLY doesn't do it justice; it just looks gross. You'll just have to take my word on this one...it definitely would give the bacon dog cart a run for its money.

So did I have a great trip? Yes I did. But I'm not going to sugarcoat it...there were some challenging moments. Traveling isn't all hot foreign men and amazing food. There is also lugging a 40 pound suitcase up and down the stairs of the metro station, and searching for the Catacombs for 30 minutes only to discover that they are closed. Oh, and not to mention Spanish boys at Opium who act like they want to dance with you but really just want to pickpocket you.

I think because being in a foreign country brings you so far out of your element, you have no choice but to adapt and in turn grow stronger. Still, my favorite memories from this trip were the moments when I felt at home even though I was so far from it. Stumbling through the streets arm in arm with my new friend Nevena to McDonald's after a night of drinking and dancing in Munich, or sitting on my old friend Nikole's couch in Italy listening to her strum the guitar and sing Michael Franti...these were the moments that made all those hours in planes, trains and buses worth it.

And as always, every time I leave I'm reminded of how much I love San Francisco upon my return. There could have been no better welcome than the always-epic Bay to Breakers with my "tribe". So, as much as my nose is running right now, I guess I really can't complain. That is precisely what makes life beautiful...the lows make the highs that much better!

xoxo Jess