I'm sick.
It started with a sore throat when I woke up yesterday morning, and by the time I got to work I had a headache and a full-fledged fever, complete with aches and chills. So instead of going out and walking around at lunchtime as usual, I settled myself on one of the bizarrely modern couch-shaped pieces of foam on the top story of the Chronicle office building with Spin Magazine's punk issue, my 1/4 of a Thyme rotisserie chicken (leftovers from dinner), and the tail end of a bag of Trader Joe's spicy flax seed chips (the best part of the bag because by that time it's mostly just spice). I could see people walking around on neighboring rooftops, a flag flapping in the wind, and straight ahead, a barge that seemed to float between the gray water and the gray sky. It's cold here.
Sorry I've been MIA lately. My own mother calls to make sure I'm still alive. Sorry, Mom; yes, yes I am. I'm going to blame it all on G. I will never be that girl who ditches everyone to hang out with a boy, but I don't yet have any friends here anyway, so it works out nicely. It just means that my boxes and boxes of moving items remain on the floor of my room, unpacked, and I don't update this as often as I'd like to.
He's currently left to catch the 21 bus downtown to attend the San Francisco School of Bar-Tending, a $400 2-week course filled with hopeful middle-agers intent on finding a new career. They say that within two nights you've recouped the cost of the lessons in tips.
I went back to San Luis Obispo last weekend and everyone kept asking the same questions: how are you liking San Francisco? Where are you living? What do you do at your internship? I wished I could just get them all together and answer those questions once instead of robotically nodding my head and smiling: Yes, I am liking San Francisco. Everything is going fine.
There's so much to do here it's overwhelming. Festivals every weekend and concerts every night (not that I've gone to any...YET). I thought I'd share a few photos from the last week.
Alamo Square. The row of Victorian houses are the apparently infamous "painted ladies." So far all I know about this park is that there's a great view, half the park is "dog crap central" (according to G), and it gets really cold and windy there in the evenings, like today as we sat on a park bench trying to eat pizza.
Golden Gate park...no buffalo in sight...
...just some weirdos.
In front of a Hayes St. apartment. I appreciate the quotation marks.
