Day 244--New Year's Resolutions

This year is about finding my "norm".  What do I want to be my norm?  What climate, what job, what level of wealth, what style, what expectations, what type of person do I want to be?  Here are my 2012 goals that focus on mind, body, and spirit. 

Here's the condensed version:

1.) Donate $10 each month to a different organization

2.) Be braver about calling "adults" on the phone

3.) Move out of California

4.) Can my own jam

5.) Eat more cheese

6.) Buy new clothes, preferably a new outfit a month. dress rich, be rich

7.) Dye my hair

8.) Jog more/Run in a 5k (?)

9.) Wear make-up to work mostly every day

10.) Get a smart phone

11.) Get a new job

12.) Keep a clean car

13.) Freelance articles

14.) Confidence

15.) Use chapstick mostly every day

16.) Be more of an activist

17) Make more friends

18.) Research things

19.) Learn how to fly a kite

20.) Write to my congress person at least once this year

Spirit

1.) Donate $10 to a different organization each month

This is something I've always wanted to do but I have been stuck each time I had to pick which organization to donate to.  In being super poor this year I've gain a new appreciation for social programs and that little boost a program can give to someone in need.  Ten dollars isn't a lot, but it's something, and if we all put in a little something we can change things for the better.  I don't have all of my 12 charities/programs/organizations picked yet but I know that Planned Parenthood (cheap reproductive heath care), Outreach (shuttle buses for seniors), and programs like the Crotched Mountain Rehabilitation Center (building forest trails meant for those in wheelchairs or disabilities) will be included.

2.) Be braver about calling "adults" on the phone

Confession time: I have no problem talking to "adults" on the phone when I'm at work, but in my own personal life I have a huge phobia about talking to "grown-ups" on the phone.  I don't know when this phobia happened or why, but I'm petrified in talking to people like the dentist office or making dinner reservations or getting information about anything.  I really need to get over this.

3.) Move out of California

I'm looking for a place full of coffee shops, literature, feminists, hipsters, foodies, plaid on weekends, pencil skirts during the week, and a place just right for a blogger/wannabe magazine writer/possible book publishing editor. I've lived in Cali most of my life so I would prefer if SF isn't an option and San Diego isn't the most motivated city to live in. I want that
"space between peace and inspiration" and get out of limbo,which is that unfortunate space between frustration and anxiety. So I'm looking at Portland (Oregon) and Washington DC, currently.

Body

4.) Can my own jam

I got this pretty awesome cookbook this Christmas which has break away sections involving everything from technique tips of phyllo dough to a guide of the different parts of a pig.  One of the sections is how to can your own jam. It's something I've always wanted to do and what a fun thing to do in hipster Portland...

5.) Eat more cheese

I'm trying to turn into a cheese person this year and want to explore cheese beyond cheddar, jack, and brie. Update I've been doing so well on this resolution,and have had about 6 different cheeses this month from France and Canada.

6.) Buy new clothes, preferably a new outfit a month. dress rich, be rich

Buying clothes is the bane of my existence.  I'm super short and super skinny, so it's extremely difficult to find clothes that fit, which just discourages me even more. Update: Bought two dresses in January in time for Spring!  And I wore my new tight aqua dress yesterday. Must buy white flip-flops to match.

7.) Dye my hair 

I have this thing against dying my hair due to the unfortunately genetic trait that I will be going gray by my early 30s and will be dying my hair for the next 60 years after that.  Still, let's mix it up, shall we?  I want Emma Watson hair circa her long hair with high and low lights.

8.) Exercise

I really enjoyed doing a 5k last year (Pat's Run) and I think I might try to find a run somewhere in town in Spring or Summer.  If not, I really would like to do yoga again.  Though truthfully with yoga I tend to do a few classes then completely drop off.

9.) Wear make up to work mostly every day

I've gotten so lazy about this.  Most days I wear my glasses, and some days I don't even bother brushing my hair because I really couldn't give a fuck about this job.  This year: give a fuck!

Mind

10.) Get a smart phone 

My phone is so ghetto that I'm literally embarrassed to use it around people. Thing is, I can't really afford $80 cell phone payments when they're current $50 a month.  Still, I need an upgrade bad and I think it would help my confidence.

11.) Get a new job

This one is self-explanatory. 

12.) Keep a clean car

My car has reflected me a little too much this year: messy, disorganized, needs to get its shit together.  I used to keep my car spotless and I want to return to that.  Clean car, washed often, and with CA plates, registration, and smog test. Update: Well, it's mostly emptied out of clothes and water bottles and I have temporary Cali registration. 

13.) Freelance articles

I write a lot (clearly) but I need to take that next step and try to get published. I'm thinking of buying a calendar and markign down deadline for various papers and writing contests.

14.) Confidence

I used to be more confident in my early 20s and my decline has lots to do with my surroundings because having jobs that's aren't fulfilling, living in places that are temporary, and having friendships with too little depth ain't good for the self.  As I said to my boyfriend in June; everything in my life has cracks in it in. I need to build up my confidence to live a life of choice.

15.) Use chapstick mostly every day

I have an awful habit of picking at my dry lips.  It's gross.  I need to stop.

Gloria Steniem

16.) Be an activist

I'm really beginning to care about The Poor, The Worker, The Artist, and the In Debt Post College Grad.  I want to be a part of making changes in policy or attitudes, and I hope I can make a tiny bit of difference this year somehow.

17) Make more friends

Really need to work on this.  I hang out with roommates and have good reports with people at work, but I need to do much much better.

18.) Research things

There a number of things I'm interested in this year and my current books I'm reading/books I'll be buying reflect that.  They are: Banker to the Poor (about micro-finance loans to the poor) , Utopia by Thomas More (the 1516 book which was one of the first concepts of socialism with a republic), Sandwiches, Panini, and Wraps, Some We Love, Some We Hate, Some We Eat (why we love certain animals, hate certain animals, and eat certain animals), Buyology (a psychosocial view on our buying habits), Tea (all about the history and varieties of tea), and a few issues of Ms. Magazine.  I want to learn things so I can be a better activist, a better cook, and a better intellectual.

19.) Learn how to fly a kite

I am dismal at flying kites. I flew them with my dad and my Filmaker Friend once, but beyond that I can't fly one AT ALL with my mom nor my boyfriend.  I get super frustrated with kites, so I want to conquer this annoyance by flying proud.

20.) Write a letter to my congress person at least once this year

In being more of an activist I need to actually tell my congress person what I'm happy about/not happy about.  I mean, I can bitch on facebook or my blog all I want, but maybe it should reach ears who can actually do something about it.

Day 243-- Peace, Love, and Hippy chicken

And then there are days like today.  

I was hit with a cold last night and crashed asleep at my place hella early surrounded by tissues and my contacts still in and the light still on.  My boyfriend called my around 7am thinking I was going to work to see how I was feeling.  Despite my protests of not needing help he came over to make me feel better anyway.  He slipped in right next to me under the covers, cooled my fever with his chilly hands from the walk over, and massaged my feet to help me sleep.

I woke up hours later feeling supremely healthy.  And in looking at him, happy.   

He wanted to talk about how I'm doing and talk out my thoughts from the past few days of being unhappy in San Diego and in doubts about our relationship.  For being a serious conversation it was rather hyper in nature as I explained how he doesn't want to come with me to Oregon, and how we're not partners, and how I can't trust him about his job since he doesn't tell me anything and how much debt he's in because his debt is my debt if we were to get married, ect.  

He heard me out and started talking.  He gets my concerns.  I want a lover and a provider and he hasn't given me evidence yet that he can do both.  But he can.  And like he said yesterday during our In-N-Out date, "I'm a poor fuck.  And maybe I'm not good enough.  But my love for you is real."  I had wanted to go to Arizona this weekend by myself to see my girls and to get a confidence boost.  He wants to come too.  He's been wanting to visit Arizona since before Christmas as it was his place too of escaping, and pints with friends, and markers of our long romance.  We've playfully argued all day on if he's coming or not.  He's going and maybe he'll invite me. Which car are we taking?  Oh, I'll be in Arizona this weekend, are you going to be there too? Plus he wants us to go as a couple, as a team and partnership of visiting the past to strengthen us.

I haven't quite decided if I want to put my foot down on this or not.  It would be fun if he comes so we can go out with the friends to parties or the bars around town, and it could work too as long as I get my girl time in during the day. Hm.  And as far as Oregon goes, on my end, it was 25 degrees there yesterday and after a two hours reading about Ted Bundy, plus Anthony Bourdain's view on Portland being run by obsessive passionates I think I can wait until summer when I have my confident fuck you fuck you fuck you I'm going to make it here fuck you attitude (hopefully). 

On his end, the bf asked me to stay in San Diego long enough to work a different job I actual like and to make at least 1 friend in San Diego before I call it quits.  Don't run away yet.  Try everything first, because those same problems will be in Portland as they will be in San Diego, so why not gain experience and confidence in San Diego first?

Back to today.  It was wonderfully warm here at the beach, about 75 degrees.  I threw on my new aqua dress with tiny diagonal cuts in the right places highlighting my butt and giving me an appearance of cleavage  (thank you, Target!) before we split a Chipotle burrito while listening to Cage the Elephant and Jay-Z loud in the car ride home.  

The neighbors were having a BBQ in the backyard when we got there.  Sun dresses, t-shirts featuring beer advertisements, scraggly beards, cute boots, rock music somewhere in the background, lazy smiles and jesting, two of them falling asleep on acid after drinking all day and not sleeping last night from the cocaine, and some beets and beans being prepared on make-shift cutting boards.  

I got to work on my famous guacamole (if I do say so myself), which was eaten up quick and given tons of compliments, including the BBQ chef who's looks a lot like a stoned dark-haired Jesus.  Beans and tomatoes were served.  Then ribs. And the best chicken in town.  No forks in sights; just hands you hope are clean.  Community.  A warm summer evening in January.  

And this is why I do like in San Diego.   This kind of happy day when the world is loud and busy but there you are with friends and BBQ chicken pinched in your finger tips, and a cute dress on, and a hot boyfriend who is vowing to make it work and will be whisking you away in a little bit for an quick orgasm under the covers, and a bonfire being started outside which you won't join because you'll be watching Reality Bites for the first time and laughing in how scary accurate and hilarious Winona Ryder's character is to your real life.

It's nearly midnight now.  The house still smells a little like cooked food and smoke.  The bf's watching Bill Maher out there and I'll be looking for a new job tomorrow.  I almost feel like it's the summer time again. And it is this kind of day that I have hope :)

Day 236--Post-College Orange

Do you have a bag I can borrow?  A hat or plastic bag will do.  Thank you.  Here are some slips of paper with LIMINAL, AMBIVALENT, and ORANGE written upon them.  Shake them up.  Pull one out one by one. Thank you.

LIMINAL first?  Ok, perfect.  You didn't have Professor Thompson did you?  She's the young funky Shakespeare professor who went to Harvard and relates every single play to the vagina.  You would have liked her.  Anyway, she used the word "liminal"quite frequently in lectures, as it means a transition period between eras.  Between two very different kings, or two different ages of customs, or two planes of different thought. 

Post-college life is a fucking liminal period for sure.  It's that in-between the safety of the structure of college, where you can be as creative or drunk or half-assed or stellar or boring as you would like, and wherever else is Not College.  The weird thing is, that Other Side can be anything.  Who do we want to be?  What is our Not College life going to be like?  And it doesn't matter if you still party, or live in the same area, or hang out with the same people, because nonetheless things are different and it's this In-Between bridge of then and now which is so confusing and scary and thrilling and disappointing and awesome and dot dot dot. 

You have no idea what I'm talking about, right? Sorry, I'm kind of jumbled.  Can you pull out another word, please?

AMBIVALENT.  As I learned in Girl, Interrupted, "Ambivalent" means wanting two opposing things so greatly that you're stuck in limbo of indecision.  Being a 23-year old post-college girl is this word personified.

Take my relationship.  If I was 21 or 20 my relationship would be perfect.  Four orgasms in a row yesterday with in In-N-Out date because we're poor, then walking to the ocean at night with the moon and the waves and an acoustic Jack Johnson song playing from a car in the parking lot, and running together holding hands back to our car to kiss along the side of it.  I want to be with him.

But I'm 23 and he's 29.  And while I'm trying to figure my life out,I have a diploma up on my wall and he doesn't, I'm poor but with savings and he's under an avalanche of student debt, I want to try to get into publishing and have time to fail whereas he wants to get into the medical marijuana industry which means he'll probably still be in that industry when he's 35 and wanting to settle down.  I don't want to be with someone like that long-term. 

It's the present vs the future that us girls are starting to get weird about.  Continue to date and have fun or begin to look for a partner?  This is equally true for jobs.  Crappy jobs are ok if you're in college.  Crappy jobs are maybe ok if you just graduated.  But if you're not careful that crappy job turns into a crappy career and then what?  So you're stressed between wanting your dream job right fucking now or trying not to stress out because you're so young that you don't have to be stressed out. 

The ambivalence of wanting to be an adult and a teenager, between careless and responsible, between marriage and dating, between perfection and wondering if it's too early for perfection, between the rest of your life and tomorrow. Hurry up and wait, right?

I'm still rambling, I'm sorry.  On last paper slip in the bag.  ORANGE. 

This one's more about me.  When I'm confident about something I feel a warm orange.  It happens right after the panic.  Like...well, for instance my body knows when I'm going to raise my hand in class before my brain does.  My heart starts racing, my limbs get shaky, and I'm not sure if I want to run out of the room, throw up, or starting yelling out my comment then and there.  But then I'll feel a sense of peace.  Warm orange peace.  And then I have the confidence to raise my hand. 

My favorite daydreams have this tone.  And Portland is starting to feel that way for me.  I know that I'm moving there.  And since my boyfriend has made it clear that he's not coming with me, I know that I'll be going alone--and in a way I'm starting to get excited about it.  I've never moved to a place just for me.  Never.  All of my moves have been half-assed and not my control.  I want this choice, Portland and singlehood (?) to be my choice.  My confident choice.  I want my heart to race, my limbs to shake, my stomach get queasy, and then I want a warm nice bright feeling of peace.  I'll be ready then.

I know that most of us are stuck in either limbo or ambivalence, or fear, or debt, or happiness, and I know that all of us are in a liminal period of our lives.  And I guess I just want this blog entry to say, hey, me too.

235--Birthdays and doubts

Back to blogging.  This week was my boyfriend's birthday; 29.  All in all it was a really nice birthday for him.  He woke up at my place after binging on my M&Ms and making me laugh with non-context stoned sentences about "double jeopardy" and whatever's "clever".  I didn't have work and neither did he so the morning was spent with more M&Ms and cozy sex in my warm room (thank God I don't pay electricity in a house with 5 girls).

We finally left the house around 1 to get our favorite Cuban sandwiches.  A ham one for him with a large coffee with cinnamon, and a turkey guava sandwich with a mojito cookie for me.  The rain was pouring outside the cafe and he talked about how good he felt on his birthday.  We played the cd mix I made him and headed to friend's house so my bf could quickly fix his printer.  The damn Bonsai plant place was closed on the way home so I couldn't buy him one of his gifts due to the rain, but hopefully we'll walk there over the weekend.

He picked up his mom from the airport around 7pm.  I really love his mom.  I honestly like her more than my own mom.  I admit I was a tad confused on why she was coming for his birthday since she's never been here by herself to visit him, but her frank and honest answer is that she hasn't spent his birthday with him since he was 18 and maybe she should stop by.

We (the bf, his mom, The Canadian, The Dietian, and her boyfriend, plus me) went to Benihana's.  The chef was hilarious and the food was amazing as always.  It was one of my most favorite nights out to eat in San Diego and I could tell by the buzzed smile on my boyfriend's face that he was happy.

The house was a joyful flutter when we got back to his place with roommates, old roommates, friends of friends, and neighbors coming and going with lots of wine and pot smoke.  I was truly happy for him then, and I felt a bit guilty he had to leave so early to stay at my place so his mom could sleep in his room.

The next day we went on a Costco run with his mom.  It's a favorite tradition of ours to get loaded up by his folks when they come into town, and it's one of my main points on why I want to be rich one day.  I too want to be able to drop a few hundred dollars on my kids to buy them some much appreciated toilet paper, soap, paper towels, razors, tampons, ect.

His roommates prepared a wonderful feast that night.  There was lemon rosemary chicken, oven baked salmon, horseradish mashed potatoes, mashed broccoli, and The Canadian and I prepared a pretty fucking awesome cheese plate with brie, asiago, a sharp cheddar, a French creamy-something, brie with mushrooms, plus a few raspberries and blueberries with some slices of pineapple and nan bread.

I hope his mom was had fun with the noise and food and happy people around, and I couldn't help but wonder her thoughts of her son still acting like a teenager semi-hiding the smoking on the backyard porch.

We got to talking a little about my boyfriend and I and where we're at and where I'm at in life.  Very plainly she told me that one day I would simply have to decide if marrying someone in the pot industry was something I wanted or not wanted.  I don't want it.  But I want him.  For the most part.  Aside from the money problems and school problems--which are big problems--I just want...everything. 

But I guess in seeing her I realized that I couldn't.  In seeing a part of my past I was slapped into consciousness about how unhappy I am here.  I just...don't want to live in San Diego anymore.  This isn't the right place for me.  There's a reason I can't bring myself to decorate my room.  There's a reason I've been so sluggish trying to make friends here.  There's a reason I don't want to find another job because it would mean I'd have to stay here.

And maybe Portland is stupid.  Maybe it's going to be too cold, and too unfriendly, and it would be the exact damn thing as anywhere else I go.  But I guess I just fell in love with it one spring day driving fast with a Twilight soundtrack on and it's never let me go.  His mom knows that Portland is on my brain and has been and joked that I would be freezing most of the time.  I wanted to joke back, "I'll wear a hat".

Her last night here was a night we went out with my boyfriend's cousin and her new husband.  I remember the girl 3 years ago working for Green Peace and hooking up with a mutual friend on the couch.  So for her to now be working with autistic kids and married to a marine was a bit of switch.  But she's still loud and wonderful.  She gave me a tip about a education publisher near base (a very long commute) which I appreciated, and I wished her luck in getting her next degree.  

And then it was time to go.  His mom had a flight in the morning so I had to say goodbye earlier than I wanted to and I tried not to cry.  And she offered me a cryptic, "I'll see you again eventually," as she hugged me goodbye.  I offered her an equally cryptic, "I hope I see you again before summer."  

I had a breakdown yesterday.  I don't want to live in San Diego very much longer.  But I'm not ready to go.  My boyfriend was here and accused my shitty job of making me want to leave.  No, it's not just the job.  The only reason I'm here in SD is for my relationship, but did he expect me to stay here forever just for him?  I told him that I moved here with the expectation that I'd move to San Diego, we'd live in separate places, date like a normal couple for a few months, possibly move in together, then move to Oregon in June.  

I asked him what he expected.  He said he expected that we'd live in separate places, date normally, and go from there.  He asked me if it's marriage I seek.  No.  It's the possibility of progress and I'm not progressing here and I don't want to.  He laid it out that he's not coming with me so I either go without him or try to make it here with him for a little longer.  If anything at all, he thinks I should stay just to build my resume to bring up there.  

When I told him that I don't support his career and don't want it in my life long-term, he said, "that's not love." It's not, I agreed.  Neither is staying somewhere I don't want to be just to be with someone.   He asked me to work on things with him together and for us to try and be partners more these next few months because he loves me and he stills wants to try.  I don't know what do I. 

And so birthdays and doubts.  He's 29, making a career in pot, loving San Diego.  I'll be 24 in April and I either want to be happy in San Diego freelancing, or I want to be in Portland starting a career in publishing.  Fuck.  

Fuck.

Day 227-- San Diego Restaurant Week review

It's Restaurant Week in San Diego, aka the best time of year.  Twice a year about 100 restaurants all over the county participate in the event, which consists of having fixed price menus of an appetizer, an entree, and dessert, with 3 different choices per category.

The restaurants win by getting a surge in business and new customers, and us consumers have the excuse to try out places we've wanted to go to but needed that extra push.  Here are my two reviews of this week: Cafe Coyote in Old Town, and The Prado in Balboa Park.

Cafe Coyote restaurant review

Old Town San Diego is the only place in San Diego to see tortillas being made by hand in nearly every window.  Old Town is the original San Diego and the host several museums of how the post office, the Wells Fargo carriage stop, the famous Whaley House, and the old hotels used to look like.  It's a healthy sample of San Diego's Mexicana history.

Cafe Coyote has been named countless times as one of the top Mexican restaurants in the county, and for a fixed menu price of $30 a dinner I was sold in finally trying out this staple.

Cafe Coyote is much larger than it appears on the street--which one full side being a restaurant, the other full side being a bar, and an in between patio.  Since it was a few minutes past 9pm we were seated in the bar.

The first round

Tortilla soup and a side salad. Soup: A-, Side Salad: C

Let me just tell you that we had an amazing server.  She wasn't pushy, gave us our space, and gave us the salad for free because she wasn't sure if they were out of soup so she asked me to chose two options.  She also didn't charge us for soda and gave us a gentle head's up when the kitchen was closing so we could get our ice cream.

Anyway back to the food.  Here's a confession: I've never had tortilla soup before (and no for any particular reason).  That being said, I thoroughly enjoyed my little soup.  It came in a small ceramic bowl with just enough chicken and just enough kick to put a delighted smile on my face.  Isn't that the thing with appetizers?  They're the first impression and it sets the mood by having something yummy to share.  Unfortunately my soup was a tad lukewarm, though I think this was due to walking the soup from kitchen area #1 to kitchen area #2 in the cold outdoors.

The salad was nothing special.  Iceberg, a few slices of tomato, and done.  Ugly and boring.  I have no idea why people order salads for appetizers when they cost 50¢ and you can make it at home.  Why not order potato skins instead, which take over an hour to cook at home, or spinach artichoke dip, which takes a ton of ingredients you don't normally have in your pantry? I digress.

Entree round

Slow-cooked pork carnitas: B

The funny thing about me learning how to cook is that I'm starting to gleefully discover that there are some dishes I'm better at making myself.  Case in point: my pork carnitas came with guacamole that looked like green toothpaste and didn't taste that much better.  My guac is ridiculously good (according to me and the fact that it's gone in minutes) with tons of lime, a 4:1 ratio of avocado to tomato, and few nice dashes of pepper and garlic salt.  Also, my tortillas are better than Cafe Coyote's.  I could tell that their baking powder was a wack amount and not enough salt.  Don't get me started on the weird microwaved Spanish rice.

These three things just about killed the dish, but admittedly the slow-cooked pork was amazing.  I was greedy for it, and ate it in small bites to make it last longer.  The next day I had carnitas for breakfast because I loved the pork so much.

Dessert

Fried ice cream: B-

All it was was vanilla ice cream with corn flakes and an extreme-sugary syrup on top.  I mean, I guess it was fried, but it wasn't a wow ending.  More like standard vanilla ice cream with too few flakes and way too much syrup.

Overall grade:  B-

The Prado restaurant review

I've wanted to go to the Prado for just about forever.  My boyfriend and I go to Balboa Park maybe once every other month or so and along with the class and glamour of the museums and architecture I just knew that I had to dine at The Prado at least once.  Since my boyfriend treated me to Cafe Coyote, I treated us for dinner last night.

The Prado is surprisingly youthful for being geared toward people with money ie 40somethings.  It has rich hues of reds and oranges, with enough light and dark wood colors to feel homey while also feeling special.  Not too too stuffy, but just enough to remind you that you're not at a Chevy's.  Once again, I have to comment that Restaurant Week is so awesome because I was the youngest one in there by at least 10 years and I wouldn't have ventured in otherwise. 

 

First round

Spicy Calamari Fries with korean chili sauce, napa cabbage slaw: B

So maybe it isn't fair for me to judge this one because I don't really like seafood, but hey, I'm the one who's typing.  The calamari itself tasted fresh and the sauce that coated each one was sweet and a tad hot for a nice flavor (though the sauce drenched the calamari).  I thought that coleslaw was an odd choice for an upscale restaurant and it didn't really do it for me.  My boyfriend, however, said it was in his top 3 calamari eats of all time.

Entree

Thai Style Yellow Curry Chicken and Red Bell Pepper Pappardelle: C, 

Red Wine Braised Short Ribs with horseradish mashed potatoes, grilled asparagus, gremolata bordelaise sauce: A-

Let's start off by saying that The Prado falsely advertised.  The whole reason I chose to go to The Prado that day was to try their Thai Style Yellow Curry Chicken.  Well, we get there and only the tofu version of this dish is on the restaurant week menu. So whatever, I asked the waiter about it and simply ordered it separately and the bf ordered the Short Ribs off the fixed price menu.

Well...a very long wait later and the waiter comes out with the chicken version for me and the tofu dish for my bf.  He offers that my boyfriend snack on the tofu until his real meal comes out, but then tried to take it from him once the ribs came out (I mean, he could have been just clearing the table but you don't take food when someone's still eating it.).  Just add this with my bf getting a glass with food smudges in it, plus the waiter trying to put my napkin on my lap (it's not that nice of restaurant), plus our order taking about 35 minutes to come out when it ordered it the same time as the appetizer, plus feeling generally on the bottom of the priority list, and I knew I'd be tipping low.  99% if the time I tip 20% or better and nearly always give a $1 to local bakeries or sandwiches shops.  This guy was only getting 16% from me.  I felt guilty about it, but he did lower than the bare minimum.

I digress.  My Thai Curry Chicken was ok.  It tasted like sweet Indian curry and I liked the pappardelle noodles.  But the chicken pieces were unseemly scrawny--like they were meant for a 3 year old.  If chicken is the main attraction, it should look like chicken pieces, not like a peeled apart chicken nugget.

The short ribs were pretty amazing though.  Slow-cooked.  Smoky with tang.  Hearty and succulent.  Why I'm not a vegetarian.  The only weird thing was the horseradish mashed potatoes.  Maybe some other people would like it, but it was too off of a flavor for mashed potatoes, especially since the potatoes were solid white and didn't correspond with the taste.  Maybe a cajan-style mashed potatos or roasted potatoes instead?  My boyfriend loves potatoes and he barely touched his.

Dessert

Pumpkin crème brûlée: A+

The saving grace.  Holy fuck this was good.  The custard was the perfect texture of creamy with that crisp layer of sugar on top.  I don't know what they did to the pumpkin seeds but they manages to soften them into candy nestled between the cream, with some sugar pumpkin chips decorating the top.  It was absolutely delicious and the only reason I left a 16% tip instead of 15%.

Overall grade: B+

Bottom line: I'm glad I tried both restaurants; I'm not sure I'd go back to either unless someone else was paying.

Day 221-- Crêpes and Loathing in Los Angeles

Dust and donuts of LA.  Concrete and white teeth--too many lights and painted murals of film stars of long ago.  Advertisements of horse races, new cars, weight loss, coffee drinks, new cars, new films, new banks, new cars.  Music and creativity.  Lots of noise.  Things happen here.  Culture moving twisting thriving crying too much plastic and beautiful bodies and things happen here.

I went to visit a friend yesterday in LA, The Actress, who has one singular passion of acting and performing.  We met in college when we worked at Starbucks together for too many years, slaving away at espresso shots and stolen pastries.  She graduated a year and a half ago and moved to LA immediately.  I graduated in May, and as I've started to feel like I'm free-falling into ordinary not-good-enough life I thought that I would drive out and visit her and hope that her focused nature might inspire my next path.

I showed up at her place, which really shocked me in a good way.  Last time I saw her she was living on a couch in an apartment complex of drug dealers and tranny hookers.  Her room was shared with a messy cool girl who owned a shitting bunny and dated a guy named Iago.  The Actress's new place is much more Ross-plus-antique-shops, with rustic china, lots of muted reds and purples, little metal bird picture frames, and French inspired furniture. 

We briefly chatted while making dinner plans.  She's dating a musician for right now and is hoping this pilot she's has a part in gets picked up.  Her friend is writing the script and it's the most promising thing she's read in awhile, including the musical about Hurricane Katrina she might be playing in.  I told her about being in transition in my life of careers and place. She asked about my boyfriend and if I think we're going get married.  I can realistically say that there is an equal chance we'll end up together and in love and happy and solid, but there is also a chance I'll move to Oregon and he won't follow me there and will always still in the 4/20 industry.  On that note, we continued on.

We took the metro which has floor tiles the color of Ronald McDonald and the ceiling is full of dark metal film reels. Everyone is on the metro, and they're all someone else. There's the waiter about to start a shift, the security guard off duty, the teenager with the puff of nesty grayish hair, the quiet Mexican man, the overweight mom, and us in Uggs boots and tennis shoes in cold plastic seats filled with scratches of graffiti.

We emerged to the surface of Hollywood.  Oh, Hollywood.  The billowing lights, the rotten dust, the shops filled with Marilyn Monroe plates and cups and fake Oscars, the old hotels once grand but still inspire an awe of nostalgia, and the faded lingerie on naked breasted mannequins around the corner from dark bars filled with handsome bartenders and low-life drunks.

Sensory overload  

Of junk and beauty.

We had dinner at a crêpes place in a shopping center that looked a lot like Vegas with water jetting out of the lit ground and large fake-stone gladiators around the area.  She's a vegetarian now so we split an egg cheese crêpes and a nutella crêpes for dessert.

We walked around the city and I started spouting out career ideas trying to get some approval.  Instead she was honest just like I need.  If I start my online magazine what will it be about? How much money will I actually make if I freelance articles?  I felt small.  That's the thing about me: I'm not delusional.  I know I'm not the best or brightest and there thousands of others who are doing what I want to do, only better.  I'm trying to be realistic about my strategy of making it into the business by having a solid resume and a positive creative demeanor.  Maybe I need to be more delusional.

There is always something to do in LA and we ended up at a $5 improv show which featured lame jokes about masturbating dogs and micromanaging wives at a paint store.  Granted there were a few laughs here and there about a cave filled with gold and bats that announced themselves as they flew around, but overall it was rather painful.  Not to mention cringe-worthy when one of the comediennes announced that her parents and her pastor was in the audience.  That comedienne was the one who played the monkey they stun gunned to death in the zoo sketch. 

We walked out when it was finished and The Actress apologized a few times about how boring the show was because she's a good host to her town, but I maintained that it was rather poetic to see an awful improve show in the heart of LA on a Wednesday night--aside from the fact that our tap water tasted like smogged up pipes

Back to the metro and plans to rent a movie with some candy.  We ended up at her place where we got ready for bed a cup of tea.

We watched Bridemaids on her laptop while sharing a bag of sour gummy worms and a few handfuls of peanut butter pretzels.  She fell asleep early and as always I couldn't sleep very well, startling at every noise thinking we were being broken into.

I woke up before she did and spent the morning writing about Los Angeles and the tasks I need to do and should do in the next week to improve my lost-ness.  Copy writing? Freelancing? Computer classes? I couldn't help but admire the LA-ness of her place.  The rotting banana peel next to the melted pumpkin candles that faced away from the drinking glass filled with pens and highlighters, with a wayward bobby pin underneath the boxes and boxes of tea.  She has a calendar full of audition dates and travel dates, and there I was on her calendar of being in town.

She woke up and we made plans for breakfast/brunch. 

We walked into the bagel/lunch shop and I asked her if she ever misses working at Starbucks.  She said, "I don't really miss things.  When I'm done, I'm done with it."  In a way this is totally LA--forward forward forward, only looking back if it's retro and trendy.  And in some ways I like the attitude.  But I do miss things, and relationships don't last unless you remember them.  I will remember you.

We walked back from breakfast past a metal scrap shop and a pile of free mulch, and a guy wearing a Michal Jackson Beat It jacket as well as some students on bikes.  I guess I understand why writers and musicians take so well to this city--there is a wild life of random at every street corner where each person is trying to be someone else, and each corner feels like somewhere else.  Lights like Vegas, leather hipsters like San Francisco, a few open spaces with bright colors like Arizona, the grime of New York. 

There is a creativity here.  A creativity of culture and what's entertainment and what's interesting.  There is a hunger for saying something and doing things worth talking about here.  But it is a different sort of activism, which has hollow meaning aside from self-importance. 

When I go visit old friends I feel like I'm looking into crystal ball to get new insight or advice, and especially when visiting friends in new places I feel eager to learn their secrets or perspective. This time I felt like I looked into a large mirror and I'm not happy with my reflection.  I feel even more lost, even more like I'm drowning. And I know that her prevailing impression of me until the next time is that I am lost and failing.  I hate LA.

And so I packed my things, hugged her, and turned on my GPS for home.  A interesting trip.  Not quite what I was hoping for.  Ready to be back in San Diego and scrub off the faded bar stamp on my wrist.

And so I went

With unwashed hair, aviator sunglasses, and black tank top.

Linkin Park's Hybrid Theory blasting through the speakers. Rolled down the window.

And got the fuck out of LA.

Day 219-- Road trip tips

I'll be heading out to LA in about two hours.  My towels are washing, a meal is waiting in the fridge, and if I have an extra 20 minutes I want to get a car wash in La Jolla on the way up.

Road-trips can be spontaneous ("Hm, let's go North" and we ended up in Portland, Oregon circa 2007), or it can be planned out for a few days or a few weeks.  Driving is cheaper than flying, and it allows more space to collect your thoughts and musing about life and your place in it.  There are few things more exhilarating than driving fast and listening to loud music, and when you've got 4 hours, 6 hours, 2 hours to go, there's no better time to daydream and feel alive.

Here are tips for road-tripping*

1.) Clean your room before you leave

You're going to come back from your road trip feeling adventurous, creative, and fabulous; do you really want to come home to dirty towels and your computer chair full of unhung clothes?  Give yourself a few hours before your trip to clean up a bit so you can come home to fresh sheets and a floor you can walk on freely without stepping on something.

2.) Eat a good meal before you leave

I would drive from Phoenix to San Diego (5.5 hours one way) once a month for eight months out of the year for four years.  For too many years I'd simply rush with packing and head out with an empty stomach.  Stupid.  It's a simple fact: you feel better when you're full.  With all of the traffic, expensive gas, and hours ahead of you, make sure you take the extra 15 minutes to sit down, eat a burger/sandwich/slice of pizza, and go forth with happy belly!

3.) Make an upper music playlist

Music is key when driving off into the sunset.  Pick music that's going to keep you awake Hour 6, as well as music that's going to inspire you during Hour 3.  Road trips are my favorite time for Ke$ha, Lady Gaga, but also The Roots, and Coldplay.

4.) It's ok to make stops.

I know you're going to want to get there as fast as possible and you'll feel too pressed for time to stop for any reason, but do it.  Pull off to a side street if there's a sunset over the ocean on I-101, stop for a healthy stretch in Yuma on the I-8, stop for walk around the redwoods on I-5 to Washington.  You won't regret it.  

5.) SNACKS SNACKS SNACKS

A diet of gummy worms, chocolate covered pretzels, and sour cream cheddar chips, are perfect acceptable on a road trip.  Indulge, my friends.

Good luck out there, and happy 'tripping!

*"Road trip", the noun, is two words.  "Road-tripping", the verb, is hyphenated.  Personally I think that "roadtrip" should be one word and I think that in 10-50 years it will.  Cheers!

Day 219-- Our 5th year anniversary

Some Danish dark chocolate, Tiffany's earrings, a used copy of Thomas More's Utopia, and a content couple of my boyfriend and myself are what remain of our happy 5th year anniversary. 

I must give credit to my boyfriend for completely stepping up his game for our weekend together.  Just a few days prior I was arguing with him along the beach that we didn't have enough money to go on a trip and how on our anniversary I'd rather eat ramon together honestly versus spend all our cash on something we can't afford.  I shouldn't listen to me sometimes.

He was insistent that we would be traveling our anniversary weekend, so stop it, look gorgeous, and be ready to be picked up by 10am Saturday.  Well shoot, I as absolutely giggly by the time 10 rolled around and packed everything from a little black dress to boots to swim suits. 

After a little bit of a delay of lunch and taking showers, we headed off to...somewhere.  All he would tell me with a sly smile was that it would be far and if I brought my sunglasses.  I had only one suspicion: Palm Springs, the place he joked we should go if we weren't able to see our families for Christmas.

I played our Sublime, Cage the Elephant, Silverspoon Pickups as he drove and drove and drove to the I-101 where the sun was setting.  We took bets on what time exactly it would go down and we snuck into a camping parking lot to watch it go down from the beach itself.  The beaches near Santa Barbara are longer than San Diego, so there is more of an expansive feel to a sunset--with the shadows of oil tankers far in the ocean distance to remind you that you're still in Southern California. 

We were back in the car when he got a mysterious phone call and he told the person that we would be arriving in about 45 minutes.  I knew the speaker was female because my boyfriend was speaking more formerly and I knew it was a stranger by his politeness.  Who could it be?  Hotel receptionists don't call guests who haven't arrived yet. 

I was even more baffled as we drove straight into the mountains with deathly turns and a beautiful view of the now-full moon.  And then there was the sign for Solvang.  Ah ha! There is a certain smirk that happens when you finally figure something out and when my boyfriend turned to me he knew instantly that I finally knew. 

Solvang is a Danish-styled town about an hour out of Santa Barbara.  It's quint and beautiful, and a bit of wine and chocolate stop for lovers.  We ended up parked in front of Mirabelle, the top ranked bed and breakfast of the town.

Im-fucking-pressed.

The receptionist, the mystery caller, gave us our key and a quick welcome before she headed for home, and I was more than delighted to have real keys instead standard plastic ones.

Ho-ly crap.  Our room.  Fireplace, dark oak bed frame, balcony, a pillow menu if we wanted to chose a different down or feather pillow, and a jacuzzi bathtub in an off white-meets-rustic style.  Wow.  Again, impressed.  Thank God I wore my skinny jeans, leather boots, and white Express jacket instead of tights and flip-flops.  The boyfriend was looking smashing in his crisp dress shirt and we left for dinner.

Mirabelle's chef was on vacation so we ended up at Root 246, an acclaimed restaurant by chef Bradley Ogden.  We ordered a cheese plate that came with local jam and honey.  So good.  Perhaps I should leave out the part when I was chanting "1%, 1%, 1%" with glee... 

My boyfriend and I settling into our drinks and cheese and got to talking about the topic of the year: wealth and how to get it.  It seems like side projects are our bread and butter options these days but how can we make passionate 2nd jobs into full-fledged careers?  At once I can accuse him of being far too hard on me for not being successful enough while also acknowledging his statement that no one else in my life as as high of expectations for me.  I don't like being prodded but I need it.  Maybe I do need to take a shitty job that pays higher so I can demand higher wages for a second job when it's in its full fruition. 

Furthermore, I'm beginning to open up.  Maybe I should start my own magazine (alas online), or intern for a tv station, or freelance for local papers.  I wish--(and he cuts me off saying don't focus on the past on worry about the future) I wish that I had tried harder during college to do my sampling then so I'd be more focused and motivated today instead of lost.  There is a panic post-college that you're not good enough because well, you're not, but if only I was more prepared for the onslaught of stress.  That stress that even though we're at a fancy dinner we can barely pay our bills.  That stress that I can't eat cold things on the left side of my mouth because I can't afford a dentist visit.  That unwavering stress on the back of your neck that you're thisclose to drowning but you would rather swim than simply survive.  But enough talk of reality!

He ordered “Ive’s Shake and Bake Petaluma chicken,” with whipped crème fraiche potatoes, Fuji apples, organic raisins, and I ordered the New York steak with sweet potato gratin and vegetables.  I don't think that either were worth the price, but the experience of sweet flavors and looking all fancy was rather nice.  We also debated if we were age-discriminated against because we were told that there's weren't seat inside so we stayed on the patios near the heaters.  [we think so]

Back to our bed-and-breakfast inn.  I had a bit of a funny moment preparing our spa bathtub for us when I started the 'on' button too early and water jetted everywhere in the bathroom, haha.  In the end though it was all was very romantic and sexy and I dare say we had the whole place to ourselves.  If not, sorry about the quai-loud sex and the joint the bf smoke on the balcony before bed.  Actually, I'm not sorry.  Fuck you, we've been together for 5 years.

The morning was nice and slow, with some more romance and a dip in the spa once last time. 

It was all quite lovely. 

We walked down to Paula's Pancake House for brunch, which is the quintessential country breakfast joint with a wood bruning stove, a machine that cranks oranges into orange juice, and jam that comes in glass cubes on the table.  Danish pancakes are in between a crepe and a pancake in terms of thickness and sweetness aka perfection.  

We walked around the town past the wine shops, chocolate shops, glass and antiques shops, strolled into a bookshop where I bought Utopia for $1.75 before the ride home.  "This is where rich couples who just bought a house come to shop around for granite from Solvang," said my boyfriend. "1%!" I said.  I loved it.

I wasn't really expecting much for our actually anniversary on Monday, other than maybe get dinner or make dinner once I got off of work.  When I drove home in my grummy uniform with glasses and unshaved legs I was more than surprised to see my boyfriend hop out of the car looking sharp and smug.

Neither was I expecting for him to pull out a Tiffany's box. "This is what the tone for the night should be," he said to me with a smirk.  Very delicately I unwrapped the white ribbon and read his card that said after 5 years together he's still in love with me and would do it all over again.  I was completely happy--albeit a tad miffed at myself for not looking cute and with a messy room.

He told me to hurry so I threw on my nicest dress with some heels and a rash judgement of extra jeans and shoes in case there was any other surprises.  He took us to RA Sushi which was still having happy hour (!), and we promptly ordered sake, rolls, chicken wings, and potstickers.  We talked about our day and the roommates.  I felt a little ovedressed and underprepared, but he told me that when I have Tiffany's on I should always carry with me the confidence of richness despite the circumstances of work or not feeling my best.  I like the idea.

After finally showering and cleaning my room we had a nice night in of sex and conversation. 

We're at a really interesting spot right now.  On one hand we're happy and getting more stable in our lives so this might be a forever thing of family and lifetime love.  On the other hand I still want to move to Oregon this summer and he doesn't since his career and focus is in San Diego, so do I go without him?  Will he always be my 'what if?', or will we end up together, old gray and happy?

But that's another conversation for another day.  We ate some of our Danish chocolate, napped, and held each other under the covers as his dress shirt lay on the floor and my earrings sparkled...