(Photo: Edie, the Persian Princess)
I forget sometimes that no man is an island. The introvert in me thinks I can live off books, coffee, and Netflix alone. But it only lasts about two weeks before I’m calling my friends and begging them to hang out with me.
So, lately I’ve been filling up my days with adventures.
With all the complaining I do about traffic and the hassle of finding parking in a Trader Joe’s parking lot, it’d be easy to think that I hate LA. And while it’s true that my love affair with Los Angeles has passed its honeymoon phase, I’m realizing that there’s still a lot to love and learn about this city.
On Monday, I ventured down to the flower district to have brunch at poppy + rose with some of my favorite ladies. The $6/hr (on a holiday!) parking meters were a buzzkill (why, LA, why?!?!), but the coffee mug and company more than made up for it.
(Photo: C with her Hairy Otter sweatshirt; awesome david bowie cat mug)
On Wednesday, I stopped by to feed my friend’s (three!) cats, which called for a spontaneous visit to Sweet Lady Jane, where francy face bought the most delicious rhubarb pie I’ve ever tasted.
(Photo: Francine’s hand/fork purposely placed for comparison of this massive delicious pie slice)
And running. Or rather walking/hiking/jogging – basically every word to describe moving your legs except for running. And it still feels good.
(Photo: Wilacre Park views)
Sitting on the Bart with my luggage on both sides of me. Reflecting on this gift of a weekend spent talking and eating and reminiscing with an old friend. Volunteering at St. Anthony’s. Looking out my window and seeing the city full of pastel colored houses. A young black man reciting a speech soliciting money to help his basketball team go to regionals. Stay hungry. Stay foolish (I never went hungry though).
Sitting on a penguin fleece blanket at Dolores Park peeling blood oranges and splattering specks of red juice on my pale skin as C tells me about R. Adoration and all the signs of early romance on her face. She is “cautiously optimistic, though,” she says. We sit for hours on the grassy knoll while a brown pit bull roams around us, slobbering on my shoes, and I notice that the blue lining along the sole is finally starting to peel. A baby faced Dutch(?) boy asks us twice if we would like tickets to a show that night. The weather is perfect but I turn my face away from the sun because I’m afraid of getting wrinkles now. C wanted guava juice but got kombucha instead. She found out she hates kombucha. So much for trying new things.
Two Chinese(?) women get off at South San Francisco. We continue on to Airport/Millbrae.
Bi-rite ice cream with earl grey and brown sugar. Every city block we walk is a little different. A little dirty. C walks with confidence, though, as someone who’s been living in the Mission for a while. We don’t have to consult the maps on our phones and I like that. I like following her blindly around, recognizing stores on streets we must have walked past just moments before and ending up at our destination. She looks down frequently at her new shoes. Dusky brown chukkas with rainbow paint-splattered panels on the sides that I brought for her. I hope I don’t stand out next to her. I hope I am not as she says with so much disdain “too put-together.” In my blue flannel check shirt and skinnies which could be ok if they weren’t from express and pre-distressed.
Sitting on the airplane now next to two girls who could be my age but are probably younger. I think everyone is younger than me now, though. Everyone who is young and beautiful and having fun like it is their birthright.
(Photo via Jessa Mae Photography)