oh Valencia

homegrown and down home

Somehow, I've derived a certain pride from having little to no life over the past year. I suppose it has to do with pursuit of The Goal, but it also has to do with laziness. I'm continually surprised at how often I find myself meeting people who are a lot of fun around here. On the other hand, it usually does not take me long to discover something that makes it impossible for me to feel really close or connected to them. This used to send me into a funk. But I've now realized that acquaintances might be exactly what I am looking for. It's as soon as all the internal drama that comes out on display that I want to run screaming for the nearest exit hatch. But when it's just you, me and a Grey Goose & tonic, it's all good. That makes me sound incredibly superficial, but I do think that, to some extent, scratching the surface is all I can handle just now.

So, it's been a little odd, these past few weeks, because I have been going out with unusual frequency. I forget quickly, but if I really think back on patterns, this sort of spike happens from time to time. It's been nice, but it's a temporary vacation from reality. It has also distracted me from some pressing matters, like the dust balls gathering on my hardwood floors, and yet another blown-out light bulb that has gone unreplaced for two weeks. It's okay, Saheli tells me it's my way of conserving energy.

Last night I was supposed to have dinner with the new GBF (the OG gets to caught up in World Cup action, and worse yet, refuses to watch with anyone else) and M, but the restaurant we had picked was closed on Monday evenings. Also, the new GBF stood us up (translation: at risk of no longer being my GBF). M then hatched a plan to head to Potrero Hill to go to Goat Hill, because the pizzeria has an all-you-can-eat special on Monday nights. However, when we got there, it turned out a million other hipsters had hatched the same exact strategem. Famished, and tired of plans being foiled, we retired to Aperto, and had a passable dinner.

I forced M to drop me home ten blocks from my place, so that I could have some time to walk. The fog was just starting to creep into the Mission, and I like the feel of it as it slowly permeates the air. What's more is this: I never feel more myself than when I am walking home. There is something about the singularity of it, the familarity of the streets, the complete indifference of the other passersby. When I got home, I was not tired. Maybe the nano was pulsing a little too much Hot Chip into my ears.

Whatever the reason, I was up for another failure. I had finally managed to tidy up my kitchen sufficiently to mess it up again. So I plunged into making poundcakes. It's the first time I have baked anything in months. Afterwards, I thought about all the other things that are so much a part of me that I am without right now. I may not miss them now, but is that just because I have not re-encountered them now? I have this fear about certain ex-BFs. On one level, I am over them. But if I saw them on the street, might my heart seize in sudden, acute realization of what I had left behind? I do not know if I want to find out.

Since I am writing about missing people, tonight, some bloggers are meeting for a farewell dinner for Roopali, who is moving away from my beloved Bay Area in pursuit of her own version of The Goal. One poundcake is currently being taste-tested by RR. If he deems it worthy, then one of these will end up with Roop tonight. Clearly, I am turning into an auntie, because I cannot bear to have someone leave the area without some sweet thing in hand.