All the Horrible Girliness

Between the soup course and the entree

I'm in San Francisco right now, at my friend's apartment, having a lunch that started hours ago. I haven't seen The Bug all day. It was a long trip, stuffed in the back of my inlaws' Matrix with The Bug and my mother-in-law. I've been tired. Staying up all night. Playing with my inner life. Long story.

Anyway, I love it when California stretches out into long blank farmland. I've driven up here several times. It's just enough of a road trip for me. Once on the trip I smoked two cigarettes, as a measure of my independence. I threw the rest out. I've listened to music, loud, and sang.

This time, we're staying at the Ramada on Market & 8th, a seedy, dark block. Everything seemed dark. It's that time of year where you're surprised by the quick night. The Bug was restless and cold. He slammed his fingers in the drawer, poked at exposed outlets. His arguments could be heard from the elevator. The walls are thin there. I felt sorry for our neighbors when he woke in the early morning hours, screaming. He woke happier before dawn and that was that. I was glad when he left with his grandparents to ride the trolley, and I haven't seen him since then.

We were ill-prepared for the weather. It isn't bad for this time of year, but back in The Real O.C., we're still in shorts and tank tops.

I'm coming down from the drunk from the first few courses. There will be more drunk in the next two: still have pinot noir and port to go.

posted by Samus @ 5:17 PM