Wow. It’s been a while hasn’t it? My apologies. We’ve been rather busy. And when I say busy I mean we finally burrowed ourselves out from under the 60 moving boxes that nearly swallowed our apartment whole.
That’s right, moving boxes. Finally, after one month of living with an air mattress, a single folding chair and a slightly schizophrenic Boston Terrier, the moving company arrived with almost all of furniture. They then promptly left us living in an episode of Hoarders (See above picture).
It’s only when you move you realize how much stuff you have. And it’s only when boxes need to be unpacked that you realize all that stuff is completely unnecessary. Who needs crystal chardonnay wine glasses when you can drink straight from the bottle? Our large kitchen knife did prove useful however as Lisa macheted a trail from the bedroom to the bathroom. I was fully willing to accept this lifestyle (and the absolute certainty of being buried alive under a collapsing tower of boxes) until, miraculously, Lisa single-handily unpacked and decorated our apartment in several days. The place looks amazing, and it remains a mystery as to where she disposed of all the cardboard boxes. They just up and vanished, along with the decomposing corpse of our “relocation consultant”.
And just as I was starting to miss the clutter our first visitors showed up, and much to London’s delight, the air mattress made a return to our living room floor. In 4 days Tony and Amy managed to do and see more of San Francisco then we have in 3 months. At one point Amy directed me out of the maze I call downtown. We had a blast with them – our bill from the wine bar serves as proof. We’re now looking forward to hosting the rest of our friends and family.
Also, if you see a large, oak entertainment center, please let Orion Moving know – as they can’t seem to locate it anywhere.
Highlights from the past month:
-Lisa and I saw an amazing live performance of Point Break, Keanu Reeve’s most touching and sincere film.
-We went horse back riding…somewhere I can’t recall
-We are now able to walk up a hill without the need of an inhaler
-The website I’ve been working on for 5 Gum finally launched (5react.com)
I apologize in advance if this post seems incoherent or more poorly-written than usual. I’ve been working on about five hours of sleep. Which probably sounds like a semi-decent amount, except for the fact they’ve been spent on a sagging air mattress (or, as Lisa likes to call it, the inflatable equivalent of a bed of nails).
You’re probably thinking, “Why aren’t you two sleeping comfortably on your queen-size bed under Egyptian 900 thread-count sheets?”
Because our stuff is still in Dallas.
“Why is your stuff still in Dallas?”
Because the moving company hasn’t left yet.
“Why hasn’t the moving company left yet?”
As soon as I finish torturing my “relocation consultant,” I’ll let you know. Now stop asking questions and let me quietly slip into sleep-deprived lunacy.
I know the promise was made last week to post pictures of our new apartment. But on Sunday, after learning the moving truck would not be arriving, Lisa and I had to switch into basic survival mode. Like our Cro-Magnon ancestors we spent the day searching for food, bedding and designer bottled water. Naturally, we found ourselves at Target – proof that Darwin didn’t know squat.
The only Target is a forty-minute drive outside city proper. Unsurprisingly the store was swarming like the condom aisle at Walgreen’s on prom night. Again like our cave-ancestors, we were forced to fight off competition - elbowing our way through the masses for “2-for-1” deals on ultra-soft toilet paper. An Asian woman was nearly trampled for a liter of Coke Zero.
Shopping carts were flipped and set afire.
Abandoned children cried for their mothers.
We narrowly escaped with our lives, but by god, we had our Evian. And after a quick stop at the airport, we also had our dog.
All that’s left at this point is finding out when we’ll get our furniture. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my relocation consultant.
Alright, San Francisco, it’s time we had a little chat.
I know you still consider us new to these parts. But we’re not exactly tourists, either. Face it, we’re moving into our new apartment this weekend and pretty soon our dog is going to be pooping all over your sidewalks. So, for the sake of our relationship, hear me out.
Let me start by saying how beautiful you are. If a unicorn and Pegasus mated, it still wouldn’t be as striking as you. Seriously, Lisa and I love it here. Between the architecture, the parks, the shopping, being able to walk everywhere, the bulgoggi sandwiches from Kingfoot Subs…we’re lucky to call you home. You make Albuquerque look like the waiting room to hell.
But being new residents affords us a fresh perspective on this city. And I think there are a few areas of improvement you may have overlooked. Not that we’re complaining. It’s just that everything can be enhanced, right? Take Michael Jackson’s nose for example.
What follows is a short list of ideas that could help this city run a little smoother.
-Time the stoplights accordingly so pedestrians don’t have to wait at every crosswalk
-More bicycle lanes
-Muzak in bus shelters
-Sidewalk escalators
-Fresh-baked cookies served on the bus
-Free dog walking service carried out by the homeless
-Colossal golden statue on top of City Hall of our governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger
One more thing. This rain business really has to stop. I don’t mind walking 30 minutes to work every day. But showing up to my place of employment in soggy jeans is just plain unacceptable. And if the wind turns my umbrella inside-out one more time, there’s going to be hell to pay.
Something big happened this past Wednesday. No, I’m not referring to the homeless fellow who graced me with his ability to urinate between two parked cars on my way to work. I’m talking about the arrival of my wife.
I was in San Francisco for over a week without her. The stress was starting to take its toll. I really needed someone to lay my clothes out for work. Every night I wept for her; my face buried in a pillow trying to muffle the heaving sobs from Brad and Alice, the friends kind enough to let me sleep on their couch.
Finally on Wednesday, in the middle of baggage claim #6 at SFO, the two of us embraced. Cue the sappy love music. Then Lisa’s flight arrived and I was forced to part ways with the burly American Airlines bag thrower. On the drive home, with Lisa in the passenger seat, it hit me. We finally made it. We were both in San Francisco, together, and it felt good. But something was missing.
The sea lions.
For two decades sea lions have resided on Pier 39 of Fisherman’s Wharf. Tourists gather everyday to gawk at hundreds and hundreds of these slovenly creatures. They lay there on wooden planks, sunning their massive bodies and barking at ear drum shattering level – picture your stereotypical Dallas Cowboy fan on game day.
The sea lions first showed up in 1990 when a large herring run lured them into the San Francisco bay. Since then, they’ve been a staple of the pier – probably realizing funnel cakes and sourdough bread tastes far superior to herring. At any given time, there were approximately 1,500 sea lions. Then, this past November, marine biologists counted 927. Seven days later; 20.
Now they’re gone. Vanished, just like the chances of the Dallas Cowboys going to the Superbowl. Experts don’t know why or where they went. The hippies on Haight say the sea lions fled for safety. They talk about how some animals have a sixth sense and can predict natural disasters; like tornados, hurricanes or me passing gas. Now, with this Haiti disaster, people are really getting worked up.
But I have my theory.
Those slippery son-of-a-bitches heard we were coming, and they knew we were going to own this city. Plus, Lisa’s been in the market for a new pair of sea lion cowboy boots.
In the more classy parts of America, places like Arkansas and Iowa, people hunt for sport. Whitetail deer, pheasant, duck-billed platypus – whatever. Avid hunters say the attraction comes from the chase. Tracking a defenseless beast, lining it up in your crosshairs, pulling the trigger and ultimately hanging its carcass over the mantle as a trophy to scare the bejesus out of children and PETA members.
Sounds fun, doesn’t it? I’ve never been so I can’t say for certain. But I once dated a girl whose father made me watch his hunting home videos before I took her out. I was never sure if that was a passive aggressive threat or his way of bonding with me. Either way, it left an impression. And that impression was to wear a bullet proof vest the day I broke up with her.
In San Francisco the game of choice is an apartment. This city is overrun with places to live – most of them uninhabitable. Just ask the hundreds of homeless people shuffling around the Tenderloin area. Actually, don’t – it only encourages them to talk to themselves.
The biggest obstacle we’ve run into, other than Lisa not being here to help, is the competition. Desirable units get leased in a matter of nanoseconds. As you read this, an apartment is being placed on the market…and it was just now leased. If you’re even lucky enough to get in touch with someone to schedule a viewing, be ready to write a check on the spot. Also be prepared to Indian Leg Wrestle another applicant for the unit.
Never mind the fact that it’s a 600 sq. ft. studio going for $1800 a month. The landlord holds all the power – like the first girl to develop breasts in middle school. I didn’t have much luck with her either. And lets not forget I’m a decent-looking guy in San Francisco. If Lisa had been here first, I can only imagine how much more difficult it would be.
But the good news is I have an appointment Saturday afternoon to view several places. One of them is located in Nob Hill - a beautiful area at one of the highest points of the city. It’s within walking distance of almost everything – even Asia SF (More on that mind-boggling establishment at a later date).
So wish Lisa and myself luck, Durrty-Thinkers - that’s what I’m calling everyone who reads this blog (Just embrace it). We’re going to need all the help we can get. Hopefully, we’ll have a place to call home very soon.
And for my friend, Nate, here’s a map of where I work (point A) and where I’m currently staying (point B). Enjoy!
I’m not a big fan of blogs. Lets be honest, they’re self-indulgent. But here we are at my very own blog, Durrty Thoughts. I’ve convinced myself the reason for creating this was to keep family and friends updated with our new life in San Francisco. All the adventures, mishaps, or awkward moments where I’m mistaken as a homosexual will be posted here for you to read. Or skim. Or ignore.
I realize, though, that this blog will probably be more of a coping mechanism for myself. It’s hard to pack your bags and walk away from everything you know, even if that bag is a Louis Vuitton. Yes, I’m excited, but I’m also scared as hell. It’s the same balls-in-my-stomach feeling I experienced on that first day of kindergarten. Different people. Different surroundings. And now different television channels.
Truth is I’ve never lived more than 30 miles away from my parents. I’m used to seeing my Mom and Dad every weekend. If my car broke down, no problem. I could borrow one of the many from my Mom’s fleet of Jeeps. I think being so close in location is partly the reason we’re so close as a family. Another reason was being breast fed until I was fifteen. Lunch period in middle school was often awkward, but I was comfortable. But as I learned on my fifteenth birthday, with tears running down my cheeks, a time will come when you have to step out of your comfort zone and try something different.
With that being said I present to you, as my first blog post, a list of things I will and will not miss about Texas.
Things I Will Miss: -Friends & Family -Shiner Bock -Wearing Shorts Throughout Winter -Gas Prices -1310 The Ticket -The Day After A Cowboy’s Loss -Tex-Mex
Things I Won’t Miss: -Running Into People I Graduated With -Buying Gas Every Week -Confederate Flag Bumper Stickers -Inconsiderate Drivers -Summers That Would Make Satan Sweat -Belligerent Cowboy Fans -Going To The Bathroom After Eating Tex-Mex
