Once in a while I’ll have a weekend that starts out very casually – Cindy and I getting breakfast at Literati for example – and ends up turning into the adventure-est, rainiest, rooftop-est, beachiest weekend OF ALL TIME.
This weekend was one of those. We ended up going directly from breakfast to brunch (bottomless mimosas) to meet Carlos and Mike, and then chased the rain around Venice: Abbott Kinney, a dog park with a Fern Gully-esque tree, Carlos’s rooftop with the haunted basement and the most WONDERFUL view, and finally the beach. The ocean was angry this weekend. I’ve never seen waves crash so hard. I’ve only been to Venice once before in the rain; I biked there with someone I loved and we watched the storm roll in, and then biked home while getting soaked. That was in 2008. It just doesn’t rain often enough.
On March 10th I’ll celebrate my 4 year anniversary of living here (this time). 4 years is a long time for me to stay in one place. I feel a bit like I’ve settled down. I’m comfortable, and it’s definitely not in a bad way. I’ve still got London on my radar, but for now it feels so good to be here.
A conversation with the girls I work with about biological clocks (or lack thereof) and a conversation with my Mom over the weekend have left me feeling a little bit better about the way I’ve chosen to live my life. I never feel bad about it, but sometimes there just seems to be such a disconnect in what I’ve chosen with what other people have chosen that it leaves me feeling like I can’t relate to anyone, and if I can’t relate I tend to disappear. It’s more an issue with my hometown – the pace and the lifestyles are so different. Not a damn thing wrong with it, either, but for someone like me, who so rarely feels like keeping up with people as it is, it makes it even more of a struggle. It has nothing to do with missing people, either. I miss so many people from home. Badly, too. I think about them all the time. But I still don’t find myself able to talk with them as often as anyone would like. I suppose the bottom line is that I’d just like them to know that I’m still here, and I always will be. Even if I’m a little (a lot) bit absent. Lookin at you, Neil.
Sunday night we went to Townhouse to celebrate Cindy’s birthday the only way we know how: with whiskey. A lot of whiskey. Too much whiskey, actually. Enough whiskey that when I went to my eye appointment at 11 on Monday morning, my eye doctor asked me why my eyelids were so inflamed. I told him I was really hungover and he put one hand on each of my knees and laughed out loud, and then told me to stop doing that. He’s an old Persian man that likes to compliment my eyelashes and is forever telling me to get rid of the cats for my eyes’ sake. I love him. He’s the best doctor I’ve ever had. Tellin’ me to get rid of my kitties, who does this guy think he is?
On my way to work after the appointment I suddenly felt so much love for everyone around me, hangover and all. Especially the woman on the bus reading a book called something like, “A Love To Last A Lifetime.” That probably wasn’t the title, but I can’t recall it. Not important anyway. There was some unidentifiable quality about her that reminded me of my mother and it made me love her, silently and from 10 feet away and for only the 2 stops between where I got on and where she got off. Do you ever notice people and feel an overwhelming need for them to be OK? I never feel like talking to strangers (usually because I find that talking to them ruins the lovely opinion that I’ve formed of them from afar), but I always hope that they’re happy and healthy.
I’m about to crawl into bed and sleep early tonight, just because I can, but I would like to thank Mike and Carlos and Cindy for a really really great weekend. And an extra thank you to Carlos for running at the flock of seagulls on the beach and scaring them all into flight so I could photograph them. :)
Portland this weekend!