So Bobby is back from vacay. Which I love. Having a roomie is way more fun, way less scary, and I watch way less TV. I can't say I was ever lonely when Bobby was gone (being a misanthrope and cat lady in the making), but I definitely missed having someone around. If that makes any sense.
I found out from Bobby that his landlords told him that they don't like when I'm the kitchen at the same time they are. Which has effectively made it impossible for me to feel comfortable in the main house ever since. A huge problem because the kitchen is shared. Now, I know what you're thinking "Oh, Mel, just use the kitchen when they aren't there, how hard is that?" But when I encounter that kind of passive-agressive behavior, it's hard to bounce back. It leaves me paranoid. Wondering. I mean, if when I walk into the kitchen you offer me a glass of wine and ask me about my first day of work, but you're secretly cringing, wishing I would fucking leave... well... what else am I doing that's making you secretly cringe? Does parking my car in front of your house make you cringe? Does doing my laundry in the shared washer/dryer make you cringe? Does my being here making you cringe?
You see what I'm getting at? I can't trust them anymore. I just can't.
Luckily I think I've got a couple options for a place to live. One is with this guy and 1-2 as of yet unnamed roomies, in an as of yet unfound apartment in the Inner Sunset. He seemed real cool and I like the Inner Sunset, but the uncertainty of it all has me unsure. He sent me the email of one girl that he thought would be cool, and I contacted her, and haven't heard back.
On the other side of the park (right next to the park I might add), in a less happening section of town are two girls in the Inner Richmond. When I say less happening, that's just my vibe, the stuff on Irving Street in the Inner Sunset seemed way shinier and diverse than what I've wandered past on Clement in the Inner Richmond. BUT I'm all about signs from the universe.
And remember my post about the three predictors of a good apartment? Sunshine, good food, and cheap gas. Around the corner from the Inner Richmond apartment is a cute (always packed) cafe called the Velo Rouge (I'll have to post pictures sometimes, there are repurposed bikes in there as furniture). I've eaten there three times, and this last time was the best. Vegan winter veggie soup with red pepper flakes and sweet cornbread for dipping. It was all pumkin-y and spicy. SO delicious. And they do brunch with Mimosa's on weekends. Also choice. So there's one sign. Oh, and the gas a couple blocks over? Only 3.94 (the cheapest I've seen in the city recently is 3.95, unless you pay cash at Arco, and I fucking hate Arco, something always goes wrong for me). Another sign. 2/3 that's pretty good right? Is the universe trying to tell me that these are the glee and giggle love girls I've been looking for? Though I did have great Key Lime Pie tart at Inner Sunset... hmmm.
The girls want an answer by tonight, so I've gotta make a decision quick.
Meanwhile in Marin...
I have a job. It is literally playing with Kindergartners. Which rocks. It's not rocket surgery. I show up, set up a few stations, pull an activity out of my ass, and then we hang out until 6:30 when they go home. It's great, pays great, and has benefits. Oh, and because it's in Marin, it doesn't matter how foggy the city is because I get sunshine all the time up there. It's still close enough to the bay that it's temperate, but the fog is only around in the early morning and in the evening. ON THAT NOTE. I was driving to an apartment showing in the city by way of the Golden Gate Bridge after work one day. It was way sunny at work, and then all of the sudden as I round a corner coming up on Sausalito, I see fog pour over the side of a mountain like a water fall. It was moving so quickly, and so thick that I took the time to wonder if maybe a broken water main was actually at the top.
And in the East Bay...
Last night Bobby tells me that he and his friend Ben are going to see a concert in Oakland. Some guy he's performed with named "Travailler" (or I assume that's how you spell it; it's pronounced trah-VEYE-ay, like the french word for "work") was performing a hip-hop set at 9, or was it 10, or 11? ( It ended up being around 11:30 when all was said and done) Sounded good to me, so I decided to pregame a little. It's a good thing I did. The venue ended up being this anarchist collective. Basically a bunch of kids reclaimed an old warehouse, started living there, and put up "fuck the police" signs everywhere. So we were essentially at a house party. It was the most hipster bullshit I had ever seen. Aside from the performers everyone was white with messy hair and plaid shirts (Travailler himself was dating a white, messy-haired, plaid-clad young lady). Almost everyone we met was from the Mission: San Francisco's hipster mecca. My hair was simultaneously too long, and too short, and my clothes had way too much color and didn't clash nearly enough. And Bobby... well Ben said it best: he had too much Southern Good Ol' Boy charm for the place. Not that he noticed or cared. He was groovin', making friends, and bopping around to Travailler's set. A gin and tonic with extra gin later, Bobby's "Hey Y'all" vibe and my carefully maintained ginger tresses weren't such a big deal to me. His friend ended up being pretty good. Though I couldn't understand what was being said half the time (warehouses don't have great acoustics apparently), it had a good beat. Around the time I started drunk texting I decided it was time to go home and we took the most expensive cab ever back to Albany where I promptly passed out on the couch. All in all, a good night.
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