If you were to go back in time to visit fourteen-year-old Sara, you would find someone who was far, far less fashionable than I am. Seriously, she was a total mess, and it's a wonder I have any style at all. But that's a given. You would also find someone who lived in a safe, old, remote farmhouse, which occasionally leaked and only had one bathroom and also didn't have heat the upstairs bedrooms, so there were some downsides. But also, to the best of fourteen-year-old Sara's knowledge, it did not have any people regularly defecating around it (either on the sidewalks, which didn't exist, or on the ground), so there were also some upsides.
Fourteen-year-old Sara dreamed of riches, and possibly of cities, and was pretty sure she would have her life figured out twenty years later, when she would be thirty-four and making a killing as a writer or doctor or something equally glamorous. Thirty-four was *so old*, and she would obviously know what she was doing by then....or at least own a house, right?
Now, let's tell fourteen-year-old Sara that, twenty years later, she would be making a living as a writer. Yay to that. But let's also tell her that she would be spending $x/month renting (renting, not owning) a studio apartment (which you would have to explain to her, since she didn't know what a studio apartment was, or that there were any people in the first world living in a single room), and that the fact that parking was included would be a big deal (isn't parking always included?). And now let's tell her that that studio apartment is going to leak in not one, but two, places. And now let's sit back while fourteen-year-old Sara thinks that she has failed at life and at everything she set out to do if she's spending that much money to live in a tiny tiny sieve in the middle of a city full of human feces.
Okay, maybe that's all dramatic. But the apartment has now sprung two minor but worrisome leaks. Chandlord came over this morning to check out the first one, and I also pointed out the possible development of the second one (which went from questionable paint damage to actual dripping later this afternoon). Then I made her tea and an omelette and we caught up on real life stuff, which wasn't fun, precisely, but it was certainly a good way to spend an hour.
That kind of derailed my morning, and after she left I ended up taking a nap. But I rallied and drove down to Fort Mason, since I really wanted to pay a visit to Goody Cafe - and I got some really good writing done with a few hours spent toiling while drinking my favorite 'cloud and mist' green tea. Then I rewarded myself with some colored pencils and a new backpack from Flax (the colored pencils were planned; the backpack was an impulse, but #noregrets).
Then I came home, showered, dealt with the second leak, and walked down to the Tenderloin for Rajiv's birthday party. He and Sheila hosted it at Chambers/the Phoenix Hotel, which I didn't really realize existed there - the hotel has a heated pool (wasted on us with the rain, although some other party decided to jump in), and Chambers has cocktails and food, so we hung out in their room and occasionally ventured to the bar for more drinks (if we felt like drinking professionally-made cocktails rather than whatever we could make in the room).
John was there when I got there, and Vidya and Katrina and a host of other people eventually showed up, and I ended up staying way later than I planned. I met some v. interesting people, including a woman who is a private investigator and wants to be a screenwriter, and also someone who loves all my books (although I've met her several times before, but it's always nice to hear compliments, although I sometimes struggle to take them). And I had a great time hanging out, even if Katrina did ill-advisedly mention Prom King (talking about my fake baby doesn't really make me sound sane, as it turns out). And when someone said they wanted to write a book about a tickle monster, I heard fecal monster, which proves I've lived in SF for too long and need to leave immediately.
Anyway, after several cocktails (one more than I planned, since the bartender mysteriously made me an extra one), and after some fries and the toppings off some pizza, I really need to go to bed - the time change will mess with me and I also have breakfast plans, which means sleep is imperative. Goodnight!
Fourteen-year-old Sara dreamed of riches, and possibly of cities, and was pretty sure she would have her life figured out twenty years later, when she would be thirty-four and making a killing as a writer or doctor or something equally glamorous. Thirty-four was *so old*, and she would obviously know what she was doing by then....or at least own a house, right?
Now, let's tell fourteen-year-old Sara that, twenty years later, she would be making a living as a writer. Yay to that. But let's also tell her that she would be spending $x/month renting (renting, not owning) a studio apartment (which you would have to explain to her, since she didn't know what a studio apartment was, or that there were any people in the first world living in a single room), and that the fact that parking was included would be a big deal (isn't parking always included?). And now let's tell her that that studio apartment is going to leak in not one, but two, places. And now let's sit back while fourteen-year-old Sara thinks that she has failed at life and at everything she set out to do if she's spending that much money to live in a tiny tiny sieve in the middle of a city full of human feces.
Okay, maybe that's all dramatic. But the apartment has now sprung two minor but worrisome leaks. Chandlord came over this morning to check out the first one, and I also pointed out the possible development of the second one (which went from questionable paint damage to actual dripping later this afternoon). Then I made her tea and an omelette and we caught up on real life stuff, which wasn't fun, precisely, but it was certainly a good way to spend an hour.
That kind of derailed my morning, and after she left I ended up taking a nap. But I rallied and drove down to Fort Mason, since I really wanted to pay a visit to Goody Cafe - and I got some really good writing done with a few hours spent toiling while drinking my favorite 'cloud and mist' green tea. Then I rewarded myself with some colored pencils and a new backpack from Flax (the colored pencils were planned; the backpack was an impulse, but #noregrets).
Then I came home, showered, dealt with the second leak, and walked down to the Tenderloin for Rajiv's birthday party. He and Sheila hosted it at Chambers/the Phoenix Hotel, which I didn't really realize existed there - the hotel has a heated pool (wasted on us with the rain, although some other party decided to jump in), and Chambers has cocktails and food, so we hung out in their room and occasionally ventured to the bar for more drinks (if we felt like drinking professionally-made cocktails rather than whatever we could make in the room).
John was there when I got there, and Vidya and Katrina and a host of other people eventually showed up, and I ended up staying way later than I planned. I met some v. interesting people, including a woman who is a private investigator and wants to be a screenwriter, and also someone who loves all my books (although I've met her several times before, but it's always nice to hear compliments, although I sometimes struggle to take them). And I had a great time hanging out, even if Katrina did ill-advisedly mention Prom King (talking about my fake baby doesn't really make me sound sane, as it turns out). And when someone said they wanted to write a book about a tickle monster, I heard fecal monster, which proves I've lived in SF for too long and need to leave immediately.
Anyway, after several cocktails (one more than I planned, since the bartender mysteriously made me an extra one), and after some fries and the toppings off some pizza, I really need to go to bed - the time change will mess with me and I also have breakfast plans, which means sleep is imperative. Goodnight!
1 comment:
Fourteen-year-old Sara didn't know that Bellon's curve and Colonel Mustard would prepare her for the 101.
Fourteen-year-old Sara didn't know that a seven week stay in the Hotel Kiev would prepare her for a stay at the Four Seasons in Bora Bora or the other nice places that she has had to endure.
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