Rain to Rainbows

Pride 2014.

I ate frozen yogurt with gummy bears, and my day was brightly colored and cold. We cheered a truck with an 8-foot pink sign: “Queer Community, NOT Gay Capitalism.” The SDCC credit union tipped its great big blue inflated ship to fit under the traffic lights at University and Richmond.   I walked a lot, in heavy combat boots, and I drank a lot, mostly Alesmith’s Horny Devil.

In Balboa Park, I sat in a swing and twisted the chain, over and over, so I could spin in circles. So I could grope for the delight in momentum. I did so much spinning. My friends devised a high-five chain and we rotated like gears, teeth meeting or hands slapping. I remained with just one friend; the rest fell away dizzy. I could discern just his hand as the only interruption in the horizontal lines. No matter how much I spun, I could not gather enough centrifugal force to spin my malaise out of my ears. No matter where I followed my friends and which delights I encountered, I could not stop leaning on the wall that held back tears.

So much walking made my feet blister. Mostly, I focused on not complaining about my feet hurting. Maybe my face was full of pain. Are you okay, Sami? “I don’t know. I don’t know.” When we got back to our friend’s house, I snuck away to the courtyard by myself and put my forehead down on a table.

I cried slow tears into my hands. Neighbors interrupted me. “I’m just sad.” Who broke your heart? “I’m just sad.” My friends found me. Are you okay, Sami? “I’ve been better.” Do you want to talk about it? “I don’t know. I don’t know.” I started really sobbing. Do you want to go lie down? “Yes.” So I was taken to a bed and spooned.  I sobbed, and I said, “I don’t want to be this person right now.”

Pride 2015.

I grinned and gripped my friend’s torso as I ducked in closer under our shared umbrella. The rain was warm, like the air. I walked a lot, in borrowed galoshes over thick fuzzy socks, and I drank a lot, mostly mimosas and tequila. We watched the Bears San Diego truck drive past. The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence, in full-face makeup, seemed unfazed by the wet weather. When thunder boomed, the crowd screamed in fright and excitement.

It always mattered to me, to be granted the symbol by my society that is marriage equality. Yet it did not land heavy on my shoulders like the honor of a sacred mantle — no it burst with scattered feathers to the big sky. I had been living in unwilling rebellion, a part of me deemed “illegal” by my country, like I were a fugitive. Now, I feel weightless, and I know that this July, San Diego has seen its biggest summer rainbow.


Rain breaks my brain

Much like the rest of San Diego, I can’t seem to operate during the “rain.” And by rain I mean a light drizzle (or is it sprinkle? I’m not so good with the vocab in this area…). The sky is doing the wet thing and I am confused and I can’t do write good no more.

So here is a picture I drew:

Sketch raining in san diego comic

Why is San Diego so Boring?

Though I often feel the same way, as soon as someone says to me, “Sami, SD is boring,” I want to reply, “You’re boring. There’s tons of things to do here.” I think, as a tourist town, we want to protect our city from the ignorant criticism of visitors.

Still, maybe it’s just the softly trickling rain keeping me apartment-bound, but I am bored. Actually I’ve been carrying around a boredom monkey for awhile now. There’s sort of an ennui in happiness and stability, and this is not the best town in which to forage for chaos. In this heaven, we’re a bit oblivious to evil and all the fun it brings.

That's the evilest thing I can imagine.

One time I was so bored I photoshopped pictures of a goat into my parents backyard and texted them to my brother, who lives in Berkeley.

I guess that’s part of why I got so wasted at Flick’s last night that the “kicky boots” and “bear arm” came out. Did I make out with Xanadu again? I didn’t wake up with her lipstick smeared on my face, so I’m guessing not.

This is a beach town, not a gritty cosmopolitan city with heated philosophical discussions in coffee shops. People flock here to relax, and the rest of us have to fight for our right to party. I am such a dork. Sorry. The closest I’ve had to a political conversation with someone in the past 2 months was a fight I picked with a constitutionalist about minority rights.

I’m a bleeding-heart liberal (except when Ron Swanson talks about pretty, dark-haired women and breakfast food and I want to be him) in a conservative, military town.  The young hippies here drive me just as nuts with their pseudo-spiritualities and adherence to the astrological calendar.  I don’t have time to care when the moon is in capricorn and uranus is over my hammy.

Here’s what San Diegans think we do when we’re bored:

  • Surf
  • Go to Julian
  • Suntan regardless of season
  • Tourist it up at Seaworld, Balboa Park, etc.
  • Other outdoorsy stuff that sounds impressive on a dating profile.

This is what we actually do. Well, I do:

  • This is Avatar. She is fat.Drink alcohol. Beer is amazing here. Liquor is abundant and varied. Check out KnBs in Del Cerro.
  • Browse OkCupid. Mostly I use it to get new friends and you should too.
  • Paint my nails.
  • Thrift Shopping. If the sun is out and I have the day off, this is pretty much the only thing that will get me out in public. Because…
  • Backyard / front-yard day drinking with my parents. They have 3 parrots and we have screaming contests.
  • Arts and crafts. San Diego is one of the top 3 creative cities according to this bloke I discovered today named Richard Florida. I can always find a friend to do a photoshoot or collaborative paint, or make tutus.
  • Find a band practice. I don’t play music, but I like to doodle while other people abuse guitars for 3 hours.
  • Okayyyyyy I do enjoy nature crap. Sometimes. A night hike on Cowles will draw out good conversation with a friend.
  • Video games with friends.
Here's a video of me playing Dead Space 2. Warning, I suck.

Here’s a video of me playing Dead Space 2. Warning, I suck.

Do you agree that SD is boring and what do you do to stay entertained? Comment below.  You don’t need an account or anything; it’s easy to leave a comment.

Sorry about the short post! My friend made me start over from scratch because my first draft was yet another lesbian rant…

When it Sprinkles it Pours

For my inaugural post, I might as well get this one out of the way: weather.

SD locals feel the same way about the weather as I do about your (you know who you are) ex-girlfriend — I wish she didn’t exist.

The truth is, we all know at some level that weather is the main reason why we can’t ever leave San Diego. We know that other cities have snow and sleet and intense humidity and deep down, realize that if we ever lived anywhere else we’d ask our parents for more money so we could move back. Or, for the SD natives out there, move in…

Apparently it's spring because this hummingbird is building a nest on my back patio.

Apparently it’s spring because this hummingbird is building a nest on my back patio.

There are other reasons not to leave (beer), but the weather here sits on your back and gnaws on your neck and every day the endlessly cheerful sun bakes you into submission.

Hypo-manic with fear, we discuss rain and sun and fog in a tone that is easy to confuse with eagerness.  Oh, we’re not pleasant or easily amused; we’re terrified.

And then it rains. San Diegans go ballistic not just because they seldom see the rain, but because it is betrayal. The rain fills the tiny cracks (or gaping crevices) in our streets and our illusion of perfection. We make it exciting; on our news stations we write STORMWATCH in Impact (or the fattest helvetica you’ve ever seen) and we reassure each other that the weather is, in fact, a novelty. Everything will go back to normal soon.

"MicroClimate Weather" - Does anyone actually say that?

“MicroClimate Weather” – What? Does anyone actually say that? (Click pic to view video from SoCal Skywatch. The juxtaposition of flawless skies and moody storm language makes me giggle.)

We purge knowledge of relatively predictable weather patterns from our carefully edited memories. San Diegans chitter and fawn over the first rain after Christmas annually when, in fact, every year it is sunny on Christmas and every year it rains on my birthday just two days later and no one wants to hang out and I watch my dreams wash down the gutter along with my youth…

I need only drop my handbag in the seasonal puddle that ebbs from the floor in my leaky convertible to know how deep in denial I am about the weather. Actually, now it’s more of a pond because recently thieves slashed my soft top.  I haven’t finished fixing it but I kinda stitched it up; I am pretty proud of myself.  Not sure how to make it waterproof just yet.  I’m thinking a patch that looks like a band-aid to really give that pathetic-yet-cute feel.

I don't always order Dos Equis....but when I do I get charged 6 freaking dollars

Sometimes I draw comic-y stuff.

When it mists lightly sprinkles “rains,” few San Diegans venture into the bars and their ill-equipped smoking patios. I seriously love First on Fifth for being liveable when it’s wet out.  Though I will never order a Dos Equis there again.

So, for this reason among many, I’m collecting together a nightlife guide that makes it worth it to lace on your boots and brave the broken flooded streets for the next couple of months. But it’s still totally sunny right now.  Booyah. Eat that winter.

Let me know if you’re interested and I’ll send you the Survival Guide ASAP. Or like, just write you an informal message with awesome weekend ideas since I don’t have a swanky newsletter or anything. Tourists, go party Downtown or something; this isn’t for you.

Next week’s post won’t be so topical!