I almost didn’t go to California because the stress that I’ve been under has turned all brain matter into something resembling lumpy brownie mix. Things have been sloshing around up there without respite or a sign of abatement. Thus my only recourse would be to say maybe next time I will come visit. Next time being some arbitrary moment when my bedroom doesn’t look like Riyadh or when I’ve had more than 37 seconds to think about something other than work. But there is always that ‘something’ because those things never go away, those constant irritants that are always there and lurking and prohibiting one from being able to fully enjoy their surroundings and be engaging.

I needed this trip. Right now, at this juncture in my life, I need to be full of clichés and trite phrases about loving things and people and those warm fuzzy thoughts that normally make me wretch. I must say that from the moment Abigail put together an itinerary knowing full well my love for food and wine and shopping, that this would be wonderful and it was. It was the simplicity of it all, a walk on the beach, a dinner with friends and the conversation that make me unable to put the ‘good’ into words. I can say that there isn’t one minute I’d change about this weekend. Not even the part where I ate three cupcakes from Sprinkles thus giving my thighs their own zip code.

Being completely unapologetic in my need to be complimented and told that I’m doing something well despite the neverending feelings of imperfection. There are times when I need to be told that my writing isn’t complete shit or that being in the midst of writing a book proposal doesn’t make people keel over from the possible vapid nature and ennui inducing shit I’m capable of writing. There are times when I need to feel inspired and to be around like-minded funny and smart people is a nice little jolt. Most importantly, there are times when I need to be told that my cleavage looks great and perfectly firm. Which, for the record, beats almost any compliment about my writing.

Nothing was ever wrong, but this trip made me feel better.

I’ve always had a ‘thing’ for California. It’s so far away which gives it this allure that makes me sigh longingly when thinking of its vastness and all that it has to offer. Which is why, several years ago, I had the grand idea to go to graduate school at Berkeley, because the Bay area seemed so inviting with it’s rolling hilly streets and the water, oh, the water.

All weekend, California has been giving me this come hither look. Even when it was 102 degrees in Sacramento and I thought my face would melt off and sweat seeped through every item of clothing I had on. Even when BART took 479 hours and I fell on slippery west coast streets, I was at ease. There’s just something about this place that makes me want to wrap my arms around it and say “Ok, whatever you want, baby”. Possibly because of it’s unfamiliarity and the distance from anything I’ve ever known. For I am a straight up East coast, latte-drinking, liberal who likes the Cape and wears argyle and Ralph Lauren. Not a dot-com, meta working from home on my MacBook pro, creative type. But oh, the Bay area just has ‘It’. I’m not sure what ‘it’ is, but if the Bay area were to tell me to sit naked in a hot tub, I totally would do it.

I’m growing ever more acceptable to the notion of change and adapting to new surroundings and perhaps moving across the country would give me a new perspective on life or at least a good lesson in geography. And San Francisco, well now that you’ve made the first move, with your rampant kamikaze shots and fresh mint mojitos and wonderfully, pretty people, I suppose the ball is in my court. And it probably doesn’t help when I continue to hear Stacy’s voice saying, “Move here, you know you want to do it. Do it.” Alas there I still time and California, I am surely not done with you yet, but if you keep having the Bay area wink and smile slyly at me (surely not fooling anyone), then it is so on.

Just to make it clear, NO, I do not have any intention of having children anytime in the near future. Those were just fleeting thoughts and it felt rather cathartic to get them out because they were just that, fleeting, with honesty to boot. Have I contemplated some of those things at length? Yes. I was brought up to embrace things like midwifery and decided on adoption after a drunken night alone watching an episode of 60 Minutes wherein the discussion was based on young African American babies not being adopted because they’re black. So I cried and decided right then and there that I would adopt. Random thoughts of midwifery and adoption do not a bun in the oven make. Thanks.

Besides, I’m enjoying my life right now. The ability to pack up and go somewhere at the drop of a hat based on my schedule and my finances that I don’t have to share with anyone else save for the people of Fidelity investments. Other than that I can come and go as I please. In fact, in approximately eight hours I am getting on a plane to San Francisco. Where I plan to play with Stacy and Leah and Simon and possibly don a jacket and scarf in August. Actually my only fear in going is that I’ll never want to return east. And guess what? Without children to be responsible for, I can. See how lovely this thing called independence is? I won’t stay of course, for it will soon be Fall. But I am sure to return because Holly won’t be there and I promised her that if she takes copious notes about Ecuador then I’ll come back to San Francisco. I think that’s a promise we are more than capable of living up to.

And while we’re at it, perhaps I will book a trip to Charles De Gaulle airport and then traipse around the City of Light for five days eating croissants and purchasing scarves from Hermes, because I can. So you see? I’m perfectly content being child free, as it gives me ample opportunity to practice my wine drinking skills across the globe. And what the hell, maybe I’ll go to Southern California and Chicago as well. I’m feeling wild like that.

This wasn’t meant to be the start of a “World Tour” and I’m not adding venues to the list. These things kind of just happened and I’m considering myself lucky that if I want to fly out to San Francisco on a whim, then I have three lovely people who would tell me to come on down. It actually reminds me of that time Schnozz flew around the country and I was slightly envious because for years I never went anywhere, thus leaving me continuously subjected to the sites and sounds of Capitol Hill unless I made a rare appearance in Virginia. Now I’m going places alright, like to an island called Manhattan (spontaneous, I know) and far west of the Mississippi with a double shot of California. And then perhaps a trip ACROSS THE ATLANTIC.

By the end of it I’ll probably be fatigued but I’ve been holding up well and nothing is broken and I can handle a hangover on a plane quite awesomely thankyouverymuch.

What I enjoy most is the opportunity to see people in their homes and “where the magic happens” (So you craft all of your witty posts from a desk surrounded by Bionicles?? Here I pictured you at a desk listening to Chopin with a glass of chardonnay).  I’m always interested to see how people live and why not take that one step further by visiting them. Though suprisingly, when I arrived at Chris’ last week and she saw my car the conversation went something like this:

“You have a car!”

To which I replied “umm, yes how did you think I was going to get here?”

“But you have a car, like with real stuff. I’m just so used to you only being in the computer.”

Which is true, there’s the semi-anonymity that we all have even though we share our lives with words and pictures but still at times it can feel like make believe. Chris lives in a house with seven children, though it really doesn’t feel like seven children when you see them all. And she only had them for slave labor like cutting up vegetables for dinner and picking blueberries. Even her four year old lamented “And we couldn’t even go outside.” Sarcasm aside, she has a life that I’ve read about, but doesn’t feel ‘real’ until I’m picking blueberries with her children and ripping bricks from her backyard (See? Slave labor).*

At least she gives them the good stuff

Anyway, I’m racking up the frequent flier miles while simultaneously running my car into the ground, thus giving me reason to get rid of it. Also, I lied about no more new venues being added, since last night Isabel convinced me to test out other parts of the state that I didn’t know existed since I apparently live in a bubble. And trust me, if Isabel Kallman asks you to do something, just try to resist the charm and the pretty and say no. I dare you.

*For the record, Chris Jordan’s house is like being a summer camp if summer camp had pinot grigio and m&m ice cream sandwiches. I love Chris Jordan’s house and now she and Susan Wagner are going to have to fight for my love.

A friend of mine recently asked me about Nebraska and whether or not people actually lived there or if it was just some scheme perpetrated by the Government in hopes of creating some sort of utopia for the uber-conservative. All said with a straight face until I mentioned that one of my former bosses was a flaming Liberal from Omaha and completely normal with only one head and 10 complete fingers. Amazing.

I think that people from larger states tend to forget that there’s a whole slew of people between New York, Texas and California. In fact, I will admit to being a liberal, pretentious east coaster who would cannot comprehend that there are places in this country without a proper H&M or IKEA at least within spitting distance; thus my ambivalence towards Oklahoma. Of course I know it’s there, but no one actually lived there and no one goes there and is there anything there?

So imagine my normally tame and non-sporadic self up and cashed in a rapid reward award for a flight to Oklahoma City. I seriously felt like I was having an outer-body experience as I completed my transaction because how the hell was I to explain my sudden interest in the pan handle state and James Inhofe? But there was just something so convincing about Sarah’s innocuous comment of coming to Oklahoma for Wito’s birthday and then the one two punch of Shana Banana and Susan Wagner was just way too much. And so I acquiesced and went to Oklahoma City.

But really, how does one say I’m just taking a quick trip to Oklahoma to sleep in the guest room of a woman whose existence I’ve been aware of for approximately six months. Just to attend the first birthday party of a woman whose existence I’ve been aware of for approximately 18 months. Oh and I met these women on the Internet. Yes, that Internet, the one with the crazies and pedophiles and the agoraphobic serial killers. Of course saying that the particular people I’d be visiting are perfectly normal and good dressers with pretty hair, would do nothing to keep a parent from freaking the hell out. So, ummm…my parents don’t know I went to Oklahoma and that hell, I might go back because it’s like $15 each way.

I just did this dreamy sigh because there’s such a soft spot in my heart now for Oklahoma. Of course it has its faults, but those faults are negated by its good qualities such as Sonic and Super Target and my ability to have a nice quiet weekend with one of my favorite people in the world, where we did nothing but run errands and I napped and drank more than my share of wine. I was surprisingly welcomed with open arms and hugs and Whoorl’s mother saying “Of course I know Heather from the picture with the donut” and then forcing a cupcake on me. See? Oklahoma can be quite awesome.

My ambivalence has turned into an ooey gooey crush on Oklahoma. It’s fine. It’s normal and it’s lovely. Though it’s residents are a lot lovelier. It makes me want to venture out into the U.S. a little more. I’m thinking…Idaho.