Muck and roll...

Alright, it's official: I'm certifiably restless. And it's in the worst way.

Today I resigned myself to hankering down and tending to my oft-neglected side-job, updating the East Bay/North Bay database for Gayot.com, of which I am paid very little but does give me a slight insight into the culinary aspect of my surroundings albeit by much Internet research (i.e. I am on my computer all day, not eating or actually seeing any said "surroundings"). Needless to say, by 3 o'clock, I was bored enough to attempt further investigation into this whole "napping" phenomenona all the successful business schmucks seem so high-and-mighty about.

Despite my 45 minute-alarm clock, I woke up at 5, ravenous and bad-tempered. The term "howling at the moon" comes to mind, but not in the trashy-sexy, Coyote Ugly kind of way. I'm thinking grittier, more primal, maybe more tragic-comedy like "American Werewolf in London" circa 1981.

And it was bad--helpless bad, as in, I didn't know where to go or what to do. But I knew before anything that I had to take the dog (Sasha's, "Philly) for a walk first. And as we crossed the street--me, head down and hellbent toward the park--a car came barrelling right at us, high-speed. My heart jumped out of my chest as I thrust myself between the menacing vehicle and my furry cohort, yelling.

The car screeched to a stop. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry," said the woman inside. "But it's dark, and you're wearing black."

Yes, I muttered and moved along to the other side. Figures, I thought to myself. Nobody can see me. Isn't that appropriate?

Back in the saddle, again...

So anyhoo... I'm back in San Francisco now. And it sure feels good!!

Once again, I don't have an editorial-type job lined up--YET. But the difference is, I feel much more relaxed and confident that it's gonna happen... that it's meant to happen.

I'm less freaked out now being away from Maui than when I first set foot on the Mainland in August. (Can you believe it's been six months?? It feels like six years.) And getting the newsroom job in Palm Springs showed me that I am, indeed, hireable... despite my fears to the contrary after two-and-a-half months spent in my bathrobe walking around my freezing-ass, haunted, doomed apartment in SF's Inner Sunset waaaay back in September.

Oh, but I do have a couple freelance gigs--I've still got the restaurant reviews to do in the East Bay and Marin for Gayot.com, which is great in that I'll be dining out more, but the pay's not so great.

The second freelance gig I scored is for a BLOG at an exciting new website about shoes and the women who love them--it's called Shoetube.tv. If you click on the link for "BLOGS," then go to "Fun & Funky," I have two blogs: "Slippin' Into the Future, Part One" (1/25) and "Slippin' Into the Future, Part Two" (2/5).

I have posted the picture here that you'll see on the Shoetube site that's associated with me, so as not to confuse you too much. And um... it's a wig, by the way--not the effects of being in Southern California too long. However, one can only imagine the ravages that peroxided hell would've spurned on my psyche and hairline over time...

It should be noted that my Plan B, upon careful consideration by my Hispanic friends, is for me to ditch the writing thing and be a Telemundo chick. I argue that my inadequate language skills in that area may pose a problem. Their solution: Mexican porn. Hmph. How rude.

Ah, well. Consider it Plan C.

And then the very good stuff...

Here's a list of the cool shit I did in my last two weeks of Palm Springs:

1. I wrote about and met this awesome chick, Audra Mae, who performed at another Upright Cabaret production, which I, of course, went to and they sat me at a table of fabulous gays from Austin, TX, so naturally I fell head over heels in love with the hot boy who sat next to me, who was there with his boyfriend. I also learned that gay men do sometimes have straight crushes so there's that. Anyway, all the performers were awesome. I laughed, I cried, I flirted mercilessly with unavailable men... just another night. Here's some photos somebody else took.

2. Went on a date with high school boyfriend #83. And it was... really cool. I think I might've actually shortchanged the man previously, because he ended up being rather great. Who knew old guys could be so much fun?

3. My mom and her friend took me to this AMAZING place in the high desert by Joshua Tree called Pioneertown (pictured above). It's basically this old movie set they used for Westerns in the late 1940's. I'm totally gonna go back and stay at the Motel (that's the "office" pictured above, next to the truck) and write a book, Hunter S. Thompson-style, while I'm drunk from time spent at Pappy & Harriet's (that's the women's restroom pictured there, too).

In memorandum...

It wasn't all bad, of course!

The people I worked with were lovely, and the surrounding scenery was, well, scenic and stuff. I learned A LOT about how daily news conglomerates are run. I also met some very interesting people during the course of the job. And I learned how Gannett reporters are treated--very well, actually--in a small town...

Between here and there...

So when I last left off, back on Jan. 16, and two days before I was unofficially going to be leaving The Desert Sun, I guess I kinda gave the impression that perhaps I wouldn't be leaving my primo corporate newsroom gig and the glamorous life in Palm Springs...

HA!

The truth is, I did indeed have to go.

While I was super grateful for how everything turned out, desert tour and all, the nagging feeling for me was that living and working in San Francisco is actually part of my big dream. Palm Springs was just a way-station. And it was a lovely station, really.

After another persuasive talk with the Editor at TDS, I opted to stay just one more week, in order to save up just a bit more money before splitting. So yeah, they did offer me the job. He even offered to let me go get my city fix for a month and then come back. But I told him I didn't think that would be enough time. So yes, I did turn down the fulltime features reporter gig at one of the largest news corporations in the world...

But c'mon--allow me to run through the last few stories I was assigned: the "Pillars of the Community" ceremony, the La Quinta Library expansion, the Senior Center's annual chili cook-off, and a four-month golden retriever who fetches the newspaper.

Oh, there's more... but isn't that enough, honestly??

Who's running this thing anyway???

Oh, my. I've really let this blog escape me, haven't I? Well, that's what happens when you're out, trying to live your life--trying to make shit happen. It's an interesting balance, this writerly thing, you know? Like, if you're constantly writing, then when do you have the chance to go out and glean some experience? And then if you're out mucking around, when do you find the time to sit down and pontificate about it?

That's why I was just about to pop in this Netflix DVD--"Buy the Ticket, Take the Ride"--that I've had for eons and haven't had a chance to watch yet. Yeah, it's a doc about the life of Hunter S. Thompson, who did somehow manage to do both, you know, rather well. Um, until he shot himself. Anyhow, I figured I could use the inspiration. Or anti-inspiration, as the case may be--so the blog would yet again have to wait. But then the guilt, the awful guilt...

Aw, crap.

Okay, where do I begin?

Hmm...

The Goodbye Girl...

I don't know if I've fully explained my feelings for Palm Springs to you all yet... or if you've been able to pick up on the clues between the lines about how the desert's become this chainstore version of the Liberace Museum, with strip mall after strip mall of high-end old ladies' boutiques, and designer furniture outlets, mixed with exotic luxury car lots and an endless supply of Del Tacos... Palm Springs, where the men are handsome, charming and rich--and so are their boyfriends.

And I'm not sure if I've been able to make absolutely clear that it is simply NOT a good idea for a grown woman who has lived on her own for more than a third of her life to step back into the wildly routinized craziness of her parent's house, sacrificing her once-adult independence for a welcome-back glimpse into teenhood to yet again face the parental inquisition of yore--"Where are you going? Who are you going with? What time will you be home? Are you going out dressed like that??"

I know I have briefly alluded to the challenges of adapting my alt-weekly reporter snark to the tempered-down, small-town community speak of a mega-corporate daily, although to this point, I will withhold further discussion on the matter, lest I piss off the destiny gods--I am grateful for the lessons, I am honored to have this experience, I am thankful for the money blah blah blah... But back to the Palm Springs bitching:

I do believe I also might've mentioned the disturbing run-ins with exes who are now old (and, therefore, making me realize my racing mortality) and the disturbing absence of playmates of either gender who are not otherwise attached--either to a loved one or a colostemy bag, as well as (please don't make me say this again please don't make me say this again) disturbing presence of middle-age parents who are still doing it, and loudly, in the room next to where I am NOT sleeping, because I am so disturbed, and the resultant LACK of sex all of this has amounted to for me, hence the aforementioned exciting discovery of the "hydriatic therapy" associated with the jacuzzi jets at last month's weekend trip to Sasha's dad's house in Oakland.

As a result, I have been on countdown mode since New Year's. Deciding that January 18th would be the perfect last day, I set about to planning the much-anticipated event. I discovered that my favorite cabaret would be returning for a performance that same night, and that my Oahu goddess Krista was considering a visit that weekend, as well. I began fantasizing about how my last weekend here would roll: a lavish, overnight stay at The Viceroy whereby the GM would personally attend to my, er, our every need, followed by a last mimosa-fueled romp through downtown's homage to glamorous mid-century gay-ville, then an appropriately screeching hellbent departure and Pacific Coast Highway road trip back up to San Francisco with my gal pal and sultry sidekick.

And then the obvious happened: once I neared my two-week mark, things started looking rosier. The weather was beautiful--warm and sunny in the daytime, crisp and clear at night, with a million stars in the desert sky. Snow began to freckle the surrounding San Jacintos like frosting on a bundt cake. The film festival came to town, providing a very needed respite and cultural diversion, not only when it came to spicing up my down-time, but also in the way of work--I got to talk to the most fascinating filmmakers, documentarians and festival programmers, and wrote articles on "Autism: The Musical" and "Passion & Power: The Technology of Orgasm."

It was all very lovely. And by the time I had one week left, that nagging old friend Doubt began to creep in... maybe I've been shortchanging the desert... maybe it's not so bad after all... maybe...