Home Hunting

I was babysitting for a nice family in the mission district. It was a beautiful lazy Saturday and there was no place I would have rather been at the time. The four-year-old girl I was babysitting wanted to be lazy, too, and to stay in watching cartoons for a while, so I obliged. Walking down the long, narrow hallway on my way to the kitchen to retrieve Goldfish (partly for her and mostly for me), I looked up at the crown molding and, below it, the strips of sunlight shining through onto the chestnut hardwood floors. Used to the slightly more foggy and drab Inner Richmond neighborhood, I delighted to feel warmth tickle my face as I walked  through the parts of the house where the sun shone in through the windows. 

Pouring myself a glass of water in what could only be described as the most immaculate kitchen I’ve ever seen (think modern minimalist style, a wolf range that inspires you to challenge your cooking abilities, and a sink you could bathe a toddler in), I stopped to think. This whole time I’ve been thinking about moving apartments, I had forgotten that the best things in life are those that present themselves and are not entirely searched out. 

You know how you sometimes see those couples who seem so peanut butter-and-chocolate perfect for each other, you just want to hug them, or slap them, or both? How you can just tell they’re in love, and they don’t even have to flaunt it, because they know they are the best thing to happen to each other? Well. 

What if finding the right apartment is like finding the right person? When I see couples like that I usually get the feeling that a perfect match is worth the wait and, more importantly, can’t be forced. I know I’ll have to pay a cardiac arrest-inducing amount of money for any apartment I declare perfect, but what I’m really talking about here is waiting for the right apartment to show itself. Maybe I’ll find something from a friend of a friend, or maybe I’ll meander through Craigslist one day mindlessly and actually spot something I want to check out. Regardless, I can’t move into a new place just because I am bored and like change. I can’t move just because I want to be somewhere fun. And I can’t move into a place where I do not feel warm and cozy and happy. I might not have a Wolf Range, but if I can find somewhere with a good roommate and a little bit of sun, that is worth waiting for. 

Apartment hunting still sucks, though. 



“You are what you love, no? You are, completely and only, what you would die for without, as they say, thinking twice. “

– David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest

Women Against Women?


So.. this is a thing now. Apparently. #womenagainstfeminism is an actual hashtag, with an actual movement attached to it that is sweeping social media and the nation. 

Okay. Deep breath…

I am sure you will be please to hear that I am not taking this as an opportunity to go on some feminist rant about how these women have it all wrong. Because it does make me feel a little oh darn-you-really-don’t-get it-do-you? inside, but alas that is not the black hole I want to slip into right now. So, all I will say is…

GOOD GOD. CAN EVERYONE PLEASE CALM THE F DOWN ALREADY PLEASE? Is it just me or is everyone all of a sudden so much more opinionated these days? I could be taking crazy pills, but  It seems with so much social media, people feel much more liberated in their ability to speak up, and they often take it too far. Not to mention, why are people always speaking up against something? In this example, why not speaking up for women, along with men, transgenders, and everyone in between?

You know who the worst offenders against women? Women. I mean really, all this attacking each other and using words like “slut” and “bitch”. At what point do we cut the bullshit and just say ‘to each their own’?  After all, feminism is just a word. Its a label. When I think of what feminism means to me, I think of women (those who identify as women) bringing other women up, and joining in a sense of solidarity and strength. Not victimizing ourselves or trying to rally up and hang all the men in town. Ladies, you don’t need to “choose a team” and bash the women on the other side of the fence. Oh gosh. Here I am doing what I said I wouldn’t do, so with that, I say…

To all women, to all men, to all creatures of the world: Namaste. 

Shit. Now I sound like a damn hippie.