August 8th, 2011 -- Posted in marriage, san francisco, the city |
This is our old place, in San Francisco. What you can’t see is the second bedroom, aka Ryan’s office. An essential component of a happy, healthy relationship when both people work at home. We downsized when we moved to Portland, partly to save more money and partly because Ryan and Ben are going to be getting an office together to work on their startup. Until then, we’ve essentially downsized from a two-bedroom with lots of storage (two regular-sized closets, a coat closet and bathroom storage) to a one-bedroom with minimal storage (one regular-sized closet and one coat closet).
Oh, and there’s no dishwasher. (Cue weeping and gnashing of teeth.) If you’re so inclined, you can check out this totally professional-looking video I shot (HA) to see our new place.
July 20th, 2011 -- Posted in san francisco, the city, the future |
Twenty percent of the people in San Francisco leave every year. Statistically that means the entire city turns over every five years. I read a quote once that in order to have staying power here, you’ve got to accept that while SF is awesome, she’s also cold and hard; that these young, bright-eyed kids come to the city for various reasons - as recent grads, to be near Silicon Valley, to experience a city without committing to a place like New York - but they get easily disillusioned when the raw grit emerges after the shine wears off.
I came to the city as one of those wide eyed recent grads, but I’ve managed to stay here for five years - the longest I’ve lived anywhere in my life ever - and that to me is staying power. Natives get defensive when you start talking like a local after making it past the typical breaking point, and I understand that. But San Francisco will always be the place I broke some of my nomadic tendencies, and that is a personal milestone.
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March 21st, 2011 -- Posted in san francisco, the city, travel |
(For the record, I HATE it when people call vacations “vaycays” … or when they spell it “vaca.” Vaca is “cow” in Spanish, ok? Personal pet peeve. Nevertheless, here I am, naming my post as a spin-off of the term. Le sigh.)
I’ve often said that Mexico is the ghetto person’s Europe (I’m not hatin, I still go, I’m just sayin) … well Vegas is the overgrown frat bro’s Mexico. That’s right, Vegas, you are so far down on the list of classy getaway places, you rank below Mexico with adults who are trying to relive their glory days. Or something.
But again, I’m not hatin. Stepping off the plane, you know you’ve just got to embrace it all - the ghetto, the fake, the kitschy. The warm, warm sun, yard-long margaritas and portable drinks make that much easier to do. I have to admit, I care a lot less that I’m walking at a snail’s pace behind a crowd of barely-dressed, Jersey Shore wannabes, when I’ve got a vodka tonic in a to-go cup. We could probably all learn a li’l something from Vegas’ open container laws.
I had to - or at least attempt to - hit the pause button on the dialogue of my inner 50-year-old WASP and just get down with the dirty grittyness of it. And I think I did a pretty good job. We did, however, come away with two rules, which are really all you need to know to guide a Vegas journey:
* Never, ever bring your kids to Vegas (yes, mom in line at Wendys with FIVE KIDS under the age of ten, I’m looking directly at you)
* If you have kids at all, it’s a good bet you’re too old (or should, theoretically, be too mature) for Vegas. It’s like Neverneverland - sometimes you just can’t go back.
February 8th, 2011 -- Posted in career, consulting, entrepreneurship, marriage, san francisco, the city |
When I was ten, I decided what I wanted to be when I grew up - and then proceeded to eventually do it. When I was 16, I picked out what college I wanted to go to - and by the time I was 17 I’d applied and been accepted. When I broke up with my highschool boyfriend (now a dear friend of mine) I vowed I wouldn’t go through that again - so the next guy I dated was the guy I married. Obviously not all of my plans and decisions have been wise, but throughout the course of my entire life - for as long as I can remember anyway - I’ve been a planner. And the things I’ve planned, the courses I’ve laid for myself, have been fulfilled with precision.
Which makes what I’m about to say even more surprising.
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November 15th, 2010 -- Posted in san francisco, the city |
Ryan and I have this running joke that midwesterners qualify their food with three standards:
1. It’s cheap
2. The portions are good
3. The food’s decent
I should point out this isn’t just conjecture; we’ve actually heard people say these things, though maybe not in so many words (not the least of which are my parents who I’ve seen apply some variation of said list in none other than the likes of ITALY and PARIS). And my food-lover’s soul dies a little bit.
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