To the birthplace of the summer

Some mornings I wake up with the strangest desires, though most have to do with food cravings. This morning was the want to see the California coast line along the 5 freeway. It reminds me of Sunday afternoons where I'm driving from home back to college and the sun rays that pierce through loose forming clouds, glittering upon ocean waves. The small stretch of ocean that I get to see always brings a quiet smile to my face, and I miss it.

It's lazy Sundays like today that make me want to act on nostalgia and just drive straight on down down down to see the coast, then past the border gates, and right into the heart of Baja Mexico. Instead, I'm blissfully spending the day reading in a hammock in midday sun.

Pinky up, please!

I wonder what do people expect when they ask you "How have you been?" Is there supposed to be a correct answer to that or should the universal "I'm good" suffice? The questions seeps a little further down my brain when I think of old friends meeting up after long stretches of time. Granted they're meeting up to reacquaint themselves with each other but how concise of an answer should surface? Variables do include the time elapsed and the state of the friendship, so I wonder in what right situation I'd be able to say:

"Well, I was madly in love with this boy who played guitar for some dinky band. But he left me for New York City in order to pursue his career, promises of faithfulness were exchanged. So one weekend, I surprised him by showing up at his place only to walk in to see his treacherous lips on some girl's. Romance aside, I got into a huge fight with my co-worker who's also a really good friend of mine. It wouldn't be so bad if he and I weren't the only two out of three people working at the clinic. Awkward hostility has been commonplace for us. I also think I might have a drinking problem but aside from all of that, I'm good. And you?"

I'm guessing, very few situations would be proper enough to illicit such an answer from me. But one can always dream, can't they?

Bend to Sqaures

After heavily drowning my sorrows in chili cheese fries from the somewhat passing of Proposition 8, I researched universities in Boston. I'm pretty much convinced at this point that I want to go to grad school in Boston or NYC, or anywhere in the New England states, really. I blame my romanticism of the city, where I'll spend nights walking home from bars (or the library, because this is grad school and apparently, they do heavy duty reading) along the quiet slumber of streets awashed in snow. Like I said, it's a very romanticized version of the hell I'm unleashing onto myself come fall of 2010. Assuming I get into grad school, that is.

And of all things to get me started on this wondrous academic trek: a boy. I bought my first GREs book this past weekend so when I'm studying at the local library, nice Library Boy will not think I'm 17. Proud of the fact that it took a random boy I haven't even met to get me studying? Hardly. But one has to start somewhere, so if I get into Boston U, I will send Library Boy a singing telegram, a happy gift card, or whatever passes for gratitude these days.

Looping back to my earlier sorrows, I'm disheartened by the conservative nature of so many Californians. I take that back, I'm stymied by their selfishness, that they would dare keep two people from marriage. I can marry a jerk of a man but never wed some lovely girl? Why should it really matter so much when the only difference is biological? If we were all born asexual, this wouldn't be such a big deal. It's frustrating, utterly so but tears can only get you so far before it's time to join the social revolution. So away with the crying, because everything will be okay in the end, they always are.