Working Girl

One of the biggest questions that I get is how I will make money after the big move. My friends, I assume, are not asking if I will work the street corners, but rather where I will be legally employed in San Francisco. This issue has haunted my own thoughts, and I admit, has caused me more than a little stress.

I’m currently working two jobs – not something I recommend. I’m completely drained, and I’ve only been doing this since August. As the holidays come closer, I anticipate that my work load will double. Still, as we prepare to move to one of the most expensive cities in the country, every dollar counts. Frankly, I should probably be working more. I am in awe of the people who work 60+ hours a week.

Each of these positions has an opportunity for me in San Francisco. My restaurant position has a very busy location in San Francisco, a location that I’ve planned to transfer to for years. My office position would allow me to work from home, despite the fact that the company is based in Orange County. What would you choose?

As Leonard and I have looked over apartments online, it’s become clear how little we know about our future home. We may wind up a studio. He can study with sound, but I get easily distracted. That, combined with general curiosity about the city, caused me to lean toward waitressing.

Yes, I decided to keep waiting tables.

But really, when you think about it, it’s kind of perfect. I’ll be working with a wide variety of people, all of whom will have budgets close to mine. When I need recommendations for a vet, a hair salon or a good bar, these will be my people. I’ll get to learn about the city from the guests; tourists and locals alike.

Sure, maybe I’m wearing rose colored glasses. Maybe I’m ignoring how physically drained I’ll be, or the fact that I’ll be wearing all white for another year of my life. Maybe I’m forgetting how frustrating waiting tables can be at times.

Maybe there’s a magic third option that will jump out at me when I least expect it.

But when it comes right down to it, working in the heart of my new city seems a lot more stimulating than spending day after day cooped up in my (likely) cramped apartment. And really, I love working with people. Other people make me more productive.

Most of the time.

Forgotten Memories

This week my packing focus has been on my storage unit. If you don’t have a storage unit, you are a lucky person. My storage unit is chock full of items that moved from garage to garage, until I no longer had a garage to store them in.

While digging through the boxes, the first 25 years of my life flash before me at an alarming speed. In one box, I might find reminders of my early twenties. Scripts long forgotten and purses filled with business cards for former friends.

Remember when that’s how you gave someone your number? Somewhere I still have a box of my own business cards. My cell phone number and my smiling face, a headshot taken when I was 19 years old.

The next box might have stuffed animals, creatures that at one point were so dear to me. I hug each one, tears in my eyes, as I remember the seven year old who named each and every one of them. Now I can’t remember their stories, and as Toy Story 3 haunts my mind, I place them in the goodwill box.

The next box holds reminders of high school. I see pictures of school dances, pictures without me in them. I see my friends all dressed up, and marvel at how we’ve all changed. So many of them are married, some starting families. Others are lost to me, the few people from my past that I haven’t found on facebook. I find photographs of myself, and wonder if I knew how pretty I really was. I see other pictures that cancel out that vanity; I was not immune to the awkward years.

I put item after item in the box for goodwill. Scrap of memory after scrap of memory in the trash. Birthday cards, holiday cards. Postcards from people I’d almost forgotten existed. When did I, the girl with the remarkable memory, make enough memories to start forgetting? What else have I forgotten?

It’s a sobering thought.

In short, I urge you to sort through your life more often than every 30 years. Don’t let your childhood sit in boxes; waiting for you to uncover it and realize how much your life has changed.

In other news, I did find almost all of my NES games, as well as the system. Please work Nintendo, this Internet Super Mario Brothers 3 isn’t cutting it.

Sadly that is the one game I have yet to locate.

What's this all about anyway

When I first mentioned wanting to start this blog, Leonard said what I’m sure is on many of your minds. “Another one?” He’s well aware of my obsession for talking about myself, and whatever aspect of my life I find entertaining. Earlier this year it was books. Before that, it was general pop culture. Truthfully I miss those blogs. One day when I get my act together (and actually finish the time sucker known as A Dance With Dragons) I hope to return to those. In the meantime, something else has taken over my life. Something that is even more exciting than books or pop culture. I know, I know, how is that possible?

I’m moving to San Francisco!

See? Totally more exciting than books or even pop culture.

My original plan was to start a blog after moving. To write about my discoveries within the city, and what it’s like going from Orange County to the Bay Area. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the journey has already begun. That so much of the moving process is an adventure, and in truth, has already caused me more than a little stress.

Seriously, how can we have so much stuff?

So sit down, friends, family and strangers. Read along as I discuss how Leonard, Mowgli, River and I prepare to move nearly 500 miles away.