Feels Like Home

I've had my next posting mentally written for over a week now. Maile vs Muni. It was going to be brilliant. And then the past few months took their toll on me. I got sick. I know. Perfect timing, right? Well, I'd kind of been fighting it since early December, so I guess I was due.

Anyhow, today we went exploring. Today we discovered how close we were to the coast. On a clear day, looking past the lake, we thought we could see the waves.

We were right.




The smell of salt water revitalizes me. It makes me feel alive. I feel whole. Complete. Like all is right with the world.

It's been that way as long as I can remember. I was born on an island. A birthplace that I only remember from family folklore. A place I can only recall deep within me. I grew up in a coastal town, spent my childhood and adolescence at the beach. At Big Corona. I would swim so far out in the ocean that people would worry. Lifeguards would swim out to check on me. I spent summers in Hawaii, tumbling with the waves as they crashed over me.

And I wonder, aside from my birthplace, have I ever lived this close to the ocean?

When I think of San Francisco, I don't think of the coast. Sure, I think of the water. The bridges, the wharf, the sea lions. But I don't picture the waves crashing on the sand. I didn't expect to be this close to home.

The Pacific Ocean is home. It connects my birthplace to my childhood. Connects Oahu to Newport. And now it connects those to my adult life, to who I am today. This is my home.

Smelling that salt water, I suddenly feel more at home than I have for over ten years.



2012 is going to be an amazing year.

Moving Sucks, part two

Where was I?

Right, Saturday. The day to unload all our junk into the new apartment. The U-haul that if you recall couldn’t hold all of our possessions. And while the new apartment is a good size, it certainly isn’t as large as our two bedroom (with garage).

But we were in good shape. We had a moving assistant, a good friend who made the drive with us. We had an elevator, and we had a handcart.


We were set. The boys went to drive the U-haul up to the apartment, while I took a call from the cable company about setting up our service. Conveniently, our apartment included basic cable, and our apartment manager gave us our rep’s card the night before. Inconveniently while I was taking that call someone STOLE OUR HANDCART.

Yes, someone decided to take a handcart from the lobby. Welcome to the SF, Bitch!

We were in a panic. We could certainly do this without a handcart, but it would take about five times as long. (We could fit about five boxes on the handcart, not to mention how it would help the boys with the heavy stuff). The good news sat in the back of the U-haul, behind boxes and boxes of crap. Attached to the fridge was a second handcart, an industrial strength model.

New plan, unload everything into the lobby, then use that one. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the only way we could return the U-haul that night.*

We unloaded everything into the lobby. Said goodbye to a few more items. We really didn’t need a broken chair. We got it all to the lobby. The boys moved the truck. They took a few of the heavier items upstairs (the fridge, the couch), and then THE FREAKING HANDCART RETURNED!

It was just sitting in the elevator, waiting for us like a person.

What. The. Bloody. Hell.

Long story less long, we got everything in, returned the U-haul, and calmed the cats back down.

We did it. We’re here.

It’s a fustercluck, but we’re here. And I am so grateful for the friends and family who supported us through this process. The people who helped us pack, who saw us out, who called to check in. The people who kept me sane…well, tried to. I wish you were all here now.

Not in my apartment; that’d get crowded. But in our complex? That’d be pretty cool.

So why does moving suck? It’s hard work. It costs much more than you’re expecting. A week before the move you can be well within budget and have funds to spare, then BAM! you’re broke and struggling to stay afloat (send us Trader Joes gift cards please!) The things you’ve known your entire life are suddenly different. My channels, I can’t make heads or tails of them! My entire life channel 2 was CBS, and now it’s FOX?!?! ? And learning where everything is? We needed a drugstore after 10pm one night, and Leonard drove around and around and around. Turns out, it was about five minutes away. And my friends and family. Did I mention that I miss you guys?

We’re here, and I’m thrilled, but damn, I’m ready for the moving process to be finished.


*It was due by 9am Sunday morning, but because I was working Fancy Foods, it was easier to return it on Saturday night.

Moving Sucks, part one

Okay, so I tried being clever. I had a whole list of why moving sucks. But this move has drained me. It has wiped me clear of creativity and wit. So instead you get some rambling thoughts about why moving sucks, thoughts that may or may not be connected to one another.

We didn’t have enough room in the U-haul. Yeah, we packed, and packed, and donated nonstop. Still we didn’t have room for everything. By the time we figured this out, the U-haul was 95% packed, and we still had 15% of our possessions to get in. With the help of some good friends, and some mad Tetris skils, we got about 10% in. But it was frantic and stressful and lame.

Little did I realize that it wasn’t going to get less stressful anytime soon. We spent the night at our friend’s house, and Mowgli was not a happy little kitty. He cried the entire drive there, and spent the night hiding under the guest bed. River, a social little kitten, came out to meet our hosts. She purred and cooed and slept at my feet that night. We drugged them in the morning, put them in their respective carriers, and I drove off about five minutes ahead of Leonard. Mowgli cried, and cried, and cried – AND RIPPED OPEN HIS CARRIER!

Yeah, the cat broke the carrier, popped his little head out, and escaped. I frantically pulled over, parked in a Fresh & Easy parking lot, and tried to figure out what to do next. Mowgli crawled under my feet, trying to find a safe place. I called Leonard – no answer. I called my mother – no answer. I called Leonard again – no answer. I called Claire – no answer. Then I did what all strong women do when the stress has taken over. I cried.

Long story short, Claire returned my message. She and her charming boyfriend drove to my rescue, and got us to a pet store. We got Mowgli a sturdier carrier, which he hated, and I went in my merry way. Leonard called me back (his phone had accidentally turned off), and we agreed to meet around Magic Mountain. I was an hour behind schedule, thanks to Mowgli.

Mowgli cried and cried and cried. He scratched his nose trying to escape, and tore up his claws. At Magic Mountain we gave him another pill, and I passed River onto Leonard. Mowgli and I would do the drive on our own. He cried through the grapevine, until finally calming down around Bakersfield. He’d sleep for maybe twenty minutes at a time, then wake up and pathetically start to cry.

And I started to wonder about all of you who said traveling with a cat was easy. Were you punking me? Was this an elaborate practical joke? Mowgli’s a good kitty. A little insecure, sure, but otherwise he’s good. How do those of you with poorly behaved cats do it?

He thought we were abandoning him. I’m sure of that. And abandonment issues? I get that. He truly is my cat.

We made it, half an hour later than we were supposed to. Luckily our apartment manager waited so that we could get into the apartment that night. If not we would have had to wait until Tuesday. F-ing Tuesday! We slept on the floor that night, curled up on whatever blankets we could find.

As for Saturday? Well friends, I guess you’ll have to stay tuned for “moving sucks, part 2.”

Root, Root, Root for the Home Team.

I’m not what one would call a sports fan. My family raised me with a basic understanding of baseball, and a team to root for (Go Yankees!). But otherwise, not really my scene. I hate the rivalries that come with sports, and cringe at how many comments this heartfelt entry will receive that consist simply of “Yankees Suck!”

Okay, so I do regularly text one of my dearest friends whenever one of my teams beats her Red Sox, but that’s just comedy gold.

That said, there is one aspect of sports that I really enjoy. This is when it can bring people together. When people can bond of their mutual enjoyment of this event, and get invested in the stories of the teams. I like live games for this reason; the social aspect of sports appeals to me.

Earlier this year, when I had my day job, I would listen to a lot of morning radio. This was just at the beginning of football season, and I wanted to be able to follow the news reports. I put up a facebook message asking for who I should root for, and after quite a few suggestions I decided on the 49ers.* This was in large part due to my plans to move out here. For those of you who don’t follow sports, today was a big game.

This afternoon I was shopping at Trader Joes. In the middle of my shopping trip they made an announcement over the loudspeaker. The 49ers had won the game!

They made an announcement in the supermarket that the local football team had won a big game.

Forgive me for being glib, but that wouldn’t happen in Orange County.

And for that memory, that moment when I realized this is my home, this is my home team, this is my city’s victory, that memory has sealed my fate.

I am a fan of the San Francisco 49ers.

More than anything else in the past 24 hours, that stupid football game showed me that my life really has changed more than just an apartment with a spectacular view.



*I also decided to root for the Giants. Well, really I root for both Giants. NY Giants and SF Giants. But I already rooted for the baseball team; rooting for the football team is new.

Written about twelve hours ago

Well we’re here. We made it. I’m sitting on the floor, laptop resting on an ottoman, looking out my sixth floor window. We don’t have Internet (I’m typing this on Saturday morning, likely going to a coffee house or bookstore to work on my homework later today).* We slept on the floor, using whatever cushions and blankets we could find. Most of our possessions are still in the U-Haul, waiting for us to unload them today. The cats are fine (now, more on that later).

It’s not real to me yet. To either of us. The entire drive up, I kept feeling like I was going on vacation. That I was on my way to visit one of my Bay Area buddies. And now that’s me. I’m a Bay Area girl.

Nope, doesn’t feel real.

The apartment feels real. I’ve easily adjusted to it. It’s just the fact that the apartment lies in San Francisco that I haven’t fully grasped.

San Fran-bloody-cisco!




*Bookstore was rubbish, Leonard managed to connect me with his bluetooth.

Goodbye Orange County.

I don’t even have the time to write this blog, but writing keeps me sane. It’s what keeps me going when life is in chaos around me. True confession, I’m writing this in spurts. A minute or two here. Pack. Another few minutes. Pack. And so on.

Tonight is our last night in the apartment. Tomorrow night we’re staying at a friend’s house to get an early start. Tonight is it. We’re in the red. The danger zone. No messing around.

Did I mention how not ready to go we are?

Focus Maile.

The past few days have been loaded with goodbyes. My previous entry touched on my last day at the restaurant. But let me tell you friends, it was even more spectacular. I didn’t really doubt it, but I will be missed. The morning manager went out of her way to make the day special for me. There were hugs, and there was singing, and then there were the tequila shots.

Don’t worry, the shots came later. Hours after I walked out the door, shedding tears that were for my eyes only. Yes, I cried. When I walked away, alone, my last shift truly over. I met my work friends at another restaurant, where we spent hours together. We drank together, had conversations both brilliant and inane. They told me they loved me, and I held back the tears.

Damnit, I’m going to miss those guys. No restaurant will be the same without you.

Then last night we had a little going away thing. I was so tired. So, so, so tired.

But here’s the funny thing. With our friends from last night, with my closest friends from the restaurant – it wasn’t goodbye. It sounds so silly, but it was just see you later.

And we will. We’re only a drive away. My family is still down here, and I’ll see them. You guys know I’ll be back. My cousin’s wedding is this year, and my bff isn’t too far behind her. These are life events that I cannot, and will not miss.

But saying goodbye is hard, yo.

It’s not goodbye. It’s so long, see you soon.

Now I have a spare bedroom to clean out.

Next time friends, I’ll be writing you from San Francisco!

Waiter Rant

Five and a half years ago I was looking for a new job. I had my resume in with employment agency after employment agency. I clicked on link after link that Monster had to offer. And, on a whim, I put in a resume for one serving position. I talked with a manager and was advised to check back in two weeks. Two weeks later I had a phone interview, only a few days before my previous position was ending. Friday September 1st was my final day with that company. I was hired at the restaurant on Saturday the 2nd.

I didn't expect to be there long. I wanted to move to the big city and take steps toward becoming a professional author. Over the past five and a half years my life has changed substantially. My goals have shifted and altered. And yet here I am, moving to the big city and starting a graduate program in Creative Writing.

I love this job. I love the coworkers, I love the food industry and I love interacting with the public. Sure I have bad days (who doesn't?), but truly it's been a great five and a half years.

Tomorrow is my last day at the restaurant. I will cry. Tomorrow I say goodbye to the memories. I say goodbye to the girl I was when I walked in those doors, and smile at the woman I've become.

I have grown professionally and personally because of this job. I have formed friendships that I hope will last a lifetime, and made connections that I will forever treasure.

So thank you dear work friends, for making the past five and a half years so memorable. Thank you for being there through the bad tips, the rude tables, and the burnt food. We've been through some horrible times together, and some amazing ones.

And it is without irony that I say, for perhaps the last time "HB ROCKS!"

Oh Crap

One week from today I'll be in San Francisco.

One week from today I'll have been in San Francisco for over 24 hours.

I don't even have words for all the thoughts running through my head. I'm excited, of course I'm excited, but more than anything else I'm overwhelmed.

Why is moving so stressful?

Monday is my last day at my restaurant, my real last day, and that afternoon I'll be saying goodbye to the people who've colored my life for the past five years. Five freaking years.

Thursday is the day we're loading the Uhaul.

Friday we're driving up.

Time is moving way too quickly now.

I apologize for the lack of introspection in this post; I'm operating on fumes of anxiety at this point.

Still Packing

The house is an obstacle course. In the past few days I've managed to repeatedly injure myself. None of these injuries are bad (in fact the worst happened outside the home), but they consistently remind me to be careful. Bags of clothes are on the floor, surrounded by boxes, surrounded by school bags. Some of these things are packed, some need to be sorted, others haven't been touched yet. I know doing a bit each day is the smart way to do this, but it makes for a different type of stress.

In other packing related news, I've come across quite a few things from my past that have given me hope for the future. Positive reminders about who I once was, what was once important to me, and what I still have in common with that girl from years ago.

I wish I could contact her, and say don't worry Past Maile, it get's better. You become comfortable in your own skin, and the things that make you self conscience turn out to be the things you love about yourself. You will make friends, true friends. You will share your writing with others. You will go back to school. You will meet a guy who cares. You'll even move to San Francisco, just like you wanted. You will get through the growing pains. And, p.s. Past Maile, they're totally normal. Everyone has growing pains, even the people who appeared to have it all together.

I wish I could tell her not to worry so much. Hell, I wish I could tell Present Maile not to worry so much.

If you could contact your past self, what would you say to them? What words of wisdom would you offer yourself at 10? At 15? At 20? How have you changed, and in what ways have you stayed the same?

I think exploring this is one of my favorite parts about the moving process. Even if it can be painful at times.


Past Maile, before she became a ball of insecurity.

Goodbye Clothes

Now we're packing the apartment. Really packing the apartment. In some ways this is easier than the storage unit. Most of my apartment stuff is stuff that is going to San Francisco. Over the past few years, I've tried to sort through books as I go, and, bookworm that I am, those are the bulk of my regular purchases. It's the little things that aren't making the cut. A script here, a notebook there.

And the clothes.

Ah, the clothes. People say you should go through your closet once a year. Once a year! I have things I haven't touched in three! I'd like to say there's logic to what I'm keeping, that I have it down to a science, but I don't. Gone are the skirts that never fit me right, that never quite worked with my body. Gone are the sweaters I'm not sure I love, yet others I'm just as wary about stay. The jeans I can't quite fit into anymore? Some get tossed aside, others get to travel with me, waiting for the day they can be worn again. It's a quality issue; the good jeans and the good sweaters get to stay.

Then there are the clothes that still fit, and I still love, but just aren't me anymore. I'm not an ageist, I know more than a few women my own age who can still pull some of these outfits off. But sadly, I'm not one of them. Gone are my days of low cut lace up black tops and short plaid skirts.

And somehow, despite the fact that I've never considered myself a clothes horse, this is hitting surprisingly close to home. I know a lot of people who lose weight and deliberately get rid of their bigger clothes. But what if it's the opposite? What if you've been stress eating because of a big move, and hope to fit into the old clothes by March?

Today we tackle the kitchen. More Leonard's domain than my own, but I still expect some difficult decisions.

Happy New Year!

It's 2012. The year of the move. The year of change. January will be huge for us. I start my graduate program through Southern New Hampshire University, we move, Leonard starts at San Francisco State, and somewhere in there I start at a new restaurant. A month where starting a graduate program is the least stressful part of the equation.

But, if you'll forgive a little melancholy dear readers, today is a bit difficult for me. We were supposed to be on the road. Right now. I was supposed to be well past the grapevine, on the stretch of the 5 that is nothing but fields and cows. Our shiny new city apartment should have been waiting for me. Instead our move date was pushed back two weeks, and while this is definitely a good thing (seriously, what was I thinking wanting to move during the holidays), it still manages to sting a little bit.

For the next two weeks, we're on borrowed time. We're going to pack, and we're going to visit with friends. I'm going to work a little longer, which I know my restaurant is grateful for. But I also have to fight the blues.

As some of you know, I'm fairly good with dates. At one point in my life, I could tell you exactly what I was doing a year ago to the day. My inability to do this now has less to do with my memory, and more to do with the fact that my life is a bit more mundane than it was when I was 20. And happier, Lord am I happier. So every day that I'm down here, a part of me will wonder what alternate reality Maile is doing in San Francisco. It this the day she was going to start working? Did she just discover an amazing used bookstore? Is she just sitting with Mowgli, just looking out the window?

In other news, I'd like to puff up my feathers and share that I did pretty well with my resolutions for 2011. Not as great as I'd like, but I throughout the year I made active strides toward them all. I did have a great workout plan in the earlier half of the year. I did find a job outside of the restaurant industry. I did declutter my life, and I was accepted to a graduate program.

2012? Aside from learning San Francisco, I only have two resolutions. One is the standard, get back to the gym. The other is a little more personal. I'm going to write a book.

I'm getting to December 21st with at least one item crossed off my bucket list.