It is time, woo

A favorite movie in my family is Heart and Souls. You know the one. Alfre Woodard, Kyra Sedgwick, Charles Grodin, and some other guy die in a bus crash and their souls get attached to a little boy who eventually grows up to become Robert Downey Jr. He forgets about them, then they reappear so he can help them put right what once went wrong, and they all sing Walk Like a Man.

And it's set in San Francisco.

It came on cable our first week here. It was kind of cool. I mean sure, we're from Orange County, but most things aren't filmed behind the Orange Curtain. Hell, The OC was filmed in Redondo and Long Beach.

Earlier this week I was walking along Haight and I heard this familiar noise. San Francisco natives will recognize it as the electrical wires screeching as the bus comes to a stop. But me? I recognized it as the sound that signifies the bus driver is coming to collect another lost soul.



And as I heard it, as I cognitively acknowledged it as the sound associated with the film, another feeling overwhelmed me. This sound that is deeply ingrained in my subconscience has become a part of my every day life.

It's such a little thing, just one snapshot into the day to day realization that this is my life now. This is my home.

How am I doing? Really.

I've been asked recently if I know my way around San Francisco yet?

Let's see. I get lost constantly. Drives that should take me twenty minutes easily take me forty. The day that I took the bus to work, I got on the wrong bus home.

And yet...

I recognize street names. I get lost, but I easily find my way home. I'm discovering back roads, alternate routes, and how to bypass those dreaded one way streets. When I took the wrong bus, I still managed to find my way home with ease (albeit by walking more than a few blocks out of the way.)

Okay, so I can hardly pass for a native. But I'm learning.

I'll get there.

Landmarks

Growing up, there was a Southern California landmark that made me happy every time that I saw it. It was out of the way, so driving by it was a moment for excitement. A reminder of what was near. As I grew older, it became a part of my routine freeway driving. This didn't diminish my excitement. Some of my older friends may realize what I'm talking about.



The Matterhorn isn't the only landmark that makes me happy. The Hollywood sign still evokes images of the golden age of cinema. The Statue of Liberty always brings tears to my eyes. And of course, the Golden Gate Bridge.



It's no secret that a few weeks ago I wasn't emotionally in the best place. I felt isolated from the city. Leonard and I were both recovering from a flu, and had barely left the apartment. He wanted to cheer me up, so he took me on a surprise trip to Golden Gate Park. To see the buffalo. And we were driving on 19th street, the major street near our house. We'd been on the road for maybe five minutes, and we went over a minor hill and suddenly there it was.

Leonard turned to me with a smile. "Look at that." But I didn't reply. I felt my eyes filling up with tears. So many of my trips to San Francisco, the bridge has been ignored. I would drive across the lesser Bay Bridge, stay downtown, and never venture to the ocean side of the city. Now I live near the bridge. The Golden Gate is my bridge.

Within the week, I would begin my new job. Now every (not foggy) work day, I drive that same route. I drive toward Golden Gate park, and for a few blocks, I can see her. My bridge. And every morning I smile like the little girl who was obsessed with the Matterhorn.

This is my home.

5 most San Francisco things to happen to me this week

Well, really last week. But what can I say, I've been lagging.

1) I got a job working for a tech start up in a Victorian in the Haight.

2) I couldn't find my way home from said job, because my commute there consisted of a variety of one way streets, which resulted in a half hour drive taking nearly an hour as I tried to find a street that I recognized. (This has happened to me about four times in the past two weeks, though only twice was the drive home from work. I've since found an acceptable route, thanks to my bus adventure last week.)

3) My good friend Traci and I stumbled across an Occupy Oakland demonstration in downtown San Francisco.

4) A crazy guy befriended me on Muni, then happened to be on the same BART car as me, though I'm not sure that he saw me there. He got off the same BART station that I did, but I don't believe he followed me. He certainly wasn't at the restaurant where I had a lovely brunch.

5) I saw two naked guys walking through the Castro. They weren't completely naked; one had a kitty cat hat on. They may have worn shoes. Rumor has it, this is totally normal.

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm not in Orange County anymore.

Maile vs Muni

Here it is, the post that I promised weeks ago. That's right, I'm going to blog about a staple of living in San Francisco.

Muni, or the Municipal Railway is the bulk of what I've experienced. The M line isn't fancy, but it's a 5-10 minute walk from the apartment, and takes me right into the city.

Who am I kidding, I love the M line. I love sitting, or standing with all these people. This is one of the reasons that I was so excited to move here. Eventually I'm sure that I'll read while the train is going, but for now I just look out the window with wide eyes.

So how could I post Maile vs Muni when really it was Maile + Muni = <3?

Then last night's adventure happened.

The biggest problem that I've had thusfar isn't with Muni, but with my own two feet. The stops I generally wind up at are classic subway stops. I'm underground, and the only clues to my location are little signs telling me which stairs lead to which streets. Unfortunately, because I'm still learning, those signs never actually include the street that I'm looking for.

This happened yesterday. Google gave me these ridiculous directions, and I got so turned around that I didn't have a clue where I was. This wasn't a part of the city that I was horribly familiar with, and I don't have a smart phone. What was I to do? How was I going to get to the book signing? Using some sort of natural instinct, I turned around, found my way, and was at the bookstore with time to spare.

Getting back to my station was a piece of cake; I walked with some of my new friends and wound up at Civic Center. And thus began my most annoying Muni trip to date.

It started when my Clipper Card wouldn't scan. The attendant let me pass, but still frustrating. I went down the stairs, sat down, and patiently waited for my train. The digital sign informed me that an Outbound M was expected in about five minutes. That M never came. They skipped it. Instead Outbound N, L, J, K all came through. No M. The cycle continued.

Okay, if my train never came, I could take one of the other lines, maybe K, get to West Portal, or even St. Francis. I could wait for my connection there, and if it never came, I'd be close enough for Leonard to rescue me.





And then the crazy man came.

Don't give me that whatever Orange County Girl face. Everyone was on alert. Muni police were paged. He was talking to himself, in a very fierce determined voice. He talked about bullets, guns and shootings. Yes, I'd definitely get on K. But I sat. I waited. The crazy guy got on K. I stayed behind.

About fifteen minutes later, M finally showed up. Single car. Standing room only. Awesome.

Waited over half an hour for a train - check. Crazy guy - check. Standing the entire route - check.

You may have won this round Muni, but I'm not finished with you yet.

If you're ever down a well, ring my bell

One of the most difficult parts about moving, and something that I've been experiencing lately, is the loneliness. We came up here with a sprinkling of friends and family, most of whom are farther away than I'd realized. That doesn't make them nonexistent. One local friend has already reached out (I was still recovering from the never ending flu), and I have a girl's night on the books with a very dear friend.

But is that enough?

Of course not. After a childhood of dorkiness, I have become a very social person. I like having people to laugh with, girls who are just as strange as I am. So today I did something awesome, something that I'm not ashamed to admit kind of freaked me out.

I went to a speed friending event.

I know, really Maile, what are you even talking about?

Remember that book I devoured this week, MWF Seeking BFF? The author had a signing today in San Francisco! I knew there was a reason that the book was screaming at me on Wednesday. And following the signing, there was a speed friending event. You know, like speed dating, but for friendship. Which is awesome because I've always wanted to do speed dating, but sadly I'm quite happy with Leonard.

And it was nice. I chatted, other women chatted, and in the end I walked away with three phone numbers & email addresses. Will these be my new Bay Area Buddies?

How do we ever know? Eleven years ago could I have foreseen that Claire would one day write a sappy ode to me on her blog? When we were cast in the same show, could I have anticipated that Julie would become the Joey to my Chandler? (Try to fight it Jewels, everyone knows that if anyone is Chandler, it's me). Did I know that Jess would become my penpal, that Marika would become my work bestie, that Traci would be my go-to book buddy?

Of course not.

But all I can do is go in with an open heart, an open mind, and take the steps to making my home in San Francisco a happy one.

An apology of sorts

I hope that you'll forgive last night's melancholy. I had this dream this morning, that we hadn't moved yet. We were packing the U-haul, and doing such a poor job of it. And I when I woke up in the apartment I was so happy to be here. So happy that we have moved, and that we're here.

It's just overwhelming. For years this is all I wanted. To live in the city. To live in San Francisco. But nothing is quite as I imagined.

Really I should have figured that out after thirty years. Things are never as you plan.

I imagined us closer to the heart of the city, instead we're out of the way. I imagined excitement, instead it's quiet and peaceful. Quieter than Orange County. I imagined to be within a stones throw of all these hip local places, instead we can walk to the mall.

None of these things are bad. There's a lot to be said about each of these developments.

I am so thrilled to be here. I just wish I had more stories to share. I wish that every time people asked, I had a new exciting tale to tell.

But that's all on me, isn't it?

A not humorous confession

I expected to have it all figured out by now. I expected three weeks in to be a regular Carrie Bradshaw of San Francisco, with my own hot spots already chosen. To have a new and exciting life that made up for the past thirty years of mediocrity.

That hasn't happened yet.

Today I had a thought. A thought that I only share here because I'm a writer at heart, and really only feel confident expressing myself through written words. I don't even know how to say this.

We were in the car, and I was looking out at everything my new home has to offer. And one thing kept racing through my mind.

I want to go home.

I wanted to be back in Orange County. Where everything is safe. Where I have friends, where I had a life.

Instead I'm here. Alone, save for Leonard and the cats. Crazy cat lady, party of one. All we've explored are the local malls, which are certainly nothing to write home about. And dear friends, I feel so, so lost.

I read a book today, MWF Seeking BFF. A woman in a new city looking for friends. Ir cried out to me, begging to be read. I devoured it, of course.

After I finished, I went to the website so that I could write the author. I don't know what I'd say. Help me? But then I saw, she'll be in San Francisco this Sunday.

Maybe I'll try to make a new friend or two this weekend. Maybe I'll have something real to blog about soon.

I wanted this blog to be all about my new adventures, and instead I find myself chronicling the many reasons why moving is so difficult. I always considered myself to be a strong woman, but this move continues to strike me down.