Pants on Fire

San Francisco is trying to make me out to be a liar.

In the seven years I've lived in this city, I've had two big complaints (let's pretend it was only two big and a lot of little ones): 1) it's always fucking 60 degrees and foggy here, except for two weeks a year in the spring and fall; and 2) there are no single straight men that aren't slimy douchebags.

I've got a lot of other reasons for wanting to move cross-country, but those are the two big ones. Fog is nice for a few days, depressing for an entire summer. Being single was fun ... for the first three years.  After that, it was just lonely, and again: depressing.

So, now that my departure date is set, what happens?

1a: We keep having warm spells — heat waves, if you can call 79 degrees a heat wave — with clear skies. I have a tan, people. I'd forgotten how pretty I look with some color in my face. It's shocking. I might actually start shaving my legs regularly if this keeps up.

2a: Single, straight men that I would actually be interested in dating are starting to pop up out of the woodwork. What's more, some of them even aren't slimy douchebags. It's not like I'm frequenting any different places, or doing any different things. They're on OkCupid, and at Krav, and downtown, where I've always been, and I'm wondering where the hell were you guys a year ago? Argh.

Granted, for both those points above, maybe I am doing things a little differently.

My tan is as much from a sunny San Francisco as it is from the day trip to Great America I took with Elsie a couple weekends ago, and attending the U.S. Golf Open with my dad last Friday, and the weekends spent in the South Bay playing golf with my dad or at the beach with my nephew.  (Did I mention, by the way, that I'm still learning to play golf? And actually liking it? It's a very strange thing indeed.)

And as for the men ... well, I guess it's easy to find someone when you really aren't looking or interested in looking (gah! "they" were all right, again!). And it's also easy to see who is right in front of you when you aren't obsessing over or distracted by some unworthy one else that doesn't want you or treats you like shit.


At any rate: San Francisco, if you'd been this much fun the last seven years, I wouldn't be leaving you. Or maybe it's because I am leaving that I'm taking advantage of all the fun you always had. I dunno what it is.

The last month or so I've been revisiting old stomping grounds, and hanging out and doing and rediscovering all the things I liked about California and the West Coast in general. Maybe it's living in a place makes you (or just me?) blind to what it has. Maybe it's feeling like this is your last chance, and taking it, that makes a place come alive.  (Is that a lesson on how we should live our lives?)

But then again, San Francisco isn't New York. Not by a long shot. So still no regrets.

75 days left. Reality is starting to set in.