*Clicks Her Heels Three Times*
This Saturday, I went out in San Fran with about ten of my college roommates to a club called 1015 Folsum (Paul Oakenfold was spinning). I think I must have been asked at least twenty times where I was from. I honestly had no idea how to answer the question and usually just shrugged and smiled with a “nowhere” or “I’m not really sure.” Of course, this was most often interpreted as a snide blowoff and more than once I caught a mumbled “bitch” under the breath of the questioning individual and he turned and walked away.
Where is my “home”? Anchorage, Alaska, where I was born? Portland, Oregon, where I was raised? Santa Clara, California where I went to school (pictured above)? Or San Diego, where I’ve been making my life for the last year and a half? I’m not really sure. When I travel, I claim Cali. It’s the best match to my personality…the beaches, the sun, the slower pace of life…and the people who love to stroll boardwalks and appreciate those things. Yup. I’m a California girl. So if I don’t get lost on some Brazilian island *and that is highly likely*, you’ll know where to find me. Just look on the beach around sunset time for the girl scribblin’ away in her journal with a pile of books on metaphysical studies and a digicam. Oh…and she’ll be smiling.
(Hey! I’m back in blog-effect! Please be patient as I dig through my inboxes and get back to questions!)