How do I feel about Washington, DC? Today I feel excited.

I am a virtual gypsy and the thought of absorbing the energy of a new city is part of my health plan.

Planet MyAmi can be toxic if one is overexposed for an extended period of time…which is why I quarantined myself so often.

It can get tiring blocking the chaotic energy all the time.

I watched the “Yes Man” and I feel positive about my possibilities rather than sad about who I am leaving behind.

This is my chance to continue balancing out my life.

I would like to find a place to live in the city before I start work. But none of the posters on Craigslist have responded in the last few days. Maybe I am not directing my energy enough.

What do I want? My own bedroom and bathroom. Furnished. The rest of the apartment furnished stylishly as well. Washer/ Dryer in unit. Cool roommate(s). Either 1 or 3 others. No odd numbers. Location urban, close to Metro, coffee shops, yoga studio, ethnic restaurants, gym, swimming pool, live music. $1300 or under, including utilities.

I need to be more specific about the WHO. Because I don’t want to absorb stupid energy. Then I’ll become stupid.

How do I feel about working for someone else? I am a virtual gypsy and I prefer solo work that I can do wherever I go.

First of all, it’s such an autonomous position it won’t be like working for someone else.

Second, to just do what I know how to do without pitching, proposing and worrying about the next paycheck is such a relief!

Third reason? To develop my network of blogs.

Oh! John, the realtor, called me back about a studio in Adam’s Morgan. Everything lined up so my friend dropped me off at the Herndon/Monroe Park & Ride Lot located at 12530 Sunrise Valley Drive. There are 1,745 free parking spaces. Fares are $1.35. Route 980 is the weekday, rush hour, express bus from this lot to the West Falls Church Metro station.

Ride Guide for Herndon/Monroe Lot (PDF)
Bus Schedule Search

I am supposed to be at the office by 8:30am my first day (urg). It takes about 10 minutes to get to the Herndon/Monroe P&R, and from there it takes 17 minutes to get to the West Falls Church metro, which is on the Orange Line, which will take me to Metro Station in 22 minutes to get to work, but to get to Adam’s Morgan, I continued to L’Enfant Plaza, and switched to the yellow or green line, which took me straight to U Street. I walked in my new black shoes in the freezing cold and saw the apartment on Chapin and 14th Street. I immediately started to feel like an artist again and began to imagine what life would be like as a resident in this building, just down the street from Busboys & Poets Cafe, named for the poet Langston Hughes.

John showed up and I instantly connected with the oldness of the building and its Art Deco lighting along the walls of the hallway which led to a wide, 20s-style stairway up to the second floor where studio 207 was just vacated and ready for a new story. The door opened up to a wall of shelves on the left and a few steps down the narrow hallway led to the clean, simple bathroom on the right. But there was still more hallway and we hadn’t even gotten into the main studio yet! On the left was a long coat closet just before a row of three stools at a bar that looks into a HUGE kitchen. Walk a little further and you are in the main part of the studio where the futon would go for sitting and sleeping, then step up into that HUGE kitchen with as many cabinets as an average-sized single-family home in the suburbs and enough space for a breakfast table. It’s really a perfect size for a single female like me, and perfect for writing and inspiration. I imagined my Femmebot comic book prototypes covering the walls because I would make this space an artist’s studio, not just a place for sleeping.

No laundry in the unit, I would have to go down to the basement and play with quarters again even though I’m paying $1425-$1500 every month. Not cool. And I would have to go outside to dump my garbage. Blaa. Utilities would be even more on top of that exhorbitant rent and suddenly my visions of my newfound bohemian life go POOF!!

Thanks, but no thanks, John. I can see why this apartment is still not rented.

So I cross the street to a brand new apartment building with signs advertising that they are currently leasing. The lady at the front desk isn’t particularly friendly but I don’t let that discourage me from asking to see the place. She tells me to come back in an hour so I do and Jason, the realtor who has blue blue eyes, comes out to the posh, brand new lobby to greet me. He shows me apartments on an interactive big screen TV, and I decide right then and there that this is where I need to live. I want high tech, the latest and greatest - I am not an artist in DC, I am a web manager in DC. I am an artist in Miami. Aaaaaaaa! Epiphany. I want a badass loft with floor to ceiling windows with views of the city. I want an LCD screen to tell me when the next metro is coming as I step off a high speed elevator. I want a wAsher and dryer in my unit and granite kitchen countertops and a big bathroom that has a shower built for two (me and my B-O-Y). I want a full gym, yoga studio, surround sound theater, business center with computers and conference room.

Do I want to pay $1830/month, not including utilities? No.

I have debt to pay off. I wanted to save money for school. Was this place a distraction from my purpose for being here? No.

I am the architect of my own life. I looked at this place for a reason. Don’t know why yet. The answer will reveal itself eventually. It always does, thanks, God!!!

OK, so when I got HOME (foreshadowing), I did my numbers. I need to pay off the debt as quickly as possible. And if I stay with my friend rather than moving into an overpriced arty or posh studio in the city, I can have everything paid off in 3 months.

Art by Clutch. Word by Jose Javier Rodriguez.

En los báncofa. The Bank. He’s talking to you. ¿’sta que hora cierran en los Bancofamérica…sabes? Pay attention: closing time. Voy pa’l que ’sta en la Güachingtong con la cientosiete. Bank of America. The one that’s on what street and what street. You couldn’t conjure up anything at all on One-oh-seventh, much less a bank. And anyway, where the bus was right then, you couldn’t say. No sé. That wasn’t a helpful answer. But you said something, so who cared. Your eyes and his met. Mi banco… creo que cierran a las cuatro y media. He was a man, like you, mid-twenties. He had a tight fade and slight goatee and he was looking you square in the eyes with his mouth closed and all places around his eyes taut, but not frowning. He was probably a quick mind. He was paying attention and practically reading you. It made you want to answer well. Pero los hay que cierran como a las cuatro. There, you said you don’t know but you rounded it out by guessing for him. Alright, bro, thanks. He had pale skin. You couldn’t place him. Born here or maybe came real young. You both switched to English once you saw one another. You’re riskin’ it. Your editorial comment about his decision to take this trip (possibly) in vain got no reaction, that you noticed.

You looked away from Late To The Bank Guy. But your head turned real slow the way people do when the conversation just stops, rather than clearly ends, and hangs in the air just a bit longer. He seemed like he would have noticed that it took you a couple of seconds to come up with a response. More likely, though, it seemed longer than it really was. Not that it mattered either way. But you were curious how he saw it. What he thought about it. What it would be like to be Late to the Bank Guy in that moment. You began to feel what it might be like to sit where he was, on that side of the bus. And you began to see the bus from his side and to see, sort of, what you would have looked like to him as he was looking at and talking to you. That’s all you could manage with your imagination. But to really see and hear the world as not you. Looking out on everything through the peephole of another’s front door. You could never know.

A god-awful squealing filled your ears and you were jerked forward. The one person standing, a man in the aisle at the front of the bus who was ducking his head and eyeing the door, was jerked frontward. Those sitting mostly hung forward a bit, about to drift back into place. The brakes. That must have been what woke you up from your nap on the window. At that moment you could hear the sound that had roused you. You were either just now remembering the sound of brakes or just now imagining it to go along with your newfound story about how you woke up. It was like being confused by a memory of something that might have had happened in real life, but might just as easily have happened in a convincing dream that morning. Sleeping on the damned bus. You’d been jolted awake to a sore head and drool. Having forgotten where you were, where you were going, that you were on a home visit. It took you a couple of seconds, at least, to look around and rediscover even who you were. More than just forgetting where you were, you were waking up into yourself. You could have woken up as anyone it seemed. But you came into yourself. Back into yourself. From nothing. Or from somewhere else.

London piercing Doc Martens I want to get my hair cut at Tony & Guy and look “smart” like sophisticated European girls straddling the Prime Meridian instead of a hippie long-haired wannabe Janis Joplin in Vienna drinking hot chocolate, I just want to sit in a café and sip on it and watch people until I get to Munich where Claudia, our hostess, is so educated and rich and I want to live just like she does after Nuremburg Hitler energy seeps into my subconscious for use later so that ugly people in Berlin watch Beavis and Butthead in German running back and forth across checkpoint Charlie with no consequences I am free I am free I am free of confessions in Edinburgh beers Yo La Tengo Chapel Hill techno twist to Washington, DC intern in a patent law firm on M Street that paves the way to New Hampshire Jewish girlz wearing Donna Karen that I can’t afford when I move to Michigan for a newspaper internship that turns into a crush on Karen and HTML coding search and replace Seattle for Colorado chiles drying in the afternoon sun because he went to San Francisco and I met a pioneer who gave me a break in a South Beach Warehouse with brick walls so I could feel like Ally McBeal but I am in my 20s and everyone is riding around on segues drinking Starbucks until I ride the MUNI to North Beach I traveled from city to city by instinct and because no one tried to stop me but I always had a job and a place to live so it was easy I met other Virtual Gypsyz in San Francisco at the height of the dot.com boom and the city looked more like a college campus with 20-somethings gliding around the warehouse district on segues while sipping from cardboard Starbucks cups but on a rare hot day in April 2001, I climb onto the bus toward North Beach and sit next to a B-O-Y with big brown eyes he speaks first and smiles I am a single woman in a city full of inappropriate suitors but he pops the question: “Would you like to get coffee sometime?” and we travel to a Russian Hill Art Show but I have to move out and get my own studio in the Tendernob where Trannies across the street fraternize with firemen on 9/11 more entertaining and louder than “Blind Date” on my tiny TV that swirls to Mexico City Murals and a trek to Costa Rica Mushrooms and Lenchak Match-ups in Nicaragua Butterflies over a small plane to Corn Islands with wind mills and the island I wished for in 1993 but I had forgotten and Honduras Slums lead to Guatemala Ruins and finally I land in MyAmi Vice money sex power real estate boom bust boom.

ARGENTINA from Julian S. on Vimeo.

JS: Argentina is very European, it’s not like a Latin country. You go there, and the moment that you land, you will see the difference - it’s not like, say, Colombia. The architecture is very French, Italian because the designer of the Eiffel Tower, Gustave Eiffel, designed a lot of the city and it carries a lot of the French style. There’s different areas of Buenos Aires that carry that look. Barrio Parque is where the foreign embassies are located. The buildings there are all different, like villas. If you go to Palermo Hollywood, it’s more old buildings. One thing you notice is a lot of graffiti, I don’t know why they graffiti everything there.

Virtual Gypsy: What kind of graffiti did you see?

JS: Just words…like Pablo is crazy about this girl…a lot of ridiculous teenager stuff…

Virtual Gypsy: Nothing political?

JS: Political? I think, some? I didn’t notice anything political, but I saw Bart Simpson on the side of the building. They all love The Simpsons.

Virtual Gypsy: Does it translate well?

JS: It’s all dubbed.

Virtual Gypsy: I saw it in Nicaragua and it didn’t translate well. It’s American humor, you have to live here to get it.

JS: The food is amazing, it’s all organic.

Virtual Gypsy: Was it cheap?

JS: For us it’s cheap, for them it’s not. Most restaurants have deals, where you get an appetizer, main course, dessert and coffee for like 45 pesos, which is about $12. The Palermo Viejo neighborhood was really good and a little more high-end, it’s well-known, it’s amazing. I had salmon at one restaurant and it was like 45 pesos, but it’s worth it. For a typical Argentinian, they can afford to go out twice a week. If you’re a foreigner…

Virtual Gypsy: Did you guys cook in the apartment?

JS: I cooked twice - made some pasta because I was craving it - with mushrooms and onions.

Virtual Gypsy: Did you get it at a market? Like an outside market or a supermarket?

JS: They have a supermarket - the biggest one is called Coto - they’re everywhere and have everything. From our perspective, it’s pretty affordable. Argentineans complain because there’s a lot of inflation. Since the last time I was there prices went up at least 30%. If I were buying a juice, it was $1 and now it’s $4…well, maybe more!

Virtual Gypsy: Yeah, that’s more than 30%.

JS: But on average…this is specific for drinks.

Virtual Gypsy: Their economy crashed a few years ago, I remember…

JS: They pegged the peso to the US dollar, one to one, and that’s what messed them up. In 2000, they brought the currency to the same strength of the American dollar, so one peso equals one American dollar. That made all goods expensive. So a lot of American businesses stopped buying. They also had a bank run, and a lot of people couldn’t withdraw money. There’s a movie that touches on it called Nueve Reinas/Nine Queens.

Virtual Gypsy: Yeah, I saw that one…with the two guys…

JS: The guy gets taken for a bunch of money…

Virtual Gypsy: Yeah, it was really good.

JS: It shows that time period where people couldn’t withdraw money from the banks.

Virtual Gypsy: And then a lot of people came to Miami. How many times have you been to Argentina?

JS: Twice.

Virtual Gypsy: Will you go back?

JS: My dream is to ship my motorcycle there and do a tour all the way down to the tip, but it’s very far and very cold. You can see whales and all kinds of craziness.

Virtual Gypsy: Have you heard of people taking motorcycles there? Is it an Interstate or a two-way road?

JS: Yeah, but you can take it off road, take a GPS and just cruise.

Virtual Gypsy: Would you go by yourself?

JS: I know a guy who would go with me - at this point it’s just a dream.

Virtual Gypsy: What would stop you?

JS: Certain responsibilities that I still have here. The downturn of the economy – I can’t just leave and I have to work a little harder because things are tougher now.

Virtual Gypsy: Since you’re a Virtual Gypsy, did you continue working while you were in Argentina ?

JS: No. Just relaxing. Indulged in food, walking a lot. We also went to Pinamar, a beach town about 5 hours by bus.

Virtual Gypsy: What kind of bus? I’m imagining the school buses in Nicaragua…

JS: No, they have these comfortable buses you take from the center of the city. Buses are the favored means of transportation. To fly is very expensive. The buses are two-story.

Virtual Gypsy: And they crank the A/C.

JS: Yeah, but they give you blankets.

Virtual Gypsy: Isn’t that silly? I used to hate that! And are the roads very windy.

JS: No.

Virtual Gypsy: I threw up on one once.

JS: I’ve been to Bolivia, and you look down and it’s 1,000 feet drop. Buenos Aires is flatter.

Virtual Gypsy: So, the beach town?

JS: The ocean is dark, like brown, like a river.

Virtual Gypsy: Like up north, in Maine. It’s not inviting.

JS: The sand is brown and very fine. It looks like mud. In that aspect…I appreciate Miami.

Virtual Gypsy: I heard that’s why people from Buenos Aires go to Brazil if they want to go to the beach. Have you been to Brazil?

JS: No, I’d like to go. I’ve been to Costa Rica, Puerto Rico, Colombia, Bolivia…and Argentina.

Virtual Gypsy: Did you do any painting in Argentina?

JS: One drawing. A character - an old man. Looks kind of scary because he’s got exaggerated features. I also bought a couple of pieces from this guy. Sebastian. Very talented. So I’m going to see if I can help him.

Virtual Gypsy: Did he have a gallery or was he on the street?

JS: No, just saw him on the street. I want to see if I can help him break into this part of town. I saw a lot of similarities between his work and mine.

Virtual Gypsy: So is this the only trip you’re taking this year or are you going someplace else?

JS: Maybe China? I have a friend who lives there.

Virtual Gypsy: What part? Shanghai?

JS: Yeah, Shanghai. I found tickets for $900. I think that’s a good deal because it’s usually $1,700. Before this trip I went to Bogota. In September I went with 5 guys to Puerto Rico. I like Puerto Rico, it’s fun.

Virtual Gypsy: Did you eat a lot of meat in Argentina?

JS: Chorizo, a lot of entrana…

Virtual Gypsy: Is it hard on the stomach?

JS: Yeah, it’s heavy…the desserts are really good. They had mousse de chocolate and you can add almendras - it’s like amazing. The best dessert I’ve ever had.

Virtual Gypsy: If you were to invest in a company in Argentina, what would it be?

JS: That’s a good question, because what I found was in the markets, they had a lot of trinkets - artisans selling bracelets, rings - absolutely one-of-a-kind and super cheap. You could get furniture for a fraction of the price. I brought a couple of huge cow skins.

Virtual Gypsy: Where are you putting them?

JS: In my living room on the floor. I struggled with the fact that it’s a dead animal, but I figured it was already dead.

Virtual Gypsy: LOL.

JS: I’ve got a dead cow…but it looks good…it’s an organic element that warms up the room…I’m sure a vegetarian that comes to the house would want to go on the other side of the room. If I were to open a business, it would be worldly finds, put them in a huge container and bring them here…mark them up. Now I don’t know what the tariffs and taxes are. Shipping I already got covered. You can get a huge container for $1,000, which is very cheap.

Virtual Gypsy: By water…

JS: Yes. They’re called drop shippers. There’s a lot of possibilities. Wine is dirt cheap. A bottle is $1. Really nice wine from Mendoza, Cordoba. I drank a lot of wine and beer. I saw so many beautiful things, and I haven’t found those things here, so there’s a market here.

Virtual Gypsy: What’s the media like over there? Did you watch any?

JS: I didn’t watch much TV because I was out walking and enjoying. I couldn’t carry a lot of stuff on me. Just tried to put my hands in my pockets. I got a lot of visual memories, a lot of mental notes.

Virtual Gypsy: This is so refreshing, America is so boring.

Something’s not right, though I can’t put my finger on it. Underneath the perfection there is a melancholy. Maybe it’s the other side of the sun. Most of the year here it is frigidly cold and everyone must stay inside their nondescript public housing blocks.

Do they dream about “a better life?” That oh-so ubiquitous consciousness of Americans? Or is life just what it is…in front of them and their only job is to live it?

As we rode bicycles through the immaculately designed marina, built specifically for people and not cars, past shi shi restaurants overlooking the Fjord, it was apparent that there are some Norwegians with American-style ambitions…and the country’s welfare system has NOT produced a bunch of lazy good-for-nothing citizens. Ambition is a choice, not a necessity. Don’t want to work? Well, you will still have decent housing and enough money to buy good food for yourself and your family. You WANT to work? Great, we’ve got plenty of jobs and you’ll be able to afford to live in a luxury penthouse on the water.

It’s not impossible here since most of the planet needs a resource that is abundant here…oil, oil, oil. Everyone here is wealthy with oil.

Does that make it a vice country? It seems we’re all making our livings on our vices. There’s no escaping it. Vices are scalable. And scalability is the key to any healthy economy – whether you call it capitalism, socialism, communism.

So, the theory is that Norway is a perfect place to just BE. There is no reason to ASPIRE to anything here, although that choice is available to those who are on that karmic path. Whatever you want to do or whoever you want to be, it is possible…which makes an American question the dogma of freedom that has been imprinted on our minds like the memories of clones in the film “The Island.”

“Only in America can one rise from poverty to multi-millionaire…” Is it true? Perhaps partially. But it seems in a globalized world, freedom is available in more places than The Land of the Free, Home of the Brave and Propagator of Mass Culture. The TV is all American faire. Martha Stewart, E-Entertainment, Sex and the City, Desperate Housewives, Lost and uncensored reality shows dominate the channels…rarely do I see an original Norwegian show or film. It’s so disappointing, since watching TV is one of my favorite pastimes in a different country. Well, they do have their own original porn after 10 p.m., however. Apparently the country needs to beef up its population, so this is quite an important piece in the Norwegian propaganda diet.

Reading Maya Angelou’s “The Heart of a Woman” in the setting of Norway brings the extreme of struggle to the extreme of just being. She writes about “The world on fire” in the 1960s as blacks in both the US and South Africa fight discrimination and segregation. The struggle becomes passion as she meets a South African freedom fighter who immediately sees her power and knows it is the match to his own work over the years. She wants to deny this match at first because she had already chosen to live her life with a normal man with no awareness or cares about “The world on fire.” To marry him would mean stability and the end of the story she had started writing so many years before. To marry the freedom fighter would mean many more chapters…and to a writer, there is nothing more precious than THE BOOK.

I want someone who can truly see ME. I don’t want to just co-exist.

I don’t know when my real birthday is supposed to be because my mother made an appointment to have me. She didn’t feel labor pains the day I came out. She just went to the hospital with a duffel bag of overnight clothes and toiletries, approached the window and said, “I have an appointment at 8 o’clock with Dr. so-and-so.”

“Is this a regular prenatal check-up?”

“No. Today’s the day!”

“Oh, well, congratulations. Just have a seat and we’ll call your name in a few moments. Help yourself to some water and there are magazines on the rack behind you.”

If I did not come out when I wanted to, then my life’s destiny was mapping out a very rational, very planned, very obedient experience on Earth. Perhaps because I was denied my own will from the very start, the complete opposite would characterize my personality. I would rebel against my parents, the social system, authority figures and the so-called institutions of life…and eventually lead the Second American Revolution. —->>>>

I want to work, but I’ll feel bad.

If I eat, I’ll feel bad, too, because I didn’t go out to buy the groceries.

If I clean, it’s because I want to rid myself of guilt.

If I look him in the face, I’ll cry.

All because I am not the woman for him.

I don’t cook for him when he’s hungry. That makes me thoughtless and selfish.

He wants a housewife but that’s not what I am.

So it makes me wonder why he is with me…or even why does he love me?

If I am a writer and I get wrapped up in my work, that should be a good thing. He should love me for my dedication. But instead he is jealous because I am not paying attention to him and his needs.

“Woman, I’m hungry. Get your head out of your ass and take some initiative in that kitchen. And don’t give me no peanut butter and jelly - I’m a man, dammit. Don’t insult me with your Mickey Mouse diet. I need some meat and potatoes. I need enegy to watch TV and to take my two hour naps. Afterwards, we’re gonna work on my web site until your eyes burn.”

I never imagined coming down here I would be subjected to expectations and demands. I thought we came hee to be in love, work on our art and watch sunsets together.

I guess I also had unrealistic expectations. —>>>>>

Snap, crackle pop, the leaves of the palm trees go when raindrops hydrate with each drop blowing in the breeze in the afternoon tehy whisper and twitter sweet nothings and a “Hello, welcome to Casa Iguana where safety doesn’t hide in a holster beneath a blazer or luxury doesn’t mean room service and a concrete swimming pool.”

21 Julio 2003
Technology is making it so that gender will be just another characteristic like eye color and height. Does it really matter if I am male or female? If I’m both, and you want to stick to your gender roles, then that means I have double the power of any regular man or woman. I am the best of both worlds. If technology is making it so that men and women can do the same work, who cares which parts they have underneath their clothes? And speaking of clothes, who cares what they wear? If a woman can wear pants today when that was never acceptable 100 years ago, then eventually, time will allow for acceptance of a male to wear dresses and makeup. Don’t look at me like that either, like it will never happen because I know you’ve seen those male models in fashion shows wearing makeup and questionable outfits. And not all of them are gay, believe me.

“Super Human”
I am the 21st century human. I am more advanced than the average human because I have tapped into both my male and female energy. Just because it sounds crazy to you doesn’t mean it won’t someday become scientifically accepted as the direction evolution chose for humans. People who are labeled crazy by the rest of society are usually held up as geniuses after their death - Einstein, Van Gogh, Copernicus. Someday, instead of being labeled as freaks, we will be the preferred candidates at places of employment and eventually become the presidents and CEOs because unlike men, we will tap into our female energy for compassion and balance in decsion making and unlike females, we won’t let power get to our heads and become mega bitches to younger female employees. We won’t need maternity leave and we won’t screw our secretaries. There won’t be any need for sexual harrassment laws because the battle for power between the sexes would be an ancient notion for an intersex workplace.

In a sense, these small changes will echo throughout the rest of the world and ultimately extinguish the fires of war created by men and supported by women. With male and female energy together and finally in balance, everyone, whether they literally go through sex change operations or not, will go through an intersex transformation. From birth, children will be taught to be strong but sympathetic, courageous but not arrogant, to cry without feeling ashamed - no roles will be assigned by the help of toys. Barbies and Matchbox cars will either be completely trashed or dispersed among both males and females indiscriminately. Will this make for a boring world? Without the beauty of women to complement the power of a man? No. A woman can feel free to wax her eyebrows and dye her hair. A man can feel free to work on his muscles at the gym. It’s all in the mind this transformation will occur. Despite all our appearances, it’s our minds that make us who we are.

But isn’t there something beautiful about a man being a man and having completely opposite characteristics to a woman? And when they join together, they are perfect equal and opposite forces? Of course. No one is saying that ideal should be obliterated. The ideal is even more so heightened with men and women who understand the male and female energy within their own selves, respective of their partners.

Living two years in the Upper Tenderloin of San Francisco among trannies taught me what it means to be a woman. For years, I had been experimenting, playing out trial by error scenarios and trying to learn how to function inside this body I was given. But in a society that no longer strictly defines the roles assigned to each sex, I was confused, innundated by the choices flying at my face from every angle, as well as disgusted by the media’s depiction of modern femininity. When I moved to the Tenderloin, the year was 2001, the same year I got laid off and left my boyfriend of three years who I was supposed to marry. I was going through a major identity crisis trying to figure out the meaning of work as a single, educated woman; how a man would ever fit into the picture again; why I was living 3,000 miles away from my family in Florida; and tryin to make and keep friendships with other single working women. Every day I looked out my window and marveled at the caricatures of women walking the sidewalks.

“Do they think they’re women?” I would wonder.

“Do they understand how confusing it is to be a woman in this day and age?”

“Do they hope to get married and have children like other average women?”

Then I realized that if it is confusing for me, surely it was an even more complex, confusing process for them. I was questioning my own identity, but at least I didn’t have OTHER people constantly questioning it, too. While my struggle is mostly internal, they have the external and biological forces constantly working against them. ——>>>>>>>

Yes, wear flowers in your hair, but also bring comfortable shoes, cuz this is a great walkable city. It’s only 7×7 square miles, and when you get tired, you can always hop a MUNI train or bus to take you from Bay to Pacific Ocean (via the N Judah).

I lived in this balmy, bone-chillin city between 1999 and 2003 during the dot.com boom and bust. The city changed drastically with the influx of East Coast kidz like myself riding around on segues while sipping from cardboard Starbucks cups, on their way to warehouse offices funded by venture capitalists who didn’t bother to look at business plans (hence the bust). We were the Matrix kids. The founding architects of a new world.

This industry directly spawned a new wave of creativity through the ‘Sco, especially in the arts and music scenes…and these are some of my fav haunts, which are still thriving even after the trendy kidz ran back to the East Coast with their tails between their legs:

Warehouse District South of Market
330 Ritch
This used to be a cement floor black hole where white BOYz would bang their heads to the grittiest drum and bass. I was usually one of three females, and despite my L-O-V-E of big bass that penetrates the soul, I would have to go outside and take occasional breathers from the overly male intensity. You can imagine my surprise when I visited this spot earlier this year and the place is IMMACULATE. There were VIP tables and more females flossin their cute high heels, ala Miami style! Woah! Talk about a makeover. An interior designer obviously got a fantastic budget and went nutz in this place. Great job, it looks good, but I wonder where the angry white BOYz went? Hmmm.

111 Minna
I remember just walking into this space made me feel uber cool because it was off an alley and at the time you didn’t know about it unless someone told you. We would stand around in the dark listening to a drum and bass DJ and then all of a sudden someone would start singing along to the music, and BAM! Live show instantaneously. These days, it’s much more high profile, but it’s a great place hosting innovative events supporting indie fashion designers, artists, DJs, et al.

Six
This place was straight up H-E-L-L. Located on the crackiest street of San Francisco, just walking to the front door was a thrill for a little girl from the suburbs. Upstairs they played unoffensive enough music (at least the times I went), but downstairs it was full of vampires and creatures tweaking to hardcore TRANCE.

The End-Up
Yep, you guessed it - at the end of every party, everyone ended up in the same place - this was the most diverse joint in the city, I think, where you could find frat BOYz dancing alongside trannies alongside urban hip hop kidz and everyone was cool with that. Probably because everyone was on a pill and L-O-V-E for your fellow MAN (no pun intended) is unavoidable.

Brainwash
It’s a place to do your laundry while listening to spoken word and comedians and chomping on a salad.

Mission District

Balazo Gallery (Now Sub-Mission Art Space)
Extreme performance art is what implanted this space in my mind. My friend Vicente, a Mexican artist, took a jackhammer to plexiglass, sending shards throughout the screaming crowd. But this was just one particular night, who knows what they’ve got going now? It’s worth a stop after eating a BIG, FAT BURRITO at El Farolito…if you’re out REALLY late, take advantage of this spot, or if you’re lucky, you’ll run into the Tamale lady who sells her homeade treats to kidz who had too many happy hours.

Theatre Rhinoceros
First time I went to this spot was to see comedienne Marga Gomez so I could write an article about her for Latino.com. They feature mostly “queer” talent, so if you’re a conservative Christian, I highly recommend it. ;-D

The Castro
Speaking of gay, San Francisco is also the mecca for the Midwest’s gay refugees. Here, BOYz can hold hands with BOYz, and instead of getting dirty looks, they can give dirty looks to the heteros who come to their hood to behold a spectacle you would never see on the average Main Street USA. Hot girls and their gay boyfriends should definitely check out the bars and clubz in this hood…just be careful of linking up with boys doing too much “tina” and traveling thru K Holes.

Haight-Ashbury
Madrone Art Bar - Ask for Ludovic and tell him Melanie says, “Hi!” He also owns The Tunnel Top downtown, which still bangs on Tuesday nights with Latin beats.

Amoeba
Poor Amoeba. Since the advent of iTunes, this independent music store is suffering a bit, but perhaps it’s the DJs who still love vinyl who will keep these folks in business. If you are a tourist, you should definitely support this spot, it truly is an historic landmark and I guarantee you will find little treasures here…and maybe I am lying that they are suffering, because they are still alive while the Virgin superstore in the financial district went out of business earlier this year. Long live indie businesses!

Golden Gate Park
A trip to San Francisco wouldn’t be complete without a walk, run, rollerblade, bike through one of the most beautiful city parks in the world. As soon as you enter, you can smell the eucalyptus. There are winding paths and drumming hippies…Marina moms pushing strollers and Type A financial district runners timing themselves.

North Beach
This is where Little Italy and Chinatown cross paths, and where you’ll find plenty of frat BOYz in crispy shirts having typical bachelor nights at the many strip joints and cheesy bars that attract the cheesy girls. You can tell how much I liked this area. ha ha ha. But if you insist on going there like most other San Francisco tourists, check out O’Reilly’s Irish Pub and Restaurant. The beer was cheap and the grungy band was charming.

Kennedy’s Irish Pub & Curry House
This has got to be the oddest mash-up of cultures, and that’s why it’s worth a visit. Drink a Guinness to cool off a plate of spicy Indian curry. Maybe this isn’t so odd if you’re from London, but I’m from Long Island, and I never would have thought to put Irish together with Indian.

Besides restaurants, clubs and bars, North Beach is also a great place to spend the morning - have an espresso in a cafe and then walk to the park where you’ll find Chinese folks doing their morning Thai Chi. My theory is that this particular scene creates a calming effect on otherwise agro drivers passing by…it’s also a great place to catch some free wifi if you are a virtual gypsy like me and need to get some work done while Italians hoot and holler at the latest soccer (football) game. This place goes OFF during World Cup.

City Lights Bookstore
The whole reason I went to San Francisco is because I learned from Baby Boomers that this is where hippies and beats go to find their home. This is a true landmark; a beacon of the voice of an entire generation, so if you are interested in politics, the arts and social issues, check it out.

Polk Gulch
This neighborhood holds a particularly special place in my heart because I began writing my first novel here. It’s also where I started practicing yoga more seriously, at the Funky Door Bikram yoga studio. San Francisco can get quite nippy and this is where I used to warm up my bones. But be prepared for the rank smell…120-degree rooms packed wall-to-wall with sweating yogis is not an olfactory pleasure. Afterwards, head a few blocks south and then west to the Whole Foods at 1765 California St where they will take your whole paycheck, but it’s worth it if you need to do some grocery shopping…although an even better value for organic food and local wines that cost less than $5 is Trader Joe’s. I was astounded at how cheap food is here compared to expensive Florida where Publix has monopolized the industry.

It’s a Grind Cafe
I attended a poetry night here on a Tuesday night, so if you want a different pace, check it out and you will find older hippies with friendly faces.——->>>>>>

1. An underlying connection with many of the girls because
a. Yo soy Latina, como muchas de las muchachas;
b. I look young, and I could blend in easily
c. I could have easily been there because of my rocky 13, 14, 15 year old stages

2. Alienated, which is the opposite of the above feeling. I could see the elevator eyes on me, the curious stares, trying to figure out whether I was one of then, or one of those dirty middle class Latinas. Even though I was dressed nicely, as a Latina usually dresses, I still wasn’t dressed or made up the way they were. Would they want to talk to me? Or is my accent too annoyingly anglo? I told one girl, to try to connect with her (desperately), “I like your shoes. I have almost the same ones, but with butterflies on the heels.” She nodded smugly…huge chip on her shoulder.

I wanted to ask some of the girls if their boyfriends were still around, when they ad their babies and how they dealt with pregnancy, birth and now motherhood. Would it be possible to revisit this site and develop some sort of trust?

There was one girl who looked all of 14 or 15, and she spooked me because she looked just like me. She played listlessly with her one-month-old looking daughter. I wondered if she was bored. I wondered what she looked like while she conceived this child. Did she enjoy the sex? Was it her first time? How did he court her?

3. Embarrassment. My co-worker embarrassed me. It was like she was trying to stand out as the all mighty philanthropist looking down upon the peon needy groundlings. She is so unnatural, she makes dorky comments and she dresses so that her clothes speak for her economic status. Fuck her little dress code. I say dress according to what the people are wearing. Now more than ever I want to show my color and be proud of it. Fuck her business casual jackets. She hasn’t a clue of what she’s doing. What are her motives for being involved in this type of work? My co-VISTA says it’s about low self-esteem. She knows she’s above all the people she works with and so she pulls power trips and talks down to them to show her superiority. She knows she wouldn’t ever cut it in a corporate setting. She’d be eaten alive.

Afterwards, we went to a day care center on the Auraria campus. Fewer emotions, but interesting all the same when compared to the first day care/school. The facilities were much nicer and roomier. The classrooms actually had nice Macs. The kids were really diverse and were mostly three and four years old. The rooms were decorated for Halloween, and you could see how money can change the whole child development process.

Later in the day, I went with my co-VISTAs to a seniors Halloween party at the Volunteers of America Sunset Towers. I thought it would be boring, but I was wrong. We met a woman named Martha who went on and on about her sons and travels, but she was really funny. Then Eddie Herrera sexually harrassed me when he got up in my face and kissed me on my forehead. It’s weird. Why did I feel ashamed? I started to think about that possibility of dirty old men and the way I dressed. This job is so complicated in regards to dress. I guess regardless of what I wear, I am young and invariably a dirty old man target.

Then Bhong spotted me and I went to her table to meet her friends Mary, Margaret and Gloria. The first two were both current Foster Grandparents who work in a hospital with newborns and premies. They love their jobs. Mary is Latina and has 10 kids and 65 grandchildren. Sounds like my grandmother. Margaret was a white woman, and I guess I was exhibiting preferential treatment toward Mary, so I don’t know Margaret’s story.

I danced with Bhong, who is so cute. She says, “I love you” all the time. She moved here from Korea 13 years ago. I guess making $800/month is a better life for her. Amazing.

October 30, 1998
Today I decided to tap into the Latino community. I want to give a presentation in Spanish. I need to prepare it and work on my grammar. It’s going to be a challenge, but isn’t that what I’m here for? I’m the only person of color here, and it’s my responsibility to reach out to other people of color, given the fact that they make up 30 percent of Denver’s population. First, I’m going to translate the literature into Spanish. I should bring my Spanish grammar book and dictionary to work on Monday. And at night I’m going to the Floricanto Literary Festival featuring the Poet Laureate of Aslan!

January 26, 1999
I’m already bored with AmeriCorps, Volunteers of America and the Foster Grandparent Program. I look at the people I work with, and I wonder how they get up every morning knowing they will be working the same old job today, tomorrow, 10 years from now. I’m already looking toward October wishing it would race toward me so I can move on. I feel like I don’t want to work anymore. My father just retired, so maybe I’m displacing his newfound freedom inot my own psyche. I feel unenthusiastic about even going to swimming or Carlos’s latest opportunity to schmooze with the big B-O-Yz in NY. His career is taking off while mine stagnates. The momentum I once had, especially right after I graduated, has somehow disappeared. I’m so bored. My mom says that people who get bored are stupid. What is she really saying? Busy people are smart? Or everything you do is what you make it? I’m sure it’s the latter. Because it’s not that I’m not busy. Surely I have enough CRAP to do until the end of my service. It’s the monotony of it all. It’s the apathy. It’s all the hard work that goes to waste. There’s only so much you can do until you’re blue and fed up. It’s time to focus on something different. I’m tired of recruitment. I’m tired of PR. There’s only so much I can do before I’m running out of ideas, feeling tired all the time and dreading coming to work everyday. I’m gettin burnt out on making copies of shitty-ass flyers and posting them all over the world so everyone can ignore them.

What can I do that’s different? We have all these presentations and trainings coming up so I am extremely limited on creativity. I want to do site visits. I want to observe more closely how our Foster Grandparents work with school-aged children.

I feel like asking to leave early everyday. I’m tired of making $300 every two weeks. I know I work with people who live on less, but my youth and health require me to live on more. I can’t afford to buy a car, my insurance is sky-rocket high; it’s useless to even think that I can try to buy one. I feel like going unconscious for a few months.

February 18, 1999

My friend Catherine from Michigan wrote me an interesting email today…it’s weird how I connected to her. We met at the Ann Arbor Master’s Swim team, but then it turned out I had met her brother at Princeton a few years before when I was visiting my friend Erik from high school…

“I am reading this really interesting book which you should check out. It is called “Conversations with God” by Neale Donald Walsh. You may have heard of it. There is this part which they discuss how we have our child rearing all wrong. We should have our children in our 20s and 30s as we do, but that the elders (grandparents or close friends in the community) should take a large part in raising the children. Our mistake is that we have children and then try and raise them when we are not done being parented ourselves. The idea that we are supposed to be an adult that has it all together, at age 21 is totally stupid. We are still merely children at this point. True wisdom comes with age, and those 50+ are the ones that can teach children much better than we, in our 20s-40s, who are struggling to find ourselves, can do. Not to say that we should ditch our own kids, but maybe we should pay more attention to that phrase, ‘It takes a village to raise a child.’ It also talks about how in ancient societies, they were more matriarchal and when they turned  patriarchal is when the world turned to shit! (just kidding) but really, it is the male-run society that teaches us not to be compassionate, loving and to surpress all our emotions because they are ‘weak.’ And thus…we have American Society!!! So you’re saying, what’s my point? My point is that you are 23 and you are still a baby!

I am still learning too, but between now and when you turn my age, or especially 30 years old, you are going to grow leaps and bounds! You are going to shape your ideas and figure out who you are. College only does this a little bit, but your 20s are HUGE for doing that. Lots of other people I know have told me this. I have learned so much in the past five years that I could never have learned from school. I think it is great that you want to go home, because you will learn about yourself through watching your parents. You will see what they have made you into, and what parts you don’t like and what parts you do. You will view them fro a whole different perspective now that you have been away. Learning about yourself is a real eye opener. It gives you perspective and perception like you didn’t have before. I know you are a spiritual person, but I also know you are still formulating your ideas about God and what all that stuff means to you (NOT what you were taught it means) which is why I recommend that book as a starting point. I am starting to believe that there really are no mistakes, as a perfectionist this is so hard to accept, but just because it does not all look perfect, doesn’t mean it’s not part of a perfect plan.

OK, have I been totally babbling or what? I am just totally excited about the Peace Corps and everything so I’m in the mood to babble, I guess. I don’t mean to be too preachy, but I know how stubborn you can be. You think you have to have all the answers right now, and have too much pride to admit that you don’t, and maybe ask for help or advice. Sometimes I think you think you are a 70-year-old lady trapped in the body of a 23-year-old.

Write when you get a chance.”

February 25, 1999
I think I woke up this morning. I’m not entirely Melanie today. As the NPR morning news blasted into my ear like an unwelcomed rooster, I lay lifeless in my bed, wondering why my breaths were only half as deep, why my blood is only half as thick, why the sheets were only half undone. I am a partial writer, a fraction of a drama queen, an iota of a Puerto Rican, a smidgen of a Christian, a slice of a swimmer. I am a smorgasbord of bits that don’t make up a whole.

Picturing Carlos standing behind a podium, talking into an echoing microphone, sweating into his t-shirt and vest with 1,000 brown eyes penetrating him makes me feel whole. I can feel his nervousness, excitement, adrenaline rushing through my own veins and then all of a sudden, 2,500 miles doesn’t seem all that far. I am eating pizza. I am watching everyone on the street. Breathing in the cold NY air and riding the subways.

February 26, 1999
I am totally freaking out. My body is falling apart. My mind has become one-tracked but the love train isn’t due back until Sunday. Instead of passing the time with work and other people’s company, all I want to do is sit at home and wait for him. Dependence is such a crippling feeling. Without him I am nothing. Maybe that’s not healthy, but what can I do to change? My dad is just like this when my mom is out of town. He is nonfunctional without her. Like father, like daughter. I need to spread out my eggs more evenly.

June 14, 1999
Keeping myself occupied since I moved to Denver hasn’t been all that challenging. I have so many more friends than I thought. Saturday night I went out drinking with VISTA Molly, her roommate Candice, their friend Mika from Denmark and VISTA Dan.

We all met up at Governor’s Park where Manny and Michelle were supposed to meet me but they never did. But we had fun regardless. Governor’s Park wasn’t very happening so we shifted over to Park Tavern, Molly’s neighborhood bar where “everybody knows her name.” I was the new girl in town who everyone wanted to meet. I’m such a Leo sometimes, it’s sick.

The attention gave me a high better than the beer. Bull ring nose boy wanted to meet me but must’ve had his balls pierced too because he had his friend Andrea be the middle “man.” On his behalf, she chatted me up, which made me feel like SHE was hitting on me.

I was awful. I didn’t mention a boyfriend. She found out through Candice, thank God. Andrea was a babe, and in my drunken state, I was actually kicking around her offer to go back to her place. I’m awful, I know it. But when I went to the restroom and sat on the toilet (my hands, actually), all I could think about was the boyfriend and that I wish he he was still here with me and WE were together in Denver instead of just me by myself.

That moment of sobriety finally kicked me to my senses and I was able to summon up the energy to thwart off Andrea and nose bull ring boy away from me.

Saturday was fun, but it left me with a small hangover and not much desire to go biking in Boulder today. But I had made the plans, so I needed to go and I’m so glad I did.

It was such a fun new experience to go mountain biking. Justin from swimming was my tour guide for the day. He helped me pick out a helmet and a bike light at the store and then we went up to a trail that was supposed to be novice, but it wasn’t for my weak ass. Riding those steep rocky hills tore up my legs and often I felt like puking or fainting so I had to stop a lot. It was really hard, but great exercise. The view at the top was so worth it: Boulder Canyon. And the ride down was even more of a reward. It was like skiing because you’re going so fast downhill and there are lots of rocks and moguls. I wasn’t scared because I was wearing my new helmet that I bought on clearance for $20! I’m glad I didn’t fall. That would’ve sucked. (that sounded like so 8th grade. Dur).

After mountain biking, we checked out a reservoir which was breathtaking and then Justin dropped me off at Robert’s. We went to the Golden Lotus for dinner with Curt and Jeremy and of course it was quite entertaining with those two involved. Robert showed me his college photo albums which included lots of photos of my lover. It made me miss him and being in Boulder made me feel nostalgic.

Tonight when we talked, he expressed his insecurities about me “having all this fun.” He’s afraid I’ll forget about him and prefer this lifestyle over ours together. I reassured him that it was OK for him to feel like that. God knows how often I’ve felt that way myself. He said he was jealous about my outing with Justin and it was killing him that he felt that way. He knew I hadn’t done anything wrong, but it made him feel inadequate in outdoor-sy kind of stuff. I told him this made me realize how much I didn’t enjoy his mere company as much as I should have because I was always so concerned with WHAT we were doing. Now I realize that you have friends to enjoy things with you that your lover doesn’t necessarily love. So simple. But today I really understand it because I experienced it.———>>>>>>>>>>