Ready or Not, Here I Come, You Can't Hide

Why the fuck am I starting a blog when every other self-righteous narcisstic homo on the planet seems to think that their insights and opinions warrant a blog of their own? Well, because I may just be smarter, cuter, and more narcisstic than the rest! Ha, I'm kidding. But it's hard not feeling like a hot piece of ass in San Francisco where the average gay man has a beer gut and doesn't understand the merits of a regular hygiene.

SF is one busted city full of hippy-flippy annoying freaks. It's the kind of city where people will do the fake cough when walking by a smoker. It's also the city where people think that red sneakers and highlighted hair are the height of fashion.
There's a general contempt for gentrification, yuppies, and shallow behavior- which pretty much sums me and my dreams up.

I'm prissy and proud of it. I like to get manicures, go tanning, and shop for clothes. I'll gladly pay 400 for a pair of shades, especially if they're Christian Dior Aviators.

But that doesn't make me an evil soul-less person. But it does seem to make me very incompatible with San Francisco.

Which makes my return to the Bay Area so ironic.
I hate it here, but I have to return to finish up Stanford.
I left three years ago to chase the party. I worked as a hooker and bartender in New York which my therapist will tell you was my way of recieving affirmation. Probably true, but I also had a fucking great time. Granted my life consisted of hook ups and come downs- but I had a good time.
But of course the obvious had begun to hammer away at me.
what the fuck is going to happen to me in 10 years? i need a career. i need a 401K and health insurance. i need to be able to find a job that challenges me in more ways than finding the best cut of jeans for my ass.

my shallow life really began to bother me about a year ago when my best friend started medical school. he had been my running buddy for several years at various circuit-y parties and during drug binges. and now he was moving on and growing up.
and whenever i met up with my circle of close friends from school, there were discussions of promotions, law school graduations, and all I had to offer were stories about how my latest boyfriend swallows.

So I'm back in SF to make amends. It's only ten weeks, but it feels like I'm in a rehab program for the partied out.

It won't be that hard, but SF is a really fucking slow and boring city, and this recovering wild-child is already feeling cagey.