In a Western Place

A lot of folks were in town this past weekend for the 38th annual San Francisco Pride Parade (and other Pride related events). Late Saturday night, in a surprisingly crowded BART station, Matty grabbed my hand and proudly proclaimed, “let’s show them all that you don’t have to be gay, to be in love!”
Ah, to be atypical in San Francisco.
Regrettably, we passed on the festivities and stayed out of the city for most Sunday to avoid the crowd. I’m sad to have missed out a great photographic opportunity… maybe next year.

Air quality is not so great here thanks to a slew wildfires in the surrounding area. I really hope it’s under control soon because we’re traveling through Big Sur while Matty’s folks are in town during the 4th of July weekend. That, and nothing makes me sadder than a forest fire…

This past Thursday, Friday and Saturday were hot, hot, hot in the Bay area. Now that Matty is officially on summer break, we were able enjoy the weather, together, on my day off (which is Thursday, for you lurkers not in the know). After a lovely morning of sleeping in, we took the bus (which is free free free on hot days) over to Baker Beach, located near the Golden Gate bridge in Presidio, where we picnicked on Whole Foods grub and witnessed several “nudie” folk sunbathing and, ahem, playing volleyball. Please note that I refrained from photographing that, but it was tough. It’s been years since I’ve relaxed on a beach, and having a boyfriend with the same blinding personality body as me, made it all the more enjoyable. Too bad my SPF 45 failed on me, (ouchie) and uh, sand, how did you there?!?! (See pictures)

While spending a beautiful afternoon exploring Lake Merritt waaay back in March, Matty and I stumbled upon a large patch of California Poppies displayed deep within downtown Oakland. These suckers grow wild, anywhere and everywhere. No wonder it’s the state flower.
Get a load of the color!

It’s a proud time to be a Californian.

I love this song
I love this video
I love this band

Per my landlord’s request, I wrote a letter to our next-door neighbor explaining why it is wrong to play the drums at 3:00 in the morning — including specific pieces of evidence that support the theory that being a drummer is, in fact, no longer cool after the age of 19 (unless you’re really, really good at it*). Seriously, the drums? In an apartment? In a city with several people living in close proximity? This guy is mad, mad and really bad!
Sadly, no matter where I live it’s always next to someone crazy, rude and/or loud. Let’s hope this issue will be resolved soon, and quietly.
* OK, I stole that line from one of my roommates