Queen Larbs of Strumpet Valley

How do y’all feel about beds? I think they are a perfect representative of the idea that sharing is caring. Perhaps I ate too many happy pills in my life  but I get on a fluffy bed and I say, have you felt how joyfully soft this is? Come sit here with me! I want everyone to join in touching the bed and experiencing how wonderful it is. Beds to me are a place to gather with friends and family and hang out. They are much more comfortable than sofas.

More is better on a bed (there is a maximum capacity after which point you must begin to replicate a person tightly bound by saran wrap without the actual presence of saran wrap and then it’s uncomfortable – I have found this to generally be four people on a queen, five on a king). When I visit my mom, most of our conversations take place while lounging in bed. I find little purpose in going downstairs to sit on the sofa. If my sister is also there, all three of us laze about on the bed. When I am visiting friends, or have friends visit, I expect some time period of laying on the bed and catching up.

One of my favorite things is the morning wake-up and immediate bed-meeting/snuggle session. This generally occurs when there’s a guest room. You both sleep in separate rooms but either before going to sleep or immediately after waking up there is a hang-out session on someone’s bed.

In addition to bed lounging and chatting on bed, I find the Sleeping In Master Bedroom experience to be superior to Sleeping In Other Bedrooms. Anytime cousins Jamie and Joe are not in their bed, I am quite delighted to lay there and eat Wolfgang Puck frozen pizzas while watching Law & Order. Long after I moved out (when I lived with them they tended to want to do things on Sunday while I wanted to recover from a hangover so there were plenty of opportunities to Lay In The Master Bedroom), I would sometimes go over on weekends, or house sit when they were gone, specifically to lounge in a giant luxurious bed.

Is this weird? Do other people do this? Is laying in other people’s beds odd? (NOTE: THESE SCENARIOS DID NOT OCCUR IN NEW YORK AND NONE OF THESE PEOPLE HAVE BED BUGS) Please contribute whether you find this to be weird.

There is one place where bed-sharing is very uncool and than place is Greece. It is 100 degrees. And Ba has cots. Four people, four cots, one bedroom. Kris said it best with “I’m not sleeping in your cot with you.” Nobody wants to share a cot, not even me. Well, not even me if it’s 100 degrees.

It’s 1:35 am and my flight leaves in less than six hours. It’s possible those Jagger shots were a bad idea. I’m off to share my last “cot” for the next week. This was my drunken post for the evening. Adieu!

Oh, whiskey. Whiskey makes people drunk. That much we know. Does it also make people crazy? It’s possible. It is difficult to gauge whether it makes me crazy specifically because it is quite likely that I am generally a lunatic and whiskey, along with other fine spirits, merely exaggerate this.

You’ve heard me complain that I’m too grown up and I don’t rage. Blah blah blah. There is a reason for that. I drank Bushmills last night. I spent all day, or between barfing at least, wondering “why did I drink Bushmills last night?” It started with Weird Fish and drinking unnecessary amounts of wine with Kris, Graham and Meghan. And then after being wine drunk we went to Pop’s Diary emo punk night. It’s difficult when you’re told you’re attending a punk night not to actually act punk. So I got a Miller High Life and a shot of Bushmills and, of course I have to drag other people down with me, so I made Graham also participate in this shot.

And then I was wasted. When I am wasted, I run my mouth so much. I talk people’s ears off. I had not seen my friend Ryan in like a year and, really, all I can say to people generally is try not to go a year without seeing me because I will talk your ear off. So much rambling. And rambling to Kris and Patric about moving. At all times talking and being a drunkard.

And because I am not used to closing down bars on Tuesday nights and pounding the champagne of beers, I had no snacks for drunks in the house. I wanted to eat a pizza, or at least a bag of jalapeno kettle chips but I am not usually consuming these snacks so I woke up this morning and found a pile of almonds on the floor. I can only guess I attempted to eat almonds and they fell out of my mouth. What kind of sad excuse for a partier is that? Healthy nut snack. Bullshit. It made me feel more hung over today because I woke up sans that pizza layer I’m used to.

So I learned too important things here, I think. I reminded myself that I am a lunatic and consuming copious amounts of alcohol does weird things to my head. I also learned that if I’m trying to Bushmills my face off, I need to remember to keep pizza in my freezer. Or potato chips in the pantry.

I was chatting with my yoga pal, Atosa, last night and telling her about why I think having a dog is the best idea in the world. I was talking about Walter’s unfaltering pleasant nature, his positivity and his unconditional love. She used a very excellent phrase. “Dogs start over.” Any time I fuck up with Walter, he starts over and still loves me like nothing ever went wrong.

What puzzles me is why it’s so difficult for humans to do the same. I am always skeptical of people who date/marry/etc someone they dated when they were 15, mostly because I have changed so much since I was a pop can bong wielding teenager. But I think about everyone I have dated in my (semi) “adult” life and they all had hang-ups. They could not get over whatever scars their exes inflicted on them, perpetuated their own wound salting by doing the same things that caused them misery in the past and shelled up because they could not start over and love like it was the first time. I think it’s fairly obvious when someone is out to break hearts and I can’t say I’ve found that to be a common occurrence. So why are we all so inhibited?

Maybe because we loved the shit out of our first loves and they didn’t work out. And now we’re all cynical and think it can never happen again. And how foolish to think I couldn’t live without someone, I am my own person and I don’t need someone else around to complete me, I can live without anybody, I can carry on no matter what. But maybe I don’t want to? I think those teen love turned life partner folks might be on to something. They are probably much better at loving each other than us salty motherfuckers who struggle to let go and start over.

There are times when I look back to my life two years ago and think to myself holy shit, I could not live like that anymore. And there are other times when I reminisce and wonder what the hell happened and how the fuck I ended up here. I am experiencing the latter scenario at the moment.

I’ll start with admitting I’m uncomfortable with the quantity of “growing up” I have done recently. I feel like a sour senior citizen. I am far too young to feel this old. And I am far too young to call it a night after one beer. This is bullshit.

The amount of consideration I put into decisions is excessive. I long for the balls I had when I was 19. If I wanted to do something I just fucking did it and figured out the rest later. Now I contemplate and calculate and I’ve become so terrified of failure, or even the possibility of failure that I am at all times shaking in my boots. And my boots are those Steve Madden boots that every person in San Francisco is strutting around in. Two years ago I would not have given a shit about that fact but now I think about it every day. I should really get a new pair of boots, one whose leather is not worn to shit, a pair my boyfriend doesn’t make fun of every time I wear them. Fuck those boots and fuck being too poor to buy a new pair.

I find that every time I drive toward the Sunset, the Outer Richmond, Laurel Heights, Baker Beach, anything on the western side of San Francisco anyway, I take 17th up through Cole Valley. One could argue it is not the fastest route, what with Geary Street existing and everything. But I seek out the nostalgia I feel every time I pass Clayton. It reminds me of a time I had a lot more guts and a lot more fun. I cared a lot less in a good way.

The memories I have from Cole Valley are some of my favorite memories of living in this city. Maybe it was because I was a fresh transplant and imposing myself on people in order to form friendships. I remember one of the first weekends I went out – in North Beach of all places – I wasn’t feeling the scene, and I called the only person I knew at the time, Graham. I invited myself over to his house where I made his roommates drink with me and then forced them to listen to Mala Rodriguez while I had my own dance party until 4 o’clock in the morning at which point Graham kindly said he would call a cab for me.

Since then and up until recently, so many adventures! I like adventuring and having conflict and overcoming. And maybe it’s because that is the safest thing to like in my situation. It is safe to like conflict and instability and battles because I still have so many to fight and no matter what I try to tell myself, I am not in a place where I can afford the luxuries that create a smoother ride. This attempt to make like it’s summertime and the living’s easy has put me in a worse place, one where I feel like I’m always trying to keep up as opposed to enjoying myself and chilling the fuck out. Remember me? I’m Corinna. I’m as type B as it fucking gets. I chill and eat burritos, REMEMBER? I don’t even remember the last time I ate a burrito. I sincerely do not. I can tell you the last time I went to a Michelin-rated restaurant I couldn’t afford though.

Anyway, there has been some struggle lately but not the kind I’m used to. Internal wars. Self-doubt, etc. And a whole lot of missing. Missing the people that came and went. Missing Rikki and the fun we had together. Missing living with James and singing in the kitchen. Missing Luther and Amanda and those first few months of living together, all relatively new to the city and trying to hash out our existence here. Missing my summer with Katie last year and what complete out-of-control nutbags we were. There was so much hung over puking. So much. And I miss that. Because I am 24 fucking years old and sometimes puking your guts out after a wild night of partying is a great way to remember you’re alive. Now I’m at the point where there is so much chaos in my head that I would be delighted to spend some time purging myself of all this bullshit and feeling empty for just five fucking minutes feeling completely empty. I miss the calm of emptiness.

Mostly, though, I miss my connection with people. In this attempt to “make my life” I feel like I’ve lost my people. And it’s mostly my fault because I am a giant flake but seriously guys, where are you? Can you forgive me and can we hang out? I really need to experience some of these things I’m so nostalgic for.

Haven’t been blogging. I know you’re sad about this. Spent the past 6 months-ish having existential crises. Those are now relieved. I’m applying to premed programs and moving to New York with Dolapo in late August. I expect the mesh apparel will “get lost” in the move.

I’ll be very sad to leave San Francisco. My friends and family are here. All I’m saying is NEW YORK BETTER BE COOL. I wanted to break the news officially via the interwebs but the main reason I was inspired to write a blog post is the Monk’s Kettle pretzels. Now that I’ve discovered my love for mustard, there’s nothing that hits the spot more than a Monk’s Kettle pretzel with mustard. I hope those exist in the East Village, somewhere between the guy who’s shooting H in Tompkins Square and the garbage pile outside of that bodega.

Just kidding, no hate. See you soon, you big manzana. <3

I updated WordPress because of a security breach or whatever and now it looks like shit. Awesome. It will probably continue to look like this for at least 1-2 weeks or until I can get someone to fix it for me. In the meantime I don’t think I even have anything to say that won’t sound like the rantings of someone having an existential crisis so go party for a few weeks, I’ll do the same, we’ll put it together and regroup in a few.

I started contributing to uptown almanac occasionally so go read that if you’re bored.