Wednesday, January 5, 2011

Welcome Home?

I moved into my new space in Oceanside, moving in being a relative term. I have an air mattress and eight boxes of heels (four of those serving as a nightstand).

The house I'm renting a room in is beautiful; new, with painted walls, spacious rooms, and bathrooms with decorative towels. I'm kind of afraid to touch anything, I tiptoe around but still manage to make a racket. I feel silly, like Jane Eyre, the mental estranged roommate emitting sinister noises in her back house burrow.

I am not sure how my new town likes me. The first morning I got a sixty dollar parking ticket (street cleaning). The second day I set my car alarm off in the Ralph's parking lot and frightened a passing little girl to tears. The third day on my moving misadventure I, in an attempt to carry three shoe boxes and a glass globe lamp, lost control of the armload and watched it slow motion fall to the ground and shatter.

As I reviewed the carnage of flinty, frosted glass pieces and spilled purple suede booties I felt that perhaps Oceanside does not want me.

I recently interviewed the owner of "Kindred Journeys" who is also a psychic. After our interview, I was flitting around the sun spackled store, photographing it. She asked me how long I had been doing this. I told her I was new. She told me I wouldn't be in North County for long. She said I was going to move closer to the city, for a job I would get with my persona (does this mean I has no skills? and what type of job would hire me for my lamp dropping, children scaring persona?)

She gave me a sixth month deadline.

Oceanside is preparing to eject me.

I'm kind of pissed. Why don't you want me, O-side? Okay so I clutter your neighborhoods with glass debri, make your children cry, and get in the way of clean streets.
But I like you. I'd like to make this relationship mutually beneficial.

I was in the Walmart trying to buy a correctly sized curtain rod and was stopped in the parking lot by a man asking me "Hey, girl. You from around here?"

Dammit. Again?

He was wearing a long sleeved button down, unbuttoned except for the top one. Wifebeater underneath, cargo shorts, and a sideways trucker hat.

"Hey girl, are you from around here? Why your wearing those boots? Are you from Texas?"

I looked down at my cowboy boots, cursing them for betraying my non-local status. Damn you. Damn you, because as much as I try to smile and eat Mexican food, and shop in local stores, and not get lost while driving, I am still just a big haired Jane Eyre who it seems cannot escape her true, tourist nature.

It's not like I haven't been down this road, but this time I am far more determined. Soon you will learn Oceanside, all the things I can do for you. You will learn I am an amazing happy hour partner, fun, interesting dining companion, drink orderer, funky white girl dancer, enthusiastic shopper, sweet listener, and naive, unscathed, not-yet-soured-by-life reporter.

Forget cowboy boots. Get ready for these babies:

1 comment:

  1. we don't need a psychic to tell us that ur next move should definately be SB, and stat!