summer begins in my home, my home of weirdos

have a good weekend folks!

Summer’s end. As the summer ends here it doesn’t-it just turns the page into more summer or our summer it would seem. See we don’t live in a normal place. A place with a typical schedule of the weather. Weather people do not bask in the regularity of our lows and highs for it will be 95 one day and 55 the next. The unpredictability makes it so when it’s nice- when sun is shining in the am. The am. When there is no fog protection or breeze a building you best get your ass outside and quick. Because it might be gone tomorrow.

It might be the only way to live in this city. And get enough vitamin D. Get enough sun to grow your roots. Get enough play in. Because the sporadic piece of our weather- I would love to be a weather person by the way the ability to never be held responsible for your predictions would be amazingly great. The sporadic weather is reflective of here and now of the summers end now beginning into the summer again.

Because the rest of the country mourns the loss of summer-it is just our beginning. Just like in other places people might where clothes during the day- thanks random naked man walking around the castro with a black backpack and small flaccid penis and shoes. Shoes-why ? In other places there is not every listing of 420 this and that on the craiglist search for roommates. And there probably aren’t communal bed requirements in their listings either. Beds. And in other places I am not offered to do a threesome at a bbq when I am sober with my best friend from a mutual friend. And it wasn’t a joke. And and and. I could go on. Because what drives me crazy about this city is the same thing I love about it. Love about it. Because I can never be weird here. No matter what I do. What I do. Never.

I was a weirdo in the suburbs and sometimes in Boston and DC- NYC not as much. But here never. Can I be weird. Shit sometimes I am conservative in my drug use and my bedding repertoire and that I decided to wear a bra or shower or just something risky like befriend a Republican. The craziness in San Francisco is that I am not crazy or weird or strange. No leopard print dyed into my hair or a neck tattooed or wearing all black head to foot on the hottest day of the year- I can’t be weird with these people here.

Or that when I spend one of the last days of summer in the park, Dolores park, breathing in and out the green stuff that if you didn’t know, didn’t know thought it was legal like the public drinking or urination or or or. I sat on the coined hipster hill even though I don’t think I am. Am one. Not yet. I sit upon the blanket surrounded by friends some new and old but we are not signing anthem of the the childhood rhyme song of our past instead. We share our chips sour cream and onion the ruffle variety are the best, the tecate and pbr, the bottle variety of the summer ale. We do the duck duck goose of talking and laughing and shocking and nicknames all inappropriately perfect.

We watch our fellow friends and neighbors. And the choices they made to wear a swimsuit-nice ass we say. Or 7 different layering prints, my friend’s eyes bulge out as she walks by in shock of her outfit. I laugh because I can see her thoughts upon the teleprompter of her mind. I say my butt I don’t have to worry about it as I look around. These people rock whatever even if their butt isn’t perfect. As we drink and play and eat and then new friends old sharing the one pint of salted caramel of the prized birite. Round and round it goes. As the summer ends it begins. And we are watching the summer end and begin around this blanket. Around this place we call home. We might be weirdos but we are normal here.