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Archive for the ‘Boys will be Boys’ Category

Last December 2013, the San Francisco Bay Area and all of its San Francisco 49er fans said goodbye to Candlestick Park.

I’m not going to regale you about how much little I know of Candlestick. Truth be told, I’m a Raiders fan. (Yeah, yeah, boo hisssss, heard it alllll before.) I’ve been to the Oakland Coliseum 20 times more than I’ve been to Candlestick. But to be fair, I went to Candlestick before I ever stepped foot in the Coliseum — and that was for my first ever baseball game which was back in the 80’s when the SF Giants still played there, too.

But I digress.

The point is, the SF 49ers used to play there. They won a bunch of Super Bowls (that’s five) while they were playing there. Joe Montana, Jerry Rice, Steve Young, Jimmy Johnson…these are names that have worn the red and gold uniform — names even those people who aren’t into sports have at least heard of.  Thus, I felt kind of nostalgic about the decision to demolish Candlestick Park and move the 49ers to Santa Clara (oh, and the drive would be further to see a game.)

But while I was nostalgic, the boyfriend was downright…sentimental. Emotional. Heavy-breathing kind of stuff.

So, as one of his Christmas presents, I bought us tickets to the last game at the ‘Stick.

Yeah, it was freakishly expensive, thank god for end of year bonuses to allow for impulse “I-love-you-this-much” moments. But I’ve got to admit, there was some magic there, especially since the 49ers were down with only 1:31 left in the game with the ball in Matt Ryan’s hand — and it was only by that one heart-stopping moment with NaVorro Bowman making an impressive pick and returning it for 89-yards that made me believe in game time magic and had me cheering like a mad diggity crazy eyes fan.  It is now famously known as “The Pick at the ‘Stick”.

Here it is from 49ers.com in sexy slo-mo: CLICK HERE.

And in not-so-slow-but-still-heart-stopping-motion:

And yes, the boyfriend was happy.

(Except it took us nearly 2 hours to get home — Caltrans…why you close 3 lanes on the Bay Bridge?!)

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Look at the HAPPY Smile on his face. =)

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Aw look, I even bought a 49er football-y beanie/scarf combo (because I forgot that Candlestick gets really cold).

On a funny note, there was this guy sitting a few seats away from us, and there was SO MUCH speculation that it was Jerry Rice…and it turned out to be MC Hammer. Haha! How terrible of us.

Jerry Rice MCHammer1

Which is who? Who is which?

 

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It’s Annoying, But…

…sometimes, I really do like when you redeem yourself and remind me why…

That is all. ❤

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You ask me what my favorite memory is.

And I laugh and say that there aren’t many to choose from. It was meant to be a light joke, but I’m somber all of a sudden at the truth of the statement. There aren’t many and I doubt there will be many more.

It’s doubt that’s the enemy, isn’t it?

I tell myself to have faith. To believe. To hope.

But no, Buddha was right when he said:

There is nothing more dreadful than the habit of doubt. Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills.

But I do. I doubt. And it kills me.

You hear it in my voice and soon I hear it in yours. If I can’t have faith, how do I expect you to believe in me? If I refuse to believe in you, how can I expect you to stay?

“I’ll miss you, too.”

Is that your way of acknowledging that I’m pulling away? Is that you saying goodbye?

I close my eyes and sigh.

It’s the way you always curve your arm around my waist every time you walk by me. Whether I’m brushing my teeth or getting a glass of water, you pass by and your arm snakes around my waist slightly, then your hand runs across the small of my back before you continue on with wherever you’re going. It’s the way you give me that teasing look on your face when I get scared. You laugh and whisper encouragement but you always say, “Don’t look at me with those scared eyes.” You somehow know just how to bring the fearless out of me.

It’s the way you make me feel flawless.

It’s the way you lace your fingers with mine as we sit and talk with your friends, or when we’re sitting at the dinner table drinking our wine; it’s the way you squeeze my hand so hard I can feel your bones fuse with mine just before I say goodbye.

You ask me what my favorite memory is, and I want to say, “You are.”

But I can’t.

And so, someday, I know I’ll sit in front of the sunset feeling the sand slip right through my fingers and I’ll miss you, too.

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The problem with keeping someone at a distance is that it makes communication really hard. It’s like you’re always yelling over this white noise of empty space. It creates an illusion of safety–like being wrapped in a bubble. But then it all becomes a game of who gains the upper hand. He said, she said, he says wha-?, she says huh?

Ain’t none of us gonna make that step closer to burst that bubble.

Definitely doesn’t help when I’m talking about more than one.

In the end, it’s a conundrum. To move forward and make plans, we gotta communicate. To communicate, we gotta make at the very least the tiniest bit of commitment. To commit, we gotta take a step closer. To get close, we gotta let it happen. To let it happen, we gotta want it.

Not sure that I want it, though. But I do want to make plans. But mostly, I just think I’m bored.

What a conundrum.

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First of all: Love Kid Cudi. Love David Guetta. Love this song.

That song would probably be what best describes my weekend. I definitely did make all the crazy/beautiful decisions this weekend and I know that they will be tucked away under the file of “Best Memories.”

The best of the best part of the weekend? It dawned on me sometime after midnight on Friday night that I was happy. I was really, really happy. My life is awesome.

I can’t put my finger on it.

Maybe it’s because San Francisco just makes me feel amazing. I love this city, the nooks and crannies, the hopping on the train to bar hop, the art galleries/bars, the after-parties, the being able to walk through the streets and breathe real air, the people I know in this place, the people I meet at every turn…I’m just absolutely loving it.

Maybe it’s because I feel like the old me again. I don’t know if LA changed me or if my experiences in LA changed me that much. But I can go dancing at a club here just for the sake of dancing. In my jeans, sweater and boots, my hair in a ponytail, a Blue Moon in my hand…I feel like me in my own skin.

Maybe it’s the friends and loves who visit me. Maybe it’s the old-school hip-hop pounding out of the speakers. Maybe it’s walking through the city streets holding hands. Maybe it’s take-my-breath-away kisses and throw-my-head-back laughter on a bench at the Metreon. Maybe it’s frozen yogurt and Halloween stories. Maybe it’s old friends who still call me by my old name. Maybe it’s being around people who knew and remember my father that remind me of who I was meant to be. Maybe it’s whispers and lame jokes at night. Maybe it’s everything about everything right now.

I’m just happy. Let me be.

*For those who have the Password…Read on in Memories Part Deux*

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Your body is my hobby. I love the hot toddy.

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