When my sister who has two kids, shames me into writing in her own blog… perhaps it’s time I get back on the scene…

One year ago today, I packed my last box into the Corolls-Royce and said “Goodbye” to my Massachusetts home forever.  It was my last day in Boston and the first day of the San Diego Trail: June 1, 2009.

One year later – what do I have to say?

“I am grateful.”

I am grateful for a safe passage on the 12 days of the San Diego Trail.

I am grateful for Big Momma who took the time and the expense to accompany me.  I am grateful also for the miracle that is about to grace her life, as she transitions from being my Big Momma, to being a real Mama.

I am grateful for Stepmom B who allowed me to borrow Big Momma for that week and who kept us in her thoughts and prayers as we got into all kinds of shenanigans along the trail.

I am grateful for the many couches I slept on and the support we received along the way.  It’s amazing to think that I could travel for 12 days and only need two hotel rooms.

I am grateful for the Grand Canyon – because it really is that amazing.

I am grateful for all who loved us, and prayed for us, and supported us, and fed us, and blessed us along the Trail.

I am grateful for the friends I have here in San Diego – the old ones and the new, who have made this transition far easier that it ever should have been.

I am grateful for my job  – who took a chance on an Ivy League kid from the streets.

I am graetful for my coworkers – who keep me sane and entertained.

I am grateful for my apartment, “Melrose Place”; it is perfect and all I could have wished for after apartment hunting for only 3 hours.

I am grateful for this computer; it has been dying slowly since 2008 – but it has made it this far, and allowed me to purchase more important things in the interim and for that I am grateful.

I am grateful for my family and my friends who have dealt with my tears, my anger, my frustration, my joys, my late phone calls, and the time difference.

I am grateful for the friends I havent talked to in a year, but they still love me anyway – and I know when we do talk again – it’s like nothing changed.

I am grateful for the Christmas miracle of gChat – P.Diddy, you know I am talking to you.  I gLove you and our gTalks and appreciate how google has made “these 3,000 miles” feel just like “these 2 hours” for the last few months.  I am looking forward to this new iRelationship that we are about to start with the MBP.

I am grateful for the people and city of San Diego – it is truly America’s Finest City. I could not have picked a better place to live.

I am grateful that I know without a doubt that moving here was the best decision I ever made.

As I look back on the last year of my life, and think about how blessed I am – and how far I’ve come, I have nothing but gratitude for those who helped me get here and the blessings I received along the way.  So if you’re reading this, I trust that you were in some way involved in helping me to make this dream come true and for that I say: Thank you.

And it’s done.

I am now a Californian.

Apparently becoming a Californian, is a highly coveted position.  I had to go the DMV with my old license, my passport, about 3 different sheets of paper verifying that I my car is mine and it is legally registerable, and full knowledge of the California Driving rules.  Massachusetts just took me at my word.  They felt that if another state felt I was a qualified driver, so would they.  So I just swapped out my old license for a new one and was on my way back in good ol’ new England.  Not in California.

Yes, my friends, I had to take the written test.  California requires that you pass a 36 question written test, of which I think you cant get more than 3 (or is it 6) questions wrong.  You would think after driving for over 10 years++ I wouldnt have to study, but alas I did  and I still got two questions wrong.

The questions I got wrong actually make sense that I wouldnt know them based on my background. The unusual terrain, climate, people, and lifestyle that exists in California, makes what they want you to know about the laws, a little different… like parking on hills.  The Commonwealth of Massachusetts was none too concerned with my ability to park on hills, after all, there is no real parking in Massachusetts.  California law is apparently REALLY concerned about what would happen in the event that my parking brake released (or there is an earthquake) and my car goes rolling down a hill.  Curbing your wheels the wrong way (or not curbing at all) is punishable by at least a $40 fine.  Needless to say I got this question wrong.  I knew that if you are parked uphill your wheels go “up and away” and downhill “down and in” but apparently this is all based on the assumption that there is a curb.  The question I was asked was about what to do if there was no curb.

I’ve been meaning to write a post entitled “Everything I ever wanted to know about living in California I learned from watching Clueless and Listening to Snoop Dogg” and perhaps this should have been that post.  There is a scene in Clueless where Cher takes her driver’s license test and they ask her to parallel park and she says, “Why bother, everywhere you go has valet?”

This was how I felt about the curb question.  I am not the kind of girl that goes parking uphill somewhere where there is no curb.  Instead of choosing my incorrect answer of “toward the center of the road” I should have filled out my own “write-in” answer of “Why bother, everywhere you go has a curb?”

The other question I got wrong was about a 4-way stop sign.  Now I knew the correct answer about four way stops had to do with the person on the right.  This never made sense to me though.  If four people reach a four-way stop sign at the same time, doesnt everyone have someone on their right?  So then who goes first?  This wasnt the question the California DMV asked.  They wanted to know, if I got to the stop sign at the same time as someone on my left, who had the right away.  Based on my above statement, this would mean the person on the right (me) has the right of way.  But this seemed too simple.  All other questions in the driving test have you yielding to someone else.  Why after 35 questions would I finally have the right of way?  The answer can’t be me.  So I chose the person on the left.  And I was wrong.  It was me.

But in truth, I was poorly equipped to handle this question from the start.  In Massachusetts, the correct answer would have been “whoever steps on the accelerator first.”  In San Diego, the correct answer really is, “after a cordial stare down and a series of back and forth hand gestures with both drives mouthing, “You go…no you go…No you go!” eventually one would acquiese and slowly inch forward, only after waving a thank you to the other driver.”  This would have been a long response to write in on the drivers test, but it is the way things are done.  There really should have been a “none of the above” selection on the test.

Nevertheless, after 2 hours and 15 minutes of standing in lines and being surrounded by excited and nervous 16 year olds, it all ended with these abruptly issued words, “Here you go.  Have a nice day.”  With that I was handed an envelope with two-state issued (maybe even prison-made) 7-digit California license plates, a registration document, and a series of stickers.

I felt that after all this time.. the job interview, the cross country drive, the apartment search, the wardrobe resuscitation, Hairgate…. after all of that my California-ness, which was one year in the making, should have been met with a little bit more pomp and circumstance.  But instead it was bittersweet.

I stomped my little pink heels (why I wore heels that day I am not sure) back out to my car, looked at my California plates, and got a little misty eyed.  It was done.  I am not “from Massachusetts” anymore.  I was a Californian.  I sat in the car, took a deep breath, and noticed the gas tank was empty.  I pulled into the first gas station I saw, but before I filled the tank, I downloaded to my phone, Boyz II Men’s, “It’s so hard to say goodbye to yesterday.”

As I drove back to my apartment, I sang out loud with Nate, Shawn, Mike, and Wanya…

“And I’ll take, with me the memories, to be my sunshine, after the rain.  It’s so hard to say goodbye to yesterday…”

In my quest to not become an Easter and Christmas person, I decided to go to church today since it was still a few weeks before Easter, and this would officially count as non Easter-Christmas people behavior.  (And by offical, I mean only in my book)

I went back to Beach Church that I went to in my Christmas post.  Everything was all hunky dory and as to be expected at Beach Church until came the welcome of new visitors and the passing of the peace.  I refused to stand up and introduce myself as this TECHNICALLY wasnt my first time at the church – it was my 2nd.  And although they didnt do an introduction of new people at the Christmas service, I was shy and not feeling the awkwardness that comes with “Hi My Name Is…”

So as in all Christian Churches, the welcome of visitors is followed by the Passing of the Peace – where you shake hands with your neighbors and wish them tidings of God’s peace and love.   I turned to my right to wish my young hot neighbor peace and I was met with a full on introduction.  He not only wished me peace, but we exchanged names and a few niceties before going on to wish peace to our other neighbors.  I thought maybe this was a “thing” at Beach Church – where you pass the peace and your name.  After all, this was the same church where two strangers hugged me and welcomed me before I even took my seat.   So I was ready to wish my next neighbor peace and give them my name but no one else name dropped except my first neighbor.

At the end of church, my neighbor, remembering my name, and using it, was totally like, “So ——, you come to this service a lot?”  And we chatted a bit about how I am trying to avoid being Easter and Christmas people and trying to come to church more often.  He then shared with me how he was in the Navy and tried to come when he was home, and lived locally… blah, blah, blah.  We walked out to coffee hour together (which here is held under the glorious San Diego sun in the courtyard).  He then said something to the effect of, “I hope to see you here again!” and smiled. It wasnt neighborly moreso… gentlemanly… at which point I asked myself, “Did I just get hit on at Church?”

Chris Rock has always been seen as a talented and transcending comedian, loved by blacks, whites, and everyone in between.  His movies and his humor, although they often touch on delicate racial issues, are delivered in such a way that it is rarely offensive and more often that not informative.  In this same vain is delivered the movie, “Good Hair.”

To be completely honest, I had no real intentions of seeing this movie.  Even after I sat in my hair salon and read Essence Magazine’s write up on the movie and the discussion of the black hair care industry, a topic I am profoundly interested, I had no immediate plans to watch Good Hair until a late night text from Jingles*informed me that she had just seen the movie and she was glued to her seat.

Jingles is white.  She knows about my obsession with my own hair, and I have taken her through some of the trials and tribulations that come with black hair.  I even taught Jingles how to put in a hair weave a skill that I am sure is more useful for me, than it is for her.  P Diddy and I debated today whether Jingle’s fascination with the film had any merit.  After all, I am black.  I have had “black hair” all my life.  Why would a documentary on my own hair type, prove to be insightful, informative, or riveting?

To me, Good Hair, proved to be all of those things and more.  Like Jingles, for 90 minutes I was glued to my seat.  I even burned the corn I had roasting on the grill.

Good Hair is a documentary where Chris Rock humorously yet informatively explores the billion dollar black hair care industry.  He touches on everything from personal and societal perceptions of black hair, to the harmful and curious effects of common hair treatments, where and how hair is sourced, styling trends and yes, even black hair care shows!  Now if you are a man,you are probably wondering what this has to do with you.  And maybe if you are not black and are reading this you are wondering the same thing.  But I assure you, if you have ever loved, befriended, or cared for a black woman, you should see this movie.

The movie touches on some of the humorous, tragic, and wonderful realities of being a black woman in America.  Rock leaves no stone unturned.  He talks about everything from the cost of hair weaves, to the fatal side effects of touching a black woman’s hair when making love, all the way up to the ignorant and possibly dangerous long term side effects of using Sodium Hydroxide, aka Relaxers, in a woman’s hair.

I could relate to much of what the other women talked about in the movie – actresses like Nia Long, Raven Simone, and even Maya Angelou made cameos in the film.  I have had the moments where I slept sitting up, or refused to go into or near water, in fear of “wrecking my do.”  I have certainly told men, women, and children — black, white, red, green — that black women DO melt in the rain – because our hair cannot meet moisture except in a controlled environment (read: with a number of tools, instruments, and pomades).  And I have definitely wondered about where the hair in my hair weaves comes from  that is alleged to be “human hair” and why I was getting it for so cheap.

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I could go on about this movie, but instead, I will relay a little secret.  The movie comes at an apt time.  Last week, after a 4 month relationship with my new hair stylist, I got a bad haircut.  It is my first BAD haircut in maybe 10 years.  This haircut happened two weeks before I am supposed to take my California Driver’s License photo and more importantly, the passport photo, that I will have until I am 39.  I will be immortalized for the next 10 years, domestically and internationally, with a bad haircut.  I havent said much about this issue to anyone because I am still in a state of shock.  Perhaps devastated is more apropos.  With just one week to go until my California Driver’s test I am not sure how to remedy the situation.  Do I postpone the drivers test?  Continue living near the border without a valid passport?  Do I wait for my hair to grow back?  Go to another stylist? When?  How much it will cost?  Who will I go to?

I have tried to change my thoughts about my hair for the last week.  I have listened to all my positive thinking CDs and I know I am negating my efforts by even talking about the haircut now.  But there was something that Ice-T said at the end of Rock’s movie that got me to writing tonight, it went along the lines of, “Whatever a woman does with her hair as long as it makes her happy, is more important than what she did to it – because if a woman is unhappy she is going to just make everyone else around her unhappy.”  Ice-T said it more gruffly than that – and his typical stern Ice-T way, but I got his point.

When I moved to California, there was a very specific plan built in for my hair.  This last haircut was supposed to take me there.  Instead, things went horribly awry.  I have one week to go, before one of the most important photos I will take in my life.

Life has handed me avocados.  It’s time to go make some guacamole.

… and I may have mentioned this before… BUT…

Upon leaving the East Coast I requested a copy of my medical records.  I perused them quickly while  packing my things, but tonight in preparation for my first doctor’s appointment out West, I decided to give them another read through.  I have to say… I am a little shocked.

First of all, there are some things in there that are clearly untruths.  Nothing medically significant, but things I allegedly said, which I know I did not.

Secondly, it is clear from these notes that my doctor was not too fond of me.  In one particular set of notes, she remarks, “I counseled her for 25 minutes which was 50% of the appointment…” Something about the wording there I do not like… like there is an underlying tone of annoyance.  Um… isn’t that your job to counsel me on medical stuff?  Whether it takes 5 minutes or 15?

Then, there are other little things that specialists had in their notes like “We were delighted to have her in today…” and also comments like, “She is a very pleasant young woman.”  Granted, those are all nice comments – but what if I wasnt as pleasant.. would that be noted as well?  There was also a comment in there about my family medical history which was deemed and I quote, “unremarkable.”  Wow.  Harsh.

I just find it interesting the choice of words these doctors have decided to use to describe my medical past.  My medical records are expected to be read as a clinical description of my history of ailments not as social commentary on my personality or “unremarkable” events.  Neither should it be a venting ground for my doctor’s supposed beefs with how she “counseled” me for half the appointment.  I am a little salty on this.  And I kind of want to write her back a note saying I never liked you or your stupid office either… but it’s water under the bridge now.  I guess I’ll just have to go to my new doctor toting my inaccurate medical records advising that she read it strictly for medical content and not to use the notes as a reflection of my personality.

Geez Louise!

M.

Top story on the news, “San Diego County is Getting Pounded by Severe Weather.”

On my first day of work here my boss warned me about rain being a top story in San Diego.  On my second day of work, there was a mild drizzle in the morning, which was the top story on the news.  Right now, it is “Winter Storm 2010″ in San Diego – and it’s raining like you read about…

Growing up I remember hearing the R&B Group Toni, Tony, Tone sing “It Never Rains in Southern California.”  I have now come to learn that phrase is in fact a damn lie.  Toni, Tony, Tone should have sang “It rarely rains in Southern California” as San Diego gets on average maybe 10-12 inches of rain in a good year, so the fact that we are getting 10-12 over the week is just blowing people’s minds .  The biggest threat here in SD during a rainstorm is actually other drivers since San Diegans aren’t trained to drive in rain.  Imagine someone from Hawaii having to drive in a blizzard for the first time.  It’s kind of like that.

As I am experiencing my first winter storm, I am learning alot about California living.  Apparently the surf here gets just nutty in rain storms, which makes it less that awesome for us coastal dwellers – so people have to put sandbags in front of their businesses and residences to absorb the water.  I will post pics of this later.

And because it “never rains”  in Southern California, we don’t really have any drainage.  So those storm trains that you spit your gum down or toss your cigarette into in New England, just dont exist here.  (You have to spit your gum into the actual trash.)  So the streets are getting all kinds of flooded and apparently the worst of the storm will come tomorrow.

I’ll keep you posted on my first California Winter Storm.  I’ll never  trust the smooth lyrical stylings of R&B artists never again…

This is an addendum to my earlier post which was written during the first quarter of the divisional playoffs game.  In the hours that have passed, San Diego has since lost their chance (again) of heading to a Superbowl with a 17-14 loss to the New York Jets.

Part of me feels bad for this.  Unlike last year, the Chargers actually played REALLY well this year and deserved a playoff spot ending the season 13-3 (as opposed to last year’s 8-8).  The game ended around 5:00 p.m. PST at which point I still needed to run a few errands, but I didnt want to go out because of Game 6…

Game 6 is what us New Englanders refer to as the game prior to the 2004 Red Sox Championship season where Pedro stayed on the mound too long and gave the game away.  Most people remember where they were and what they were doing when this happened.  They also remember the feeling that took over the streets of Boston for the next few days.  I remember driving from JP where I watched the game, back to my apartment in and seeing the sad, longing faces of the natives as they smoked their cigarettes and lamented the night’s events on street corners and outside of bars.  I feared it would be a similar scene on the streets of San Diego tonight.

I took a Sunday evening nap (bad call as I am now up for the rest of the night) and then went out to the grocery store – and indeed, there was a quiet, a hush — a different feeling over the streets of San Diego.  The top story on the news tonight is still the relief efforts in Haiti, but the secondary story is certainly the fall of the Chargers.    In many respects, this is akin to the plight of the  Red Sox year-after-year, since the Chargers have yet to win a Super Bowl.  But they will… one day, just like the Sox won in 2004 and 2007.  So to soothe the hearts and minds of Chargers fans, my brethren, and neigbors,  offer the same advice, Sox fans heard disappointment after disappointment, “There’s always next year…”

I would be remiss in chronicling my San Diego experience if I did not discuss my first footballl/playoffs season in America’s Finest City.

Early this fall, I issued a statement to close family and friends stating that I had renounced my aformentioned hatred of the San Diego Chargers.  Naturally, I would be retaining my 7 year relationship with the Indianapolis Colts, but I would no longer say things like “I hate the Chargers,” a phrase that I had uttered numerous times, especially over the last few NFL Postseasons.

As I write this post, the Chargers are playing the Jets in the AFC Divisional Playoffs. Winner of this contest plays the Colts in Indianapolis next week.   I KNOW that the Colts can take the Jets as they would have beaten them in Week 15 had they not forfeited the game by pulling out all their starters in the 3rd quarter.  I am also confident that the Colts can take the Chargers, but based on the history of the two teams, I know that their meeting will cause me much stress, and beef with my fellow San Diegans, so I would prefer to just not have to go that route.

The Chargers are a great team, and their fans are good people.  But all is fair in love and war, and in the quest for the Lombardi trophy – NFL teams are at war.  So I am sorry Chargers… tyically, I am all about you winning, but not tonight.

I remember a point in my freshman year of college, where I felt particulary compelled to tell a guy, Jimmy, in my freshmen orientation group, that I  had a beef with him.  Somehow when I acknowledged the condition to my friends, the words came out I have a “jeef with Bimmy” instead of a “beef with Jimmy.”

What made me think of this was that I have a beef with San Diego.  And I really wanted to cleverly title this post something like, “A Seef with Ban Diego” but that doesn’t seem to make any sense so here we are jeefing with Bimmy instead.

So here’s my beef:

San Diegans don’t like ginger ale.

There I said it.

Growing up, I learned to always keep ginger ale on hand, mainly as a remedy for stomach ailments, but now also for tasty delicious beverages.  At my last job, I learned the wonders of Diet Scheweppes Ginger Ale, as it was one of the beverage offerings regularly provided through our catering company.  I remember my first sip of the Diet Scheweppes and my mouth being agape from the wonderous and delicious flavors emanating form that small little can.  That first sip changed my life and I, from then on, went on a quest for Diet Scheweppes Ginger Ale; buying it whenever I had the jones and taking for granted that it was around.

No mas.

Ginger ale in any brand is in short supply here.  Canada Dry. Schweeppes. Diet. Regular. Can. 2-Liter bottle. 20 oz. All are mysteriously in short supply here in California and here’s why…

Apparently Californians MAKE their own ginger ale?

Make ginger ale you ask? Well I didnt know California was a major producer of ginger.

IT’S NOT!

Here’s what they do.

Somehow, somehow, SOMEHOW… there is a belief at restaurants here that coke + 7Up = ginger ale.

I do not lie.  I know this sounds outrageous but it’s true.  I have actually been served the concoction here and had to send it back, only to be told by the waitress, “Oh we make our own ginger ale.”

This explanation would perhaps be plausible if the word “ginger” were not in the title of “ginger ale.”  At least if you told me “Oh we mix coke and 7Up and add ginger ____ (insert name of ginger additive here i.e. stick, dollop, syrup, branch, root, powder, etc…)___”  well then perhaps I could find the explanation of “making” your own ginger ale more plausible – but I am sorry – ginger ale without ginger flavoring does not ginger ale make.  Period. End of Story.

So aside from this locally made concoction which they try to pass off as ginger ale, I am not sure, why ginger ale cannot be easily found in California.  Believe it or not, it’s easier to find iced coffee here, than it is ginger ale.  And don’t get me started again on the iced coffee business…

I recognize that there is a lot going on in California right now, so demanding the immediate tripling of our investments in our ginger ale reserves may not be a high priority on anyone’s list right now.  But until we find a way to add “ginger flavoring” to any sort of local ginger ale endeavor, I say enough is enough, stop the madness and  let’s leave the ginger ale brewing to the real professionals up north…