Cleanliness is next to heritage-ridden-ness
Lord knows I’ll never be accused of being a neat freak, but I’ve yet to see Ming Na lift a finger, dampen a cloth, or depress a nozzle in the name of cleaning our apartment. Whereas *I* have cleaned the kitchen once, the bathroom twice, and vacuumed innumerable times (okay, four). And been asked to wash my dishes, left in the sink for merely two or three days, twice.
One of the benefits of having a smaller place is that it takes seconds on the hour to tidy things up. This will be the first time on record I’ve ever complained about roommates not pitching in. Not that I even really care all that much, I’m just sayin’…
There’s a new “Cops”-esque reality show called something like “Beach Patrol: San Diego” where they follow beach cops in my eponymous hometown. Watching it has kind of help spurn my bizarre feelings of nostalgia for the place I hightailed it from ten years ago. I just like to see how things have changed since I last visited. Or revisit places, like the gay ghetto Hillcrest.
I can remember the day after high school graduation, I took my graduation money and my newly out self there for a little shopping in the morn. I got off the bus on that bright, brisk sunny day, Deee-Lite’s “Bittersweet Loving” humming in my walkman, and sort of started off my newly free life. I’d love to absorb a bit of downtown SD, Horton Plaza. Definitely like to revisit the neighborhood I grew up in, all the fond memories having kept my nostalgic feelings fresh. And my little sister, who’s not so little anymore, is in “Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Fubu Jacket”. Should be good times.
