Backstreet's back, alright

"Jam on cuz Backstreet's got it / Come on now everybody / We've got it goin' on for years." - We've Got It Going On from their 1995 Album "Backstreet Boys"



Here I am, standing in front of the Warfield Theater on a Monday night, waiting to pick up my Backstreet Boys concert ticket at Will Call, typing away my thoughts on my iPhone.

I am 21 years old, standing in line to see a boy band that's 17 years old... a band I have loved since I was virtually an infant.

I was apprehensive, but my confidence took over. I thought to myself, "I am not ashamed; I will own this," which is exactly what I decided to do (while rocking my brown pleather jacket and all).

Before I get into concert details, I feel like it is important to understand the chain of events that brought me to that very moment.

You see, a few months ago, I became very good friends with a group of lesbians. They have all made it very clear I am undoubtedly straight, so don't act like you know where this story is headed. I don't give much thought to sexual orientation. I don't define them as lesbians. They are my friends, and some of the greatest people I've ever known. That's all there is to it.

When I found out I was coming to San Francisco, one of the first things I did was check the dates of Pride. Once I found out the celebration takes place in June, I was thrilled... this was going to be one hell of an experience. Even though I knew I would be alone, I couldn't wait to represent them. I would have a blast in their honor.

As the weekend of June 26-27 rolled around, I anxiously awaited Sunday's Pride Parade. Once I finally decided on an outfit (I decided to keep things low key, but secretly knew I'd be decked out in rainbow gear by the time I returned), I headed out. I only had to walk two blocks down Powell Street to the parade, and let me just say, nothing (even being best friends with a group of lesbians) could prepare me for this.

To be blunt: it was a shit show. Pardon my language, but that is really the only way to describe the scene. It was 10am, and I had barely been awake for 30 minutes. Most of the people there, on the other hand, had probably been awake all night. They were running around naked, taking jello shots, and smoking pot in the streets. I was in a twilight zone. This was Lady Gaga on steroids in a presidential campaign. And then there was I: the straight girl from Oklahoma.

In all honesty, I was shocked to see protesters... this being California and all. Nevertheless, no one seemed phased. Tourists were walking around with their children taking pictures while naked people were running around the streets on a Sunday morning. Everyone seemed to think this was completely normal.

I mean, the only life experience I have had up to this point that could even remotely prepare me for this, was a trip to Venice Beach in Los Angeles three years ago. I had gone with my friend on Spring Break, and I wasn't at all sure how to react... Homeless people were walking around screaming things, a rapper named Salt was trying to put us in a music video, and sketchy men were filming every girl who walked by. I am still waiting for the day I am searching the Internet and find a video with my head on someone else's body... just from that short trip to Venice Beach. I was convinced the only other place on earth I might be more out of place was Tijuana... that is, until, I went to Pride.

Nevertheless, I marched up and down those streets buying rainbow beads and cheering for the naked people who rode by on motorcycles. It was a hot day in the city (not Oklahoma hot, of course, but a solid 75 degrees or so), and I needed to finish my weekly assignments in my online class, so I finally decided to head home.

Thanks to one of my friends who religiously reads Perez Hilton's blog, I've known for a while that the Backstreet Boys would be the Pride Ambassadors and perform as the headlining band at the celebration. There are virtually two good reasons I can think of to leave the comfort of my home in exchange for a large crowd on a Sunday afternoon... Number one: to represent my friends. Number two: the Backstreet Boys.

I walked a few blocks through the Tenderloin district toward the Civic Center. Let me just say... I found out which neighborhood in the city should be most avoided. I saw people walking around naked and smoking, and these were the prostitutes, not the Pride goers. I was determined to get there, though. Like Kevin McCallister's mom in Home Alone 2: Lost in New York, "no mugger or murderer would dare mess with me."

Once I arrived near the Civic Center, I realized I had done it. I was Pandora, and I had opened the box. It was even crazier than the parade that morning, but there was no turning back now. I made my way, very slowly, of course, through the crowds toward the main stage in front of City Hall.

This was no Cher concert, but this was Gay Mecca. As people pushed and shoved their way through the large crowds, you could feel the anticipation. It was just like Phil Collins said... We could feel it comin' in the air tonight, oh Lord. And we'd been waiting for this moment for all our lives, oh Lord.

I quickly made friends with the people around me. Raised as a fan of Kathy Griffin's comedy, not to mention my love of Bravo, it is only natural that I love my gays and my gays love me. Due to the large crowds, we were sweltering, and by that I mean, we were basically sweating out of each others glands... We were sweating worse than a priest at a little league game. Literally, there were hundreds of thousands of people gathered in the area to get a glimpse of four men who can only be described as a little piece of heaven right here on earth, and their names are: Brian, Nick, A.J., and Howie... also known as the Backstreet Boys (or, BSB, for short).

After we listened to Rose Royce perform "Car Wash," and some other lady sing the worst songs any of us had ever heard, no one could take it anymore. People were climbing trees and street poles just to get a better view. The crowds chanted, "BSB! BSB! BSB!" Finally, they appeared.

All of a sudden, years after I had fallen in love with all of them. There they were in front of me... my childhood sweetheart's. All four of them. Kevin, my absolute favorite (tall, dark, handsome- you know the drill), left the band a few year's back. At first, this seemed devastating, but when I saw them arrive on stage, I quickly got over it. They were all as cute as ever, and it's true, they've had it goin' on for years.

As they sang their new hit, "Straight Through My Heart," the old classic, "I Want It That Way," and an A Capella version of, "Quit Playing Games With My Heart," the crowd was smitten. That is, until we realized they were only singing those three songs. It turns out, they were playing Sunday and Monday night shows down the road at the Warfield Theater as part of their "This Is Us" tour, and this was more of a promotional event to persuade people to buy tickets.

So, what did I do? I hauled my ass home and bought a ticket. I would be there Monday night front and center. Okay, more like, upper balcony and a little to the left, but still. I relished in the fact that my friends at home were envious of this once in a lifetime opportunity. For $60.00, anyone who loved them would be a fool to pass that up. It was like if we saw other bands from our childhood, like N'SYNC or Britney Spears, for only $60.00.

Monday night finally rolled around, and I was all dolled up and ready for my night on the town. I walked the four blocks anxiously awaiting this epic concert.

There I was, standing in front of the Warfield, thinking about how I'd spent years waiting for this moment to happen. I also realized the perk of picking up a ticket at Will Call was not having to wait in line. This is probably the first time I have ever picked up a ticket at Will Call, but I don't have a printer so I had to make do. Man, was I living on the edge or what? Not printing out a ticket AND seeing the Backstreet Boys... Be careful, Kali. Don't have too much fun at once. Some might have felt ashamed standing there all alone and wearing pleather, but like I said, I owned it.

I wasn't planning on drinking, but when I saw them checking ID's and passing out wristbands I knew it was a way to make this sound a bit cooler. I bought two $7.00 Bud Lights and headed upstairs. Apparently there is no drinking in the balcony, so I finished my drinks before going inside. Nevertheless, there was something great about knowing after all this time, I was now old enough to legally drink at a Backstreet Boys concert.

I was a bit apprehensive, as I began to wonder if I was only there with a bunch of 13 year old girls... but, I got over it. I found my seat and quickly realized I had been wrong. Standing down in the floor was a bunch of high-schoolers in their homemade matching t-shirts like it was a Friday night football game, but everyone else there was my age. It feels weird to say "my age," when just a few years ago my friends and I would've been the girls wearing the matching t-shirts. Nevertheless, the majority of people at the concert were my age or older; and we considered ourselves fortunate to grow up during the pop-culture phenomenon of the boy band era.

I began talking to the girls next to me, Rachel and Christina.. They were in sororities at California colleges. The girls on my right were 21 as well. I wasn't the only one embracing this blast from the past... We all were.

When the band finally came out, we were in HEAVEN. They played ALL of their classic songs: "I Want It That Way," "Larger Than Life," "Quit Playing Games With My Heart," "Show Me The Meaning Of Being Lonely," "As Long As You Love Me," "The One," "Everybody," "We've Got It Going On," "Incomplete," "All I Have to Give," and "I'll Never Break Your Heart." And those are just the ones I can remember off the top of my head.

As I switched back and forth between taking pictures on my camera, sending pictures on my phone, and taking video on my FlipCam, I realized something. I honestly didn't know the last time I was that happy. There I was, all alone (with the exception of a few new friends, of course), singing along to songs of my childhood. We were dancing. We were singing... And we didn't care what anyone thought of us. I was- hell, we all were- giddy like little girls.

I kept flashing back to some of my Backstreet Boys memories from years ago. One year at Camp Loughridge we had to make group chants and almost every group's theme was a BSB song. When we used to visit my grandparents in Idabel, Okla., Sadie (a close family friend) and I always pretended we were the Backstreet Babes and make up choreography. One summer, I went with my friend Nora and her parents to pick up her sister from Kanakuk Kamp, and we sang "I Want It That Way," the whole car ride there. Who knew a boy band could really have an impact on your life? But it did. Those were GREAT memories of mine.

I guess you can say, in a sense, the concert was a form of closure to my childhood. I guess, in part, that's what I came here for. I have one year of school left, before I enter the "real world," and before things like attending Backstreet Boys concerts seem even sillier. The truth is, though... Contrary to popular belief, no matter how old you get, the corniest memories do actually stick with you, because they aren't bad ones.

In a month, when I go home and people ask me what my favorite part of my trip was, it is likely I will say the Backstreet Boys concert... because you know what? It was unexpected... It was completely stupid... It was totally 90s... It was fun... And I loved every second of it.

No matter what corny thing you are doing or how silly something seems... whether you're dressed in pleather, rainbow beads, or you're not dressed at all... Be proud. Own it. Have fun. And love every second of it.

Hobbies (and hiking) for beginners

WORKING TITLE: Kali vs. Wild


Before I start raving and ranting about my latest adventure, let me explain why it's been a week since my last blog. You see, I've found these amazing things called hobbies. Originally my hobby was supposed to be blogging, but I quickly realized, thinking about blogging doesn't give me much to blog about.

So, I started thinking about how I have never really had a hobby. Do I love collecting postcards? Yes. Am I sitting around ordering old ones off Amazon.com? No. I mean, my guiltiest pleasure is reality TV (in particular the Real Housewives), but TV is not a passion; it prevents boredom. One might suggest I could also put a stop to my boredom by getting outdoors. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind being outside, but I hate Oklahoma weather. In winter, it's abnormally cold; In summer, disgustingly hot... So do I want to go for a hike when I don't have a body of water to go to afterward? To be blunt, no. Do I want to go to a baseball game where I'm sweating more in the stands than the players on the field? Hell no. Sorry Redhawks, in Oklahoma, I would much rather sit at home and watch Bravo...

...But, not in California.

Well, to be honest, I would love to watch Bravo since my TV here has a solid 23 channels. These are not even regular broadcast channels. My channels are a hodge-podge. These are the leftovers no one out here wants in their Comcast packages. There is no Bravo; there is no ESPN. All I know about the World Cup is what I watch on Letterman, and I didn't even watch Letterman until I came here. Don't worry, I get to watch the occasional movie on Oxygen, the great shows on Animal Planet, and Fox News push their conservative political agenda... Oh, and the Military Channel. I actually watched a full-length documentary about the Civil War the other night. Okay, that last sentence isn't true, but if I wasn't so bored it might be promising? Let me just say, I am an MSNBC girl, and although Anderson Cooper is dominating the oil spill coverage on CNN, I miss my MSNBC.

After years of my dad making Seinfeld references and me not getting them (because I would rather watch Sex and the City), I finally watch the show at night. I have to admit it's funny, but I'm only watching it because I'm not a George Lopez fan (his show is on simultaneously). Nights aren't too bad, since I can handle late-night talk shows; however, during the day, I can only take so much repetitive news, which is exactly why I decided to find a hobby in the first place.

Last Wednesday I went to celebrate America's pastime at the Giants game. I was completely amazed a game against the Baltimore Orioles would be packed in the middle of the day. It wasn't just tourists at the game, either. It was real fans wearing their black and orange. Turns out, baseball is America's currentime, too. Maybe I would suffer for another $10 margarita and a "Giants dog" at the Dodgers game on the 30th, but that was two weeks away. So Gillian came to visit.

I know you might be asking yourself, "who is Gillian?" She goes to OU, and is spending the summer in the bay area for her internship. We have some mutual friends, so we decided to meet up and explore the city. Except on Thursday, because most of the city was "booked" through Sunday due to "high touirst season" (which we were so kindly reminded of by the guy selling tickets for a bay cruise). So, we went on the bay cruise, and then did the next best thing by having a few drinks at Fisherman's Wharf. Unfortunately, Gillian has actual commitments around here, so I had to find something new.

After an eventful few days, I decided I needed to really do something great and spruce this life up. Since the city is experiencing high season, most of the cable cars, buses, and streets are constantly filled with people. Since I can walk faster than any mode of transportation can get through traffic, I have been walking the streets and building up my stamina. So, I decided to take up hiking. This would be just the adventure I was looking for!

But first, I would need to prepare by purchasing supplies. Now, anyone who knows me can tell you I've been carrying some type of bag with me since I was out of the womb. My earliest memory is at 3 years old when I left my blue Minnie Mouse purse (with only Chapstick and my dad's college class ring inside) at Casa Bonita. Luckily, it was still there when we went back shortly after realizing it was missing. In fact, the joke with most of my friends has always been that, contrary to popular belief, I would be the one to get us off the deserted island. When my laser-beam-satellite-gps-radar-signal-radio didn't work, I would just build us a boat with all the stuff in my purse and get us out of there. This would be no different.

I headed to The North Face to buy a hiking backpack. I marched myself, through an area of town I assume would be similar to Detroit, to REI Sports for my supplies. Then, I headed off to Borders to buy books about hiking. Two days later, I packed my bag and headed out to Angel Island.

In all honesty, I hadn't heard much about Angel Island until this point. Prior to this, I probably would have shown up in flip-flops and a sundress. Luckily, I do my research. Now, I'll be the first to say I'm not a hiking expert. In fact, I don't have skill or expertise in any given area. But, I prepare myself enough to bullshit with the best of them and make you think I do. In reality, could I win Survivor? No. But could I make everyone THINK I could win survivor? Abso-freaking-lutely.

My friends who went on a recent camping trip with me can tell you I'm not much of an outdoor enthusiast, but I will certainly be ready for any unexpected encounter if you manage to get me out into the wildnerness. I read in one of my hiking books that overpacking can be an issue, but I figured the purses I carry everyday are bigger than my hiking bag, so I was going to (in typical Kali fashion) fill it to the brim. Like I said, I'm not an experienced hiker, but I knew those extra 5 pounds of "stuff" could save my life.

So, after packing my lunch (PB&J, wheat thins, laughing cow cheese, and an apple) and my backpack (trail mix, cliff bars, protein bites, water, plastic bags, flashlight, mini roll of Charmin toilet paper, multi-tool, kleenex, sunscreen, bug spray, cotton balls, hand warmers, space blanket, batteries, duct tape, hand wipes, safety pins, first aid kit, poncho, waterproof matches, candle, rubber bands, tweezers, whistle, compass, toothbrush, after itch cream, and tampons- I saw on Expedition Africa that they are highly flammable), I set out to catch the 9:45am Blue & Gold Ferry toward the Island of Dreams (not, the island of my dreams).

I didn't know what to expect, but this was a 5-mile hike. I can't tell you the last time I did five miles in anything (maybe when I ran cross-country seven years ago?), so I knew this would be interesting. I picked up my map and set off. I wasn't sure what I was doing, but in my new hiking gear, I certainly looked the part. Immediately, I faced my first obstacle: many, many, stairs.

Once I made it up the first set to the landing, I looked out at the view and thought to myself, "I can do this. This time last year (one year and one day, to be exact), I was in Peru climbing the mountain at Machu Picchu. No one even told us to take water, and that was a stair master for thousands of vertical feet." So, I held my head up high, and I made my way up the rest of the stairs to the path and began the rest of my walk.

Although Angel Island is a hotspot for tourists, many don't do much besides eat lunch at the cafe, see the visitor's center, or make the 1-mile walk to the Immigration Station. The 5-mile route is virtually a road circling the perimeter of the island, which is not crowded at all. Other than the occasional tour car (the kind you see at Universal Studios) passing by (and the people taking pictures of me hiking like I am the exhibit), the road is relatively quiet. I figured I would save the big hike up to Mt. Livermore for a different trip, since it would give me something to work toward. Nevertheless, I made my way around that perimeter, seeing different views at every angle.

Part of the island was cold, while other parts are warm. I faced Berkeley, making a circle to see Oakland and the Bay Bridge, then San Francisco Bay and Alcatraz. Not much of Golden Gate was visible due to fog, but the sun on a different side made the views of Sausalito and Tiburon look like the Mediterranean.

Nearly three miles into the hike, I noticed a sign for the route to Battery Drew (the island was used heavily for military purposes during WWI and WWII), but I kept straight on my trail. Marching right along to the beat of my own drum, I happened to look down and notice what I thought, at first glance, was a branch. Oh no, this was no branch. This was a snake. A real-life snake in the middle of the road.

Now, I'm not scared of a whole lot. I'm not afraid of spiders or bologna like some people, but the thought of anything the size of a stick being able to eat me, freaks me out. Ive never seen a snake outside of the zoo. My brother used to read that book about the Boa Constrictor, but as much as I love J-Lo, I couldn't even get through the movie Anaconda. Snakes on a plane? Umm, no! Snakes on the trail I'm walking on? No thank you; absolutely not! What was I going to do? Strangle it with my duct tape, stab it with my tweezers, or blind it with my reflecting mirror? These were not promising options. I mean, with my space blanket and my hand warmers, I was prepared for a freak blizzard to take place in Northern California near the coast, but I most certainly was NOT prepared for snakes.

I paused to listen for a rattling tail. Except, I was missing one tiny little detail: I didn't know what a rattling tail sounded like. There was a constant buzzing from other bugs, so how would I know if its tail was rattling? My mind quickly flash backed to the movie Troop Beverly Hills when they heard the snake in the swamp and ran off, but that's Hollywood. The truth is, you're not supposed to run. The best I could tell, it was a yellow-brown thing. They don't teach you about snakes in the hiking books. No, you have to buy a snake book for that. That, my friends, is Capitalism at it's finest. I'm sorry I didn't want to pay $15.99 for the Eyewitness Snake Book, just in case there was that 1% chance I had a snake attack. Even if I saw it, what would I do? Pull out the book and analyze it? I had a silent panic attack. I thought to myself, "I'm in the wilderness alone. No one even knows I'm here (except for my parents, the people at the hotel desk, and the hotel maids who would've seen the note of my whereabouts on my desk when they were cleaning my room). My picture would be all over the news, they would search the island like it was Aruba. But who will know I was swallowed by a snake the size of a coat hanger?"

With it's head forward and it's beady little eyes staring right at me, I walked backward.. SLOWLY. Luckily, I've watched enough TV (in places other than San Francisco) to know not to startle it. I decided to take the 100 extra yards and make the detour toward Battery Drew. And boy, what a sight it was. I'm still not actually sure what the batteries did for the military, but that little burst of energy (after the snake) scurried me along like I was the Energizer bunny.

Once I finished the hike, I was in good spirits. On the ferry ride back, I realized maybe I rushed into this whole hiking thing. The 5-mile trail? Totally do-able. 60 Trails within 60 Miles (one of the books I purchased)? Not so much. I mean, one little hiss from that snake and I'd be spending the rest of the summer in my room watching other people's hikes on the Discovery Channel. I can't imagine being in alone in an actual place with mountain lions or bears, and no tourists.

Even though I like to think I'm as quick on my feet as MacGyver or Bear Grylls, I'm nowhere close to being an expert hiker. Throughout the summer, I probably won't hike anywhere else, but I will definitely venture back to Angel Island (where I hope to climb Mt. Livermore). It's always comforting to know that a roof over my head, some bad television, and a new hobby, are just a ferry ride across the bay away.

"If you come to San Francisco, summertime will be a love"

"Travelling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things- air, sleep, dreams, the sun, the sky- all things tending toward the eternal or what we imagine of it." -Pavese

The above quote sums up the whole of what was my first week alone. The first few days, I was ecstatic. I was out and about all day every day, until the city quickly got the best of me. I didn't know anyone; I didn't know where to go, and in all honesty, the city was kicking my you-know-what. I was waking up early for morning walks, then I would go back home and get ready for my days, where I would walk, and then walk some more. To say the least, walking the hills takes some getting used to, so my legs needed a break.

Up to this point, I haven't actually been lost in the city, but just because I know where I am, that does not mean I haven't lost my way. I've missed bus stops here and there, and I've ended up a few blocks downhill from where I meant to go, which means, I have had to walk back up. I took a few days to rest, because, in short terms, I was exhausted. I'm not sure if the exhaustion was purely physical, either. I was mentally exhausted from leaving my comfort zone, and letting go of everything happening without me back home.

I certainly needed a few days to get adjusted and situated, because even when I don't have a "plan," my life still requires organization. No matter how care-free I get, organization is a key aspect of my ability to function in life. I took a few days to thumb through stacks of magazines and pick out places I would like to see at some point during my time here.

After a few low-key days, I managed to make it to the Curran Theater Saturday night to see a performance of "In The Heights." I bought a ticket from the Tix Bay Area box office in Union Square. The box office sells half-price tickets the day of performances, which is convenient for tourists looking for a cheap way to see the different shows.

Temperatures hit the 80's over the weekend (which is pretty much brutal for San Francisco), so Sunday I took advantage of the warm weather and went to Ocean Beach. In reality, Ocean Beach is only eight miles from where I'm staying; however, the amount of time spent on a bus for eight miles can quickly add up. The bus stopped on every block, so after about six miles, I got off the bus and foolishly decided to walk the last mile and a half or so. Even though it was hot and sunny inland, I could see the fog over the water, so I contemplated turning around. It was cold, foggy, and I could feel myself getting shin splints from walking in my flip flops. I decided to keep going, though, because if it was a total bust when I arrived, I could always

call for a taxi home.

Finally, an hour after I left, I arrived to a crowded stretch of sand. I couldn't see much due to the fog, but I figured I would stay anyway. A short time after that, the fog lifted, and I was able to see hundreds of people along the Pacific Ocean, enjoying their first summer day. This day was all I wanted it to be; it was perfect.

Over the past few days, I have been exploring my options of things I might want to do after college. Volunteering with the Peace Corps? Interning with Amnesty International? Working for a non-government organization in Peru? Some people might think these are a stretch for me, but I've always been a big dreamer. Even if I don't push myself with the little things, I usually manage to find a way to follow through with my large goals, without being limited.

At first thought, I didn't exactly accomplish anything I had hoped to in my first week. In hindsight though, I did exactly what I came here to do. I took a few days off to do what I said I would, which was breathe. I finally realized I came out here thinking things would magically just happen for me, and I couldn't have been more wrong. I came out here with the notion that simply just being here would change my life. In fact, it is not in my existing here that my life has changed, but rather, I have started to change upon the realization of not wanting to solely exist here.

As of today, I feel rejuvenated and ready to take this city on. Tomorrow, I am going to the Giants vs. Orioles baseball game, which takes place during the weeklong Giants County Fair. Granted, it's not Texas State Fair at the Cotton Bowl, but people watching is great entertainment. This week, I will also start volunteering with the AidsWalk organization, in preparation for their largescale July event. Next week, my best friend in the world comes to visit, so I am preparing myself (and the city) for that. As much fun as I'm having on my own, it is always nice to get into some trouble.

I have to give a shoutout to the women who work with my mother- since they are living vicariously through me this summer. Now that I'm back on my feet (literally, as of my morning walk), I promise not to disappoint.

The young and the restless

"I think San Francisco is the best place in the world for an easy life." -Imogen Cunningham


For as long as I can remember, I never imagined myself living in one place. I have always loved to travel, and being a woman on the go seemed like the perfect option. As much as I adore my parents, I never saw myself growing in Oklahoma, and I certainly never thought about calling one place home. That is, until, I fell in love with San Francisco.

The first time I traveled to the city was with my mom for my 20th birthday. Immediately, I knew this was a place I was capable of spending the rest of my life. My dad used to joke that every place I traveled to was my new favorite city, and a place I saw myself living. Of course, he was right, but something about San Francisco stuck with me.

I have been in the city almost a week now, and I have to say, the people and the places constantly amaze me. I have this innate fascination for everything the city has to offer. I wake up every day wondering what I will see next, and who I will meet along the way.

In my quest for something different, I am trying to give myself a new perspective. I have stopped planning... Well, I've stopped planning the way I normally would. I give myself an area I would like to explore, and I set out to do just that.

Today, I successfully conquered the public transportation system in my venture to find something out of the ordinary. I'm not talking about riding the Cable Cars; anyone can figure that one out. No; I am talking about riding the bus. I hopped on the #38 bus at the cross streets of Geary and Taylor, and I rode it about 15 blocks to Steiner. Since I've never lived a city like this, and the public transportation system is virtually nonexistent in my home state, I wasn't sure how it would go. Luckily, I have the ability to effectively read a map, so I felt fairly confident I could handle it. When I got off the bus, I walked 7 blocks south, where I found myself at the corner of Alamo Square.

Alamo Square sits on top of a hill, giving people one of the best views in the city. Although tourists usually come through the area to see the houses of the "Painted Ladies," (also known as Postcard Row), the park is mostly filled with locals who come to walk their dogs or eat lunch. Since the park is on the west of town, it is not nearly as crowded as Washington Square in North Beach (Little Italy). Crowded or not, Alamo Square is one of my favorite places to be.

After sitting in the park for a while, the wind got the best of me, so I decided to move downhill as I made my way toward the Haight district. The Haight area is best known as the epicenter of hippie culture, the most famous youth movement in history. In the 60s, people could walk down the streets and run into people like Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, or the band Grateful Dead.

To this day, the area is full of young, creative people "fused together by a shared pursuit- re-imagining what society could be. Teenage runaways still gravitate to Haight Street looking for peace, love, and understanding (TimeOut San Francisco)." Until now, the only time I spent in the Haight area was passing through on a bus during a tour of the city with my mom. Today, surrounded by young artists, musicians, and writers, I felt like I was a part of it. In the area, it is nearly impossible to feel trapped. Today, I felt free. I could breathe, which led me to realize I am accomplishing what I set out to do: find myself. This is the place to be inspired. This is a place where it is safe to dream, without fear of outside judgment.

Although I marveled at the area, my hunger got the best of me, so I stopped to eat lunch at Eddie's Cafe off Divisadero in Lower Haight.

On this cold day, a cup of coffee in a tiny restaurant fit the bill. The place could probably hold 25-30 customers, at best. Eddie's is a place where, like the bar in Cheers, everybody knows your name. Their unofficial mission: to get the customer in, serve them coffee or breakfast (any time of day), and get them out. The employees are efficient, and they genuinely care about their customers. In large cities, it is often hard to find community friendly places, that are in it for the people instead of the money, but Eddie's does just that.

After taking a few minutes to relax, I left Eddie's and made my way to the center of it all: the cross streets of Haight-Ashbury. The livelihood along these blocks comes from stores that sell hand-blown glass, smoking paraphernalia, edgy clothing, and vinyl records. I quickly found the vintage stores I had long heard about: Ambiance, Positively Haight, and Buffalo Exchange, where I bought a colorful scarf and a purple-studded-fur clutch purse for a total of $20.00.

These are not your average Goodwill thrift stores seen in the Midwest. These are the places where celebrity stylists and fashion editors find those pieces we all see in magazines labeled "vintage." These are the pieces we could never get our hands on... the pieces we all long for.

I quickly realized I could spend days in the Haight district, which is why I decided to leave. I had wandered into the area out of curiosity, not realizing I would feel so connected. I was getting caught up in my surroundings, and I was not sure I would be able to get myself back home. After taking a quick look at the map, I got on the #71 bus and rode the 25 blocks or so down Market Street. I saw the famed Orpheum Theater (where I hope to see Wicked sometime before I leave) and many other sights I recognized near the Civic Center and City Hall (where Joe DiMaggio married Marilyn Monroe). I exited the bus at Powell and Market Streets (where the Cable Cars turnaround), and I walked the two blocks back to my summer home.

At the end of the day, I realized I hadn't given myself enough credit. Even though I had navigated the streets alone once before (well, technically with my mother in tow, but she couldn't read a map to save her life), I was apprehensive about doing the same on my own. Ultimately, I made it safely to and back from a place where the streets are not labeled on my tourist map... A place I know I will find myself again and again... A place only the young (and the restless tourists) go to breathe, perhaps buy a vintage scarf, and dream.

Departing: The person I thought I was

Now Arriving... in the City by the Bay: The person I will become


"At the center of your being you have the answer, you know who you are, and you know what you want." -Lao Tzu


It's been just over two weeks since my first blog, and in those two weeks, it feels like so much has happened.

During that time, I ended my run at a part-time job. Even though I did the work well, part of me feels guilty for not putting my heart and soul into it; however, that job symbolized everything I don't want my life to be... everything I know I'm not. The workplace was small, the employees were few, and I spent my days there longing for a way out.

I spent some great last nights with my friends in my college town of Norman, Okla., and my hometown of Tulsa. Each time I said goodbye to a different group of friends, it was bittersweet. I still have a year of college left, but I know things will never be the way they were. I am determined to come back from this trip changed, and even though I want my friendships to stay as strong as ever, many of my close friends will graduate in December; I know it's only a matter of time before life takes us our separate ways.

I spent the last two weeks tying up loose ends... finding closure, in a sense, to a part of my life where I felt trapped. I have spent many years taking care of my friends, only to find out they didn't need me to. I finally realized I never spent time taking care of the one person who needed help the most... myself. I blocked off and masked my problems by focusing on everyone else's. My friends made me happy, but a lifetime of personal baggage was keeping me from being the person I know I am capable of being. I was suffocating. At 21 years old, I knew I would never survive if I didn't find a way out. I needed to stop breaking down; I needed to breakthrough. The only way I knew I could do that, was to spend the summer in San Francisco... The city of my dreams.

So, here I am, beginning my adventure; my search for clarity.

At first, I was wary of my parents flying out with me. I had this big vision of myself saying goodbye to them at the airport, as I embarked on this great journey ahead of me... A journey filled with opportunity and life lessons. The reality, though, was completely different. We spent the first few days together. I thought I wanted to just arrive here and figure it all out. The truth is, though, I needed my parents. Although I have studied abroad in the countries of Peru, Chile, and Puerto Rico, there was a loophole: I was never really alone. I took those trips with people from my university, so even though they were amazing experiences, I never really had to leave my comfort zone. It's my first day alone in this city, and for someone who has spent semi-substantial time in Spanish-speaking countries, I have never felt so far away from home.

As much as I'd like to think I am completely independent, the bottom line is, having my parents help while I got settled made a big difference. Instead of living on someone's couch via couch surfing or living in a hostel with multiple roommates and a communal shower, I am living in a private room with a private bath in one of a hotel's student residences. The room, in all honesty, is bigger than that of my college apartment, but it feels, in some ways, much smaller. For instance, I can barely get any clothes to fit in my closet, so I bought a clothes rack for $10, on which I can hang my dresses, belts, scarves, and purses- very Carrie Bradshaw-esque circa 1998. I also turned one of my suitcases into part of the room decor; my diverse magazines rest atop the sweaters that fill it. My jewelry (all costume pieces from places like Forever 21) is stored in kitchen containers and sewing boxes I found at The Container Store only a few blocks away.

Although it is not the studio apartment or penthouse I had always envisioned for myself (maybe one day), the residence is perfectly appropriate for a college student from Oklahoma. All the while, I have mixed emotions about my summer home; part of me thinks I have created a fashionable living space, while the other part of me knows that I will suffocate in this little room if I don't fulfill my potential and take advantage of everything this city has to offer. For this reason, I am determined to, for once and my life, really follow through with a set goal. I will explore. I will learn, about both the city and myself.

Right now, I am overwhelmed with emotions. It is the perfect catch-22. I wanted to be alone and now I am, but I still fear my friends will move on and have the summer of their dreams without me. I need this time for myself, and the truth is, my friends know I need it to. Any space they give me is because it's what I wanted... what I needed. So I hope I come back from this trip changed- with no more selfish thoughts of feeling left behind, because in all reality, I am the one who left them.

In any case, I hope they enjoy their time in Norman during their first, and what is likely to be their last, summer all together. In typical Kali fashion, I brought a memory box. A sparkly, sequined, silver, bejeweled box to hold my most precious memories of home- pictures of my friends and family, a red string from a silly game I made up on a recent camping trip, letters from friends, bar scribbles from my last nights out back home, and Sheepie- the precious stuffed sheep from a very close friend. Although my friends laughed at the idea of my box and told me the box should be for my "new" memories, we all know I have to do this my way. I need those memories to survive. Because even though I am running toward the unknown, I have to remind myself I am not running away from that life; I am just searching for something better for myself.
Ultimately, I am grateful for this opportunity my parents have given me. I have to admit outloud (or in this case, via the internet), that this opportunity was handed to me, so that I do not selfishly waste this experience. I often have a tendancy to stop short of ordinary, so I truly hope to find whatever it is I'm looking for. I want the best things for my friends and my family, but somewhere along the way I lost the ability to push myself. Deep down, I know I am worthy. Deep down, I know I can do great things.

This blog makes me accountable. I am putting myself out there. I refuse to let this blog be anything less than ordinary. Thus, my summer vow: I will write, photograph, wake up on a Sunday for Latin mass, go to lectures, pay $5.00 to hear bad comedians, see broadway shows, shop thrifty at flea markets and vintage stores, read books, meet new people, walk the Golden Gate, climb Twin Peaks and watch the sun rise, celebrate the city's diversity at Pride, take part in the Aids Walk, and volunteer. I will maximize my time. I will try new things. I will laugh. I will cry. Most importantly, for the first time in my life, I will live... without a plan and with only a dream. For eight more weeks, day after day, I will leave this room and its poolside view, and head out to the streets to get lost; in an effort to find myself.

Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plains...

...(and in this state) I always smell disaster when the wind comes right behind the rain.

Let me set the scene:


Wednesday, May 19- 1:52pm

So, here it goes. This is my first attempt at a real, complete, thoughtful blog. I'm currently at work (yes, playing spider solitaire and chatting on facebook at the washer/dryer rental shack) and I have a lot on my mind. Right now, I am waiting for:

a) the day to be over
b) tornadoes to rip through the area
c) a sonic drink
You're absolutely right. The answer is definitely D) ALL OF THE ABOVE.

My evening plans: Watch Twister (yes: both the action unfolding in real life courtesy of KOCO's Rick Mitchell and the movie- an absolute classic).

Thursday, May 20- 1:41pm

Well, world, as you can see, I didn't make it too far into my blogging attempt. In fact, it took me a whole 24 hours to get back to this spot. I promise, I have valid reasons. First of all, here is the simple truth. I am a procrastinator. This little flaw has become a huge problem in all aspects of my life, which we can add to the list of reasons I am not destined for the world of Journalism. I mean, if it takes me 24 hours to post one simple blog, it's time to admit I have a problem.

Secondly, those tornadoes I mentioned... well, they did rip through the area. In fact, my current partner-in-crime, Amanda, (aka one-of-my-best-friends-who-moved-into-our-apartment-for-the-summer-and-is-my-only-roommate-in-town-right-now-and-is-only-my-roommate-for-a few-more-days-before-I-leave-for-summer-who-I-facebook-chat-with-all-day-long-at-our-8-to-5-jobs) and I fully intended to spend all of last night blogging in the comfort of our home. But it is a proven fact of life that things don't always go as planned, and, in Oklahoma, be careful what you wish for when it comes to the weather. You want summer sun? Congratulations, you now have temperatures scorching in the hundreds. You want snow? Congratulations, you now have a foot of ice covering the entire state's landmass. Yesterday, I wanted tornadoes, and what did I get? Tornadoes.

So I got off work early around 4 in the afternoon to run all my errands (pay my boss' OG&E bill, pick up my dry cleaning, buy groceries, and get gas- this statement will come back to haunt me later) before the bad weather moves in. It's your typical Spring day here in Norman, Oklahoma. The sun is shining. The temperatures are warm. And even though there are clouds in the sky, they look as though they will never make their way above you. But those of us from the area know that these components spell disaster.

After running errands I met Amanda at home around 5. She was bringing stuff in from her car to finally finish up the moving-in process once and for all. We both knew bad storms were predicted to come through the state, and at this point in time tornadoes had already touched down in the northwestern areas of Kingfisher and Hennessey. We turned on Rick Mitchell and we both knew it was only a matter of time before the storms moved our way.

Around this time, we saw (on TV, of course) a 300-yard-wide tornado touch down near Stillwater, and we were cracking jokes about the possibility of OSU getting hit. My dad, who caught a plane to Las Vegas to skip the bad weather, was watching the Weather Channel and calling me to give me his "professional" opinion of the updates. (Side note: My father, who is not a meteorologist, tends to be right about most things in life. I have always liked to believe he doesn't know much about the weather, but he ALWAYS predicts it right). He said hail might be moving this way and tornadoes are coming toward Norman from Chickasha so we should probably go toward campus to seek shelter and protect our cars. Keep in mind, our apartment complex is a hotspot for these storms. Although we like to belive our apartment is a resort, we also live next door to a trailer park. Our complex also sits a few hundred yards north of Highway 9 (which was hit by tornadoes exactly 1 week and 2 days ago). As you can tell, this third-floor home of ours is probably not the safest spot to be during this time. Nevertheless, we choose to ignore Scott's good warning with the common idea that when the storms actually came, we would follow his direction.

As Amanda casually walked down to her car from our third floor apartment, I told her to look for the tornadoes in that sky (which was sunny and virtually storm-free at the time). Within a few short moments, the radar showed a lot of activity coming toward Norman and my panic set in. Being from this fine state, I have, over the years, gained the ability to distinguish severe weather from well, not-so-severe-weather; In short, I tend not to panic often. Amanda's panic-meter was at zero while I tried to convince her from our balcony that we should probably seek shelter. It was starting to rain, so we packed bags of essentials (laptops, flashlights, and snacks aka Gardetto's and Turkey Jerkey), and headed out the door.

In our separate cars listening the radio, we both heard the bad storms were over Riverwind casino and Lloyd Noble Center. I know what you all are asking yourselves... What? Lloyd Noble Center? The home venue for the OU basektball teams? That's on campus, right? Well, folks, you're absolutely right. Thus, the freak-out happens. Over the phone we panic. "It's right by our apartment. Don't go to the sorority house. Go to the stadium parking garage. It's coming. Now!!" This was when the realization hit me; I forgot to check one item off my errand list. I'm almost out of gas. At this point, the rain is coming down so hard I cannot see in front of my car.
"I don't have time to get gas! The sky is black!! Go to the garage! Where is it coming from?!" -Me
"Lindsey is completely closed for construction! I'm going through the dorms! The roads are flooded!" -Amanda
"Go to the parking garage on Elm! Can you get there?! I'm so scared" -Me

As we made our way through the flooded streets toward the garage, the radio went silent. And then it happened. The beeping that occurs right before the tornado comes, followed by the recording... [BEEP.BEEP.BEEEEEP. THE NATIONAL WEATHER CENTER HAS ISSUED A WARNING FOR (I can't remember the counties, but basically every county in Oklahoma) PLEASE SEEK SHELTER IMMEDIATELY].

Broken tree limbs were blocking the roads and the high wind speeds caused the rain to pelt our cars. And as I turned the corner I noticed something... Everyone in the Norman community, and their dogs (literally), were parking in the garage and running into the Physical Science building. The garage was packed; I was almost out of gas. After finally finding a spot near Amanda's, I grabbed my bag and called my dad.

"The storm is here... Everyone is here. We are going into a building. I won't have phone service. I have to go."

I assured him that we were ok, but we had to get inside right now. We rolled up our pants, faced the downpour, and ran across the street and into the building. We were soaked. Well, Amanda and I were soaked. The Norman natives and their dogs were dry. Why is that? Because they sought shelter BEFORE the storm came; the same time dad warned us to go. Some man pulled up the live weather coverage on a projector in a classroom where we gathered to wait it out. We ate snacks, Amanda blogged, and I mulled over my wet possessions. We were there for 15 minutes before we got the all-clear to leave. The real storm had come and gone while Amanda and I were driving and parking.

We walked outside. The clouds parted and the sun came out. And just like that, smoke rose from the ashes.

So where did I go? To get gas. And on my way, I called dad to tell him the words no daughter wants to say: "You were right."

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Thursday, May 20- 3:45pm

The total? 16 Oklahoma tornadoes. 1 blog down. Countless more (of both) to come.