The Day I Woke Up In West Sacramento

Jenny and I park on some Davis side street and walk through a courtyard to the entrance of Davis Noodle City, where we each get huge bowls of food and sweet bbq pork rolls and find stuff floating in the bottom of our water cups. We're getting along well. This unexpected adventure outside of Sacramento was her idea, an invitation to see Medea Fever play at The Domes, while still incorporating a watching of Dark Knight later in the evening. I make sure not to mention that I have to open the next morning, since that's sort of a buzz-kill when it comes to late-night plans. 

We sit side by side on a bench in an open booth. I'm nervous, but I feel like I hide it well. I'm worried about not being interesting. I've been worried about that a lot recently, actually. Things go well. We split the bill and take our leftovers back into the cool central valley night. Jenny says, "You're getting the ultimate Davis tour tonight," and the next place we go she calls, affectionately, "The Fast and Sleazy."

After a purchase of two tall cans of Pabst and a box of tropical-flavored Dots, we're back on the road and making our way around the brightly lit campus, parking on the corner of some random neighborhood intersection. Beers in brown bags in hand, we start down a trail between a series of dome-shaped homes called Yurts. I'd heard of these things before. Figures Davis students would put up a whole commune of Yurts in the middle of a residential zone. She leads me near a large dark fire pit and into the central, larger Dome where a British girl is already captivating a sea of cross-legged stoners on the floor. I love this place immediately.

Next, Jenny's old roommates Shannon and Ally get on stage with two bass players and a drummer and perform as Medea Fever. Very neat experience. Basically a room full of twenty-somethings drinking wine from mason jars and listening to young people sing about love. I sat with Jenny on a crowded red couch and enjoyed myself quite a bit. Good little band. Adorable lead singers. Plus, Jenny told me all the backstage drama she was a part of when she was roommates with the singers during college. Affairs and alcoholism in abundance, it appears.

Afterward Jenny and I stopped by one of her old friends' Domes to look inside. I remember a cluttered kitchen, a ladder, a slender bathroom, a sharp cat, an eclectic book collection and someone with a cast on their arm. Not the most social experience. I mostly just followed Jenny around.  

We eventually got back to my room and smoked a joint and opened that bottle of tempranillo I'd been holding onto. Sadly, it wasn't the jaw-dropping experience I'd hyped that tempranillo debut to be, and the grandeur of that moment fell flat. I thought the wine was pretty decent. It wasn't an especially well-played evening. More strange than anything. Jenny was high and in her head and I was already getting sleepy before Batman caught the Joker halfway through the movie. Oddly enough, we both ended up sleeping on the floor, with her too high to drive home and me needing to get a few hours of rest before work. Nothing happened.

When I woke at 5:20, I gave myself ten minutes to acclimate and then woke Jenny and walked her outside to her car in the early morning fog. She left and I got ready for work. 

Monday evening I took Stella--my car--out to West Sacramento to visit Katie at the home she's staying in, a family-friend's empty house that's up for sale. Stella isn't doing too well. Ever since that incident on the hills of Mt. Vernon Road last Wednesday, the car has been excessively trembling, shaking, groaning and coughing. When I idle, Stella goes into seizure. When I'm on the freeway, it feels like there are stones in my engine. Basically, I'm not going to be driving Stella anymore. I think it's time I cancel my car insurance and take a look at the bike listings on craigslist again. 

Anyway, Katie's fantastic. Wine, cheese and bread for appetizers. Kiwi intermission. Turkey sandwiches for an entrée with PB&J's for dessert. I struggled to get the logs burning in the fireplace. We smoked weed in the garage and Katie said, "I feel ridiculously comfortable with you," which I echoed back at her. It's sort of remarkable what we've got. It's much different than the situation with Kirsten. We watch an episode of LOST and fall victim to the drowsiness of a good high. 

In the morning we have breakfast sandwiched between sex, The Shins, a marathon of LOST and more sex. 

Last night, John's bike shop was broken into by an employee named JC who is now in jail. Triple-Americano Gary was the one who called the cops and prevented the guy from succeeding. 

Shaun wants me to go with him to the Town House this Saturday because a pretty girl told him to go and he wants a wingman. I'd love to be a wingman. His band is playing this Friday @ Old Ironsides, and I'm pretty sure I'll go to that. Lance, this forty-something guy going through a second adolescence, wants to plan a smoking session for Thursday or Friday. Should be interesting. Stephanie wants to try and see a movie next Monday morning. 

I'm twelve days away from my 24th birthday, eight away from my Peace Corps interview. January was pretty nuts and I'm expecting nothing less from the next 27 days of February.

I'm really into the song "All The Young Dudes" by Mott The Hoople. 

I think I need to find a new job. I'll never pay off debt on this income. 

- Left to Fry