wednesday observations

i haven't posted much because my days have been filled with work. however, due to the fact that i can't get a parking sticker for my car until i register my car, get a new driver's license, and buy new plates, moving my car every two hours is a necessity. AND, it's a decent mandatory break in my day. i mean, breaks. during this time, i've picked up some significant obervations about my new town:

Not knowing anyone has benefits.
I’ve been wearing the same combination of clothes since we arrived. No one seems to notice or care, and since I’m not stinky, I don’t need to find a laundromat yet.

People in San Francisco are loud.
This is my favorite, and the most prevalent. Lots of people yell here, and I’ve encountered many people in our 'hood exclaiming their passions, whether it be singing a song, yelling at their buddy down the street, or extolling their hopes and dreams in swear words. Maybe it isn’t that SF folks are any different from other city dwellers, but that Seattleites are more reserved, more unsure about expressing themselves. My friend Lynne would probably agree with this. She’s encouraged me to yell more, to announce “I’m pissed off!” and to spend time in Italy. She told me that in Italy people express their emotions without reservations, and aren’t labeled as bad people—they just make their feelings known. Perhaps SF is the same way.

I’ve enjoyed watching people yell. No one has directed their screeching at me yet, so it’s fun trying to figure out what gets people so excited. I told my friend Amy today that I'm going to start a firm regimen of yelling each time I move my car. I'll report back my findings.

{ohymygod. i'm snorting, i'm laughing so hard. someone JUST moaned/yelled so dang loud out on the sidewalk, it was comical. david just said, "they're so loud here!"}

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think everyone owns a dog.
We live next to a park that moonlights as a dog park. This unofficial distinction means lots of wild and crazy dogs running all over the grassy hill. If you were to hang out on our stoop (one of the many items on my list of things to do), you’d think there was a law against walking solo on our sidewalk.

Taking out the trash can be fun.
We have a metal chute outside our kitchen window for our trash. It’s pretty small—apparently the original inhabitants of our turn-of-the-century building didn’t have super sized garbage bags. All we have to do is lift the lid and let’er go. We heard it hit something at the bottom, but we’re not sure where it went.

Forget Pilates.
We live on the 3rd floor. There is one flight of 34 steep steps leading to our door. I’ve been running them lately, using the stair-climbing necessity as an opportunity to get exercise. The AT&T man who just showed up was a bit taken back by them. So were the movers. You wouldn’t believe what those poor men endured. I worried the late-50’s lifetime smoker, beer belly totin’ leader of the crew was going to collapse in cardiac arrest. Seriously. We provided cokes and water and encouraged them to sit down and rest... to no avail. Man.

DISCLAIMER: i know this is lame, but i'm going to add more pics to this post tomorrow. i'm tired, and in my pjs. i don't wanna move :) check back soon!