05/05/05

I just learned how to belly dance in my living room. Purple spandex and coin skirt-clad twin sisters, Neena and Veena, taught me how to shimmy and do genie arms while giving me a decent workout. Brought to me by Natural Journeys, my "resource for the finest videos, music, clothing, and accessories to help you in your journey to find self-discovery and inner peace." Phew! And I was about to cast off worldly possessions in pursuit of a simpler, more spiritual existence. Bring on the Gucci bags and Citizens of Humanity jeans!



After my final day at Siebel last week, I went and recharged for a few days at Harbin Hot Springs. I pitched my tent under a tree next to a stream and slept about 12 hours each night, except for the first night when I kept waking up cold because I had decided to sleep on my sleeping bag instead of in it. In the morning, I walked through the woods for 10 minutes to reach the poolside sundeck, where I did yoga every day. I cooked my meals in the Fern Kitchen, where I put more energy into taking notes on what other people were cooking than on my own food. It's easy to fall into a bit of a food rut, especially when you cook all your meals and shop at Trader Joe's. Watching other people prepare concoctions out of avocado, quinoa and kelp noodles proved educational and inspiring.

I spent the rest of my time hanging out in the pools. If you've ever experienced hot springs, you are familiar with the vision-blurring, capillary-dialating, soul-cleansing bliss of a series of alternating plunges into the hot pool (115 degrees) and cold pool (depends on mother nature, but all I know is it's damn cold). If you don't, try it. Trust me.



This past Saturday, Barbara threw a 70s themed 30th birthday party for her boyfriend (and my friend) Scott. We busted out the polyester and at some point I decided it would be wise to borrow a bottle of whiskey from behind the bar. Bleh.



On Sunday, my roommate Amy and I met up with friends and headed to the How Weird Street Fair. Had a fantastic day. San Francisco at its best. Weird, wonderful and wacky. Good weather, good music, good people.

I've been waking up to NPR for over a month now and am starting to doubt that's a good idea. Not only does the soothing monotony of the reporters' voices lull me back to sleep, but images of suicide bombers and Terry Schiavo's, oops sorry, that's Terry Schiavo's feeding tube, fill my head and give my bizarre early morning dreams. On that note, time for sleep.