Ahhh California. I am beginning to realize that even if I never come back to reside in this state, it will always, always be home. And despite my all too frequent complaints about Santa Cruz, it has an insurmountable charm. Sitting in the Poet and Patriot yesterday afternoon I realized that, while Boston may be the US capitol of Irish pubs, the Poet blows them all away. I fear I may never find a pub as great as that one. Le sigh.

Everything is the same, and yet slightly, almost imperceptibly not. I feel at home and yet displaced. It's strange, but I'm still happy to be here. I got my tasty nachos, I saw my favorite Zachary's peeps, I got to drink beer in the Rush Inn and complain about the fact that it's being overrun by hipsters, and the weather...oh, the weather. It's fantastic.

But I'm tired and hungover, and I have to get ready to eat excellent Chinese food tonight (once you've eaten at the O'mei, no other Chinese food will satisfy you, I promise you that). I don't care what I say, I heart Santa Cruz. We just have a very volatile relationship.