I wish I could tell you about all of the cool things I did last weekend. I’m itching to write about bars and friends and fun, like that one time everyone showed up to Amruta’s birthday party in NYC and it was all over-priced appetizers and going-out tops and a reason to put on eyeliner and vodka tonics that tasted awful and made me a little too PDA but also, I believe, loads of fun to be around. I wish this past weekend was like that.

But it wasn’t. This past weekend was not like that at all. Instead, there were new party dresses relegated to the closet, a boyfriend with a pediatrics exam looming over him, a canceled dinner party and a massive funfetti cake banished to my freezer. To add insult to injury, I’ve discovered I don’t even like funfetti cake anymore. (I’m suspecting it only tasted oh so good during college because I never, ever actually baked anything from scratch. And was generally drunk.)

I’m hoping this weekend was just an outlier, a confluence of circumstances. I’m blaming it on an ill-timed exam, the birthday girl’s cold, rainy weather. I mean, I haven’t been miserable for the whole five and a half months that I’ve been here, right?

The last time I took stock, I lived with a boyfriend I adore, in a city I adore, with a job that I at least should, in theory, adore. Have I mentioned how smoothly this move went, how everything just fell into place? The perfect apartment, the perfect work transition, the raise? What could possibly be missing?

Oh, right. That.

The truth is: I miss my friends. And it’s not just because I moved a few hours away or because I live with my boyfriend now. People are busy. People are moving abroad. People are focusing on school and studying and turning themselves into the kind of professionals they want to be. And I understand that. I support that. I’m proud of them.

It’s just tough, that’s all. Dave and I occasionally talk about the future, about maybe moving to the West Coast for his residency. It sounds so great in theory, but the conversation always begs this question:  if Rach can’t make friends here, in a city she lived in for four years, with most of her family and friends in the same time zone, how the hell is she going to make a life for herself in California?

It’s a valid question. And right now, from my perch as a slightly-bored, starved-for-conversation Philadelphian, I have only one response:

Can you guys please apply for law/b-school/dual degree programs/residencies at Stanford?



8 Responses

  1. Because people are much friendlier out here! Plus a lot of friends come from work, which tougher when you work from home, for sure. You gotta work harder at it, but there’s tons of ways to make friends in San Francisco 🙂

    Stanford woo!

    • Yeah, I think working from home makes it so much tougher.

      In other news, ask me how long it took me to make that graphic. As I was screaming at Dave (“Why don’t you know anything about graphic design!?”) it occurred to me that situations involving computers are the only time in my life I genuinely wish I was dating you. Or at least sharing an office. If I move to San Fran will you redesign my blog for me?

      • You’ll have to get in line behind Morse. And I think the need for him is a bit more urgent, considering:


        And, hmm, I’m going with 14.5 hours.

  2. It could be so much worse. You could be in Boston. Also, if you move out west I’m going to cry.

    • Haha, you’ll be in Paris! What’s an extra five hours?

      • a few hours too much 😦

  3. I do NOT accept you no longer like funfetti

    • Haha, it’s the sad truth. You saw (slash heard about) me making homeade pizza dough yesterday morning. I’m a new person.

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