friday, may 11
the stories pour out, over helpings of bacon and eggs and sips of coffee and juice.

"you should have won," they say.
"those internet people are really weird."
"but we're so proud of you."

melissa's taken the day off to take me wherever i want to go. the plan is: lunch with jason and the pyra gang and then an afternoon in the city. but we all get off to a late start. it's 1:30pm by the time i find jack in the pyra office and almost 2pm by the time we get to the restaurant. but it's worth the wait. i get salmon tacos, and they're damn good.

at one point, i tell melissa that she is lucky to be eating lunch with these people. "you don't even know how many 15-year-old girls wish they were sitting in that chair right now." everyone laughs, but the thing is it's true. we are having lunch with some of the most crush-worthy people on the 'net. trust me, i know these things.



the pyra headquarters looks a lot bigger on screen, i joke. actually, it is exactly as i'd imagine the digs of a start-up to be: small, unpolished and casual. i sink into the beanbag and wait as ev downloads the photos from the night before.

we gather around his computer and share the instant memories. oh technology, how i love you.

i hop onto jack's chair and ask if i can blog something really quickly, just because i can.

it's 3:30pm or so. it's a beautiful day, and melissa and i are going to run around the city for a while. we're not sure where we're headed, but i don't mind. i'm on vacation. i'm up for anything.

out of nowhere, she asks, "do you like sago?"

sago is a sweet, tapioca-like dessert food that is often mixed in filipino drinks. "yeah," i say. "why?"

she tells me of this place by her house that makes fruity shakes with sago. we decide to ditch our plans to see the city -- it's not like i haven't seen it before -- and go back toward her neighborhood, instead. Wonderful Foods is a storefront that sells stale candy and dried meat products in bins. scary? yes, very. but they also make amazing shakes. i order a mango shake, and i swear, it's one of the best things i've ever tasted. it's a fascinating sensation to slurp sago, which are gumball-size, through a straw. we get back to her house, lounge in her bedroom, watch MTV and look through old photos.

this is what i love about melissa. this is what growing up with her was like. we would spend hours doing stuff like that, just indulging in simple pleasures and enjoying each other's company.

this is what i came here to do. this is vacation.



it's friday night, and i've got my dad's car. i feel like i'm 16. woohoo!

the plan is this: pick up jack at pyra, grab a quick bite to eat and then head over to The Veen's house. there's a party, and anyone who's anyone is gonna be there. i wasn't invited. at least not by jeff himself, but i heard about it from enough people that i figure it'll be okay.

i am late, so very late, in picking up jack, and i think he is going to faint unless i take him to eat, right. that. second. we go to an ethiopian restaurant on haight and order the vegetarian platter and apple juice. dinner takes longer than i think it will and by the time we get to veen's house, it's almost 10pm.

so we're standing at the bottom of the building, about to call up to the apartment, but we can't decide what to say since 1) we really have never met jeff and 2) have no idea who else will be there and 3) aren't even sure if anyone will even let us in. i dial the number, and without saying a word, they buzz us in. whew.

we walk through the door and i am happy to see ev and peter, standing by the bookcase with drinks in hand and grins on their faces.

"where've you been?" ev asks.



the party, like all good parties, is a blur. there is molly passing out keys from a broken laptop (i got the letter X); halcyon keeping it real with his white fuzzy hat; richard standing casually in the corner looking just as cool as i knew he would; jeff talking about douglas coupland, who happened to be a pal of his; jason, meg, rebecca, jesse, derek, heather, other, big, important, talented, people; and the requisite loud music, spilled drinks and big words (which i've decided is a san francisco web thing. hard to explain. but that's precisely the point).

at around 1:30am, the party is over and we are essentially kicked out of The Veen's house. ev is drunk, so i offer to give him a ride home. he gladly accepts. i am walking down the street with sober jack and drunken ev, and i am loving this. at one point, ev appears to be heading straight for the wall, so i steer him in the right direction.

in the backseat of the car, ev is saying we should buy donuts and have a party at his place. i am amused, until a thought hits me:

"are you a puking drunk?" i ask him. not only am i a sympathetic puker, but i am driving my father's car, and that could really ruin my night.

"no, but the way you're driving," he sneers.

i laugh.

he is asleep by the time we get to his place, but he wakes up with a jolt and stumbles out of the car. i am kind of worried he might not make it up the stairs, but jack watches through the window, and apparently he's fine.

jack is staying in berkeley. we are in the city. it's a half hour to get to his place, another half hour to get back to the city, and thirty more minutes to get to foster city. i know this means i won't get home til 3am or so, which i am certain will piss my parents -- if they are still awake -- off. but what can a girl do? i know exactly where i'm going, and the night is young, heck, i'm young, and i'm having a helluva good time.

on the way back, at the bridge toll booth, i scrounge up the change and hand it to the guy.

"hi," i say.

"pretty good thanks," he says. "i bet you hear that all the time."

"what?" i ask, confused.

"i said, 'hello, pretty girl.'"

"ohhh. i thought you thought i asked how you were and you said, 'pretty good thanks.'"

"no, i said, 'hello, pretty girl.'"

"oh," i giggle.



i get home at 3:15am. the front door is not locked and i tip toe in, only to find my mother with stress written all over face, sitting at the dining room table with my aunt and my dad.

did i mention i feel 16?

"where were you? we were worried. why didn't you call? it's 3 o'clock!" mom exclaims.

i am too exhausted to argue, and i can only laugh at how ridiculous she's being. i remind her i am not 12, and then crawl upstairs to brush my teeth and wash my face. all i want is sleep.

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