And you tell me I am home

I've had a creative shut-down the past couple months which seems to be lingering on along with the muggy weather and the mosquito community's extended vacay in Baltimore. But, work has settled down and the weather will too, and this weekend I will ride my bike through breezes and end up at a cafe that promises "Ultimate Cider," which I'm imagining is more or less the best thing that will ever happen to me.

Tomorrow begins my Quarter Life Crisis, and my dearly beloved bestowed upon me a bicycle for the occasion!

Wallet-sized photos are available upon request.

I haven't biked much since my last barista job in Chicago when I would ride down the middle of Lawrence many hours before light and people came out. It was so enjoyable having the city to myself that ungodly sacred hour, when the only audible sounds were my crackling chain and aging tires gliding on uneven concrete and over masses of leaves scattered into the street. (In typical Mari fashion I think of this specific time of my life with great fondness, even though I'm sure that I hated it.)

Biking in Baltimore is slightly different than the experience in Chicago for these two main reasons:

a) It is not flat

b) All the drivers are always drunk at all times

But, even with those challenges, I am happy as ten clams to explore the city in a new way, even if I am still a slowpoke and even the small hills make me feel like I am mostly dead. I had nearly forgotten how fun it is.

I went to San Francisco and took a lot of pictures, mostly of people, but also a few million of the Golden Gate Bridge.

If this girl had looked up from her phone, she could have scheduled two dates back-to-back.

This man gave me two donuts for the price of one. So I guess we're best friends now.

This woman!

Am I ever going to get over cropped pants? Unlikely.

I want this man's outfit.

I wish I had taken a better picture of this babe because she looked so amazing just sitting on a convertible in North Beach, being all Italian with her silk scarf and crazy shoes. I want to be her when I grow up.

This is a picture of someone who does not look like me when she rides a bike. By which I mean her mouth is not permanently agape.

Every house in San Francisco looked like a popsicle color. Even the kind of popsicle that is tan-colored.

If you told me that the picture below was taken in Seattle, I would say "No, it was taken in Tiburon." But I would also concede that it looks exactly like Seattle.

I look like a maniac in this picture, but it was a moment where I was really really happy about nothing, and not everybody has a picture of themselves going genuinely bonkers.

Bay windows have my heart.

My stance and seriousness here make me laugh. I think I was photographing a sign that said "We have noodles!"

Marin County, I am proud to have been born in you.

I think my hair looks really pretty here. Don't you?

The Bridge looks so elegant and graceful from far away, so beastly and terrifying up close.

Baltimore was warm the evening I returned, and not unpleasantly so. It felt more homey than anything else: dark, comfy, rickety, worn-in. I liked that feeling.

My cat is curled up with my modem right now, which I'll accept as his way of saying Happy Birthday.

Good night to you.