happy sunday.

I got the most unexpected text this morning from one of my old hometown friends. It was plain and simple, but totally made my day. "Happy Sunday!" I don't normally think of Sundays as being happy, per se. Probably because I always thought that at my age, Sundays would mean sleeping in, reading the paper in bed, and heading to afternoon brunch with my significant other and a group of friends. The closest thing I get to that is a weekend wake-up call from the bff as he shouts in my ear: "Get your ass up out of bed and meet me for coffee, Biotch." Sweet, isn't it? Not quite what i had imagined for myself this stage in life.

Anyways, this old friend owed me a coffee date. So, I set out to meet him in his new 'hood. He's recently moved to Fruitvale. I'd only been to that part of Oaktown once since moving out to the East Bay. It's a very lively part of town. Very colorful. And above all else - very Hispanic. I'm all about representing my latiness. (For the most part it's represented by my backside. J.Lo ain't got nothing on me.)

I finally got off the delayed train. (It's never a happy Sunday on BART). As I made my way through the Fruitvale Center - a cute little shopping center next to the BART station - I found the place I was praying we'd have coffee at. Powder - a coffee shop with a distinct specialty: Beigneits. Mmmm. The last time I'd had those were from Angeline's Cajun Kitchen in Berkeley about a year ago. But nothing beats the first ones I tried when I was thirteen from the original Cafe du Monde in New Orleans.

These were pretty. And tasty. So pretty that I had to take a picture. And thereby embarrassing my companion who managed to utter the dreadful words: "You are sooo Millbrae!" What? Hells no! He admitted he was just projecting because he misses home. "There's no class!" Something about the lack of propriety people seem to have on this side of the bay. We're just a bunch of spoiled suburban kids.

Personally, I've managed to lose most of my upper-middle-class upbringing in two years. If it weren't for working 9-5 on weekdays, I'd probably end up walking through Starbucks barefoot a la Britney Spears. (With two kids and a southern accent to boot.)

That would seem to explain why I've been attracting the tow-truck drivers and guys that work at the Pick 'n Pull.

I mentioned this to my friend who simply asked me: "what are you doing to attract these guys?" My answer: Nothing. On the contrary, I'm trying not to attract these guys. "Well, what kind of guy are you trying to attract?" Hmm. That kind of threw me off for a bit. I don't know. So, he tells me about "The Secret" this new spirituality phenom and "The Law of Attraction". He briefly described it to me as visualizing what it is that you want in life and thinking of positive ways to get it. For example, I really want to lose weight, so I have to ask myself: What can I do to impove my chances of losing weight? The answer would be: eat healthy, exercise, etc. That way I won't have every guy in Fruitvale checking out my ass.

My buddy noticed that at least five guys gave me the Oaktown once-twice-full-over. That's where a guy passes you on the street, turns around, stops for a second, looks up and down, mouths "daaaaaaaamn!", bites his lip, nods to himself and keeps walking as if he hasn't just visually violated a random woman on the street. I've only experienced this in Oakland. And lucky me - I was stuck on a BART full of drunk men coming home from a Chivas soccer game whistling.

So, here's the question: What do i need to do to stop getting visually violated on the streets? Answer: Probably stop eating beigneits on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. (or stop riding BART). Hmm. Tough call.