In Santa Barbara, you can say things like, "Lately, the universe has been giving me things that I ask for" in regards to a fabulous hat you just found within thirty seconds of saying you need a fabulous hat. The person will open her eyes wide and say, "You need to find a way to give that back to the universe, or spread it around." In Santa Barbara, life is very meaningful, in a nihilistic sort of way, or very spiritual, but we laugh gaily at the people who waste their lives with organized religion. Also, everyone is stoned here, all of the time. Count on it.
My routine was getting a little bit stale, and I felt as though I was floating along, merely existing, when I realized that that's what I always wanted, the present to be all that mattered, with just a little hint of the past so I can appreciate now and a sprinkling of future plans so I have a reason to get up in the morning.
I was informed last night that people talk about me, people I never would have thought twice about, like the boyfriend of the friend of a friend with whom I have had exactly two conversations who was fretting that I didn't like him. When I was asked what I think about him, I came up with the perfect reply: "You two are well-suited for each other." And then I went on to explain why I think he's an asshole, but that that's okay, essentially calling this person an asshole, which she kind of is, not in a mean way, just in an asshole way. Maybe they're more a-holes than anything. Either way, she relayed to me him worrying about what I thought of him, this person whose life has no effect on me, this person on whom I should have no effect. "You matter," she said.
Then the friend said, "Morgan, it's because you're adorable and everyone wants to be your friend." A random person who was hanging out in the bar with us late night chimed in: "She's right." Then we had a cast decorating party and now my broken left foot is ensconced in a puffy painted wonderland.
And people just keep begging to hire me. I'm going to help develop my bar into something amazing. It's always been something amazing, but now it's going to be something amazing that makes money. One of my customers, for whom I've done some bookkeeping, referred one of his friends to me. You guys, I have a degree from a reputable university in ENGLISH with a concentration in American Cultures and Global Contexts (which basically means I read a lot of Pynchon), and now people refer me to their peers for bookkeeping. Life.
And then conversations like these happen, between Chuck, who is a gritty vegan punk who lives in a co-op and has a decent record collection, which is why he DJed last night and threw a fucking blast of a party, and Diego, who is a stoner artist with a wife and two kids who works on campus and who has an amazing reggae vinyl collection:
C: "C--- was at the Morrissey show at the Bowl. She sneaked in a flask and a switchblade in in her beehive."
D: "That's fucking hot."
M: "Chuck F------ (I always refer to him by his full name), what do you want to drink?"
C: "An Organic [lager]. Because I'm an organic kind of guy."
Long pause.
M: "I'm not going to dignify that with a response."
Laughs all around.
I think I'm going to be sticking around Santa Barbara for a little bit longer, because law school is just not going to happen this year for a plethora of reasons and the other spokes I had in the fire -- buying a house, moving to Sacramento -- don't sound as fun as making lots of money, having lots of fun, and being happy and loved all the time. Mostly, I started asking the universe what in the hell I should do right now, and the universe said, I don't really care, but here's some new stuff for you to chew on while you figure it out. Also, you look really good in hats.