You could travel the world
But nothing comes close
To the golden coast
Once you party with us
You’ll be falling in love
Ooh oh ooh oh oh ooh
-California Gurls, Katy Perry
Side note: I just referenced a fuckin’ Katy Perry song. I think I need to punch myself in the nuts now. Nonetheless, the lyrics hold up for my mood. Carry on…
I am a son of Orange County, California.
No matter where I live, that will always be home. Last week I was able to feel the air of the Pacific again as I was fortunate enough to spend time in what I personally believe to be the best place in the world.
I have been to most states by now and I just don’t see anything quite like California. People will disagree, but whatever. We all have a home. Mine is just there. Nothing else will ever be better to me.
As I write this, it is 98 degrees at almost midnight where I now live, a place where people can’t shut the fuck up about how wonderful it is in this godforsaken bubble of bugs, bad Mexican food, sweat, heat, and country music.
Where makeup is considered optional when you to work and T-shirts and sweats don the men I bump into when getting gas. Where I feel like a celebrity for wearing nice jeans, flip flops, and button-up casual shirt.
As I started writing this last week, I was six stories up on the balcony, enjoying a bourbon, while staring out at the vast Pacific Ocean in 70-degree weather. The women I encountered that day, from the marketing girls to the waitresses to the moms at the Mexican food restaurant where cheese sauce is not on the fuckin’ menu – they all had one thing in common – they gave a fuck about themselves.
Even the men. Well-groomed, tanned, fit and handsome career-focused men. I miss seeing that kind of self-respect for your station in life on a daily basis.
Those beach girls always spoke to my core growing up. Feminine enough to look sexy as fuck but tomboy enough to grab a board and challenge herself against the sheer magnitude of mother nature. The ‘step-aside boys’ attitude I saw so often in the friends I would share a beer, joint, occasional kiss, and a wave with.
Tanned with no product in her hair and looking better than a runway model nonetheless. Goddamn, I miss home. Grab a hold of that hair and see that melanin come to life as I slap the darkness of your skin.
Fuck yeah, baby. Nothin’ like California.