Yes, I admit, I've been unfaithful to you, Sacramento. I've left you twice now, but I'm back. And I'm back for good, my love. I hope you can see that our time apart has made me wiser and that I now appreciate you for exactly what you are and what you have to offer.
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Sure, the glittering lights, warm beaches, and palm trees of Miami called. But, you know what, Miami is a fickle, corrupt, dirty, violent, pathetic city full of aging Don Johnson wanna-bes and J-Lo-esque fakes. I couldn't get out of there fast enough. I thought about coming back to you then, but I got a job overseas. In a violent, even-dirtier, developing country (albeit still with the palm trees). Okay, I said, I'll go to DC, where there's a lot of jobs. And, you know what, I *liked* DC. I made some friends, I liked the humidity. I realized, though, what I liked about DC was that it reminded me of *you*--just bigger and older. I didn't admit this to my friends or even myself, because I found the whole thing a little embarrassing.
So, I moved to San Francisco. Now there's a great city. It's beautiful. It's got the bay, it's got great architecture, it's got style. It's got mountains and oceans, and interesting politics. Also, it's bloody expensive, high maintenance, and there's no goddamn place to park. It's pretentious, too, probably for a good reason, but still, nobody really likes a snob. Plus, the men. Don't get me started. But let's just say that dating sucked there. You can check it out for yourself. If you see a nice looking, articulate, well-groomed man--he's gay. See that slob over there who hasn't bathed or shaved in a week, communicating in grunts? Yeah, he's straight. (Note to SF men: Consider a shower, a haircut, a little deodorant, a shirt that has only been worn once or twice. Take a page from the hot gay men all around you. Thanks.)
I also tried out Santa Cruz--you know, that little buff surfer-vegan town a little south? Yeah, well, first off, I made *two* friends there. Two. In two years. WTF. I know it's not me...I make friends. Nobody wanted to be my friend there. I felt like I had to *hide* to eat a steak. I had the Teva-fleece thing going. I mean, it's not like I stuck out like a gun-toting, Bush-supporting, Hummer driver. I can blend. Not in S-Cruz. I couldn't even take my dog to the freaking off-leash dog park without some nutcase ranting at me about how bad I was for having a dog. When did it become a *political* issue to have a furry mutt at your side? When did the contents of my stomach become *your* business? Did I miss an orientation session or something?
So, Sacramento baby, I'm back. And I love you. I love waking up to your sunny blue skies. I love walking around midtown. I love your bar scene. I love your sexy green parks. You even have a park where I can take my dog, without it being some kind of political statement. I love the Capitol building. I love that Arnie lives in a penthouse and nobody really likes him. I love that I can just be myself here, and nobody is going to lecture me on my Nationwide steakburger as I scarf it down in McKinley Park. I love your trees--really, your best feature. Especially the huge magnolias in midtown. Especially the palm tree in my neighbors' yard. Especially all the freaking elms and plane trees. I love the downtown alleys with the crazy homeless people and tattoo shops. I love the live music scene. I love your restaurants--where I can actually dine outdoors without wearing six layers of fleece and a hat. I love your summer nights with the sweet Delta breezes. I love that you are sexy and cool, without being showy or pretentious. I love that *nobody* outside Sacramento gets you. Oh, I've heard it all--"Cow Town", "Suckramento"--and I say pshaw! Let 'em stay away and never discover your true worth. I have. And it's good to be home.