You won’t need directions.

I made a list.

I plan on writing about my new love affair with cheese here soon.

This morning I watched a man with a lap full of CDs fix a car stereo on my 14-Mission bus ride. I kind of think he might have stolen it.

My life is not the same as it was before. I want to write about it here, but I have a hard time knowing where to start. So, I plan to just start small.

Southerners love their sausage. They love Jimmy Dean sausage, specifically. It is what I grew up eating. It is a staple south of the Mason-Dixon. Seldom is a Southern breakfast complete without it.

Well, Jimmy Dean done went and fucked up. Randy is going to tell you about it, because he “can’t take and feed a family of five”:

[via Plebiscite]

In my anticipation of San Francisco living, I was really hoping to be near a Muni light rail line. BART is great and all, but I got to ride it plenty when I lived in Berkeley, and wanted to try something else. Something faster than a bus. Which is why I was thrilled to discover that the J Church line is a six block walk from my new place.

This morning, my first day back to work since my move, I locked up the apartment, walked down to Mission, crossed the street and continued toward Dolores Street. Once at 30th and Dolores, a J line stop, I saw the Muni sign on a street poll. It read: J Church to Balboa Park. I’d discovered the outbound stop, but where I was to get on in order to ride the J downtown was beyond me. I couldn’t find it anywhere. I decided to punt.

So, I trotted back down 30th to Mission where I saw a bus headed my way. All I needed to do was get to the 24th St. BART station. I knew the 14 and the 49 went there, but wasn’t sure about any of the others. I squinted and made out a 67 on the front of the fast-moving bus.

Quickly I texted Ian: “67 goes to 24th St. BART, yay or nay?” I hit send just as the bus hissed to a halt.

I waited until all the rest of the riders boarded.

“Does this bus go to the BART station on 24th?,” I asked before I mistakenly fed the machine a buck-fifty. The driver nodded, so I climbed aboard. Things were looking up, but I held my breath when it made a left onto Valencia. That wasn’t the way to the BART stop. Deciding not to freak, I checked my phone. “It may turn right at Cesar Chavez,” Ian had replied. Sadly, it did not.

Once the bus made it to Valencia and 24th I hit the yellow button signaling the driver to stop. It wasn’t far too hoof it from there to the trains.

“You are going to the BART station, right?,” said a kind, balding man who looked a little like Craig Newmark. I nodded at him.

“He’ll make a right here. Your’s is the next stop,” the Craig look-alike informed me. I thanked him repeatedly, as San Franciscans don’t offer up unsolicited transit advice all that often.

Sure enough the bus stopped just in front of the BART station. I climbed off and descended the stairs, happy to be back on schedule and using a mode of transportation I’m entirely comfortable with.

The Internet tells me that I can take the J line to downtown from 30th and Dolores. Tomorrow I plan on going back there to figure out where that inbound stop has run off to.

EDITED TO ADD: I did all this shit in high heels.

I’m now living in San Francisco — with a picture-window view of Noe Valley and Twin Peaks — just like I’ve wanted for so long. More to come soon.

[Photo by telmo32]