In a city rich with the history of the Beats, the Civil Rights movement, and the dot com boom and bust (and subsequent boom and bust), thousands of hardcore geeks, crunchy activists and tattooed intellectuals share a 7X7 grid and the common ailment of what other cities would consider Peter Pan syndrome. San Francisco is finally my home, but it took a year to meet the friends I love and find my footing.

For so many, SF encourages an adventurous spirit and serves as a haven from the scornful judgement of the normals. Like the Bad News Bears, we are a ragtag bunch of misfits. In a sense, we are the anti-Los Angeles.

But the problem is that in this city, if you have ever been normal or lived up to conventional ideals, you may be shunned.

My boyfriend started working with a girl who was on a reality show. On the show, she was constantly picked on and made to look like a dumb blonde. In reality, she’s amicable, competent at her job, classically good looking and tries not to eat fried food. San Francisco rejects her on principle.

What would it be like to be the punching bag for jealous girlfriends and the unsolicited target for lecherous perverts? I read the comments on her blog and my heart aches knowing that there is a human being that returns from an honest day of work to read public hate mail.

I’m not saying that I’ve got a new BFF, but as a ragtag misfit, I’m trying to be empathetic with the new girl.