Just Another Day in San Francisco

I have been musing about the day I had last Friday.  I have also been procrastinating on writing about it, but the little devil keeps popping up.  I figure I better write about it before it is supplanted by this weeks Friday, who’s arrival is bearing down on me.

Last Friday I sat down to breakfast after getting up and making my bed and doing my morning routine.  I pulled the shades up in my studio and watched a number of cable cars trundle on by.  Occasionally a passenger would look up and catch my eye as I spooned another mouthful of kamut into my tummy (one of the notorious side effects of living in San Francisco is that you will eventually not only eat things you’ve never heard of before in your life, you will go to strange lengths to procure it at your neighborhood market).  I always feel like waving to them, but so far have restrained myself.

Although when I’m with the kids I take care of I actively encourage them to wave.  Really, what could be sweeter than an angel faced 2.5 year old waving frantically at you and jumping up and down with joy as the car goes past?

I have been flirted with, cable car operator; had my picture snapped, Japanese/Asian tourist who caught me folding my laundry, hope those panties aren’t circulating the net somewhere; I have even had a tourist ask me what’s for dinner.  Nothing of that sort happened last Friday, just watched the cars go by and got ready for work.

Rode my bike down the Polk St. Corridor and was not hit by either person on their cell phones who graciously gave me not one, but two near death experiences.  Actually, I’m beginning to believe I may just be an adrenalin junkie.  I mean every day I get to have another go at riding my bike in the city in an area, Nob Hill, that doesn’t see too many bikes, and I always have a story to tell about it.  Often times with some spicy profanity thrown in.

I digress. Ride in was fairly uneventful after Polk Street and I made good time in to work where my charge was waiting for me cheerfully waving from the top steps to her landing wearing a vintage USA cheerleading dress in patriotic red, white, and blue, and a Mexican wrestling mask.  That’s my girl!

We proceeded to have a ridiculously fun and girly day.  My other charge was away with family on vacation.  We met up with my good friend Dia and went to meet other friends in the Mission.  Hung out for about an hour and a half and then picked up Dia’s dog Archie to take into the Burning Man Head Quarters which was hosting  a “puppy potluck” going away party for one of the employees there who was sending her dog home to mom and dad so she could attend law school.  Really?  Only in SF.

Got dropped off at my charges house, paid for the week, and I popped on my bike to head downtown and be seen at the MAC Genius Bar, got a cd I was trying to import stuck in my drive.  Maybe wouldn’t have been a huge deal, I’m sure I could have popped it out, but it was my employers.  Oops.  Who should take it as a compliment that I was stealing his music onto my hard drive–hey he’s got good taste.

Left the computer there and proceeded to the Studio on Market Street to be a make up model for my friend Calvin.  Only to find out once I was in the chair, that it was glitter application night.  Whooeeee.  I looked fine.  Let me tell you, club kids everywhere were gonna be jealous.

And frankly, once made up like a tart who needs to get the itch scratched, I didn’t feel like heading home and washing off the paint.  So Cal and I hit House of Nanking and squeaked in right  before they closed.  Stuffed ourselves with Chow Mein noodles and pea sprouts and imperial rolls and pork wontons and sesame chicken.  Drool.  Then we both headed our own ways home to drop off our vehicles–he, his scooter, and I my bike.  Where upon we had agreed to rendevous at his house to slam a latte and go dancing.

I had a triple latte at 11 pm at night and we headed off to the End Up.  Where no one looked twice at my makeup.  They were too busy admiring their own selves in the mirrors.  We danced hard to Ghetto Disco for an hour and then split.  It was the oddest, funnest, strangest day, and really could only happen here.  I love my town.  I get to live in San Francisco and that just rocks.

Wonder what’s going to happen tomorrow?

I Am Sore in Funny Places

But this is to be expected considering I just rode my bike for seven days in a row.  According to the press site for Aids Life Cycle the route encompassed 545 miles.  In actuality, I road about 569 miles.  Who’s counting?

My legs, that’s who, and my ass, and my quads.  My god, I have gigantic quad muscles!  I never knew. Riding in tights the last day of the ride I was amazed to look down and see these enormous muscles, where did they come from?  Six months of training in Marin and South San Francisco, seven days of riding from SF to LA, and voila!  Huge thighs.  I am completely grateful for them, don’t get me wrong, they just look a little freakish.

I am also sore in goofy spots, there’s this one little niggling spot on my right shoulder that I just figured out was from the shifting down and up on my gears that I was constantly doing with my right hand.  And then there’s the saddle sores.

Yup, that’s right, saddle sores.  Which I had no clue about.  They don’t tell you about that when you register for the ride.  Ha.  I thought I had some pimples on my bum from using too much chamois butter.  Nope, saddle sores.  Icky.  They developed on day five of the ride and I went from having two, to having five by the end of the ride.  Lovely.  Not dropping trou for anyone anytime soon.

Not like I was ever energetic enough to pursue any kind of relationship in which I would have been doing that….nor is it likely that I will for a bit when I come home.  Nothing says sexy like friction burns on your labia.

Ack.

Then there’s the tan lines, I look like Neopolitan ice cream.  I have a tan line from my flip flops, one from my biking shoes, one from my biking socks, another from my leg warmers, another from 3/4 bike tights, then one from my biking shorts.  I got so many comments on my tan lines the last day of the ride, it was silly.  Not to speak of the strange tan lines from my watch, the identity bracelet, the food bracelet, the sports bra, the tank top, or the various jersey’s I wore, and my favorite–the one of my face from my sunglasses.  Hilarious.

My heart was sore too, but that’s the best, it’s sore from the love that has been over flowing from it.  I just cannot believe how much time and effort so many people took to make sure the ride went well.  Or the people alongside the road that stay out all day long cheering along the riders.  So many people that said thank you for riding.  Really, I felt like I had the easy part.

Most of the work was just getting on and off the bike.  I just pushed the pedals.  There were 1920 riders on this ride, with 545 volunteers that came along with to set up camp, break camp, move camp, keep water stops open, rest stops running, and smooth the way with various town ships and locals.  And of course the Moto Crew who waved us along the route and stopped traffic when necessary to get us on and off the free ways.  Just amazing.

I got to spend  a lot of time looking at country side and just being in the moment.  Nothing, absolutely nothing I have experienced will bring you back into the present moment more then struggling up a hill into a head wind.  I was so present it was unpleasant.  But the pain reminded me time and time and time again that I was alive.  And how many people would have given absolutely everything they had to be with me on the ride instead of having had to succumb to AIDS.

My impressions of the ride really right now are just one big blur of hills and ocean, drag queens, and red dresses, and hugs, loads, and load, and loads of hugs.

I met some of the most amazingly beautiful people.  I am blessed.  I am alive. And every tender spot on my body sings to me of  my health and vitality, I get to feel today and that is something I never thought I would want and something I hope to experience for a long time to come.

Cut and Color

Just kicking it in Calvin’s living room waiting to get some color slapped on my head.  Last night I came over and he cut my hair short again.  I know, you’re wondering how much shorter it could really go, but you would be surprised.  It is officially short, short, short.  And shaved, shaved, shaved.  Their are parts of my head that have never seen the sun until today.

My, my head is white!

Calvin is going to color up what is left on top, a spiky little faux hawk, after he finishes up the hair cut he’s got going on in the kitchen.  I love getting my hair cut with him.  The conversation is always fun, he makes me a latte, there’s great music on the Ipod and the view is stunning.  Last night he shaved the main part of my head from his roof top.

Not only did it save him time, no sweeping up hair from the floor, but what a stunning view.  I think I can safely say I may be one of the few people in the world who have had a hair cut with the view I got to take in from my chair.  Stunning San Francisco sunset with marbled blue skies, and inky clouds of fog settling over the Marin hills, the sweep of the Bay and the bright lights of cars swirling over the Golden Gate bridge.  Calvin lives on the top of Nob Hill, guess where I will be for Fourth of July.

Tonight will be my last color before I go on the Aids Life Cycle ride.  The plan is to match my hair to the jersey I’m going to start out the ride in–magenta with hot pink highlights.  It will look fantastic.  We did a practice run three weeks ago and it was pretty spectacular.  I love what my friend Joan said when she saw the cut, I looked like my own version of a super hero.

Captain Carmen to the rescue!  Able to ride steep hills in a gear greater than she even thought possible.  Capable of bombing hills at up to 45 miles per hour, don’t try this at home kids!  She rides in rain, fog, sleet, wind, hot sun, and cold nights.  Look for her in a neighborhood near you, you’ll know her by the shocking pink hair.

Ha.

Well, it’s time.  Here we g0.  Punk rock porno.