Archive for January, 2011

Artist Date: Tired Legs, Full Heart

January 31, 2011

I walked all over the place today.  Which was not my intention, but turned out to be lovely none the less.  Having had an incredibly productive Saturday I had a lot of free time today to do what ever I wanted.  I was not sure what that would be.  I knew I had two obligations to keep.

A commitment with friends in the Mission, then coffee with Annie at Four Barrel.  After 2:30 p.m. I had the rest of the day to do what ever I wanted.  My first thought was as stroll through Flax and then lunch at DeLessio.

But what ended up happening was even better.  I walked from Four Barrel on Valencia and 15th down to Flax to find that it was closed and I decided to go with plan B, trip to the MOMA, which I have not been to in a long time.

As I pulled up to DeLessio, Zuni Cafe caught my eye, and my nose.  I love riding my bike past Zuni because it always smells deliciously of wood smoke and roasting chicken–the house specialty.  I had not had lunch and I suddenly saw spoiling myself a little more than planned.

I happily trotted across Market St. and went into Zuni.  The dining room was not available, which was fine by me, and it was far too chilly to sit outside at the cafe tables on the sidewalk.  I chose a cozy little banquet in the front close to the zinc bar and nestled in with my book, Norman Mailer, Executioner’s Song.

I had a gorgeous pot of black tea, 6 oysters on the half shell, a caesar salad, divine bread and a smidge of butter, and two and a half slices of a parmesan reggiano hard cheese with dates.  Some of my favorite things in the world.

Zuni was out of the Quilcene oysters from Washington that are my favorite and I have not gotten the chance to eat in years, but had some plump, sweet, salty Miyagi’s and I tried some Kusshi’s on the server’s recommendation; which were richer and briny and exquisite with a pop of lemon juice drizzled over the top.  The Caesar was simplicity and done exactly the way a Caesar should be–nothing fancy, just really fresh baby romaine lettuce and traditional dressing, obviously made in house and home made croutons which had a delightful crunch.

And the cheese and figs were smashing.  Yum.  Salty cheese with rich, juicy figs, and just a thin, thin, thin slice of sweet batard bread to mash together all the flavors.  I read Mailer, drank my tea, watched the clouds drift across the sky, and let myself be waited on.  I do not often do this and it had become abundantly clear to me in my recent weeks that packing my schedule over full was not really the solution.

So today was a day to relax, stroll, explore my city and treat myself.

After lunch I thought about catching the F Market down town to really give myself the tourist feel on my day, but I just missed it and rather like walking any how, so I did.  Down Market St.  to the Civic Center Plaza where I caught the end of the Farmer’s Market and bought a bunch of organic Granny Smith apples and some Pink Ladies–all at the steal of $1 per pound as the market was closing.

Note to self–go back at end of day always!

Then down Market further, where my eye was drawn to the mosaic wall and all the colors captured in it by the Market St. Cinema.  Which is not a movie house, if you catch my drift.  I had never noticed how pearlescent the mosaic tiles were on the wall and I stopped to admire them and the color they leached out of the sky.

I was not looking at the posters, as may have been assumed by some real tourists walking past.

Then into the late afternoon throngs of shoppers around the Westfield Mall and on past to a short cut I took from Market St to the Yerba Buena gardens that led me down the “alley” past the Contemporary Jewish Art Museum and the tumble of water fall that echoes the Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial water fall across the street.

I found a penny in my pocket and made a wish.  The same one I’ve made for six years now.

Then to the MOMA.  Where instead of buying a ticket, I bought a membership.  I had one when I first moved to the city, but let it lapse and never renewed.  Seven and a half years later, it just felt like time.  And I’m so grateful I did.  The $80 was a bargain.  A year of free admission to the MOMA.  My favorite museum in the world.

And yes, I have been to the Louvre.

I don’t know what it is about the MOMA, but it always draws me to it and I never fail to have an amazing experience there.  Some times it is in front of my favorite Rothko piece, a huge black massed canvas with streaks of scarlet burrowing through it.

Some times it is in the films I stumble upon in the galleries.  Often times it is in the pictures, the photographs, that I get caught.  Today I walked all the way up to the fourth floor and listened to Bill Fontana’s sonic shadows that played over the suspension bridge.

I just sat underneath a magical shower of shadow music and look out the window across 3rd St. to the gardens and the fountains, to the Metreon, and felt such gladness swell in my heart.

I don’t know that I could go on a date to the museum with some one, it is such a private experience for me.  I walk quickly through some of the galleries, only pausing if something catches my eye.  Or sometimes I just am awe struck by an exhibit.  Which happened in the last gallery I went to today, and I can’t tell you the name of the artist, I have already forgotten, but it was part of a series called “Beauty”.

And it stopped me in my tracks.  It was a photograph of a tree blown up to an enormous scale, the tree was bare, and ghostly and so evocative of memory and magic and nature.  I got goosebumps the moment I saw it and just stared.  I walked into it and away from it and read the description about how the artist did the photo and washed it over with paint and then I went back and stared some more.

And then I turned and saw another piece, that took my breath away.  But this one made me laugh and I saw that I amused the guard, who was also amused by the piece.  We shared a smile and I headed back down the stairs.

Meandering down the flights I let the cascade of Fontana’s sound scape wash over me and listened for it all the way to coat check, where I had stashed my bag of apples from the Farmer’s Market.

And then I walked home; smile plastered to my face.

Advertisements

I Gotter’ Done

January 30, 2011

Which is my way of saying, I got shit done.  Got up, went to see some friends in the Castro, went shopping at Rainbow, did two loads of laundry, did food prep for the up coming week, paid rent, cleaned the house, cooked, wrote, showered, and took out the trash.  And it’s not yet five o’clock.

I always tell myself that it will be alright to sleep in on Saturday, thus excusing myself to stay up late Friday night doing stupid shit.  Like checking out with pirated video down loads.  Then I get up late on Saturday and feel like my whole day is blown as I have got nothing accomplished, and don’t feel like leaving the house.

Just getting up a little early really made such a huge difference.  I still slept in.  I didn’t get up til 9 a.m.  Which I have to chuckle at, 9 a.m. used to never be sleeping in.  Noon, 1 p.m., 2 p.m., that was sleeping in.  Now I’m up by 6:30 a.m. every week day.  9 a.m. is delicious.

So, the next time my head tells me, to just sleep in, stay up late, and skip my morning routine, I’m going to ignore it.  Or maybe, just give the thought a nice hug, and say, “thanks for sharing, but no thank you”.

And I still have a nice chunk of time a head of me.  I’m letting some dinner warm up in the oven and then I was thinking of heading up to Noe Valley early.  I’m meeting John Ater at 7:15 p.m. at Martha’s coffee shop.  Got some stuff to check in about, you know.  Then up to see some more friends at St. Phillips.

But since I’ve gotten every thing, including sitting down and blogging, done!  I’m going to go a little early and do a little artist walk around Noe Valley.  Stop by one of my favorite stores, Urban Nest, and putter around.  Just have a nice little meander.

Play tourist in my old stomping grounds.  I feel like I’m finally, actually, really, acknowledging that I live in Nob Hill now.  I watched another neighbor move out from across the street and realized I’ve outlived a few people in the ‘hood.  I’m an inhabitant.  I live in Nob Hill and I am happy to say it.

Although I still have my Mission edginess, kind of goes with the territory of having tattoos, it has definitely been softened by my living here.  I’m like the Mission with ruffles.

I, by the way, don’t think this is a bad thing.

Just Another Friday Night

January 29, 2011

After work today I have already had a dance party, played hide and seek, jumped a lot on various couches and beds and drank a ton of black tea.  I am reunited with my favorite monkeys in the universe, plus one monkey cousin.  And yes, we did sing five little monkeys jumping on the bed.

It’s a slumber party!  And it is so awesome to see how much they have grown and blossomed.  And grown.  R. is huge!  He’s three going on 18.  Look out future ladies of the land, this boy will be breaking some hearts.  And J.  ridiculous, she gets more beautiful every time I see her.  I cannot express how lucky I am to have these amazing children in my life.  And nothing is as good as hearing them say my name and I love you.  Nothing.

Sorry future boyfriend/lover/husband, no kisses will be as sweet as the night time tuck me in kisses these children bestow upon me.  I am so very much in awe of the people they have become.  They seem to have like Athena sprung straight from the head of Zeus into very complex, dynamic, complete, independent people.  I am really in awe.

And I was nervous coming over here, I can admit it.  What if they’ve become to sophisticated for my silliness?  What, if like my best friend Stephanie said, “I think she’s a bad influence,” to her husband Steve while I was chasing the seven year old and the three year old around their home in the wee hours of the morning, what if, they’ve become to old for such hijinks?  Perhaps J. & R. have become too erudite for me, my niggling fears whispered in my ear.  After all they have a better pre-school education then I had college.

But nope, R. stills likes it when I pick him up and hold him upside down and tickle him.  And he still likes to torture me by licking my face.  And J. insists on having me hold her and Friend blanket for snuggles.  There is nothing like the warm breath of a beloved child on one’s face to completely seal your fate.  I swear, I would take bullets for these kids, no doubt about it.

Some time I think I have been ruined for having my own kids.  Aside from the fact that I am currently single and of the ripe old age of 38, which equals probably not having children, I have been spoiled by these interactions.  Lulled into this ridiculous love that makes my heart throb and a painful lump consume my chest.

I remember how hard I was crying after I said good bye to R.  There was a person who I later ran into, and temporarily nannied for, that thought some one close to me had died.  And when I left J.  I was physically sick for days, actually vomiting and confined to bed.  I think they have some affect on me.  And in my heart, I know that I have had an affect on them.

One that sometimes could be construed as embarrassing, I mean, not many people remind me as often as R. as to what my favorite chorus of the poop song is.  But for the most part, I am moved by how much love they show the world and how much they express themselves, with their big words and bright eyes you’d think they were much older than three.

And in my heart of hearts they will always be the first babies that fell asleep on my shoulder while I sang “Hush little baby don’t say a word, I’m going to buy you a mocking bird”.  They were my templates and I theirs.  I believe we made some good impressions on one another.  And I don’t know that I could possibly love any the same way I love them.

I’m Back!

January 28, 2011

Yesterday was such a surreal day.  K’s been sick this whole week and S. has been too.  Both girls have had nasty, nasty colds.  And I thought it had finally caught up to me yesterday, I had finally caught it.  Even with constant hand sanitizing and washing.

But nope, what I had caught was exhaustion.  I was just plain old tired.  You might be tired to if you pushed a stroller around the greater China Basin area for a full week, and then some.  I sort of wished I had one of those pedometer readers, I bet I would have clocked in a hefty work out this week, especially yesterday.

K. has been so congested she can’t sleep on her back and has had such a bad cough that when she would manage to fall asleep she would often just cough herself back awake. Which then in turn led to much hysterical crying and needing to be comforted.

Plus, the little monkey is teething molars.

But she could fall asleep for brief periods of time when being pushed in her stroller.  So starting Monday I would walk in and get the lowdown from mom and then just basically strap her in and go.  Nothing is sadder than a sick baby that can’t sleep.

By yesterday I was a crazy lady.  I had one too many coffees, and it didn’t help that the one too many was from Philz, and really no breaks at all this week, and was feeling completely and utterly out of whack.  The day had stretched into this impossible, never ending, walking dream.

I tried to take an old room mates suggestion and just get into the weirdness of it all.  Felt rather like being on acid.  All I can say, is thank god the weather has been good.  If it had been raining I think I would have lost my mind.  I would have wound up pushing the stroller around the hallways at the house.  I don’t even want to think what that would have looked like.

Yesterday mom came home early and took one look at me and took K. and said, Carmen, sit down.  Take a break.  She took K.  and sat with her for a while and gave me some respite.  She had to go back into work, but told me that dad was going to be coming home.  I was to get off early.

I had many great and noble plans for this time off.  Grocery shopping being at the top of the list, then going to Huntington Square, and after meeting with Cass.  But as the day drew on and the caffeine induced hallucinations spun brightly around me, I found that all I could fathom doing was going home and sleeping.

Which truly worried me.  I don’t get sick very often and when I do, I’m down for the count.  And the girls had both been really ill.  I know I’m getting sick when I can’t imagine doing something that for me is normal to my routine.  And as the minutes seeped by I realized I couldn’t fathom going to Rainbow to go grocery shopping.

Then I could not imagine hauling up to Grace Cathedral.  And worse, I could not begin to see how I was going to make it to work with Cass afterward.  I almost started to cry.  So I called Cass and she ordered me to bed ASAP.  We rescheduled for next week and I finally got done with work.  Handed off K. to her pops and hit the road on my bike.

I rode home slowly, dreamily, out of touch with my world.  Gratefully I was just on the early side of rush hour on the Embarcadero.  There were plenty of tourists around the Ferry Building, but nobody valet parking or double parking and little traffic.

I made it through China Town and rather than push up the last two blocks on my bike I got off and walked it the rest of the way up the hill.

My cats were surprised to see me.  I was surprised to see my studio in the daylight.  I made some peanut butter toast and sliced up an apple for dinner, I had no desire to cook.  I crawled into bed, checked my e-mail, briefly thought about posting a blog then fell fast asleep.

Napping at 5 o’clock in the afternoon was very strange, but so needed.  I woke up at 7:30 p.m. had a little snack, watched a little Top Chef and went right back to bed.

Good news for me, I did not catch the cold and K. was feeling better today.  She even napped in her crib!

Although we still took substantially longer walks then normal, I’m almost used to it.  And I only had one cup of coffee today.

All in all, not a bad day.

Rejection

January 26, 2011

First one in the e-mail today for the book.  Actually, that’s not true, I did have it rejected by another agent long ago, but I can’t remember her name.  I do remember the feeling of utter joy when that original agent responded to my query with a request for more of the work.  But after that, there was no follow up.

So, this technically is the second rejection.  My friend Matthew’s book was rejected 60 times.  It was just finally picked up.  Which means only 59 more agents to submit to.

Where do I send it next?  I was thinking William/Morris, but I could not for the life of me get their direct webpage to load anything other than vocal/musical bookings.  I tried a number of times last night and nada.

I figure I need to find one agency a night to submit to (not that I’m actually going to submit to one a day, I’m too fucking tired for that right now), and start a list.  I’ll hit up the next 59 agents and keep a tally.

And who knows, maybe it won’t be 60.  Maybe it will be 75, or 100.  Truly, I don’t care.  I wrote the book.  I wrote a book.  I WROTE A BOOK!  That’s what matters.  I can get rejected til the cows come home; yes I am from the Midwest.  As long as I acknowledge that I did the work to prepare for those rejections.

Heck, everybody gets rejected.  And I’ve been rejected loads of times for jobs, dates, schools.  You just saddle back up and check another one off the list.  The nice thing about rejection is that, “now you know”.

Whereas I used to just live in this fantasy world, of wouldn’t it be nice when so and so and I get together.  Wouldn’t it be great when my book gets picked up by Curtis Brown.  Wouldn’t it?  But I didn’t take the action to actually find out.  I would just sort of haphazardly daydream about it.  Because if I took the action and got rejected I’d be crushed.

Well, willingness without action is just fantasy.  And I am striving to live in the present, in reality, so to speak.  And the neat thing about getting rejected is it allows me to move on.  And I’ve gotten faster at it.  I used to pine over a boy, pine.  And it would take me literally years to do anything about it.  And then, oh, the rejection would hurt, hurt, hurt.

Now, I just ask ’em out.  A no is a no, a yes is a yes, and a maybe is a no.  I have gotten a lot of no’s, a few maybes, and a couple of yeses.  And I have killed the fantasy faster each time.  And one of these days, either I’m going to ask out the guy or he’s going to ask me out.  I know that because I’m willing to get rejected.

And I’m willing to have my book rejected again.  As long as I keep sending it out to the universe.  This was not the agent for me, or for my book, and that’s ok, because I know there is one.

I know it.

What to Do? What to Do?

January 24, 2011

It is just after 2 p.m. on a Monday afternoon.  This is usually the time when I’m getting the girls down for their second nap of the day.  But not today.  Today I got done with work early and my whole day is thrown for a loop.  I don’t know which meeting to go to, I don’t know what chore I should focus on, maybe I should go to a matinee?

This is truly a luxury problem, I know.  I’m just not the best with unscheduled down time.  So I checked all my e-mails and I made sure that last night’s episode of “Shameless” was down loading.  I’ve had a cup of tea, made a few phone calls, and now what?

I could take my novel to the park and sit by the fountain in Huntington Square.  Then meander down to the 4:30 p.m. at the Hyde St. Cafe.  I’ve never been to it and it’s in my neighborhood.  Then I could swing by Cala and pick up some cat litter.

This blog has officially become a dumping ground for my brain.  This is why I don’t Tweet.  I would end up sending out random ass messages about needing to buy cat litter.  No body needs to know that.

I could take my coffee mug with me and get a latte from Peets at Grace Cathedral.  Although I have been cutting back on my latte consumption.  Unnecessary milk expenditure and calories.  Ugh.  I have no idea what to do.

Part of the whole not knowing what to do is also a version of my ass is lazy and I don’t want to go off Nob Hill.  I rode my bike to work and I rode my bike home.  I don’t feel like riding it anymore today.  So, I’m left with things to do within walking distance of my house.  And actually there’s quite a bit I could do.

Maybe I’ll walk on down to the Polk Gulch and just mosey around for a bit.  A walk never hurt anybody and my brain always feels better after my feet have been moving a bit.

I could also take a nap.

That just seems decadent and wrong.  My friend Phil told me that I don’t have to do anything productive with the time.  I guess that’s where I feel funky.  I feel like I need to be doing something, grocery shopping, laundry, working on my book.

I could look up more agents to submit to.  How long does one wait on an e-mail query?  I haven’t heard back yet from the agent at Curtis Brown.  I figure one to two weeks for an e-mail.  Maybe just one.

Hmmm.  That sounds like work.  I did at least sit down to write this blog to get my post a day challenge out of the way.  I like how my posts are really nothing but random brain blatherings.  Does any one find this mental masturbation interesting?

Hmmmm, another thought, it doesn’t matter if anyone does, it’s my business to continue to take the challenge.  And I’m sure that if I keep writing everyday, there will be a blog or two or even three that people really like and enjoy reading.  I just get to continue to do the work and to let go of the results.

I heard that somewhere once.

Could Have Been Worse

January 24, 2011

Today I left Four Barrel Coffee in the Mission after having had an afternoon of doing the deal with a couple of the ladies.  I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with the rest of the day before heading home and whipping up a little dinner.

I eyeballed my bike out of habit and my heart dropped, my seat and seat post were gone.  I sighed and walked over and checked out the rest of the bike, everything else was a go.  So I unlocked her and walked her on down to Mission Bicycle.

My friend Jefferson is the manager there and he is my go to guy with bike stuff.  Technically Mission Bicycle doesn’t do repairs, they build bikes, but I knew that they would have seats in stock.  And sure enough they did.

And what do you know it wasn’t as expensive as I thought it would be.  A relief.  I also picked up a portable allen wrench tool set and a stand up foot pump.  Something I have been wanting to get for the house for some time.  I have a little hand pump I carry in my messenger bag and it’s a pain to use to inflate my tires.  It certainly works in a pinch, but I’ve been wanting a stand up for some time.

So I just killed two birds with one stone.  And I got to catch up with Jefferson, which is always lovely.  He’s sort of my hero.  I don’t think I’ve ever told him that.  But he has held my heart gently when it needed to be assuaged and he has encouraged me to do things I never would have thought about doing–becoming a card carrying member of the Bicycle Coalition, doing the AIDS Ride.

And you really have to love a man whom you meet for the first time at the Decompression Party in the Dog Patch and he’s on stilts.  He told me about an upcoming trip and I told him about becoming recognized as a “bike person”.

I was sitting next to someone last weekend who has just relocated here from Minneapolis and he wanted some bicycle advice.  He said he thought I was someone who knew something about bikes.  And I said, nah, not really.  What gave you that impression.

“Well,” he said, with a bit of a smirk, “um, the clip less bike shoes you’re wearing, the fingerless gloves, and the Mission Bicycle Festival Volunteer t-shirt you’re sporting.”

I had to burst out laughing.  And it’s true, I’ve become a bike person.  Slowly,  almost against my will, I have.  I have had a lot of people give me accolades recently for riding my bike all over the city and I just don’t think about it any more.  It’s my mode of transportation.  I just get on it and go.

I don’t always like wearing the clip less shoes and I hate hauling around an extra pair of regular shoes if I plan on doing something other than grocery shopping.  But man, it beats riding the bus and waiting for the MUNI, or the funky smell coming from the back of the BART train.

Oh, there’s plenty I could bitch about, but really, it’s pretty cool that I am a bike person.  I knew there were five bike shops within walking distance of where my bike had been molested and and I know people in three of them personally on a first name basis.  I had taken off my bike lights and put my gloves in my bag, so I didn’t lose those with the seat.

I did lose the bike bag that was attached to the stolen seat, but I didn’t really like it anyway.  And all that was in it was a spare tube. So, all in all, it could have been worse.  It would have been a pretty big strain to replace my bike, I was able to replace the seat.

And as it turns out, it’s a more comfortable one than the one I had!  Thanks Jefferson and Mission Bicycles, you rock!

Saturday Night Laundry

January 23, 2011

And grocery shopping.  That is what I am doing with my Saturday night.  And I am damn happy to be doing so.

Of course, it doesn’t hurt that I went on a first date that was quite successful.  Morphing from coffee to lunch to a stroll and a promise for another weekend adventure soon.

So, I don’t feel necessarily jipped out of having a Saturday evening adventure.  And most of the time I don’t want to be in the scene anyhow.  I’m growing up, apparently.

I am excited to have a load of laundry going into the wash and then a trip down to Whole Foods to pick up a couple of things that I can’t get at Rainbow (meat) and then back to the house to cook up some soup for the week coming.  This actually frees me up significantly for tomorrow to laze about and do my own thing.

Perhaps catch a matinee after my regularly scheduled Sunday business has concluded.  Or a walk and wander session, who knows.  A free Sunday when I’m not running chores or trying to prep for the oncoming week is rare, so I don’t mind using my Saturday night to get stuff done.  It feels like a sort of domestic adventure.

And there’s no wait for the washing machine in my building, because who the hell is doing laundry on a Saturday night at 6 p.m.?  Just little ol’ me.  And the grocery store won’t be crowded, that’s for sure.  These are things I like.  I’ve also got a down-load of The Fighter to watch and or Blue Valentine.  So, dinner and a movie at chez moi.  I love it.

It is rare that I actually take the time to spend with myself in my studio.  And I have quite the cozy little spot.  It’s warm, sweet, and charming, a bit rustic and homey and I barely sit still long enough to appreciate the little nest I’ve built for myself here in Nob Hill.

I also have to admit that I like being one of those people walking through the neighborhood at a certain hour of the day with their bags of groceries and odds and ends from running errands, sacks, and parcels tucked under arms; flowers meant for the table, because I live here.

I remember walking through a Paris neighborhood off the beaten tourist track and wanting to be one of those people that lived in the neighborhood who was bringing back their shopping.  And now I do that in San Francisco, in Nob Hill, I am one of those people.  I go home to my own little movie set every day.  And once in a while I actually pause to appreciate how fortunate I am to live here.

So, nope, don’t feel bad at all about doing laundry at home on a Saturday night.  I don’t need to go out to the movies, I am already in one.

Please to Write

January 22, 2011

I have no idea what this blog will be about.  This blog is an effort to do the post-a-day challenge and absolutely nothing else.  This blog will succeed in it’s attempts if in approximately twenty minutes I am washed, with teeth brushed, and in bed with a down-load of Top Chef All Stars  (can anyone else say, good riddance Jaime?) having a cozy snuggle with the cats.

I am beat.  End of the week.  And on into the weekend, where I keep trying to give myself free time to laze around, but then I find ways to sabotage horribly.  Like next weekend where I have found myself picking up three additional gigs.  So, one full 50 hour week, then a six and a half hour gig after my ten hour shift on Friday, another on Saturday, and then another on Sunday.

Nanny gigs all.  Apparently I want some money.  Although I have no idea what I’m socking money away for.

Not true.  I lie.  I want a new tattoo.  It is time.  My friend Calvin and I had actually discussed this recently when I brought it up.  He said that he felt it in the air.  In fact, he had been about to ask me about my new tattoo, as in let me see what it looks like.

I want to get a dragon on my left arm to balance out the dragon on my right arm.  I also plan on covering up the two tattoos that are in existence there now.  So, yes, that’s right, I am going to get my name covered up.  There’s self-centered, and then there’s SELF CENTERED.  Plus my tattoo artist, Barnaby at Mom’s, has been itching to cover them up for a while.

I also have a tattoo of a lady bug on the left shoulder.  Neither of the pieces are actually bad works, but they are not nearly as nice as the other work I have and I know it.  And I feel like getting a tattoo, right now, god damn it.

But like a good girl, I’m holding off until March.  First, save some money.  And not even money for the tattoo.  Money for my prudent reserve which I bankrupted when I was looking for work and only had part time gigs here and there for three months.  I’m holding off until March because it’s a month with five weeks in it, so technically I could put a great chunk of money toward a tattoo at that time.

I’m also holding off, because I know myself and I’m impulsive with money.  Hell, I’m impulsive with most everything.  So, I’m training myself to ease into the big money purchases a little slower.  And to be prudent with having an emergency back up in case something happens and I need cash.

I don’t have a credit card and I refuse to get one.  Once I got out of the hellish credit card debit I had, I became adamant about never going there again.  It was damn tempting while I watched my savings dwindle down to nothing, but I did not give in and I was always taken care of.

Today I talked myself out of buying a yoga mat and a yoga bag at Rainbow.  One, they wouldn’t have fit in my bag, already full of groceries and loads of gear which I would be soon hauling around on my bike.  Two, the idea for yoga was rather an obsession in my brain today.  I really wanted to make a go of starting a Birkram yoga practice tomorrow morning at 8 am.

Did I say I was exhausted from the week?  Mmmmhmmm.  That would be how I sabotage, I shove more stuff into my schedule.  So I restrained at Rainbow and just bought the things on my list that I needed and not a yoga mat more.  If I’m supposed to do yoga, it will become apparent.  Right now I’m supposed to go watch me some Top Chef.

Night all.  See you tomorrow.

End of an Era

January 21, 2011

I used the last of my Rachel Perry lip gloss this week.  I have been a die-hard fan since I was seventeen and got it in my Christmas stocking.  There may be something to be said about that stocking, it was unusually full of good things.  I remember passing by the lip balm without much pause, raking through the other treats.

But it somehow found its way into my pocket and until this past week I have always carried one on my person.  That would be brand loyalty of oh, 21 years.

My first Rachel Perry gloss was Mint Tingle.  My last was Cherry Vanilla.  My favorite was Cantaloupe Moon (I was so enamoured of this flavor that I wrote a poem about it and referenced that poem and that gloss in other works).  I also adored the Coconut Banana.  The Grape, too much grapeness, but in a pinch it’d do.

And my heart was broken by Tangerine Dream.  I can still smell that gloss on Donovan’s mouth after he kissed me the first time I took acid.  And that is another blog in and of itself!

Also, Tangerine Dream is another flavor that you will find referenced in my poetry, and in a piece of art work that I did as a senior in high school.  Wonder where that got off to?

And I just realized, I have it listed in my OkCupid profile!  Which I am going to have to update, as I no longer have any.

I knew the product was going off the shelf years ago, but would always manage to stumble upon some cache or another.  Once in a little health foods store in Cole Valley.  I bought the last pot at Common Scents in Noe Valley (the owner told me they were no longer manufacturing it after I was hemming and hawing about buying what they had.  I was in denial about them actually no making the damn stuff anymore).

One time in a health food store between Hallowell, ME and Augusta.  In fact, they had so much I’m tempted to go back and check in on their supply.  I do need to go see my friend Wendy soon too.  Good idea to keep in mind, check that store!

The last time I was successful at buying it was through some weird natural pharmacy store on line.  I tried Amazon, and Overstocked, and Ebay, all sold out.

Well, not E-bay, but the asshats wanted a starting bid of $16 a pot.  Fuck you douche.  And I did consider it, but I’m not that wealthy, yet.

So I bought up a bunch of sealed gift packs from the weird store online.  And like a stupid person gave one of the four to a friend who loved the stuff too.  I am still tempted now and again to ask if she has any of the five left.  But that would be uncouth.

Also, do not listen to “friends” who tell you that you have enough lip balm to last you years.  Don’t bother spending more money on it, when you have it in spades.  Damn it, I should have bought out that online pharmacy as they’re now out of stock too and it took less than a year to go through what I had ordered.

Oh well, I guess I get to have a new adventure in lip balm.  But so far I haven’t had much success.  I have been easing into my repertoire a number of different kinds hoping to find the right one before I ran out of the Rachel Perry, but have not had a lot of success.

So, I’m looking for  a replacement.  Eos sucks, Carmex is not my style, nor blistex, or chapstick.  I’m working on a coconut lip cream from Kiss my Face that’s not bad, but not quite there.

It needs to taste good, smell good, and not get tacky on my mouth.  No medicinal flavors please.  No candy stickiness either.  Just a nice smooth gloss that keeps my lips soft and pliable.

Christ, I’m a fucking junkie.  Anybody out there finds some of this stuff, you let me know.  I’m ready to buy.


%d bloggers like this: