Archive for February, 2011


February 16, 2011

I have officially become a coupon clipper.  It started harmlessly enough when I kept getting these coupons in the mail from Bed, Bath, and Beyond.  They were just too good to not use.  I knew that I would have to be careful when I went in and have a very concrete idea about what I was buying, the lure of overspending would call loudly.

And I succeeded!  So, I kept using the coupons when they came in the mail.  I also just renewed my membership to the Bicycle Coalition.  Yes, I very much do want safer biking conditions in the city, and more bike lanes please.

I also want the 10% off coupon I get at Rainbow whenever I shop there; about once a week.

The reality of becoming a coupon clipper really hit me though as I stood in Whole Foods, politely to the side, scanning through their advertisement flyer which has specific in store discounts listed (which they won’t give you unless you present the coupons, so if you forget, so sorry Charlie).  I found two that were a great deal and clipped them right out.

Shopping, especially grocery shopping in San Francisco is expensive.  Hell, the basic cost of living is expensive, but it’s very much worth it.  I’m not complaining.   When I first moved here from Wisconsin a bit over eight years now, I just about fell over when I saw how much a gallon of milk cost.  Now, I don’t bat an eye at paying $6 for one.

Although when that shit’s on sale I do take notice.

Of course, I also have to admit that I don’t eat processed foods.  Or very, very little.  And I eat predominately organic food.  So that ups my food bills a bit.  And it means that I have to pretty much shop constantly as I’m always buying fresh food.

But that is one of the beautiful luxuries of living in California, specifically in San Francisco.  There is never a dearth of fresh, organic, local produce.

Now, I’m not a local-vore, I do eat stuff that gets shipped in, but because of where I shop, it does tend to be local stuff more often than not.

And I haven’t started foraging, although the enormous Rosemary bushes on the Old Navy property down by China Basin do call my name.  May snip a few stems the next time I’m out here at the house.

So, buying organically costs a touch more.  Thus, the great coupon endeavor.  And it’s kind of fun.  I also am here to state that I put money in my savings account not once, but three times, this past month.  I think these are all things that point to growing up.

But no worries, folks, I’m getting a tattoo in three weeks, I still have plenty of adolescence in me, and some to spare.

Mindless Chatter From My Brain

February 14, 2011

I love my new plastic heart-shaped bracelet from H&M.  In coral, don’t you know.

My belly is full of hot ginger tea.

My cats sure shed a lot.

My bunny bank is not filling up with change as fast as I thought it would.

Tourists that bitch about climbing up my hill make me laugh.

I fell asleep last night thinking about going to medical school.

Is being a nanny my life time career path?

Should I keep trying to get published?

I love my new espadrille wedges, has my brain been trained to think my legs look better in heels by years of being told they do, or do they just look better?

Valentine’s Day is tomorrow.  Will I get anything?

Who cares.

Going to walk the Golden Gate Bridge on Monday with Pell then have lunch in Sausalito.  I have ridden over it on my bike now I’m going to walk.  How long is the bridge anyhow?

Do I or do I not respond to messages from guys on OKCupid that I’m not interested in?

No response is a response.

I hear it’s going to rain all week-long.  I am already dreading getting on my bike and going back and forth to work.

How long can this current manicure go without having to touch it up.  Is it tacky to have chipped nails.

Oops, who cares?

Does my ass look fat in these jeans?  No, I wasn’t actually thinking that.  I like how my ass looks in these jeans.  Ride enough hills in San Francisco or walk them, and you’re ass looks just perfect.

Although, my bicycle calves are never ever going to fit into skinny jeans.  Fine with me.  Note to self, stop trying them on.

Will I see him tomorrow?

Will he call?

A nap might be nice.

How come I have two white cats?  I like tabby cats.  Orange or brown ones, how did I end up with two white cats?

The cable car lines sound like they are fresh.

Tentatively booked a tattoo with Barnaby for Saturday March 5th.  Very excited about that.  Ready for some fresh ink.

Maybe I’ll look for an agent today.

Shameless is on tonight. Yes.

My butt is falling asleep in this chair.  I need a proper desk and I would really like to get a couch.  Which means, having more space.  Which means moving into a bigger apartment, which means making more money.

I could just try getting a pillow for the chair.

Valentine’s Day is tomorrow, wonder if anyone has a crush on me?

Didn’t I already have that thought?

My toes are cute.



February 13, 2011

Is my new color.  I did not even know that I liked coral or that it looks good on me until I was in an antique mall in Hudson, Wisconsin, with my best friend Stephanie.

She hands me a hat and says, “this will look amazing on you, try it on.”

And I say, “ugh, I don’t wear orange.”

Stephanie replied, “its not orange, its coral, and shut up and try it on.”

What do you know, it looked good on.  And of course the little 4’8″ sales lady made me model that hat and then said the clinching words, “oh, it’s beautiful!  But you can wear anything, you’re so long and lean.”

Enough said, had to buy the hat.

Then last Friday I’m in deep retail therapy at Nordie’s Off the Rack, so deep that I call my friend Pell to pull me out.  But before I make the phone call I find a glorious pair of Steve Madden wedge espadrilles in, yes, coral.  I buy them.  Partially to assuage the need to shop, partially because I’m curious if this color really is working for me.

It’s really working for me.  Although I still think I’m wearing pumpkin, aka, orange.  A color that doesn’t look good on me.

A color that I’m literally wearing head to toe.  Literally.  I found a cute dress at H & M, coral, and striped tights, violet, brown, and coral.  I went and got a manicure/pedicure, and I found myself drawn to it again.  Deep coral on the toes, light on the nails.

Thank god it’s nowhere near Halloween, or I would feel like I’m over doing it a bit.  This evening some one remarked that I was wearing my Giant’s colors.  And that works for me.  I can wear this color all year round and people will just think I’m being a good home team fan.

My lipstick, coral, which I thought was an old lady color until last week when I, yes, I did, matched my lip stick to my shoes.  And, too, I liked the name of the lipstick: “kiss”.  Yes, please.  These lips need to be kissed.  Let’s get on that.

Good lord, did anyone know this girlie girl was hiding out in me?  I did not wear make up in high school, or in college for that matter.  I wore lip balm, but that’s it, not even mascara.

I sort of feel like I’m a teenager experimenting with it all.  And I have to say, it’s fun!  Sephora is a blast.  I buy make up now, I try things out, I’m having a great time discovering my “colors” at the ripe age of 38.

My closet used to be white, black, black, and more black.  And a few grey pieces, which were really, just faded black.

Now all this color.  I’m not sure where it came from, but I’m embracing it.  And if I need to excuse myself by pretending I’m a baseball fan, so be it.

We did win the World Series after all.


February 11, 2011

You have the day off!

Now what the fuck do I do?

It’s not a terrible thing to get an extra day off, considering how just a week ago, literally, I was losing my shit because I wasn’t scheduled any time off.  Now I have a surprise three-day weekend.


I have gotten all the big stuff out-of-the-way for today–meal planning, grocery shopping, breakfast, mid-morning snack, coffee (in fact I have made extra coffee to take on a leisurely neighborhood walk.  It is cooling in a Mason jar on my counter.  I will be adding a little coconut milk beverage to it and some ice and voila my own personal iced cafe.)

I did my morning writing of three long hand pages.  And I meditated.  It’s just slightly after elven.  I am somewhat stumped as to what to do.  I have to meet with Stephen at 6:30 p.m.  at Evil Empire (starbux) and then off to meet friends at 8pm.  I’ll probably fellowship there after with Pell and John and whom ever else wants to kick it in the Castro.

But up until that point I sort of have the day to do with whatever I want.  I am considering retiring the bike for the rest of the weekend and just walking everywhere.  I got my exercise riding it to and from Rainbow groceries with a weeks worth of groceries on my back for the return trip.  I wouldn’t mind not having to put on the bicycling shoes again and the helmet and all the gear.

I love my bike, don’t get me wrong, but at some point after having done the AIDS ride and bike commuting to work for the last three plus years, I don’t often look at it as something I want to do in my free time.  I don’t make plans to go for a leisurely bike ride anymore.  It feels a little too much like work.

Although, I do appreciate it, I really do.

Besides a break from avoiding cars and pedestrians and for that matter other bicyclists is a good thing.  I can slow down, look at the scenery, enjoy the day.

I have my membership to the MOMA talking to me.  I could take a nice little stroll down town and head over there and visit the galleries.  That would be sort of luxurious to do on a day off, especially a Friday mid afternoon, I bet there won’t be many people there.  Which is how I like my museums.

I placed a few calls to friends who I don’t get to see very often, but so far no one’s been able to hang out.

I could go shopping.  That’s always a temptation.  I’ve been thinking about getting a little dressy number for Nikki’s party tomorrow night.  That could be fun.

I could take a nap.  Decadence.

I could go to Kabuki.  I think Friday is women’s day.  I haven’t been in a while.  I bet it’s not very busy on a Friday afternoon.

I could sweep.  I do need to do that.

I could get a head start on my laundry for the weekend.

I could idly surf the internet.

OOOOH!  Duh, I can find the next agent to submit my book to.  Now that’s a good idea.

I think the coffee is starting to kick in.

I do know this much, it is a gorgeous day in San Francisco and I will get out of the house to enjoy it.  Although I do appreciate having time in my studio, it’s pretty and I don’t often see it during the day.

Maybe I’ll take a picnic lunch to Huntington Square park.  I could walk the labyrinth at Grace Cathedral when I’m done.  Then mosey back to the house and head down to the MOMA.  Eventually making my way up into the Castro.

I’m going to go play tourist.



You’re Beautiful

February 11, 2011

And you’re going to die soon.

Especially if you keep biking the way you were tonight.  Oh my god, girlie-girl, you have a death wish.

Although, you look fucking amazing, I won’t deny it.  Your fixie was a thing of beauty, shiny and pretty, your hair was reminiscent of the Lord Bryon poem-She Walks in Beauty Like the Night, all raven tresses blowing around your face.

Make up was impeccable.  In fact, you were so fabulously groomed, I wonder if perhaps there weren’t hidden camera’s filming you.  You looked like you dropped out of an Ipod commercial.  Mac will stun the 14-25 crowd with whatever pictorial you star in.

I hope they light you better than you were lit though.  It was kind of difficult to see you in all that black you were wearing.

Thankfully you were really pale and your face with its bonnet of dark wavy hair floating behind it stood out to me.  That and the white line of your Iphone trailing down from your ear.

Because, that was all I saw as you were about to hit me riding on the wrong side of the bike path behind the Safe Way on Church and Market, talking to some one and not looking where you were going.

I mean, we’re all going to die some day, it just seems such a waste of such terrific beauty.

But then again, I wouldn’t have known what a gorgeous creature you were if you had on a helmet and bright blinky lights and were on your own side of the solid yellow line.  I would have missed that heart breaking rush of adrenalin I got when I swerved to avoid you.  And hey, I used to pay good money to feel like that.

You were a free gift.


And now that my heart has finally slowed down, I realized some where in my rant that I carried on in my head, that I really am old.

Not that I look old, as I have been so nicely told recently.  Thanks, Josh, it was a very sweet compliment about my skin, even if you appeared rather shocked that I’m 38 ripe years.

But that, I have gotten past that point in my life where I don’t think about dying, there really is some truth to being under a certain age when you feel invincible and that death is just a lurid folk tale passed around the camp fire for a scary night of amusement.  I do think about death, obviously because I don’t want to die yet, I wear a helmet when I ride my bike, I use turn signals, I slow down at intersections, I pass on the left, I don’t try to make yellow lights that are just about to turn red, I use my brakes going down hill.

I am old.  I don’t have the insouciance of the young any more.  And that’s ok. I want to live to be triple my age, and still shocking people when they ask me how old I am.  Thus the helmet.  I may not look like I belong in an Apple product commercial, but I will live long enough to use the ones I have for a bit yet.

PS.  Thanks grandma Vivian for the awesome hereditary genes, nice head of hair I inherited from dad’s side of the family doesn’t have any greys yet!  Even after my harrowing ride home.

Fastest Blog Ever

February 10, 2011

Ever, ever?  Ever, ever, ever.

I have twenty minutes, give or take to kick this baby out.  I’ll be heading over to Grace Cathedral to say hello to some folks soon and then meeting with Cass after ward.  I aim to get my post-a-day out-of-the-way before I head over.

That way I can watch the Glee episode I down loaded last night.  Yes, that’s right.  I said Glee.  I don’t need to deconstruct why I like the show, I like to sing.

Now most people do not get to hear me sing.  I had a sort of nasty choir teacher when I was younger and officially became quite shy of singing in public.  I don’t actually believe what she said, nor can I remember the exact words, but they weren’t nice.

I do know that I can actually sing.  Any one can.  Just not as well as some.  I always, always, always envied my Aunt Marybeth’s voice.  I wanted her singing voice so bad.  And her softball throwing arm.  Man could she throw a soft ball.  I bet she still can.  But I subscribe to the “if you can walk you can dance and if you can talk you can sing” camp of thought.

So, I love singing.  And I’d like to have this little chore of mine out-of-the-way to enjoy a full episode without needing to worry about staying up late.  I need to be fresh for the monkeys in the morning.  Especially as one little monkey is getting fast on her feet.

I swear they go from barely grasping how to walk to running away from you as fast as possible.  The monkeys actually hear me sing all day long.  I sing many a song for them.  They love patty cake, row, row, row your boat, this old man, twinkle twinkle little star, mary had a little lamb, they like when I sing nonsense.

Which can come back and bite you on the ass later when they learn to talk better.  R.  till asks me to sing that god damn poop song.  And then laughs madly in glee when I do.  Something about boys and poop.

On occasion, however, I find that I get a song stuck in my head and then I ride my bike home with the thing stuck in my head.  I may not actually be yelling at the person pulling out in front of me without using a turn signal.  I may be yelling at myself to get “who’s fleece was white as snow” out of my head.

Fortunately I have nothing stuck in my head at the moment.

I also sing in my studio.  This may or may not annoy the upstairs neighbor, but there are worse things.  Her high heel clickety clack tries my patience.  But if I’m in my studio, I may also be dancing.

I have no idea where all this is going, or to what summation, but I feel that as I close in on the 500 word count I will be in fact writing the fastest blog yet.

Thank god I took typing in high school, twice, it has come in handy now and again.

Sea Salt and Wood Smoke

February 9, 2011

My favorite smell.  I can even associate the smell to a memory.  My mom, her boyfriend Chuck, my sister, and I, Northern California, late night beach bonfire.  I fell asleep to that smell.  And it has stayed with me for decades.

Sometimes, depending on my mood, my favorite smell is wood smoke on a cold night, especially if it’s snowy.  And there is a distinct difference between the smell of wood smoke when it’s just plain cold as when there is that moisture in the air that presages snow.

I can get whiffs of it now and again when I stroll the girls past the China Basin Fire House.  There’s an old brick fire house that the SF Toy Department runs out of.  I think it may also be a mission or some sort of soup kitchen as there seem to be those in need out there on occasion.  They have a wood burning stove and all during the Christmas season I could smell that glorious smell.

But it was tonight, riding my bike home from work along the Embarcadero that I caught the scent and was taken right back to that sandy beach.  Right back to the drift wood bonfire and the crash of the waves, the feel of the sand underneath the blanket.  The blanket was plaid, navy and red, fringed.  The fire was hot on my face, but my back was cold.

My sister was asleep.  My mom and Chuck were some where off to my periphery.  I sat wrapped up in the blanket feeling the heat of the fire and smelling the salt of the ocean and I think it was my first real memory of contentment.  Of being utterly in the moment.  The world was at peace and still, perfect.

I carry that smell around in my heart and forget it, of course, until I smell it again.  I feel the need for a beach bonfire excursion.  I should gather up some people and do just that soon.  Head out to Ocean Beach and do one up.

Although, I have to admit, my desire is to get out of the city and do an overnight beach camping weekend.  Without a car, that’s a little difficult to do.  Nor do I have a tent, but to the best of my recollection we didn’t when I was a kid either.

We just slept out there on the beach and when we woke up the ocean was gloriously calm.  I remember driving away in the Volkswagen Beetle that Chuck drove and we went out to breakfast at some little cafe in a town down the road.  Nothing fancy, red and white plastic checked table cloths, wooden tables and booths.

But I can remember the smell of coffee.  The ocean glinting outside the restaurants windows, and pancakes.  I think I had pancakes.

And I will never forget the light.  There is a certain kind of light that happens by the sea-side, by the ocean, the sun refracts back off the water and diffuses into the air and I can see it shimmering in the distance when I’m headed out toward Ocean Beach via the avenues, right around 38th, maybe a bit before and there it is that ocean light.

I smelled that smoke riding home tonight.  Thought of bonfires and beaches, of my mother, young, care free, dancing barefoot in the sand with her lover.  Whilst I and my sister were cozied up by the fire, snug as proverbial bugs in a rug.

Home is always with you.   And you may forget, until you smell that one ineffable thing and it all comes rushing back.

How Did That Happen?

February 7, 2011

It is 8:34 p.m. on Sunday night.  Where did the weekend go?  Well, regardless of where it went, it was exactly how it was supposed to be.  I will from now on be following the suggestions given to me.

For the moment, at least.

The weather was glorious today.  I was out all day long in a sundress and flip flops.  It’s February.  You got to love San Francisco.  Come July I’ll be wearing fifteen layers and cursing the fog as it rolls in over Twin Peaks.  But for the moment, divine weather.

In fact, I’m still in my sundress, with my windows open to the street.  Which has it’s dangers it does.

For instance, a couple on vacation just walked all the way across the street to talk with my cat, Frankie, who happened to be sitting in the sill. They didn’t see me sitting in the corner working on my taxes.

Which are finished!  And I just popped them in the mail.  Doing my taxes has gotten easier every year the internet has been around, but I still get this knot of anxiety in my chest that I’m going to fuck it up some how.

All I did was plug numbers into boxes and let the site dot the work.  But by the time I was finished I felt vaguely like vomiting.

It could also be from the anxiousness of calling a gentleman to ask him out.  I did this before doing my taxes and got a busy signal.  Who has a busy signal anymore?  So, I took it as a sign that I was supposed to do my taxes.

I figured I’d call when I was finished.  Ah, that does make sense, of course my stomach was in knots by the time I was finished.  Ha.  I love my idiotic brain.  Sometimes I wish I could just give it a little pat on the “head” and say, it’s ok honey, nothing bad is going to happen.

And you know what?  His line was still busy.  I wonder if I have the correct phone number.  Who knows.  So I just sucked it up and sent him a message on good old Face Book.

Face Book, the crack of the masses.

Well, the action has been taken, and I can do nothing else.  Except the next thing in front of me.  Which is to make a little snack, brew a cup of tea, and watch the episode of Shameless currently downloading.

I will not check my facebook account more than once.


Sleeping In

February 6, 2011

I so slept in today.  It was utterly delicious.  I haven’t slept in for quite some time.  I woke up and used the facilities this morning at 8 a.m. and thought, I’ll just catch a few more minutes.

I woke up at noon.


I guess I needed the sleep.  I know I did need the rest.  And after having a breakdown yesterday I finally took some direction and asked for a little help and I cancelled the gig I was supposed to do this weekend.  I have been working too much and not being happy, joyous, and free.  Which is where my attention needs to be placed.

So I mellowed the fuck out today.  Went to Grace Cathedral and got a large iced, that’s right I said iced and it’s February, coffee  from Pete’s then on down to Kitty’s Nails.  I got myself a mani/pedi and a little eye brown waxing and let myself be pampered and read tabloid magazines.

Then I went to Bone Flowers on Polk and found a fantastic dress for twenty bucks.  Which is an awesome find in that store, I have dropped a lot more there then I care to recall.  After which I went to the Creperie and had a nice lunch and sat outside enjoying the weather.

It is a rare day indeed when I can comfortably enjoy a meal outside.  After that I kept strolling down Polk St.  Just enjoying the fact I didn’t need to be anywhere until I met Pell and John up in Noe Valley around 7:30 p.m.  I strolled, I rambled, I meandered.

I bought myself some gorgeous cream and orange Freesia and toted around my little neighborhood purchases and wandered back to my house.  Lunch was big, so I ate half and had the other half for dinner, listening to a Kitsune Maison mix and enjoying the twilight settling over the city.

It was just a serene little day for me.  Went up to Noe Valley, saw friends, got loads of hugs and felt relief from the bondage of self.

Not a bad day at all.  And I will start saying no now.  No, I’m not available to nanny on the weekends.  They are mine.  For me to remember to love myself and forgive myself and enjoy the wonderful life I have been given.

And go on dates.

Face Everything And Recover

February 4, 2011

Or Fuck Everything And Run.  I just had an epiphany recently that I was starting to do some running away.  So, here I am, on my “anonymous” blog, putting it out to the universe that I’m ready to face the possibility of pain to get some.

I recently posted about men and in general I think I pretty much nailed what I was thinking about on that particular day quite well.  But I have also had some time to hear a soft little voice talking from within and I started listening.

Let me start with a number: 282 lbs.  Let me subtract another number: 190 lbs.  The difference being, for those of you not so quick with arithmetic, 92 lbs.  That would be the difference between my top weight and what I way now.  I’m not to my goal, but I’m within shouting distance.  And as I continue to slim down I find myself garnering a bit more attention than I have in the past.

This all seems wonderful on the outside, lost a few, ok, more than a few dress sizes, feeling pretty light, able to bike up the hills a bit faster, breathe a lot easier, dance a little harder.  I get into jeans in sizes I have never worn as an adult.  Occasionally I see myself in the mirror and do a double take.

My goal weight is 150lbs;  my nutritionists disagrees and states that for my height, and muscle mass, and activity levels that she would be happy with 180 lbs, and she doesn’t want me less than 170 lbs.  These are all higher numbers than the average bear, but I’m not the average bear.  I am extremely strong and I have a great deal of muscle mass.

Hell, I was 200 lbs on swim team in high school, 250 lbs when I got my black belt in Shaolin; people never believe me when I tell them my weight.  I apparently carry it quite well. I have had more than one doctor ask me to get back up on a scale and I actually got called out in a chemistry class for lying about my weight in high school (who the hell lies up on their weight in highschool?)  But not having carried a load of it now for a little over a year, I’m really satisfied with how I have been transitioning.

Now, comes the epiphany.  I ran into a dear friend of mine walking down Powell St. on Sunday as she was walking her dog up from Union Square.  I flirted with her, like I always do, I flirt with everyone, I usually tell myself.  We hugged and went our separate ways with promises of having coffee soon.

I suddenly stop in my tracks and laugh out loud.  I have always wondered why I get labelled a lesbian by certain people.  Duh, I almost smacked myself on the forehead, I flirt with women.

And gay men.

They are safe.  I have an interesting history which includes a wee bit of trauma growing up.  And I’m not being flip, but this isn’t where I do my best writing around it.  That goes else where (check out my memoir Baby Girl when it gets published).  Any who, men, to me, or to my overblown flight instinct, are dangerous and to be feared.

Of aka, my other favorite acronym for fear, False Evidence Appearing Real.

So, I haven’t been checking out with food or other substances (well, ok, down loads of videos, but I got to stay current with Shameless it’s just too fucking good).  Instead I have turned to work.  Booking myself extra gigs on the weekends to avoid going out on dates with guys.

See I’m on a site, OkCupid, and I have been going on a lot of dates and getting a lot of hits and it was really an ego stroking endeavor.  Except that subconsciously I apparently was getting a little freaked out and started booking up all my weekends so that I didn’t have any time to go out for even a coffee and a meet and greet.

I’m not interviewing for a husband, but maybe a boyfriend, yes.  And I can’t really fill that position if I’m not able to conduct interview, ie dates.  But then I won’t get hurt.  I won’t get abandoned,  I won’t have to be intimate.


So, I hereby re-commit to not working on my days off and being alright if I get hurt.  I’m not going to be handed anything that I can’t handle, I never have.  And who knows, I might even end up with a boyfriend.  I suppose that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Because the fact is, I am a beautiful woman and I fucking rock.  Of course I’m going to get attention.  And not all of it’s going to be negative.  Attention does not equal hurt.  Attention is just another way of saying, hey, girl, work it out.

And I don’t know where the scale will settle.  My sources and I will get to that together, but I do know, more weight loss is on the horizon, so I’m willing to work on this, knowing only too well that the problem and the solution are entirely different.

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