Archive for June, 2012

You’re Glowing

June 30, 2012

“Your eyes are all dewy and gorgeous.”



It’s just topical ointment.

The eyes are just about healed.  I toyed with the idea of putting on a little bit of the make up this morning, but I got busy trying to manage my musical library.  Not a good idea before going to work.  I went from having oodles of time to looking up and having fifteen minutes left to get to work.

Good thing it’s a five-minute bike ride.

One more day of goop on the eyes and then I should be clear to go.  Back to the land of play make up. I miss my colors.  But I have had some nice compliments on my complexion, which makes me wonder if I should stop washing my face altogether.

I don’t think I could handle it though, I feel dirty and slightly greasy and my face is starting to break out a little from the ointment.  Not awful bad, but I don’t want to hatch a batch of pimples right now.

Isn’t nature great?

Grey hair and pimples.

You have to love it.

Apparently I am looking sexy on the FaceBook post on our work website, my picture still gets some comments.  Ok, people really, yes I am single, but no I am not interested in the silver fox, that’s the nicest way I can think to put it grandpa, in Michigan.

Or the guy in Houston.

What is it about distance that suddenly makes people bold?  Get them right up close and they lose their steam.  Oh, I still get flirted with, just no propositions coming my way at the moment.

Then again it was so busy today that I don’t think I could have flirted if I had wanted to.

I do think I missed my opportunity when I was yelling at the accountant.

I wasn’t actually yelling at the accountant.  He is an über meek, soft-spoken man, he’s so soft-spoken I have to turn off the stereo speakers when he talks to me and hush everyone around me.

He is, however, pushy via e-mail.

Where do you get the strength to yell at me via e-mail dude?  Your vocals cords all rested?

I hollered at my work e-mail when I opened it.  Five e-mails from him and a wad of invoices to do.  I just blurted out, “well, fuck you.”

Then I laughed, I am just doing the best I can.  If I get to it, I get to it.

I told my GM I am doing my best.  My best.

My best ain’t too bad.  I am now dubbing myself the double mint twin.

I am the only person who has done this not once, not twice, more than three, keep going, but four times.


I have done double bike designs.  I freaking did two this week!  I have done two couples at the same time.

Ooh.  That sounds scandalous.

I have done bike designs simultaneously with two couples.  Then I have designed two bikes for one person, twice.

Today, a gentleman bought himself a bike and his house guest one, no one in particular, just you know, I want a nice bike around for my house guests to enjoy when they are visiting.

Can I be your house guest?

My house guests get a cup of tea.

My co-worker joked about the business needing to get me out of invoicing, so I can just focus on selling bikes.  I was brought on to be the office person, do administrative work, file shit, pay bills, keep things organized.

I do that, oh yes I do, nobody else does.


However, I also sell the pants off of bikes.

Yeah, I know that metaphor doesn’t quite work, you get my point.

I am still rather shocked that I am a good sales person.  I have no idea why.  I suppose it doesn’t matter, I just am.

I wonder what else I should sell?

Perhaps I should have been doing sales all along.  Who knows?  Not like I would have found out.  I have always looked down on sales people.

Not very nice of me I know.

I should know better than to snub something.  I end up doing the damn thing.


I wonder what else I have said I would never do?  It would be a sort of handy list to see where I will be adventuring to next.

I am sort of in the hallway.

Damn, this fucker has been long.

I know my next adventure is in Paris.  I have no clue how it will all manifest.  But that it will.

Can I say, slight sidebar, that it is a little disconcerting to express to some one on a dating website that you are just going to up and move to Paris with no plan.

People sort of wig out at that.

Either I get the that is amazing or I get the, you are sort of crazy and I don’t think I am interested in going out with you.

Unless said person is a geriatric from the MidWest.

I should not have to leave the United States to get a date.

Granted, I know San Francisco is an odd amalgam of dating experiences, but sometimes I do wonder how it is that people actually couple up here.

Eh, who cares.  I have more important things to think about.

Like what will I wear tomorrow to match my make up?  I fell asleep listening to music and fantasizing about wearing high heels and dancing around in the fog.  Then this morning came and all that sexy energy dissipated in the morning shroud of fog and I just slipped on the Converse and left my face bare.

And the boy wasn’t where I was hoping he would be.

Ok, so I am slightly obsessed with some one.  All on the down low.  Some one I have had some interest in off in and on for a few months now.

I told Beth tonight that I just have to pull the trigger and say something.  Kill the fantasy.  I was hoping to do that tonight.  But he was nowhere to be seen.

Probably got lost in the fog.

Too bad, I was glowing and all.




Constant Replay

June 29, 2012

I have been listening to a new album recently and I am just smitten–The Myna Birds–What We Lose in the Flood We Gained in The Fire.

Oh my god.

Total new band crush.  I can’t stop listening to it.  I actually figured out how to delete Pandora station at work to program them in.

I have listened to the album at least seven or eight times since I got it.

I know its good when I don’t even want to do anything but listen to it.  Or I get excited hearing a new song and it has [oh my, stomping my foot so hard rocking out to track number  9] a line that I have to hear again, and again, and again.

I just stopped to take a phone call.  My love to my Joan Pie.  See you Sunday darling!

Hmm, play it again?


Music, there is just something about it.  The things I need in my life–love, friends, music, writing, books, recovery.  Need.

Music is a necessity, a life requirement.  I need to sing.  I need to hear music.  I get so caught up in it.  I could have been a gospel singer in another life.

I used to be jealous of my Aunt MaryBeth, I loved her singing voice.  I hear some one sing well and I get so taken with the idea of having a voice that can belt it out.  I love Glee, I can admit it, I love singing.

Oddly enough I am not a huge fan of musicals.  They don’t really move me.

Then again I have only been to a few.  Wicked, a couple of productions in high school,  nothing that stands out.  I think I went to Wicked with an ex-boyfriend for Valentines Day.  It was ok.

Not worth $70.

I like to go to bed with an album playing and listen to it while I drift off in a warm black haze of notes and swaths of rhythms.

Not always.

In fact, often times I find it more challenging to fall asleep with music playing then without.

But sometimes, like recently, I get smitten, I get taken, I get wrapped up in an album and I just want to hear it again.

I am a junkie.

Fix me up please.

I want to nod out in my white cloud of a bed, snuggled in under the comforter drifting through the landscape of dreams and drum beats and vocals.

Smart vocals, lustful, fuzzed out, reverbed, tangled up in the rattle of cymbals and the wah wah pedal, and the occasional interjection of an old Hammond organ.

I think it’s a Hammond, I don’t know why.

I just do.

I also find it a little romantic.  I want to share the album with some one.  I want to slow dance around the room.  I want to get caught singing my heart out and be loved for it.

Baby if you want to be right, I will let you be right, you know the numbers don’t lie, the numbers don’t lie.

Two wrongs don’t make a right.

I remember Justin walking in on me in the back bedroom in the first house we lived in together in Madison after the Co-op on Lake and Langdon.  We were in the top floor of a two-story Victorian with wood floors.  It had a huge front porch down below that we shared with all the common neighbors.

We had many room mates–Matt, Naboja, myself, and Justin.  Then there were the parties and the girlfriends and the chess games and the bongs and the pot and the police and the heroin junkie room-mate that never paid rent, and Justin cheating on me with a woman who actually had a crush on me and wanted to sleep with Justin and me and then ended up dating Naboja for a while.

That was a place to live.

I can romantize the hell out of anything though, music can take me there.

I don’t want to talk, so keep to yourself.

Heather, that was her name, Justin cheated on me with Heather.  There was a second woman as well, I never met her, however.

I still stayed with him.

Ah, love.


Ah, alcoholic dysfunction.

I mean love.

There was this moment, and there were others, although the bad really outweighed the good in the end with Justin, which I will never forget.

I was wearing a skirt I had fashioned from an old dress of my mom’s.  I wish I still had this dress,  it was a long A-line skirt in a navy and red fine print plaid, drop waist, button down bodice, short sleeves, wide dress shirt color.

I can almost see how young and beautiful my mom is in it, still to this day, might be my favorite dress of all time.  Just holding the vision of my mother in that dress.


I had cut it in half, tore off the bodice and fashioned the skirt to fit me. I was wearing it with a blue leotard, a dance leotard, I also had fancied myself a dancer (not really trained, just a longing for it, you know, a fantasy) and I love the way it looked, the long leotard, the full skirt, I would swirl about the apartment with it.

My god.  I must have looked like a little hippie.

Barefoot, long hair, navy blue leotard, long skirt, dancing in my room, thinking no one else was there, Sunrise on the Surfer Bus, the song–When Jody Sings–belting out of my mouth, I twirled around the room singing out my heart.

Justin was standing in the door way watching me.  I have no idea how long.

“You are so beautiful.”

I must have gone thirteen shades of red.  And no matter how fucked up that relationship was I will always remember him looking at me like that, in awe, lovestruck, long lanky body leaned in the frame of the white door way.

No one to watch me dance right now, so I dance for myself.

I listen to the words and I forgive him and I forgive me and I move on.

And I listen to music now because I like it.

Too much common sense will leave a bad taste in your mouth, so wash it out, so wash it out, wash it out.

Leave your plans by the sea.

When the tide comes in.

Let them bleed.

And wash it out

Wash it out

Wash it out.

Guitar, drums, drums, drums, drums, bang.

Oh. God damn. It is good.

Thank you.


June 28, 2012

My bank balance is $0.02.

Rock on.

I was not in a rock on frame of mind earlier.  Especially when I got the e-mail from my GM expressing that the insurance was coming out in one lump sum next pay period.


I just paid rent.

I have $0.02 in my bank account.  Are you trying to kill me?

Then he flounces through the store leaving a messy wake of helpfulness and I just about screamed.  I was about to bash some heads.

I took a very large deep breath and walked away to the bathroom.  My co-workers think I have a small bladder; they may be right, but sometimes I just need to take a breath and a have a little talking to with the powers that be.

Wonder Twin powers activate!

In the form of–


That’s my solution.  I need to make more money.  I don’t have enough.  Fear, fear, fear.

Not sexy, not serene, not calm, not rational.  So, withdrawal to the bathroom, a perfunctory sit on the toilet, when in Rome, and I said the fear prayer–God remove my fear and direct my attention to what you would have me be–how may I best serve you in this situation?

I realize that nobody wants to hear my prayers, but fuck off.  My blog.  I’ll pray if I want to.

Besides, it worked.

I realized that when I am that angry, I am in fear, and when I am in fear I can’t see straight.  I need to get perspective.  I took another big breath of oxygen and went back to my post at the front.  Then some thing I deemed idiotic happened, and I lost my cool.

What happened?

I don’t have any idea.

Actually, what happened does not even matter, I lost my calm, and knowing that I was about to make a scene, I excused myself.  I asked to take a phone call for five minutes.

It was eight, but it did the trick.

I walked around the corner.  I left John Ater a long windy message about my boss and how I am not making enough money and how I work too hard to not be making enough money and woe is me and I am crazy.

I also called Carolyn.

I left her a message too.

I was looking for Joan’s number in my phone when Carolyn called me back and talked me off the ledge.

First, I got the scared bit out and the teary bit out.  Man, I haven’t had a good freak out cry in a moment, also nice to see that for the most part I am pretty even keeled.  Then I fessed up to the fact that I have been putting away more money into my savings and that I do actually have money, it’s just that I am loath to spend it on anything except socking it away for Paris.

Not even groceries?

Yeah, when I realize that I am not going to have enough to get through the next week with my groceries then I knew I had to take the action to take money from my savings account.

Mama needs good food.

Of course, Carolyn pointed out the obvious, I have a savings account.  I can take money out, I have choices.  And when she heard how much I have been putting away into my savings account, $400 a month, she was actually shocked.

I tithe to myself.

That being said, I have been putting away more than ten percent of my income.  If I was just doing ten percent, I would be putting away about $250 a month.  I have become rather restrictive in my spending.  I am being frugal to the point of idiocy.

My ideas where get on craigslist and find a new job.

Demand a raise.

Throw a tantrum.


Not really viable solutions.

I don’t want to start another job right now.  Having realized that about a month ago, I was willing to make less to stay put and stay connected to the network that I have right now.  I feel like I am getting some tremendously valuable connections and experience at the shop.  Despite not making the kind of money I believe I am worthy of, I am making connections and I am getting really good experience.

I am learning and have learned a tremendous amount about computers, networking via the internet, photography, retail, developing relationships with vendors, sourcing materials, maintaining records, and learning Quick Books.  I am taking every little thing I have learned, not to even talk about what I have learned about bicycles, with me.

Quitting will leave me with no job.  It would be like taking the poison I want to kill some one with for myself.

I am not going to do that for a bike shop.

And I still have a feeling that some sort of connection is in the works there.  I meet so many people and I know I have impressed a few of them with my personality and acumen.  Something will come of it.

Something more than the $.02 in my bank account.

I don’t know why I am not being showered with money.  If I knew how to make more money I would be doing it, well that’s a lie.  I do know some ways to make extra money.

But I also know that more money is not necessarily the answer.  More money often brings more responsibility and more anxiety.

There is however, a happy medium.

I know I could make more money illegally.

Not an option.

I know I could make more money as a nanny.

Not an option.

I know I could make more money in a restaurant.

Been there done that.

So, hanging in there, doing the best I can with what I have in front of me.  Because, frankly, it ain’t always gonna be like this.

And this, truly, is not bad.

My luxury problem is that I am worried about having enough money to move to Paris.  I just need a plane ticket and a passport.

I already have the latter.

I can’t fuck it up.

I am being taken care of.

I am, damn it.


I Want Your Bike

June 27, 2012

I want you to want my bike.

I want you to ride me.

I mean, uh, yeah, I want to help you build a bike so that you can go for a ride with me.

Ahhhhh, stop while you’re ahead, Martines.


Holy cow, you are not allowed to be that sexy, mister.  Good grief.  Simmer down there lady parts.  Hold it together.

I found myself a little lustful this evening.  Can you tell?

Problem is, the world that I live in is a rather small place.  7×7 and all that.  It’s bound to happen, you like some one that some one else dated, slept with, or had a crush on.

And sometimes you find yourself being totally turned on by some one but you don’t act.  This person has hung out with more than a few bunnies on the block.  I never even realized I found this person attractive.

I was too busy being judgemental.

I had myself a little dialogue in my head, pros, cons, he knows way too many of the same folk I do.  Would it just be hooking up?  What about this person, that person.

What about not thinking?

I know myself pretty well, I well often chase the tail, um, sort of figuratively there, of a delusional thought to avoid being in the present moment or to avoid feelings or to look introspectively at something in my life.

What I find interesting about what just happened is that I am not running from Jack right now.  I am not focused on any one person.

Oh of course, there are one or two of them more on my radar than not, but that’s just generally speaking.

I am not finding myself obsessed with any one guy or even with dating in general.  Which is why being attracted to this particular person is interesting.  I saw him, I thought about it, I talked myself out of it.

I realized I was a little intimidated by the panoply of previous people this guy has dated.  I was measuring myself to them.

Screw that.

That is just as chicken shit as obsessing about some one to avoid dealing with whatever is in front of me.

What is in front of me is dating.  Sort of like the final frontier.  I have been scared of dating.

Have y’all figured that out yet?

I think I hid in the whole Calling in the One deal.  And I don’t regret it, it happened and I got a lot of good clarity around my thinking and how I operate.  I also got to see how I was not being true to me and my heart and I got out of Nob Hill and being a nanny and being isolated.

I think I have thawed enough to just go toss myself into the ring.

I have not cancelled my OkStupid profile.


Leisure Donkey is now officially the worst moniker for a profile.


Leisure Donkey?  Sounds like dating a jack ass who pulls bong hits all day long.

Been there.

Done that.


What do I have to lose by doing some active asking?

I am moving anyhow, besides, the more I ask, the more I put myself out there, the more I get to explore this new part of my life.

I will be here in San Francisco approximately four and a half more months.  Maybe less, maybe more.

I don’t have to fall in love.

I don’t have to be in the relationship of a life time.

I can just go explore.

See the city.

Collect some stories.

I don’t know, live.


I don’t know what the fuck that means, I never saw the movie.

Dead carp?

Get moving and live your life or waste it like a rotting fish?

Something like that.

Oh yeah, seize the day.

Fuck, I almost seized the guy tonight by the lapels of his Levi’s commuter jean jacket and made out with him.

The impulse was that sudden.

I think that’s also called chemistry, which I am generally really good at ignoring and or only seeing it from extraordinarily obvious sources.

Is his dick inside me?

He must like me!

I have really black and white thinking.  Unless I am mid coitus I don’t always see that a guy is attracted to me.

Too much information?

Too bad.

I just like to put it all out there.

Why not?

Sharing my crazy with the world is part of the plan.  I have not scored any dates that way, that I am aware of.

Hmmm.  I did have it pointed out to me that I may be getting more response from guys in general as it is being put out there that I am moving.

Make your move now, so to speak, or forever hold your peace.

Or just follow me to Paris.

I know a really good tattoo artist.

We can get our names inked in entwining hearts–his and hers.

On our foreheads.


June 26, 2012

I am all about getting stripped down further.

Naked emotions.

Naked experiences.

Naked face.

Maybe not so much that last one.

I went to the doctor’s today.  Yay!  Having health insurance again is really nice.  I got caught up with my primary care physician, who I just adore.

I have never had a doctor that I adored before her.  Respected, yes, and a few I disrespected as well, but adore?

Nope, just Michelle.

I actually forgot to call her by her honorific–doctor–when I left the visit today.  I rave about her all the time.

I just realized I do know another doctor who I adore to bits, Tami, but she’s not my physician, she’s my darling friend.

Michelle took one look at my eyes and said, “allergic reaction.”

I was not about to argue with her, in fact, I was really glad to hear that it was just an allergic reaction to something in my environment.

I got the run down on how to care for my eyes, including an admonishment to not rub them, dude, that’s super hard.  And she totally knew I had been rubbing them.  She said she could tell from the way the skin looked.


I must be rubbing them in my sleep.

She also told me no hot water on my face for a while.  No soap.  No lotion.



No makeup.

No make up?

Damn it man.

I am just getting into embracing my girly girly parts.  Did you not see the shoes I was rocking yesterday?

But then again, I don’t want to have weird puffy red eyes with peeling skin any longer either, ok, no make up.

No make up until it completely heals.  Then I get to re-introduce one thing at a time back into my repertoire.  It may not be the make up I wear, it probably is some sort of pollen, but until we know for sure, slowly adding things back one by one.

I also got a heavy-duty topical cream to put on my eyes.

Ironically, as soon as I put it on, my eyes looked about one million times better.  My complexion got dewy and when I was telling Tanya about my visit to the doctor, she even said, I was glowing.

I guess I can go without make up for a while.

I do feel a little plain Jane though.

I figure I will have to over compensate on the lip gloss to make up for the lack of being made up.

I also had a few other things checked out and every thing checked out.  I am so blessed to be healthy.  I really am.  I have no complaints about having to have a naked face for a little while.


Just saying that word all the associations that come up with it.  Naked bodies, naked emotions, naked implying vulnerable.

What about naked strength?

Or naked intention?

I am working up to being naked to the world.  Transparent.  Alive. Myself.

Which does not mean nude.  I like me some clothes.

I was briefly disappointed to find out that I had gained a few pounds from the last visit to the doctor’s office back in October of last year.  Then I realized, who the hell cares?  I am supremely healthy, and my dress size has not changed in two years.

That is the important thing.  My weight my fluctuate a little here or there, its supposed to, if my dress size started to waffle all over the place, I would be more concerned.  But it has not.  I got a pair of size ten jeans yesterday, along with those fabulous shoes, when I was shopping with Joan.

I had to replace the ones I split on the back of the motorcycle.

I had actually showed up to the doctors visit thinking I may have lost more weight than the last time I was there.  Then I got to see that I still think of myself as some sort of representation of my weight.

But the naked truth is this, I am much more than a pants size or a number on a scale.  And I am damn sexy, make up or no make up.

What makes me sexy?

I am happy.

I am serene.

I can actually be still today.  In fact, I got still twice today.  I had thought I would not have the “time” to sit today and I actually did twice!

I also went grocery shopping, went to the doctor’s office, rode my bike across town, did laundry, wrote, sold off some more books (winnowing down the collection slowly but surely), and I cleaned my place up.

I made my lunch up and I went out on the back porch and I said to myself, the laundry can wait, I had not folded it up yet, the day can wait, the running to the bank can wait (forgot that, I also went to the bank and pulled out rent–the nicest thing–my landlady’s smile when I handed her the envelope of cash.  I obviously made her day!), the cleaning can just wait.

I sat outside on the back deck with a magazine and my lunch and a cup of tea.  I ate my repast, thumbed through the magazine, and then settled my head against the top of the wood railing and closed my eyes.

I sat in the sun.

This is beginning to be a regular thing on my Mondays off–lunch on the deck, and a session sitting in the sun.  The day, warm and still, the ricochet of children’s laughter from the park around the corner, the sound of an airplane flying high over head.

The next thing you know, it’s twenty minutes later.  And I am revitalized.

I ended up cleaning my house and tossing some unneeded items out and sorting through my things.  I re-arranged a few things, made my bed, and put away my laundry.

Heck, I even managed to sit in the cafe for a few minutes with a cup of tea today too.

Not too bad a day.

Nakedly good.

Back Amongst the Insured

June 25, 2012

And already dying of cancer.

Wow.  That was fast.

That’s my brain, zero to insanity in nano seconds.

I just got off the phone with the advice nurse at Kaiser.  To whom I would not even have been speaking to except that Joan gave me crap about it today when we were hanging out.

Specifically crap about not taking care of myself.

I now have an appointment to see my primary care physician, whom I have not had the pleasure of working with in the last eight months of being un-insured.  I had been paying for my own health insurance out-of-pocket.  When I stopped being a nanny and took the pay cut to work at the bike shop I could not afford my own health insurance anymore.

I dropped it.

Recently the bike shop started offering health insurance.  I was just a week past the cut off date.  I wavered, I am going to be moving, I am going to need all the money I can possibly set aside, I should not splurge on such a silly thing.

Health insurance, who needs it?

Just rich people, right?

Well, that’s just signing up to live in fear.  I can not afford it.

I went and told my GM I would take it.

I can always cancel before I move to Paris, and despite wanting to have a few extra dollars saved up, I figured it was probably worth it.

I got my card in the mail today.  It was probably sitting in my mail box for a few days, but I just had not received it.  I pulled it out today and casually mentioned to Joan that I was having some issues with my eyes.

Nothing, big, you know, they have just been bothering me a little.

For like, a month.

“Oh my god, that’s not eye make up,” Joan said in response to my casual mention of my eye issue.

Ah, no, its not.  And I am horrified by my vanity. And grateful too, really, it was partially because I could not bear the idea of putting on eye make up today that finally led me to open my mouth up about it.

It is probably allergies.

It is just not something I know how to deal with and I feel like I am some how weak when I have an illness.  Like I can some how will myself better.


It was also vanity that led me to this place, I realized the other night when I got back from the motorcycle ride that I looked old.  Old as dirt.

The issue with my eyes makes me look old.  The skin is inflamed and peeling and cracking and when I wear make up it dries funny and I look like I have a land mine of wrinkles.

Ok, I know I am being a little sensitive about it, but it sucks. Being a vain woman, I am, I am.  I could not take it any more.

Shit, I was with a guy who is seven years younger and I looked fucking old.

Old as the hills.

Then a 27-year-old guy hit on me last night and when I washed my face last night the skin looked so dry and tender and old, I just about cried.  No man is going to want to make out with this old face.

Vanity, defect of character working over time for me.

Thanks God.

I could not bear the idea of putting eye make up on tonight.  I got invited to go out dancing and I said yes, then I realized I would not want to go out with a bare face, I’d want to get bedazzled, you know, saucy.

That was the last straw.

I called the advice nurse.

The first thing she said was, do you have any auto-immune issues?

Oh my god, I have AIDS.

Shaddup head.


Hmm, you are really healthy it looks like.

Yes, yes, I am.

She asked if this had happened before and I said yes, as a matter of fact about a year ago (when I had a friend point it out and he said, he thought it was stress).  I mention this and the nurse says, after a pause to nicely phrase what she was going to say, “I see you have had some issues dealing with stress before.”

Ah, yeah, that’s a nice way to say total mental breakdown when I was diagnosed with clinical depression, clinical anxiety, acute PTSD, and ACA syndrome.

Stress, what’s that?

I am not stressed.



Oh yeah.  I am stressed out.


OH, it’s not cancer, it’s work.

Good thing I am moving.

It’s probably not even work either, although, I don’t think it helps any.  I think it’s probably allergies.  Which I do have.  My symptoms have just always been so slight since I moved to San Francisco that I have pretty much ignored them.

My allergies in Wisconsin were over blown and horrid.  Itchy, scratchy, watery eyes, constant runny nose, sneezing all the time.  I am allergic to seven different kinds of deciduous trees–oaks, elms, maples, sugar maples, birch trees, red oak, and willows.

This is a tough row to hoe in the MidWest.

I experienced such a drastic drop off in my allergies when I moved to San Francisco, it has been rather like I haven’t got any.

But, I live on a street with a lot of trees.  I am wondering if as I am getting along in my age, not old, mind you, just aging, if I am becoming more allergic to my environment.

I don’t know what kind of trees line Folsom Street, but the trees are part of what I really like about this neighborhood.

Could I be allergic?

Probably a better diagnosis than cancer, thanks again over active imagination.

I will find out tomorrow at 11:20 a.m. Kaiser on Geary.

Fun times.

I hope my eyes go back to normal, I missed wearing eye make up today.

I made up for it, but buying a pair of ridiculous high heels.

I had to get some sexy on for Pete’s sake, me and my peeling eyelids.




Letting Y’all In

June 24, 2012

I opened up a bit more tonight to a large group of friends that I am moving to Paris.

I am scared.

Not so much of moving to Paris.

Oh, that I am just terrified of, but I am doing it anyway, so that’s just old news.

Nope, scared to say good-bye and scared to let people in and scared to fall on my face, very, very, very publicly.

But hey, I’m going to do it anyway.  I fall on my face all the time anyhow, I mean, what the fuck else is new?

Becoming more and more myself means letting more and more people see that there’s nothing here but a slightly insecure woman living her life out to the best of her abilities.

Really, let me give me some credit.  I know what I am doing is courageous.  It takes something to up and more and leave behind those that you love to do something that your heart yearns for.

Until recently I was more than willing to just let that be something I yearned for–Paris.  A silly, somewhat romantic, dream, never really to be fulfilled.

But wait, I am silly, somewhat romantic and dreamy.  Why not combined the two?

I got vulnerable tonight.  I saw Grecia, who is such an important person in my life and who was so important to Shadrach, that I feel like I know him really well, even though I don’t know him that amazingly well.  I know him through Shadrach.

Shadrach who is proud of me, beaming for me, flapping his angel wings together for me.  I just know it.

I got emotional and cried and I could feel it coming.  I had this well up of feeling and I just let myself have it.  I just let it bloom out of my chest and engulf me.  I admitted to a large group of people I wa moving to Paris and the relief was huge and scary and it all became even more real.

Even more.

I also saw myself wanting to act out pretty badly.  I want to sow some San Francisco oats.  I have two weeks, no three?  Then, yes, I am admitting it here to the world, it will be one year with no sex.


How did this happen again?

And why didn’t I get laid left and right at Burning Man last year?  For fucks sake,  I was in my own trailer.  

Oh well.

A year.  A year to ripen into my own.

I am a peach ready for plucking.

I feel like I am going to drop into some one’s lap and just say, take me, just take me, have me, bite me.


Ah, well, the summer will bring what ever it brings.

I do not need to go courting anything, it will happen or it won’t.  The thing is, I’ll go on being me no matter what.  Sitting here in my cubby, blogging away, dancing in my chair while the music beats out of my stereo.

I got an invitation to go do some dancing tonight, but it’s gay kid club night everywhere, that high holy holiday, Gay Pride, which is cool, but I don’t want to be a part of the party, it’s too much.

Maybe tomorrow night.

That is actually not a bad idea.  Go get my dance on.  When ever I get a craving for being kissed, I can go dance it out.

I did get to cut it up a bit last Friday at the show, but not as much as I wanted, it’s a little hard to let loose behind the dj booth with its limited space.

Two days off.

Maybe I’ll get a hold of Calvin and his girlfriend Diane, they like to go dancing and they have Mondays off.

I do have plans for meeting with Joan tomorrow, she’s in the city.  Looks like we’ll be going to do a little shopping.

I split my pants yesterday riding on the back of the motorcycle.


I tell you, I have some strong thighs.

They just broke on out.

The jeans were also old and as anyone who ever rides a bicycle will tell you, you wear out the seat of your pants from riding and that’s pretty much what happened.  Although, I was not going to tell the guy.

Hey, check it out.

I am barely in control of myself and not about to flash a thigh full of flesh at some body, that might be a little unladylike, a touch unseemly.

I talk a big talk, but I’m not walking a big walk.  I don’t really know how.  I don’t know exactly how to put it out there.  And I am still in a nebulous area of either saying fuck it all, sort of literally, sort of figuratively, and then the other side of being a bit old school and trying my hand at the dating thing some more.

Ah, who the hell cares.

It’s stupid to even try–figuring it out is just a serious mind fuck.

I am just letting my head ramble on a bit.  I continued the living on the edge and had a late coffee this evening after work.  It was a long day, busy, shocking that, and I felt a little dragged out.  I got some caffeine up in Noe Valley along with a little sack of groceries.

I also got to be vulnerable.

I like how when I am in the middle of getting vulnerable, I go drift off into dating sexy sexy land.

How interesting.  Let’s ignore how I am feeling and think about getting laid.

I don’t want to start saying good byes yet.  But I have to put it out there.  It is going to happen.  I am going to leave.

So if you want to kiss me, you better do it now.

Um, I mean, I am going to miss each and every one of you, let’s have coffee soon.

Making out is optional.

Just Another Spoke in a Wheel

June 23, 2012

Bless you Joan.

Thank you, for listening to my rant about work tonight.

Which I blame Dirty for, more on that later. I should never have had a cup of coffee and a shot of espresso, but mama has a hard time turning down the caffeine, and it was really good.  Plus, put me on the back of a motorcycle for a few hours and I am ramped up.

I think I may have prattled Joan’s ear right the hell off.

Thank God for my friend, who put me, and my job right down into proper perspective.

It was a lovely, unexpected surprise to run into Joan tonight.  We ended up having a late night burger at Burgermeister and caught up with each other and our various exploits.

Joan is in the city this weekend and we are planning a Sunday girls hang out.  What, I am not quite sure yet, but an adventure is in the offing.

I was pretty jacked up, I am still a bit, on caffeine, plus I was hungry, plus I had not seen Joan, plus I had just been straddling a motorcycle and regardless of the sitting still portion of my evening, it all just came tumbling out.

I let off more work steam than I even realized was building up.

Two things struck me tonight in my conversation with Joan.  First, she said that it’s rare when some one cares about their job.  I forget this.  It is rare.  Most people are just getting by.  I give a good god damn.

I really do.

I feel like it shows.

Mostly to the customers who end up sending me sweet e-mails and voicemails, chocolates from Switzerland (literally), postcards, letters, and thank you notes.  Plus the photos of bicycles from all around the US and the globe.  The happy, happy, squeal of excitement when I call a customer and let them know there bike is ready for pick up.

The little dance of joy I do when I design a good bike, I really do a little soft shoe shuffle, it’s silly, but I can’t help it, my feet get happy.  I got to do some fun designs in the last couple of days and there were some feet doing little jigs about the shop.

I care about what I do, and I care about the job I do.  I care enough to do a good job.

I also get really annoyed when some one gets in the way of my efficiency and questions my efficacy.

I am doing a good job, leave me alone.

This can lead me to a dangerous place, overly efficient, overly confident, overly relied upon and left alone and when I get slammed I am on my own because everyone else is off doing something else–because I can hold my own on my own.  What is that thing they say about self-reliance failing us?

The second thing Joan said that struck me was that I was not getting paid enough to be as concerned with the job as I am.  I either need to get more money or be less concerned.

I actually have so much work at work that I considered going in today early to tackle it all, I really did.

I woke up this morning and used the facilities and my brain started in about all the things I needed to do and I could not fall asleep for almost an hour.  I was so riled up I almost did just get up and go.

I am very grateful that reason, sleepy reason, but reason, none the less, won out and I went back to sleep.

Joan said, you are just a spoke in the wheel.

I am.

I am not the hub, I am not the center of the Universe.  The shop will live or die with or without me.  I will just keep showing up and doing the best that I can for as long as I can.  But I need to leave it there.

Which is what I did manage to do today.

I got done early.  I asked to be done early, despite the paper work pile up.  I opted out of the two hours of over time that I should have gotten paid for yesterday for a two-hour early leave time today.

I wanted to go for a motorcycle ride.

I wanted to be outside flying over hills and underneath the sky.  I wanted to hold on tight to a cute guy and feel the exhilaration of the city as the streets scrolled out underneath the wheels.

I wanted to get so into the moment that there was no work.  There was no bicycle.  There was sky and wind and warm body, a motor, wheels, me squeezing tight.

He told me to hold on tight and I did.

Oh, ok.

I was a little concerned, I was self-conscious about my big bicycle thighs clamping on to his hips, but then, paradoxically, I was also really comfortable holding onto him.  In fact, I almost felt sleepy at times.  I drifted in and out, it was calming and exciting.  The mixture of feelings were intense.

It was good to go for a ride.

It was good to not be in control.  It was good to trust and hang on and just let myself enjoy the moment.

We rode out toward the ocean and up around Sea Cliff, then over through the Presidio and down by the foot of the Golden Gate.  Then we went for coffee at Contra Band over on Hyde and California, in my old neck of the woods, and sat and discussed coffee snobbery and friends of friends and bicycles and business and work and this and that.

Then I had places to be and he had places to be.

As we got back out, the inevitable happened, the fog came in.  My visor steamed up and beaded over with moisture.  I clung like a little burr to his back and I think I actually closed my eyes a few times and zoned out.

It felt like I had taken a small siesta and when I showed up at Church and Market, the fog was officially on stage, no longer hiding in the wings, and I was damp and a little cold and sleepy, then the caffeine hit.

I got a hug and scurried off into the foggy night as he headed the opposite directions to meet friends in the Avenues.  I made it to my 8 o’clock with five minutes to spare.


Then, the Joan surprise.

More perfect.

Then the dumping rant about work.  Thank you again, sweet, sweet, Joan.  I needed to hear that, I am just a spoke in the wheel.

That is all I have to be too.  I am grateful to have an honest to God work ethic, but I don’t have to kill myself for a business that is not mine.

Tomorrow I may go back to taking myself too seriously, but tonight, I’m just a wee little spoke.

Slightly bent, but a spoke none the less.

I Am Either An Amazing Writer

June 22, 2012


Some one is stalking me.

I just got in from a long day at work, that went by so fast, I am rather alarmed that it all actually happened.  Busy.

Damn straight.

Long day at work, and an early in time, after a morning meet up and a little internal re-arrangement brought to you by Carolyn up in Noe Valley.  I am in the process of undergoing a major psychic change.

These are exciting times.

Scary, but exciting.  Who knows what this will all bring about, I feel lightened though, unburdened and so, so loved.  I was sitting across from her today sharing some of the deepest and darkest and suddenly we both just broke out laughing.

Now if there had been a third-party listening in, fly on the wall so to speak, they would have curled up in a little ball under the kitchen table and wept, then they would have sought out antipsychotic medication and a good therapist.

Maybe a teddy bear too.

The levity with which I can view my life now is so astounding I am constantly in awe of what I have done with this life.  And get this, the best is still to come.


That being said, I drifted down the hill on my bike, weaving in and out of the potholes, nannies, prams, baby bjorns, SUV station wagons, and old people crossing the street against the light on 24th.


Light as dandelion fluff infused with hot sunshine.

There was no hot sunshine today, first day of summer my ass, San Francisco sneezes at you and wraps a muffler of fog around your barbecue.

Just a quick aside.

How come the high holy holiday of Gay Pride happens right in the middle of San Francisco’s foggiest season?  Is it the city’s way of making sure that nipples everywhere are pert and erect for the Dyke March?


None the less, I felt a kind of summer fire in my heart, in my being, in the soul of smiles that lasted me throughout the day, despite the customers who needed hand holding or the invoices piling up or the this or the that.

I have had a large part of me hollowed out and instead of darkness that I used to believe I was under penance to shoulder the rest of my life, I get instead to leave it go and fill it with brilliantine sun.

I am a stunning diamond forged by a heavy hand, more beautiful for it, stronger for it, with a capacity to hold joy that I get to claim for the rest of my life.

Thank you God.

Just saying.

It was an intense morning.

Intensely good.

I even managed to make it to work with the majority of my eye make up in tact.

We had a two hour staff meeting following end of day, so I really did feel subsumed by all things bicycle, but I get the day off early tomorrow.  I am happy for a flexible schedule.

I will be roaring off from the shop on the back of a motorcycle instead of my bike.  I can’t wait.  It has been a long time since I have been on a motorcycle.

Some of my top motorcycle moments:

Riding on the back of Naboja’s Harley, in the queen’s seat, perched above him with no helmet on.  Twenty one years old, hair flying out behind me, grin plastered to my face, terrorized with joy.  Wisconsin does not have a helmet law.  You are crazy to not wear one and yet, there it is, the only state left in the USofA that does not force you to wear a helmet.

No wonder every one drinks so much brandy.

In the front seat on my father’s bike, I have no idea what the motor cycle was, probably a Honda, my father holding me in the front, one arm around my waist, traveling down the Coastal Highway.

A cop pulled us over and made my dad put me on the back, he said I was too big to ride in front.  My dad complied, but once the officer went around the bend, he pulled over, and put me right back in front.

Riding with my friends Calvin and Shadrach.  We had all just gone to see this ridiculous martial arts movie about a boy and his elephant and it was beyond bad, it was so bad it was good, sort of like Show Girls.  I am sure they did not mean for it to be intentionally funny, but I don’t think I ever laughed so hard in my life.

Now, granted, this was not a motorcycle moment, it was a scooter moment, but every time I went for a ride with Calvin he would holler “BAK BAK” in this horrible Thai Kick boxing imitation of the baby elephant hero from the movie.

I still pee my pants laughing when he does it.

Number of times I have burnt my leg on a muffler–two.

Biggest date disappointment?  Getting picked up by a guy for a date and his motorcycle was a Honda Gold Wing.

Really not a sexy first date ride.


Going for a ride, again sans helmet, yes, it was in Wisconsin, on my co-workers Honda Shadow, through the country side in late summer, why, I have absolutely no idea, it wasn’t a date, oh, yeah, Charles had just gotten it and was excited to take it out.  It think I was just at the right place at the right time.

Perhaps I will have another memorable ride to add to the list tomorrow.  Regardless, I am excited.  A little nervous too, but if work keeps being busy, I won’t have time to even engage in nerves.

I’ll save that all up for bedtime tonight when I am trying to drift off and my brain will start concocting stories about what I should wear.

Brain, shut up now.  I don’t even want to hear it.

Maybe some one else does though, my blog fan.  I can never see who reads my blogs, unless they make themselves known, for instance, there are people who follow my blog and they will like it or comment and so I know.

Bless you.

There are people who pick it up from my FaceBook page and read it.  Thanks for checking me out!

Then there are people who search term engine something strange (ok, I thought the poorly spelled cocain inima [sic] searches at 4 in the morning were sad, the search term about grandma panty porn that popped up recently was over the top and no I don’t write grandma panty porn posts either. Thank you.) and fall randomly onto my site may read a few out of general curiosity.

Then there’s the person who just read 48 of my blogs in what I imagine is a row, so either I am an amazing writer.


I have a stalker.

I am an amazing writer.



Did That Just Happen?

June 21, 2012

Holy fuck.



Holy Fuck.

That was a day.

That was a day and another.  I am sitting at my computer at 10 p.m. Wednesday evening and I feel like I have not stopped moving from work.

Despite having sat still for an hour after work.

The day just happened and happened and happened and hey, excuse, me, but stop it!

I wanted to pull the door shut on the shop at one point, or laugh hysterically and fall down on the floor and then maybe hide under the desk.

You might say it was busy today.  I was also on my own on the floor.  The marketing team was there doing marketing team stuff, what is this magic thing that is marketing?  And how do I get to get paid to sit in a coffee-house next door to the shop and drink lattes and work on a computer?

I guess knowing computers would help.

I know people.

I am stellar with people.

Sometimes to my detriment, I did things today that I could not believe that even I was doing.

I walked in and was going full-bore right away.  Fortunately I was able to do the financials before the day blew up on me.  I feel like a super Nova of bicycles right now.

I got one bike out the door from a historic store first, I sold a customer two bikes in one day.  I sold him what he wanted then talked him through another build for giggles sake and he decided to do it.  So he picked up the first bike that was a part of that order.  We did a rush on it, you want to pay Uncle Guido a little extra, we get you your bike.

But man, it’s a lot of extra hustle.  Sometimes I think the rush job should be twice or three times what it is.  People be wantin’ they shit now.

It’s like the bikes are crack.

There’s a chrome one hanging in the store front window that I designed with a guy a month ago and it draws people to the store like flies to honey dipped shit.

After customer number one got up and out on his new wheels, I got customer number two, to whom I sold the most expensive bike I have ever built.  Not a shop record, but my own personal record.

It came in over $2200.

He handed me his black American Express card and said with a chuckle, “well, it’s about $700 more than I was going to spend, that’s ok, it’s still less than I spent on the shoes I am wearing.”

So, you’re telling me your shoes cost more than what I made last month?

Where are you going for lunch again?

OH, wait, never mind, I told you where to go.

I don’t work on commission, but you could sure buy a girl some lunch.  Said gentleman also paid for the rush job on his bike.  He drove up from CARMEL with his personal assistant.

I don’t suppose he actually drove now that I think about it.

After him I helped out another guy who had managed to wrangle one of the marketing team while I was deep in Daddy Warbucks bike build.  She happily passed him off to me and I got into the design with him.

He did not pull the trigger.  He was fact-finding, and honestly, I was not going to sell him a bike at that point, he was smitten with the KFox, my co-worker.  She is glam.

So, I handed off her card and told him when she works front of house and he’ll be back.  As I am shaking his hand, a family of six walks in.


Did I mention that it was a family of six?

(Sidebar, and while all this is happening, phones ringing, including mine, my fucking friend Calvin sitting on a car hood leaving me a message as I am sizing up this family.  I have no clue how long he was there hanging out watching me sell bikes, I heard my phone blowing up in the shop, but did not connect the two until just now when I went to check my messages and could hear my patter about the bikes in the background of his message.  I did eventually catch his eye, exchanged a fleeting fierce hug and made tentative plans to have coffee some time soon.)

Now, I did not send them all out on bikes, mom already has one.  But I frame sized five of them, juggling them all like bicycle parts, oldest son Justin, next son Satchel, next daughter Elsie, dad Jim, little brother Eckhardt.

Fake names, fyi, but close to the real deal.

I have never done that.  I basically had five customers designing and building and trying on and test riding the bikes.  Oldest son graduation present from UC Santa Cruz, generous parents, also dad loves us, follows us on FaceCrack, knew who I was, wondered after my giant mug of tea….which sat cold and lonely all day without me.

I made my lunch in a breath, a short three-minute turn around when I dashed off the floor whipped it onto a plate and brought it and my mug of tea back to the floor.  It literally sat uneaten and alone for two hours.

Ever seen someone inhale a plate of salad?

You could have chopped that puppy up and I would have snorted that shit through my nose I was so hungry by the time I actually got a chance to eat.

I called to one of the marketing people who was in back taking photographs of something bike related and shouted help.  He sat in the corner and made sure no body walked off the store while I was running in and out and raising and lowering saddles and he rung up a sale.

“Wow,” he said after the family left, all with my business card, all with key chains and t-shirts and frame sizes written down, with estimates, color palettes and shipping strategies planned out, “wow,” that was kind of amazing to watch.


I just kept rolling.

I ended up doing two more bikes and some other related sales and right at the end of day I stopped a theft in progress.

Little fucker has some balls.

He and his cohort were in three weeks ago and had stolen a co-workers Iphone.  I got rid of them, their photographs were taken and they stole nothing.  Police report to deal with when I get in tomorrow along with the 32 paint orders I have to co-ordinate.

Oh fuck my mother.

I have to let work go.  It’s at work.

Bye bye work.

How about we just fast forward to running into old boyfriend at Rainbow who shamelessly flirted with me tonight.  He always, does, but tonight he laid it on a little thicker than usual.

Probably because he is safe behind the shadow of the new girlfriend.

“Every time I see you, you look better!”  He said with a wicked gleam in his eye.  Followed by, “It’s like I got just one little bite of you and now I want the whole thing, you just keep getting better, I mean seriously, what the fuck are you doing?”

Thanks, I needed to hear that.

Ah, big deep breath.

Slowly settling down.


That was a day.  No caffeine past 10 a.m. this morning and yet it feel like I had a gigantic cup of coffee a few moments ago.

It is time to wind down, relax, put something soothing on the stereo, grab a book and make another cup of tea.

Tomorrow is going to be a long day.  I am working my usual start time, but staying an extra two hours later attend to attend a staff meeting.  I am going to need every minute of it to get caught up on the work I did not even touch today.

Plus, I am meeting with Carolyn in Noe Valley early before work to continue that fearless, searching thing we do.


Thank God I get off early on Friday.

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