And God Laughs When I Make Plans


Damn it.

I had plans galore.

I did.

I was going to go here and go there and do this and do that and he is cute.

He sent me message that he was not going to be coming around.

Then the tattoo session ended and I abruptly decided to head to the Inner Sunset and do the deal there then where I was planning on going.

After which, slightly disgusted with myself, I annihilated a pair of blue jeans, making them into jean shorts, ripped the sleeves off a white button up shirt and pulled on some lace tights.

Fuck it.

I will go dancing.

But as I hemmed and hawed and checked my messages while waiting for the N-Judah I wound down.

What am I doing?


I know, I am running away from hanging out by myself on a Friday night, but I also did just sit for an hour having tattoo work done and I am stupid if I go get sweaty and dance with new ink.

I flipped down my phone, stepped off the platform and walked back to the house, past the neighborhood drunk with a twelve pack of Pabst, that’s where I am going, I thought, if I do stupid shit like fly off the handle because I can’t sit still and face up to some things that need to be done.

I need to do some work here at the house.

I was given a list of things to do today from a dear friend and I need to take these suggestions.

I did a little bit, just a moment ago, spending a few minutes looking online for some information.  I actually am going to keep this all under my hat for the time being.  I am not necessarily certain about writing about it until I have done the work suggested.

And I know that the work needs to be done because of the visceral response my body gave when she made the suggestions.


If my response is fuck off, or any variant thereof, it’s time to take that into consideration.

It used to be I had to get into a lot more pain than an uncomfortable conversation over a meal with a darling friend.

That was also not planned.

I began the day with an attitude of get it done and get on with it.

But I was stopped at 850 Bryant, my agenda blown in minutes.

There was no line.


I went right up to the clerk in Room 145 and showed her my ticket and my id.

The cop hadn’t even entered the ticket into the system yet, so the clerk had to do it, and she asked what it was for and was pissed, I mean, pissed that I was there.

“What a waste of time,” she said, and grabbed some paperwork, “hang on, I’ll be right back, I need to look up some things.”

She came back and showed me a schedule with some times and dates listed, “pick one and I’ll put you on the court calendar.”

“Wait, what,” I said, confused, “I have to go to court?  That’s why I came down here, so I wouldn’t have to go to court.”

“Honey, you are not paying that fine, it’s $197.  You are going to contest it,” the clerk said firmly, “now pick a date.”



So I did.

I have to return to 850 Bryant for another date, this time to go before a judge and see what happens.  I will tell the truth and I will show up and take whatever happens.

“It won’t be $197,” the clerk promised, “but don’t be late and don’t miss the date, otherwise the fine will go up.”


No thanks.

Which means that Friday, March 7th at 3p.m. I will be back at 850 Bryant to contest the ticket.


I got a copy of the paperwork, thanked the clerk and left the Hall of Justice twenty minutes after entering, and that includes a trip to the bathroom.

I hopped on the bicycle and headed to the Mission, going to my old nail salon and then messaging a friend in the neighborhood to see if she was available for lunch or coffee.

And she was!

We caught up and she inspired me to do some work and made some suggestions and she gave me some assignments to do.

“The measure of a person,” I heard tonight, “can be made by the people they surround themselves with.”



It made me think of my friend, who is my advocate and how she wants to help me help myself and better my life.

How lucky I am to have the friends I have.

I really am.

I knew everything she was saying was also on point and as I grow up I find that I can take these suggestions with more and more aplomb and ease, not that I find walking through the fear any less uncomfortable, I just know that I can since I have so much already.

I want a better life for myself as well and basically what she was suggesting is going to lead me to that.

And faster than my own timeline.

“Set a calendar and stick to it, e-mail me the things you find, and let’s meet for coffee on a weekly basis,” she concluded.

I wrote the list down that she suggested and stared at it tonight.

Which might have led to me wishing to flee into the night in my new hot pants, lace tights, and ripped up shirt–I ain’t gonna drink–to go clubbing.

And there’s nothing wrong with dancing or clubbing or me going out, except that I have new ink, feel punked out, and was avoiding looking at the work.

I do not feel upset now that I have written this out.

I am allowed to change my mind and plans did change today, but that is just the Universe making room for me to make room.

“I am supposed to be fellowshipping,” vomited out of my mouth without meaning to, “what the fuck is that, oh yeah, something I suggested to other women I work with, fuck,” I finished shaking my head.

I just wanted to come home and drink tea and hide.

I am sort of doing that and sort of not.

Therefor, since I have taken off said lace and hot pants and washed off my tattoo, took the flower out of my hair, and put on my Hello Kitty pajamas, I am just going to make a resolution to do some of the fellowshipping thing tomorrow.

I can only do so much in one day.

I had some plans, I did.

And none of them happened at all like I thought.

But I got beautiful new ink (two stars added to my neck and the colors gone over and bumped way up, plus some unexpected liner work done on an older tattoo since he had me on the table) and I had lunch with a dear friend who wants more for me than I have.

That’s a nice day anyway you slice it.

And I did not have to pay $197 out-of-pocket to have it.

But it did set the ball rolling.

Or should I say the bicycle.


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