Thankful

Full of thanks.

Thanksgiving.

On the back of a sporty Harley Davidson, motor rumbling under me, blue sky above me, scuttle of clouds, flash of sun, ocean off to my right, heading down Sunset Avenue, San Francisco.

Thankful.

This is my life?

This is my life.

Quite a bit different from last Thanksgiving when a friend wrangled me an invitation out to Marin to hang out with his buddies from school.

Not that I had a bad time last Thanksgiving, it was just a new time and an uneasy time for me, getting back into being in San Francisco, getting a new rooting in the soil, sandy soil that is.

“What has happened to you,” she said to me tonight as we hugged in the kitchen at a dear friends Thanksgiving celebration.

“I moved out to the Sunset, that’s what happened to me,” I smiled.

Lot’s has happened to me since I have moved to the Outer Sunset and so much of it is so different than what I expected.

I feel constantly and continually surprised by this little community at the edge of the world, the edge of the sea, the edge of San Francisco.

It may just be the best place for me to celebrate this Thanksgiving.

I have a boyfriend.

I have a job.

I have a writing practice.

I have a graduate school application I have to get my ass into gear about and finish up this weekend.

I have a four-day weekend.

Day one.

Well, so far so fucking good.

Go re-read that part about riding around on the back of a Harley Davidson with the sun warm on my back and the Pacific Ocean shimmering in the sun and ask me what don’t I have to be grateful for.

New experiences?

Check.

Friends?

Check and double-check.

So many fine, amazing, and beautiful friends in my life.

Some of whom I got to see today.

And a community that I belong to that has seen me change and grow and evolve and for what may be the first time in a while, certainly in a year or so, Thanksgiving to Thanksgiving, I feel that I belong.

That I am in the right place, that I am in the spot, that I have a spot to come home to and people who want me for who I am and what I do.

I don’t do much, but I do it well and for that I am grateful.

I show up.

On time.

With helpful intentions.

I still think of myself an awful lot of the time, but I am able to be present for others, and for my life, which is one and the same, I think, sometimes, that showing up for my life is a reward and a risk, a dare.

A dare to live outside the box, and sometimes, yes, in the box too.

I felt a moment of gleeful exhilaration on the Harley today.

I was thinking random Thanksgiving thoughts for the past few years, comparing last year to this year and the year prior when I was in Paris and those darn French folks with their ways that don’t celebrate the pen-ultimate American holiday.

With the pen-ultimate American sport–football.

In France it is not football, but futball–soccer.

In French class, Thursday, November of 2012, crying, tears slipping down my maudlin face because what was everyone doing and why were the all in class, it’s a holiday for fucks sake, why are you not having some turkey?

I was crying over a soccer ball exercise in my French class.

I was homesick.

Wow.

Was I homesick if I was homesick for football, which, in case you were wondering, I don’t watch.

I am a fair weather Packer fan, suppose I always will be since I did grow up in Wisconsin.

Twelve years of being, mostly in San Francisco, I am almost a Giants fan (sorry, Gigantes, though, the damn Milwaukee Brewers still have my heart–Cecil Cooper why did you have to give my third grade self that signed baseball?  Robin Yount, why did you have to be so cute? Gangly, yes, but hella cute, you know?), but nowhere near a 49ers fan.

Sorry folks.

But yet, football, a soccer exercise, French class, Paris, what was I doing, so far away from home?

How could I be homesick for something I never really liked?

Especially when I was in the city that I had been pining to be in for so long?

Fantasy.

That’s the haps.

I was fantasizing.

It gets me every time.

I shot the Paris fantasy in the foot and I am good with that and don’t doubt that I will go back, I have friends there, fellowship, and I love Paris, it’s a beautiful town (a little too much dog poo, but you know, every city’s got to have their thing), but I don’t want to live there again.

Nope.

I want to live here, in San Francisco, out by the beach, fog or sun, rain or shine, this is my place and it feels like my time.

The second thing that happened that Thanksgiving back in Paris that made me homesick?

Sons of Anarchy.

Yup.

I had downloaded the episodes on my laptop, this self-same archaic, almost obsolete little machine, and cued one up to watch that rainy night in Paris after having an awkward ex-pat dinner at the Lizard Lounge in the Marais, I had gotten lost trying to find the pub and was still feeling a little sorry for myself if the truth were told.

My room-mate came in blustery from the rain and work and sat for a while then we took a cab back to the 9th arrondissement, to rue Bellefond, he dropped me and went to go hang out with friends in the 18th for another ex-pat dinner.

I stayed in, made a cup of tea, sliced up an apple and had it with some creme fromage and watched Sons of Anarchy.

You know you’re homesick when scenes of the motorcycle gang rolling through the dock yards in Oakland make you tear up.

Yeah.

I am not ashamed to admit it and today, remembering it, I chuckled.

Two years later, one year of living it out, making it work, not knowing what was going to happen or how, just living it to the best of my ability one day at a time, I’m here.

In the city I belong to on the back of a Harley driving down Sunset Avenue heading home to back an overnight bag to go over to my man’s place and enjoy the gifts of being a local.

I’m not a native San Franciscan.

But I am a local.

And I belong.

For that, and so much more I am utterly and completely grateful.

Now excuse me.

I have someone to go canoodle with.

Happy Thanksgiving!

 

Short Week

Starts out with a bang.

A caffeine bomb with my friend the Mrs. Fishkin in the Mission at Craftsman and Wolves.

It’s about the only thing that I will get at said eatery/cafe/decadence palace of divine sugar and pastry concoctions.

That and a few minutes to sit and chat and catch up with my friend who has been such a love and support through so many of my trials and tribulations.

It was great to check in and nice to have high end nanny go juice to start out the day.

I took the youngest boy over to Dolores Park after I had fueled up and swings were swung and sand box was dug into and the view was so mighty and all San Francisco that it blew me open to stand at the precipice of the park and think of all the time that I have gotten to live in this fair city by the Bay.

We had a nice little romp then strolled back to the house with a quick stop on the way back to make a market run.

Milk, eggs, spinach, mushrooms, bananas, apples.

Staples.

Then, a slight melt down at the market, which precipitated going home and going right into a nap.

Which was alright with me.

I had cooking to do.

Today I made a spinach and mushroom frittata with garlic and parmesan cheese.

Frittata

I rather love this about my job, getting to cook and run to the market is a deeply satisfying thing for me.

I do have to be careful though to parcel  out my time so that I can do the food prep and cook whatever it is that I am making for the family to coincide with giving myself an adequate break.

If I wait too long I won’t get enough time to sit down and eat my own meal.

This almost happened today and I had a premonition I might not have the normal amount of nap time that I get on a Monday.

I was right.

And very glad that I sat down and ate my lunch before the little guy was up and about.

I needed to be conserving my energy for swim class.

Monday’s are a full day and I can get overwhelmed with them if I don’t practice taking care of myself.

I can get very prideful of the job that I do and want to be on top of everything–laundry, market, food prep and cooking, tidying the various toy areas, having the diaper bag packed and stocked with snacks and milk and then add a swim day into the mix and I have a gigantic pile of stuff to organize.

“Oh my God!” The mom texted me this afternoon while I was in the middle of sauteing the garlic and mushrooms for the fritatta.

“I forgot today is a swim day, are you ok with everything?” She asked and then a few minutes later came into the kitchen from the upstairs, “I completely spaced, and I,” she paused.

“You are shockingly on top of everything,” she glanced around the kitchen.

And I was.

And it was nice to be acknowledged.

“Have you sat down and taken a break yet?” She added.

“I am just about to,” I said and gestured to the large kale salad I had on the counter top.  “I am just going to finish up with the frittata and I will sit down and eat.”

“Good!  Please do!”  The mom went back to mom stuff and I finished pouring the eggs into the pan and prepped the boys plates for dinner.

Egg pizza and fruit.

Not that difficult a thing to make, but lovely to be acknowledged for the effort and to also be reminded to take the time to rest for myself.

A tired nanny is not a fun nanny or a productive nanny.

Life is really busy for me right now, and that’s a great thing, but I want to make sure that I take my rest when I can and not push too hard.

I have plenty more to accomplish.

This being a short week I am thrilled to have some extra time.

For sleeping in and other things.

And for working on my graduate school application.

The fall semester for 2015 is now open for application.

I got the second letter of recommendation lined up, affirmed that today, I have to send her the link for it as well as provide my other recommender my letter of intent so that she has a template to work from.

I will be working on all of that this weekend.

“Just send them a link to your blog,” she said to me tonight over tea at Boderlands Cafe on Valencia Street and 20th.

I love that I can meet up with the people in my life that I need to see on a weekly basis at a cafe a block from work.

I laughed.

It’s not a bad idea.

In fact, now that I am thinking of it, I could very well include a blog from the time when I had the epiphany, at yes, Burning Man, about going to graduate school to be a child therapist.

The fact that I have an active, current, spiritually principled blog may be just the ticket for the part of the application that is concerned with my quest for spiritual guidance.

I know.

I sound very crunchy and granola and let me be frank, I sort of am, but I don’t go around rubbing my Birkenstocks under people’s noses.

It’s helps that I don’t own a pair.

So much of my path has to do with guidance and love and spirituality (not religion thank you, I have no denomination I affiliate myself with) that it may look like I am a big old hippie.

Disguised underneath a hipster one speed riding San Franciscan with a lot of tattoos.

I am not definable, nor is my practice, but it is there, here, all around me, and despite not having definition, it is tangible and I believe I will be able to translate that well and succinctly in my application.

And if not.

Then perhaps this path is not for me.

But I won’t know until I apply.

And for that I express gratitude for Thanksgiving and the gift of time.

Four day weekend here I come!

The Cat’s Out of the Bag

Well.

Maybe not.

However, I suppose, after I write this blog it will be.

So, yeah, um.

Remember that post I wrote a little while back about getting my dating on?

Which one?

Oh lord, I know, there are a lot of them, I have been trying, mostly half-heartedly, if the truth be told, for years it would seem to be in the dating game.

A few small victories, mostly of the inner personal, reflective type scenarios, a lover, a few dates with men who I grew to appreciate their company or perhaps a night or two of their passion, but nothing really concrete or real for some time.

Then.

Inventory.

Writing.

More writing.

More surrender.

More asking and listening and taking action.

Then I started trying different things.

And I won’t say that it was easy.

None of this has been easy.

Except.

Well.

Except when it was.

When it fell right into place, when I couldn’t fuck it up or manipulate it into happening, when it was simple and direct and obvious.

It wasn’t, hey I really think you’re hot and I want to get with you, but I’m not really available, or hey, let’s have sex, and maybe I’ll think about dating you, we’ve been friends for a while, maybe this could work.

It wasn’t the surprise booty call or a manipulated I would like to hang out with you in an ambiguous way that might be or might not be a date because I am too afraid to say what I want.

It was clear.

Clear cut.

Obvious.

And there he was.

He’s been there all along.

Doing his own thing, leaving me be, but noticing and when the time was right, and it was right, it all just fell like packaged dominoes in a green leather case onto the table.

All chips down.

All in.

Yup.

That’s right folks.

I have a boyfriend.

Eek a mouse.

I just got tingles all over my body.

So, should you have been wondering, where the blog has been, well, now you know.

I was getting further acquainted with the new man in my life.

“You have to ask  yourself,” my friend said to me on the phone as I took the N-Judah up to Duboce Triangle (a messy commute on the weekends since the city has been working on the tunnel for the N-Judah between Cole Valley and Duboce park–nothing says good times like weekend tourists trying to question everyone on the bus as to why it’s not stopping), “what is your reason for blogging every day.”

I had called him to get some clarity.

The truth is that although I have missed the writing (I’m still writing morning pages, although I will admit, they too have been a bit short and spotty and not as many pages I would normally do, I have been, um, busy you know), I have found that I want to invest in the relationship and be spending time with this man.

Especially now, in the beginning, when everything is fresh and bedazzled and sparkly and glowing.

When music means extra special things and the air seems to kiss your face and what are you doing kissing a man in the aisle at Safeway?

I mean, who does PDA in Safeway?

I do apparently.

I don’t hang out at Safeway, but we were grabbing groceries and there you go, smitten kitten is going in for a little canoodle in front of the fabric softener sheets.

There are boundaries though.

I have spent some time ruminating, not thinking, not obsessing, just feeling out what my feelings are regarding this blog, what I do, what the purpose is, has the exercise in posting a day run its course, where do I go now, what do I write about, how does this relationship impact what I write and how I am here in this forum?

“Did you write your blog,” the boyfriend asked with a raised eyebrow the other night.

I made a snappy, sassy retort about where does the time go, but no, I had not written it.

I have been sacrificing it to the time monster to eke out whatever spare minute I can with my man.

I remember writing a blog about what the exercise of trying to have a date every week would lead me to–a sort of romantic/comedy B list movie starring Drew Barrymore in a holiday inspired romp–“A Boyfriend By Christmas.”

You know, the misadventures of being a woman of a certain age in a city, say, oh San Francisco, which already has a unique set of dating challenges, while she tries to find her man by the holidays.

Well, you could knock me over with a feather.

I really did not believe it would culminate this fast.

Forget boyfriend by Christmas.

Mama got boyfriend by Thanksgiving.

We’re spending it together.

Not sure what we’re doing yet, neither of us have family in town and Honey had to revoke his invitation to do an orphan Thanksgiving at his house as he was tapped to help St. Anthony’s Food Kitchen make and serve the holiday meal to the homeless downtown.

But we will be spending it together as we both have it off.

Ditto other holiday events and parties.

I’m going to his work holiday party as his date and ordered a ridiculously cute dress off ModCloth for it.

I can’t remember the last time I bought a holiday dress for a holiday work party.

There aren’t usually work holiday parties for nannies.

Anyway, I digress.

Boundaries, that’s where I was and here’s where I am at.

This is it for blogging about him.

No naming, details, height or weight or color of his eyes (such lovely eyes), no feelings to discuss, no conversations to report back on, no, nope, and not anyone else business.

Just mine.

Just his.

The cat may be out of the bag but I have no desire to talk about said cats stripes or polka dots or whiskers, this is all for me.

To enjoy and let it open and grow and happen.

And that’s all.

That’s it.

What the blog is going to be about is just further self-reflection and my misadventures there of.

I am sure I will find things to write about.

It just won’t be this certain man.

Who though, the cat’s pajamas, will remain boxed up in a compartment in my heart tucked away for only me to see.

Which is how it is supposed to be.

Quiet.

Sweet.

Personal.

Intimate.

Discrete.

Not always attributes I have in spades.

But principles to strive for and towards.

Hand and hand with my new man.

Trudging this road of happy destiny.

 

 

Carmen, Be Yourself

He leaned into whisper in my ear.

We both had some moisture in our eyes, kindness will do that to a person.

At least to this person.

I was thinking about that as I flew through the park on my bicycle this evening coming home from the Mission, the cool air rolling over my body, the press of the black sky a velvet glove stroking my face, the trees full of the sound of water and the stars beckoning over head, drawing me down to the ocean’s edge.

My heart felt wide open to this pressing of sky, standing still, though moving fast.

That has what this past few days has been for me.

High speed.

Then standing still.

Letting myself be seen and not stepping away from it.

It is far harder than I suspected, this letting of self out, despite fleeting stupid thoughts that I know aren’t really mine, but just seeds of discontent trying to get themselves sowed.

Or sabotage.

Which is more like it.

I am not running away from my situation.

I am standing still.

I am letting myself be approached and known.

It feels like my heart is a big tent that I have staked out under that blanket of stars, I watch comets streak by and planets revolve in the sky, I see the crush of the heavens above and feel the absolute wonder of it all.

I have been seeing how much I want to move out of the direct line of sight, even though I write about wanting to be my authentic self, there is a great deal at stake, or so it feels, when I do that.

Not for anyone else, but for my concept of myself.

I talk the talk.

Now.

How do I walk the walk?

When someone says that I am beautiful or loved do I accept the person and the compliment?

Of course I do.

However, the voice in the head says, lose that five pounds, or those flowers in your hair, too much.

Despite being told by men and women that when I allow myself to be authentically me, they are attracted to me.

It frees up others to be themselves too.

I know this is a service.

I know that I do it.

I know, because I have been told so by people who know better than I do how to tell the truth.

But it is there, the thoughts and the conversations don’t serve me, those doubts are not flattering, are not complimentary, are not of service.

So I ground myself.

I reach out to help some one else.

I take some rebar out of my back pocket and I stake down the corner of the tent and say I will stand here on this threshold with everything that I am and let you see me.

I raise my head.

I toss my hair off my face and I let you see me naked.

Flaws and imperfections.

Perfect and human.

This past few days that is what I feel like.

Very, very human.

Not unique at all.

In fact, I find myself doing, saying, and feeling things that I really thought would only be said, done, or felt in a movie.

It’s my story, but not the story line that I thought it would be.

It is better and scary and smashing and wonderful and intense and scary and oh, look, here’s some vulnerability.

Life.

She’ll do it to you.

I practiced the principle of love today.

After receiving the beautiful little pendant from my friend yesterday I resolved that today I would love as best as I could, as hard as I could.

I wore it all day long and would occasionally touch it and feel again that vulnerability that I was allowing myself to express and be.

Pendant

When I was with the youngest boy today he had a small tantrum about something trivial and lost it and when he was done I asked if he wanted a story and some milk and he crawled into my lap and cuddled with me and I hug him with everything I had, without squishing him, mind you, and said, “I love you.”

He wrapped his small arms around me and butted his head under my chin, “love you too, Carmen.”

“Just be yourself, Carmen.”

I don’t have to be anyone else.

I get to be silly and sweet and glittery and I don’t have to change that one iota.

No matter what is happening in my life.

I used to think that be a messy emotional person was a weakness.

I learned the opposite is true, being open, being raw, letting people see the double chin in profile, who cares, if there is love shining in your eyes.

I felt the love today.

The Japanese sugar maples on the block I work on flaming their way through November, the neighbor stringing Christmas lights and admonishing me to make sure I come by and see them.

The Thanksgiving invitation from the family I work for, though I now have plans that I wasn’t expecting, to eat with them on their holiday.

The gifts I have received over the past week, the coffee mug from Kauai, the necklace from Wisconsin, the book from my dear friend in the Mission, a ride to the grocery store and back this weekend, a movie, a meal at Thai Cottage, all so lovely that I want to give it back twice as strong and as hard.

I just remind myself that when I feel naked and seen that I am clothed in more power than I can imagine, that the universe is behind me and I am lit in love, clothed in it and the imperfections and foibles, make the perfection that much more apparent.

Standing still as I am may be the hardest thing I have ever done.

But should I move.

It is not to run away.

But to move toward.

More and more.

Love.

Letters Are Love

Made out of paper.

Hugs sent to you in the mail.

Not e-mail.

No, the real deal, the postman rings twice sort of deal.

I got the most amazing and unexpected card and gift from my best friend in Wisconsin and a gorgeous little necklace with a chopper bicycle on it.

My friend knows me.

Knows me well.

“Well, honey, I mean, I think they’re cute, but you may not think so,” she said as she stirred the giant hurricane glass at Jolly Bob’s Jerk Joint in Madison.

We were there to have my best friends bachelorette party.

“NO PENIS CRAP,” was her only demand for the party.

No penis straws, hats, pins, jewelry, drinking accoutrement.

But I couldn’t help myself when I saw the tiny wind up penis at the counter of the wildly vanilla sex shop on Williamson Street in the Gateway Mall (folks think Good Vibrations is pretty vanilla, they have never been to this store in Madison, beaded curtains and feather dusters and all).

I hid it in my hand and then wound it up to hop across the table toward the bachelorette.

She rolled her eyes.

“I said no penis’,” she might have flicked it over with a fingernail, I don’t recall, but I do recall laughing, and feeling how wonderful it was to be a part of this group of women who were just amazing and I felt like the outsider still, my odd duck self, a little band apart.

And every time I did, my friend would reel me in and make me feel one of the girls, wanted, appreciated, loved.

Again and again and again.

All the while giving me the utmost of shit.

I saw a sock monkey today in a mural on the side of the Community Thrift Store on Valencia Street and it made me think of her.

I almost sent her a photograph, but for years, I mean years, I have been trying to live down the notoriety of the night, the bachelorette party and the personification of my personality, that like my Auntie Bubba moniker, I have not quite been able to live down.

“No, come on, tell me, you can’t not tell me,” I said, demanding an answer.

One friend was an owl, because of how his hair tufted up in funny spots, so he was enduringly called “Owly.”

Another friend was a little turtle.

My best friend was a strawberry.

Of course she was, all pink and roses and fair skin and blonde hair, blue eyes and her heart-shaped face, she was, a pretty as a berry in a bowl of heavy cream, a strawberry.

“I want to know,” I repeated drinking down some of the aged rum in my glass, heady with the jerk chicken and the warm night, the smell of the rum wafting up, the hurricane candles warm in their red globes.

“Well, alright, and I repeat, I think they’re cute, but you, well, you’ve always reminded me of a sock monkey with your big red lips.”

“A sock monkey!”

My friend screamed with laughter at the crestfallen look on my face.

In my wildest imaginings I could never have put it down to that, a sock monkey, I was a sock monkey.

Fucking great.

Big red lips and all.

“Your mouth does scream blow job,” my friend laughed harder, tears streaming down her face.

I had gotten my comeuppance for having the audacity to be the only girl at the bachelorette party who had brought a penis party favor.

I was forever now the pornographic sock monkey.

My dear friend has been delightful enough to never let it go.

I still get a ribbing once in a while, a Christmas card with a sock monkey snow angel on it, or she’ll ask me to take a photograph next to a giant sock monkey at some boutique store we happen to be walking by on a rare visit back to Wisconsin.

“No.”

“No, I will not,” I say and cross my arms with a huff of annoyance.

My mouth twitching with a mixture of bemused irritation and pure love.

If she wanted it bad enough, I would take pictures of myself with sock monkeys.

I would do just about anything for her.

Scratch that.

I would do anything for her.

She is my person.

She has been there through the thick and the very scary and dark thin.

So when I got home today and saw a package sitting next to my door that had her name on it, I was surprised and gleeful.

Who doesn’t like getting a package in the mail?

It was thin, a bubble mailer, a card fell out.

I read it, I got tears on my face, god I love my friend so much and I am so grateful for her.  She saved my life, literally and figuratively and then literally again, and I owe her everything.

Yet.

She takes the time to write me a card and let me know that even with three boys and a husband and a full-time job and a house and it’s already snowing in Wisconsin life, she takes the time to send me something so small and dear and sweet.

I swoon with the magic of it.

That I get to have people like this in my life is such a blessing.

It’s not Thanksgiving yet.

Yet I have so much to be grateful and thank full for.

I am overwhelmed with love and good tidings and friends.

Blessed I am.

Graced.

And well accessorized.

I will be wearing my new necklace on the morrow.

And I may even make my way to Sycamore Street in the Mission District to take a picture of myself next to a flying sock monkey.

I did mean it when I said I would do anything for her.

 

 

Hello Stranger

Where you been?

I have taken the last couple of days away from the computer, the laptop, the internet, the interwebs, the social media, the facebooking, twittering, chirping, instagraming, tinder, okcupid of it all.

I have been busy living.

I am being a little oblique.

I understand.

Curiosity it killed the cat.

This may be one of the harder blog posts I write.

There was and is a very good reason I was offline for the last couple of days.  I mean, I wasn’t totally, I checked a few things on my phone, I’m not a Neanderthal after all, but I haven’t booted up the lap top to input the blog.

I have been, um, busy.

Yargh.

This is hard.

I just recall certain things that certain folks have passed a long for a little while now, snippets of suggestions, dollops of care, maybe I sound like your mother, but I love you, advice.

And you know what is happening?

I am listening.

I am really listening.

To my heart, to my gut, to my instincts.

There are truly some things that I am not going to write about.

I can’t.

Too much is at stake.

Therefor I stayed off the blog the last few days.

I let things unfold, I discovered what feelings were in real-time and had them and processed them and went about my life with new and unusual information about who I am and let myself enjoy the fuck out of it.

I will drop a few hints and if you should be curious, I know one or two of you might, please call me on that old-fashioned thing called a phone and we can have a chat and I can give you details.

There are details.

Be assured.

Some things that I am willing to cop to.

Number one.

Get Tinder off my phone.

Don’t want the app, not interested in using it, not needed, get thee gone.

Except I can’t figure out how to get it off my phone–it may have something to do with the fact that I never was successful at installing the app in the first place; it wouldn’t load and I spent more time watching the error sign come up then swiping left or right.

Second.

I killed OkStupid.

Yup.

It’s done.

I’m off the site.

Now.

I know my friends are some smart monkeys.

If a + b = c one might surmise that.

a. No OkCupid

b. No Tinder

c. No blog for last couple of days.

I will say no more.

See.

I can do this!

Not certain for how long I can keep the hat on it, but I am going to give things room to grow and breathe and be, myself included and keep focus on the practices that I am currently doing.

Writing, writing, and more writing.

Maybe if I’m not writing about certain things I can be writing my autobiographical statement for graduate school.

Not tonight.

I’m too tired.

I had a busy weekend.

I got behind on some things and played catch up a lot today.

For instance, my Sunday soul soup is still cooking on the stove–my food for the week is a vegetable three bean chili with brown rice–I didn’t get to the cooking for a little while today and it still needs a good hour of simmering on the stove.

I did have an awesome late lunch at Thai Cottage, but that’s not cooking for the week.

I did get groceries done, but far later in the weekend then I normally do, same with cleaning the in-law and doing laundry–one load left to go.

I was a little behind on things, I had my attention elsewhere.

I enjoyed that attention being elsewhere.

Especially as I head into a busy week.

One with dancing at the end of it and a lot of service thrown in between.

Two speaking engagements this week and it feels like there’s another lurking around the corner, but I can’t put my finger on it.

Thanksgiving is coming up, which is frankly weird, not the holiday, just that it’s so close already.

I had some plans for the day, and I still think that it will probably happen that I end up in the Castro with Honey and the orphans and take out and a movie matinée at the Castro Theater.

I have plenty to be giving thanks for.

I tell you what.

So many things.

Like already booking dates in December for Christmas parties and on into January for a night at the symphony (the San Francisco Symphony is doing a big screen viewing of the original God Father and the symphony will be playing the soundtrack to the movie).

I actually opened up my closet and started poking through it, could I wear that dress to the party, would this work for the symphony, what about those heels?  Are they too high?

I may have to go out and buy a holiday frock or two.

I can’t remember the last time I had plans around the holidays that required some more formal attire.

I have dresses, but they are not so formal.

Ah.

Yes.

What every woman needs, or just this woman, an excuse to go dress shopping.

I can handle dress shopping better than jeans shopping.

Yikes.

I really do have to buy a new dress, probably two, and maybe some new heels.

My ankle should be all healed up and ready to prance about.

Speaking of prancing, I shall be dancing this weekend too, very much looking forward to the party at the Armory and getting to see some friends who I haven’t had much chance to catch up with since Burning Man.

This party I have clothes for.

And I won’t be wearing heels too, oh no.

Sneakers.

I may lace them up with some pink ribbon shoe laces for flair, but I am wearing flats for my night out dancing.

No hurting the ankle.

Well, the soup is simmering, the tea is in the process of sipping, the night is young and full of stars.

Far away messages of mystery in the sky.

Dumped over the bowl of dark covering the ocean and beach, drizzling me in sweet dreams and delicious thoughts from the weekend.

~End vague blog~

 

If I Ever Have Kids

I’m hiring you.

Or that was the gist of what my friend said, in not quite so many words.

I ran into a friend today at the Farmer’s Market, he perused the fruit and vegetable stands with me, giving me ample shit for the amount of apples and persimmons I bought for myself as well as running to grab me a coffee from Ritual when I realized the coffee stand was not present at the market.

Had I known, I would have hit up Grand Coffee on Mission between 22nd and 23rd.

A person has to give it to Four Barrel to have the foresight to be setting up, ala Trouble Coffee, in a small walk up space on Mission Street in an area that is so rapidly becoming gentrified I almost miss the used and rent to own furniture stores on the street.

Almost.

I have to admit, I don’t mind the gentrification of the Mission.

Oh.

Yeah, sometimes it gets weird or strange to be in a neighborhood that I have known rather intimately and be run over by some kid who gives me a snotty look as I navigate the stroller down the sidewalk, but for the most part I really like having umpteen coffee shops and markets and art and nice things to look at.

It makes my work environment rather a treat and it was a treat to see my friend and to acknowledge to him later that he was a part of the process of getting the job.

Not directly, mind you, but through the vast amount of encouragement he gave me to find better work.  He and a number of my friends, including the one who did refer me to this current job, all said the same thing.

You can do better.

You can make more money.

You are amazing.

“You are stellar with kids.”

Thanks man.

I appreciate that.

I don’t have any plans to have any of my own, I was asked that yesterday by the nanny I met in the park who knew the boys from their previous nanny, I mean I am just trying to get a date up in here, let alone planning on having any little guys of my own.

Therefor I feel privileged to get to work with all the babies and toddlers and children I have gotten to work with.

It’s been quite a journey.

I really never expected to be a private, professional nanny, it just sort of happened on its own with me struggling against it for a very long time.

But when I acquiesced, said ok, let’s make this the career, things started to happen.

That’s not to say that I won’t pursue other goals, I really have to.

I couldn’t nanny like I do if I didn’t have outside aspirations.

I may not have a book offer, or a book I really feel like putting back out into the atmosphere, but just knowing that I do write and do have books in me and words and blogs and poems and such, it makes the nanny career palatable.

Enjoyable.

I have a well-rounded life.

A life that includes dancing too!

I was able, finally, after much messing around with my computer last night, to log onto the site and purchase tickets to Opulent Temple’s event Gratitude at The Armory, for next Saturday, November 22nd.

I will be doing my usual gig up in Noe Valley until about 10 p.m. then scooter over to the Armory down in the dirty Mission, and get my dance on.

The party goes until 2 a.m.

I doubt I will go that long, but I can if I want to, I can sleep in the following day, or nap, or not, but I have a chill Sunday next week, so far.

I have nothing happening this weekend.

Yet.

Who knows.

The weekend is not quite here yet.

And.

Oh dear.

I did it.

I just downloaded Tinder.

I have no idea if I am going to like this thing, but I am pretty over OkStupid, just not having any luck with it, nor have I gotten asked out over the last weekend, so, time to take an action.

Any action.

I know that action is the key to getting things happening.

I also know that Tinder may not be the thing that gets the date, it’s sort of like saying, hey, Universe, see look, I am trying new things, I do want some different results, what do you say?

Let’s go on some dates.

It could be amusing at the very least.

The app is still downloading to my phone so nothing to report yet.

Hahahaha.

See how impatient I am?

I decided to flip the dating switch and keep trying to do it.

I haven’t gotten much feedback from friends in regards to how they do it, the dating, that is, but I have gotten a lot of encouragement for putting myself out there, for asking guys out.

“You are so brave.”

Or stupid.

I’m not sure which.

However, as I pass another old growth tree in the Pan Handle on my way home from the days journey, I know that ultimately what I do with this life is of little lasting consequence.

Therefor, go for it.

I mean, why the hell hold back.

If there’s something you want to try.

Try.

If there’s somewhere you want to go.

Go.

I, speaking of which, want to go to Hawaii.

It’s come up again for me as a friend recently got back from a trip and the photographs she sent me as well as the coffee mug from Kauai Coffee with a hula girl on it and the tea and well, damn it.

I want to go.

So.

I’m going to.

I think there could be a conference or something I could hook into of like-minded people.

I know I will be heading to Atlanta in 2015 for one, I could probably do the same in Hawaii.

Anyway.

Thoughts for today.

I’m a great nanny.

I’m single and available for dating.

I’m going dancing next weekend.

And I want to go to Hawaii.

Ready Universe?

Go!

My Internet Is So Slow

I could hand write my blog and take a photograph of it and it would get posted via my Iphone faster than the laptop I am on.

Speaking of which.

Why is the site wonky?

I mean, I just got used to the new formatting, please stop changing it up.

I wasn’t grumpy before I tried to get online.

I am now.

However, I am online and I am blogging and all that hoop la, this too shall pass, stuff, shall, well, pass.

I just have a schedule, a plan, man, a timing thing and I don’t want to spend extra time dicking around trying to get online faster.

Like it works.

Me yelling does not work.

Me wanting to throw my laptop won’t work.

Me letting go, might work.

Letting it go when I have an agenda is super difficult.

Plan was to come home and do my household stuff and roll out my back on the yoga roller and make some tea, get online and get to the blog.

I would preface the blog by going to the e-mail thread between myself and a few friends and go buy the ticket to the Opulent Temple dance party, Gratitude, for Saturday the 22nd, but I couldn’t get the e-mail to load.

Then when I did, finally, I couldn’t get the site to access the ticketing window.

I have my debit card ready, let’s spend some money!

Alas.

Nothing.

I am amazed I was able to get this site loaded.

Not that I had anything to do with it, more sitting, sipping tea, letting my nails dry.

Maybe that’s all it was, God saying, don’t destroy your manicure typing, let those pretty paws dry for a moment.

Things they tend not to go my way and usually I am alright with that, my way is usually pretty narrow-minded and I never give myself the benefit of the doubt or the wide view, I wear some pretty heavy blinders.

I don’t see what’s good for me, nor do I often believe that the best is going to happen.

And that usually changes pretty quick, that perspective, because I do have faith and I have walked through a load of things.

I don’t have to be the perfect blogger with perfect internet connection or the perfect body or the perfect job, I’m doing pretty damn ok, despite my best efforts at undermining myself.

Life really is lovely.

And I am really grateful.

I am.

I think I am just a tiny bit tired.

The job is such full-time high energy I have to remember to pace myself.

It’s Wednesday, I have two more days to go, don’t throw it all at the wall.   Fortunately, the mom and I have a pretty good system worked out and I did have a nice sit down lunch today and some time to relax, but it’s still a push, by the end of the day I am tired.

I even had a coffee in the afternoon, which is unlike me.

The coffee-house stops before noon usually during the work week, I don’t want to be up with a brain going 80 mph before I go to bed.

But I have noticed, this week and last week, grabbing a cup of coffee at three, even four in the afternoon to give me a boost to finish the day out.

Tomorrow happens to be a favorite day, a busy day, granted, but it’s market day, Bartlett Street Farmer’s Market, and that’s a nice time with the boys and usually a sit down at the music area while they dance and a friend may join me for a coffee and that would be pretty great.

And today is done.

I’m pretty burnt toast, it’s coming across in my blog, I know, I don’t feel like I have a whole lot of juice in me, but the habit is so hard to break, that being write a blog that is 1,000 or more words.

So.

Kicking it out.

Not obsessing over dating.

Just doing the waiting for the next opportune time to get out there.

I will fess up, I tried to do Tinder last night, but my account information wasn’t syncing with the site and I couldn’t get it to process.

Rejection.

God’s protection.

Rejected from Tinder.

That’s some sad news.

Not really.

Probably just saved myself a month of hideous dates.

Who can say.

I do have some hope, the internet has not crashed, the ibuprofen is kicking in, my blog is getting written, I will go dancing soon, life isn’t all so bad.

I amuse myself.

Life, as I said earlier, really is good.

I have a good, steady, secure job.

I met a nanny today at the park with no health insurance, angling to get on her boyfriends, who works for four different families in and around the Mission.

No thank you.

Super glad, so glad, over the moon glad, that I have a job with one family that pays my bills and I like them.

It’s a relief to know where I am going and when the money will be deposited to my account and what days I work and what hours and what I am expected to do.

And.

I take a great deal of satisfaction from doing my job well, I am doing a great job and I know it.

That is a good feeling, to do a job well.

I don’t even need feedback, I know that I am living up to and beyond expectations.

This pleases me, even when I do get tired and feel like I need to regroup and rejuvenate.

I have a way to do that, too, go to bed a little early tonight.

I got up a little early to take a shower before (and her hair was perfect) work.  That is probably why I am a little more tired than normal too, I forgot I got up early.

I wanted to write before I went to work and take a shower.

That takes time.

And time, well, it all takes time.

Sometimes quickly.

Sometimes slowly.

I seem to get there slowly.

But me oh my.

The view is fine along the way.

You’re So, So Glittery!

“And happy!”

I smiled at him as he thanked me and said good night.

I don’t even know what the hell I said, but it was nice to have the feedback.

I got more than a little feedback today and I even got cat called.

Or cheetah called.

I’m not sure which, but it was most definitely in response to the pants I’m wearing which are leopard print and it amused me to no end to turn around and give the two guys behind me a little ribbing.

“Are you cat calling my pants?”

I laughed out loud and kept on walking.

They were indeed and probably me at the same time and I was ok with it.

Which was refreshing for me to notice as it was a distinct change in attitude from this morning.

I had woke up on the wrong side of the bed and was having conversations, out loud, mind you, with people not in the same room with me, and realized straightway that I needed to reboot my day, and it had not even started yet.

I actually told my head to shut up.

Also out loud.

“Shut the fuck up!”

Breathe.

And go back to reading today’s daily reflection.

Baha.

I knew though, that I really should do some writing, I didn’t want to carry crap with me all day long, besides, it’s a terrific way to die.

I mean, literally, if I am riding my bike to work with a head full of junk I am not paying attention to what is happening around me and I will get side swiped, or go down on some MUNI tracks.

Which almost happened yesterday when I went to work and the fog was so dense that I slipped on the tracks at Church Street and 17th.

That might be one of the worst feelings a bicyclist, at least in this city, can experience, that sliding out of the wheel from underneath you.

I caught myself.

I really don’t know how.

I should have gone down.

But my body tightened and pulled the bike up with me.

I wrenched myself up hard enough that my messenger bag swung off my back and around my stomach so that it was facing forward and awkwardly tucked under my arm.

I breathed in deeply, adjusted the bag and rode on.

That’s what I had to do this morning.

I could feel myself falling into a pit and I had to right myself immediately.

I sat down after I had some sustenance in my body and I wrote it all down, by the time I was a quarter of the way through the inventory I was getting insight, than perspective, then sweet, sexy, thank God relief.

I tucked my notebook back in my bag, I keep a small one in my messenger bag for jotting down notes and writing inventories when I need to out in the world, it’s also handy as I usually call and share it with someone, so to have written it knowing I would get to work a few minutes early, make a phone call, and cleanly unburden myself before stepping foot over the threshold at work.

Fresh slate.

Clean slate.

Time for a second cup of coffee, then onto my morning pages.

Writing, this daily practice, is so very good to me.

I realized this morning too, that I did not want to drop $60 on the BRAF Artumnal and I did not feel like asking any of my former employers for a discounted or gift ticket.

I just didn’t.

I would rather be fiscal within the parameters of my spending plan and go with the fund-raiser for Opulent Temple.

So that is my choice for dance venue a week from this Saturday, the 22nd, I will be shaking it with some friends at the Armory.  Vau de Vire will be there, Kink.com and lots of sexy dancing people.

Just what this lady needs.

$20 is still a bit for an event, but I have it in my entertainment category to spend some money on going out.  Had I known that G. love and Special Sauce were playing tonight at The Chapel I might have gone to see him, but it was too late for that decision, and I will be really happy to go dance at the Armory.

I also think I should do something the following weekend which is Thanksgiving.

I’m going to have a four-day weekend and want to get out and do some stuff.

I’ll most likely spend the day itself up in the Castro with Honey and cohorts, then off to a movie, most likely at the Castro Theater, with the gang of them.

It’s a long weekend and I could get out a do a few other things too, and dancing might as well be on that list.

And dating.

I am this close to Tinder.

Just to keep putting myself out there.

Just to keep practicing and trying things.

It doesn’t have to work, I am just being open.

Even if it is being open to the complete idiocy of another social media application in my life, I am willing to try different things to get different results.

I can’t just sit in my cheetah pants at home all the time.

Really, it would be a waste of good pants.

I am also going to be starting another inventory around sex and relationship stuff on Saturday and this too should bring some clarity and direction; it usually does.

God I am grateful to have these things in my life, community, fellowship, inventory, perspective from others, I really could not do it on my own.

When they say it takes a village, they were fucking right.

Thank God I have one.

I am so glad that I got to restart my day, that I allowed myself to pick up the simple kit of spiritual tools laid at my feet and use them.

I had a fabulous day as a result.

And got to glitter for someone.

That’s a happy day indeed.

 

Boogie Nights

Some of the ladies have been reaching out to me about dancing.

Ladies.

I am down.

Downtown down.

Let’s do it down.

Let’s get down.

At the moment the two options on the table are the Opulent Temple benefit at the Armory on Saturday the 22nd of this month.  The other is the BRAF (Black Rock Arts Foundation) Artumnal.

Burning Man people

Actually Opulent Temple would be a lot of Burning Man folks too.

The BRAF part is expensive though, $60.

The Opulent Temple $20.

Either way, I am going out dancing.

I am ready to do it.

Get out and shake some tail feathers.

I mean, yes, I did go out dancing on Halloween, but it was an amateur dj, I mean, I love that the venue was of service, but it wasn’t the quality or caliber of music I like to get down to.

It would be divine to have some grooving on the dance floor.

And maybe ask someone on a date.

I need to get myself back in the mix.

I don’t know what next, but yes, that thing when you ask someone out.

I just haven’t anyone on my radar at the moment.

Suggestions?

OkCupid is just not panning out, I mean, I have had a profile on this site for years, I think I may have had a date or two that went well, but for the most part, really not good fishing.

Time to move to another pond.

I know all the kids are doing Tinder and I have waffled on whether or not to try it.

I get the distinct impression it’s really about hooking up with someone, not dating so much, but casual sex partners.

Nothing wrong with that, but I’m not sure I’m ready to peddle myself out like that.

There was little opportunity for me this weekend.

Well.

That’s not entirely true.

My friend who helped me with the scooter is someone I have on again off again considered, but he’s such a heavy smoker, I just can’t take it.

Anytime I think I might want to kiss him, there’s a smoke in his mouth and riding in his vehicle is like being in a giant rolling ashtray.

He doesn’t give a shit and figured he’d be dead by thirty, so smoke ’em if you got ’em Johnny, but I’ll pass on asking you out on a date just because of that.

I did talk to a guy Saturday about going out, but we got our wires crossed and didn’t end up exchanging numbers.

It felt good, though, to ask, to not be hung up on the last dating experience I had, and move on.

I’m not going to be sad Sally sitting by the phone.

Nope.

I got things to do, places to be, boys, er men, to kiss.

As a friend recently pointed out he was a little concerned that the only guys I was seeing were 2 and 4.

Those would be the monkeys I nanny for.

And wow.

They were a handful today–first day back, Monday, longest day for me on the job, swimming lessons, up and down routine, and a grand temper tantrum from the oldest boy.

Which happens, but they can be exhausting.

Temper tantrums usually stem from an inability to express or communicate what is needed, and often times are exacerbated because the child wants something and knows how to get it be throwing a tantrum.

I’ve seen a few in my time.

I just patiently wait them out and go about doing my thing, but it’s hard, and it can get exhausting and I was looped by the end of the day.

Not tired enough to not cast an eye about my environs this evening for a possible dating candidate, but no one stirred my interest.

I thought about one guy, and then thought, nope, he’s sweet, I know him through friends, but there’s nothing there, just friendship.

I have another guy who always tries to engage with me, we went on a date a few months before I moved to Paris, he was unaware I was moving he told me at the date, and was only interested in pursuing something that would have longevity.

Which was fine with me, it was the easier softer way to let him down, he excused himself from the pool before I could turn him down.

But I see him on the occasion and he’s definitely interested and I am definitely not.

He has not asked and I won’t even give him an opening, and I know better than to suggest we go out just to fulfill my goal of a date a week.

That would be a shoddy thing to do to someone.

I’ve got to be principled about this the best way I can and show up as my best self.

My passionate self, mind you, I still want that, the singing in the blood, the pull of the moon on my heart, the flutter in the stomach, the shyness, then the boldness, the touch of electricity that zips and zings along my nerve endings, I got to have that.

So dancing it seems like a good place to start.

I get to be myself, I love to dance.

I get to dress up.

I get to be sexy.

I get to flirt.

And hopefully I will get an interested party.

I don’t doubt something will come of it.

And in between, I keep focusing on today, and showing up, and doing the next actions in front of me for graduate school.

For instance–I received an e-mail back from the admissions department and the program that I want to apply to, I do NOT have to write the 8-10 page academic paper with sources.

Yes!

I still have a letter of intent, a CV to formulate, and an autobiographical statement to write, but really, I do that almost every day.

The letter of intent is one page, the CV will be one page, the autobiographical statement is 6-8 pages.

I got that down.

I have one more letter of recommendation to secure from a second source, and to order my transcripts on-line this week.

Plenty to keep me occupied.

And then.

The dancing.

Oh yes.