And So It Goes


I wore the wrong underpants today.

Jesus.

They are cute, not sexy, wearing sexy panties to work is weird when you’re a nanny.

But man, they did not work with the outfit today.

I was wearing my favorite pair of painters bibs and I just picked the wrong pair, I mean truly.

On the bicycle ride home I was almost as fixated with my underwear as I was with my surroundings.  The speed and essence of the bicycle ride was almost negated by the uncomfortable riding.

I couldn’t wait to get home into my yoga pants.

Which caused me to forget my underwear woes and reflect on what an amazing difference a week can make.

Last week this time I was dodging bullets, well, perhaps not bullets, but fireworks, police squad cars, mobs of San Francisco Giants fans, drunks, the random flag waver, cars with howling people shouting, ‘let’s go Giants,’ cars honking, lots of honking cars, and the desire to get home as quickly as possible to change out of my nanny attire into appropriate date attire.

Which did not include said yoga pants.

I mean, I think I look cute in my comfy cozy with my hair done up at the back of my head, but I don’t look like date night.

Last Wednesday was a pretty explosive date night, lots of fireworks, this Wednesday, nada.

It’s done.

Or so it would seem.

I mean, I cannot ever know what a person is thinking, but it’s done.

That’s what it feels like.

And like picking my underwear out of my bum, wrong panties, cute, sort of sexy, purple, frilly things, I apparently can’t pick out guys either.

I mean, I know it’s all a crap shoot, but I have been told before that my picker is broken and it would seem to be the truth.

The thing is, despite rejection being God’s protection, as I was so pithily told today, I still think I had a moment, a minute, a sly, secret hope, that maybe, just maybe, there was something more to come.

No.

No phone calls.

No text messages.

No future date.

And that’s great.

That’s all the information I need.

Move on lady pants.

In better underpants.

So how to do that?

How to keep going out and doing the dating thing if what I am attracted to is not a good fit?  How do people do this thing, this weird relationship thing?

I got to know.

It really feels like this is the time.

I don’t ever recall being at a better place in my life and since I have been in some craptacular relationships when I was in horrid places, wouldn’t it make sense that now that I am in a really good place, I would be in some really good relationships?

Of course.

I am.

I am in a great relationship with myself, I love myself and I can say that without cringing, which, man oh man, there was a time and in the not too distant past, when I could not say that without making a moue with my mouth.

Now.

Well.

I do it every morning.

After I have had my coffee, after I have had my prayers and reading and oatmeal, and I have written for a while and did the hair and the makeup and packed the messenger bag and secured a second cup of joe for the road, then I look at myself in the mirror and I say:

“I love you and I forgive you.”

Then I smile.

Because, god damn it, it’s true.

I love this woman I am and I love the person I am becoming, I know there’s more growth and more challenges and I feel capable of walking through them.

Oh.

I know.

There will be feelings and emotions, I just cannot seem to get past that, but there will be growth and beauty and art and love.

Whether it is love of the women I work with or the women who work with me, or my friends or the fellows in my community, I have strong intimate relationships.

I just don’t have a romantic one at the moment.

I did think that it was coming down the pipe line with this past guy and that’s on me.

I accept that I had expectations without even realizing that I had them.

There they were.

Sneaky little fuckers.

However.

To be honest.

To not put too fine a point on it.

I cannot recall having had that kind of chemistry in a really long time and I think the hormones just blew me the fuck out of the planet.

It’s good to have that feeling.

I believe that it is vital and necessary to be attracted to the person you are dating.

I mean, it just makes sense.

And between last Monday night and Wednesday night I was sugar-coated in desire.

It’s not a bad place to be.

And like a good little addict, I want more.

Since the source seems to have dried up it’s time to go procure elsewhere.

That is not to say that I am so callous as to think I can substitute one man for another.

Rather that I don’t want to sit, lonely girl style, next to the silent telephone.

I have too much life to give and too much love to give.

And damn it.

I am a fabulous kisser.

Let me not waste the sexy sitting in a corner, let me not put Baby there, and let me loose out into the world.

Just, um, help me, will you?

Point me in a different direction.

I am wearing blinders, I always have, and I can’t see off to the sides, the man who might be in the periphery, the person I could be going out with if I wasn’t focused on “what if I had done it different.”

If it was meant to be you can’t fuck it up.

If it wasn’t meant to be, you can’t manipulate it into happening.

There is no going back.

Just moving forward.

With kindness, compassion, and forgiveness for the experience.

Because damn it.

I am worth it.

 

“I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.”

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