The Cat’s Out of the Bag



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.




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 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.


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.


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.






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.



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