Bonsoir

by

Indeed.

It is a beautiful night out there and I am planning on wearing some sandals tomorrow.

The energy is full on rut out there as well.

Folks all gussied up.

High heels and spring dresses.

Boys out in their t-shirts with no jackets.

The bar scene a riot of activity already.

The line at Safeway for booze off the hook.

FYI shopper in aisle one through three you cannot self check out your booze, nice try underage girls.

I had to laugh when I was checking out.

The folks in front of me had a bottle of Tanqueray, the big guy, and a bottle of Shwepp’s tonic, a small guy, you might need more mixer there hey.

Or not.

Then there was me with, I kid you not, 8 lbs of apples and a gallon and a half of unsweetened vanilla almond milk and some organic black berries.

After me, divided from the haul of apples I purchased (they were so pretty and they’ve been on sale and I don’t usually buy apples from Safeway, but I tried this one and was pretty impressed–the Envy–reminds me a bit of a Jonagold but slightly denser and sweeter) and almond milk was the gentleman behind me.

One handle of vodka.

Four large bags of gummy bears.

FOUR.

And not the small packet, either, rather the large like 64 oz ones.

In addition, one pack of Dixie cups.

All I could think was that it was some sort of party shot–Gummy Bears and vodka anyone?

Otherwise, the man needs some serious help.

Speaking of serious help, a lot of crazy out there too, not alcohol crazy, although that might be playing a factor in the mix, but crazy crazy.

I had to call the cops on a woman at the park who was having an episode in the public bathrooms at Mission Pool and Playground.

I wasn’t sure if she was getting high in a stall, but she was profane, like Tourette’s profane and loud and she was scaring the crap out of the boys.

Which, though I am deep in the potty training phase with the youngest boy, is not how I want to induce him to poop.

I asked her to quiet down and she screamed and said call the cops and go gentrify the Mission some more.

Hate to break it to you lady, I’m not the one gentrifying the Mission.

I’m barely paying rent in the Outer Sunset.

Suffice to say when the swearing and screaming didn’t tone down, I did call the police.

She freaked out and almost attacked me, but rushed out of the bathroom instead.

The five-year old was spooked, but neither boy saw the woman and both of them accepted my explanation that she was sick and the police were going to come and help her.

Which they did.

She ran out of the bathroom, dashed through the park, then into the American Sign Language after school program.

At least the kids didn’t hear 18 different shades of “fuck” and “cunt” and “bitch.”

Grateful I didn’t have to have a physical alteration and more grateful that the police officer had Jr Police Officer stickers for the boys and they shook their hands and introduced themselves while I made the statement.

I may be pausing in this blog to take a phone call from the Frenchman.

It’s been interesting watching this unfold.

I’m, so far, mildly interested, but mostly because he’s so literate and artistic and says all the right words about French art and cinema and he did theater in New York and it sounds so completely different from my ex that I am intrigued.

I am still gunning for a sober guy.

FYI.

But I’m going to let myself practice with guys outside the fellowship.

He wants to meet me and is intrigued by me and that’s nice and I’m sure he’s sweet.

However.

Holy shit that was too long a phone call.

I just got held hostage, although, I must say I did participate in the allowing myself to stay on the phone too long.

It was nice to talk to someone who knows Paris and reminisce a little about my time there and actually speak a little French.

Just enough to get me in trouble as they say.

Ah dating.

I said I would meet for coffee, but I think we are not quite the match.

It is nice to talk to a man about art though, he’s a professional lithograph restorer as well as a frame maker and artist with a little studio in a cottage in Pac Heights.

Rent control oh how I am jealous.

Dating.

I don’t care if I do and I don’t care if I don’t.

Right now it’s about being free about trying it and seeing if anything happens but not having expectations or hopes.

Just being me and acting if it appears appropriate.

This phone call was practice.

And if I am bored, which I was a little by the end, it’s a tell.

So perhaps not a date.

I don’t know.

It could be that I am tired too.

It’s been a full week.

All the emotions around graduate school, busy week with the boys, lots of bicycling, I’m tired and that’s not much of a surprise.

I am going to sleep well tonight.

The ocean is soft in the back ground.

The night is warm enough that I had the majority of my half hour conversation on the pack patio in my pajamas and bare feet.

I have a fresh sparkly pedicure ready for sandals tomorrow and a baby shower to go to in Berkeley.

I’m going to play the rest of the day by ear, but I suspect I will be around the Inner Sunset around 6 p.m. and possibly back out to the beach by sunset.

I’ll be enjoying the down time no matter what.

Bonne nuit.

My chickadees.

And happy fucking weekend.

Sorry.

Crazy lady rubbed off a little.

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