EVERYTHING IS ANNOYING*

*Written last night, internet down, posting today.

I cannot tell you how many people I called cunt in my head tonight, today, this afternoon, as I rode my bicycle about town.

I suppose it had something to do with having to go to Traffic Court, or it could be that Mercury is rising.

Is that a band name?

I have no idea why I was in a snit, but snit I have been in.

Adding insult to injury, the goddamn Internet is down.

I want a reduction in my utility bill!

That’s where my brain goes first.  Then maybe it goes elsewhere, like, I should just move.  Nothing says dramatic over reaction than that.

I don’t want to move, I do want to get online and the shitty connection is always a little shitty, but I think the landlord has issues with it as well, it’s not like it’s just me.

My perspective is that it’s always about me, I am being thwarted, I shake my hand at the internet gods, get your act together, motherfuckers, I have stuff to do online, blogs to post,  facecrack to troll, videos to download, I have things to do, dontcha know.

Nothing about today seemed to go my way, though, truth be told, and I am a truthful person, nothing really went wrong, it was just a compilation of small annoyances, like that kid in middle school who never has a pencil or a piece of paper or the book for the class and always wants to borrow yours and you just keep handing out the stuff, until you pop the day he asks for a pencil.

That’s what today felt like.

Nothing is wrong, but everything is bugging me.

I know that means I am the asshole, but I could not seem to get out-of-the-way of the thoughts.

And that is just how it goes sometimes, you just have a day, dinner was not great, but I ate, I got a manicure, but they did a crap job, I went to Traffic Court and decided to plead no contest.

I just did not want to have to go to 850 Bryant again.

I was done with it.

I was done with it before I got there even though I was trying to have a good attitude and show up and be polite, which I was, I was nice, no body knew that my brain was eating me alive, I was polite as home-made apple pie with sharp cheddar cheese melted on top and vanilla ice cream on the side.

I mean, polite.

The time at the 850 started with a perspective altering moment and I guess I just keep coming back to that, no matter how off kilter I feel, I was not feeling as off kilter as the woman I ran into in the bathroom at ye olde Hall of Justice.

She was having a bad day.

That’s about all I could surmise, I did not stay to have a conversation about it.

I did think about telling a cop I saw in the hallway, then I was like, isn’t it bad enough, do I need to make her life worse?

It can’t be a good day when you’re naked in the bathroom on the first floor of 850 Bryant.

No need for me to compound it because you and your nakedness got in the way of me using the toilet.

“Jesus!” I exclaimed and back out, literally backwards, looking to flag over the cop sitting on a bench in the hallway.

Then I paused.

Who am I?

No body special, just another person in line at Traffic Court trying to reduce their fine.

I am not the cops and I don’t need to police anyone’s behavior.

After that, though I wanted to be upset about the situation, I really couldn’t be.

I mean, I got off easy is how I figure.

My life is nowhere near that bad.

And it hasn’t been in sometime.

When I got home tonight I just took out the reduced fine paperwork–$115 from $197—and filled out the check, stuck it in the envelope and sealed it.

I slapped a Christmas stamp on it, can you tell how often I use the postal system, and it’s ready to go out in the mail tomorrow.

I balanced my checkbook and it’s done.

No more work to be missed.

No more fines to be paid.

I even got out of there faster than I thought I would and tried to go over to the DMV to stake out a place in line and try to take the written test for the motorcycle license.

But when I saw the line snaking out into the parking lot, I said, “fuck that.”

And I got back on my bicycle and hit it to 7^th and Irving.

I got a manicure.

I had my eyebrows waxed and tended to like the wild little garden they are.

I had a spot of tea.

I sat for an hour and got right with God.

I still wanted to smack people while I was riding my bike home, but I took it slow and navigated the Friday night crazy parking mess of Irving and got back without incident or further traffic tickets.

I contemplated running out to the market on my bike, and then realized that I was not in the best mood, not in the mental space to be on my steed any longer.

Sometimes it’s better to just make do with what’s in the fridge than venture out further, I parked the bike in the garage and called it a day.

I still don’t have any Internet, but I do have a blog written and I do have a teacup with some tea and a nice apple to be had, and I made it through the day.

Perhaps not as gracefully as I would have liked.

But at least I was clothed for it.

Small miracle, that.

NOT GUILTY

Ahem.

Just practising.

Let me try that again.

“I am not guilty.”

Ok.

That’s not true.

I just don’t want to pay the $197 for the ticket.

Can’t I just say that I’m sort of guilty.

I stopped, I had my foot down, I looked both ways before crossing the street, mom, I mean officer, I mean, what the fuck do I mean?

Ugh.

So, off to the notorious traffic court tomorrow to see which way the winds be blowing.

Hopefully the court will call my name first, doubtful, but hey a gal can hope, then I can go get a manicure.

I thought about that today and for just a moment was going to run over to Cole Valley, pick up my nanny clogs, and get a clean manicure.

I have a great manicure right now, pink sparkles, and there’s nothing wrong with my Converse and I have to nanny before I go to court, so what ever I wear is going to have to be nanny proof anyhow.

I am not going to dress up for court.

I will be respectful and on time and I will pay whatever fine the judge hands down.

I will not argue.

I will state exactly what happened, and keep all short cop small dick jokes to myself, I will be polite, calm, and rational.

That will be my outfit, a person of principle.

And I will be nice.

I think that about covers it.

I will also not be rushing around like a mad woman in the morning trying to get up early and scoot into the DMV.

Nope.

I made an online appointment today for the first available day that make sense–Tuesday, March 25th at 10:35 a.m.  I just sent off an e-mail to my employers and asked that I be given the morning off.  I would rejoin the boys at noon.

I can’t imagine that with an appointment it will take me longer than an hour and a half to do the whole she-bang.

Now all I have to do tomorrow is show up for work, a little early to help out with my early departure, and show up at 850 Bryant for my 3 p.m. court date.

Showing up is almost always the true battle.

It will be an experience I can then cross off my bucket list.

Just kidding.

Traffic court has never been, nor I believe ever will be, on my bucket list.

Hmmm.

When was the last time I thought about that?

Things that I want to do before I die.

Not that I am planning on knocking off anytime soon.

I wonder, too, if having certain things is equatable to having certain experiences.

For instance, I really want a Jeep Wrangler 4.0 Sport.

Don’t ask me why, but I have always wanted one, always, since I was a kid, might be the first car I ever wanted to own.  Something about it spoke to me and it still speaks to me.

I want to take said Jeep on a long road trip to Alaska and see the Northern lights.

I also want to take said Jeep to Joshua Tree, never been, ditto, the Grand Canyon, I would like to drive the entire Highway One from the top to the bottom, and camp on as many beaches as I can.

Other things to do or go–Hawaii.

I am Polynesian and I have never been, time for that to happen.

I would really like to see Venice, Barcelona, Cape Town, Amsterdam, Bruges, the Pyramids in Egypt.

I want to go to Coachella.

I want to learn how to hang glide.

Go skydiving.

I would like to go to the Caribbean.

See the Galapagos.

I would like to sail around the world.

I think that would be fantastic.

Charter a catamaran and go.

Love to see the Greek Islands.

I do, at some point, want to get my MFA in Creative Writing.

Do you think there will ever be one for blogging?

I could master that.

Hot air ballooning.

Bicycle through the Loire Valley.

See Niagara Falls.

Go to New York.

Actually, I think that last one is closer than I think it is.

Lots of this stuff is, I don’t doubt that I will do the vast majority of it, I don’t know how or why or when, but I can see doing a lot of it and I am sure that more will be revealed as far as what I like to do and what.

I still find that I am finding out what I like and want to do and that is exciting.

I have to keep on the learning groove.

Showing up for tomorrow is just another experience to add to the richness and depth of my life.

I found myself up in Pacific Heights last weekend, and will again this Saturday, and just the view alone blew me away.

I have seen it before, but it is always breath-taking–the Bay, the green capped hills of Marin, the Golden Gate spanning the water, the islands in the distance–Tiburon, Angel Island, Alcatraz–the deep sky cupping the world in light and fog, it is something else.

I have already done and seen so much, I have come so far, and then to call San Francisco my home, to see the Golden Gate Bridge and the Bay Bridge on so frequently that I can take them for granted.

Or the dome of the Palace of Fine Arts, the Presidio, or the Marina green, the very Bay itself or the ocean, I am surrounded by all this beauty and lushness and am probably living, daily, someone’s bucket list dreams.

I do know that the traffic court is not something that I really want to show up for, but I can consider it a gift that I can, that I get to do so, that I will walk in and take responsibility for my actions and leave a free woman to go explore some more of this lovely life I lead.

In this beautiful city.

My city.

San Francisco.

Future Tripping

Does not suit me.

I can’t figure it out and I am going to just have to let it go.

I got asked to work early on Friday, which is apropos, as I will be leaving early to go to 850 Bryant and contest my bicycle ticket.

Plea?

Not guilty.

I did not run the red sir, I just slowly meandered through the intersection after looking both ways.

I swear.

Gah.

Tonight on my ride home I had the privilege of going slow, I mean I don’t need a ticket right before I go contest the other, and got to see a drive, without signalling, whip a bitch in the middle of the intersection on Irving at 22nd while also on the phone.

And why am I going to court?

Ugh.

So, nope I won’t also be going to the DMV before work on Friday.  I don’t believe there will be enough time.

I mean, there’s the off-chance that there might, but it will be tight and I don’t then want to rush off to work, again, avoiding rushing until I get through the court date.

So, no motorcycle written test this Friday.

I am bummed.

But it will happen and it just means that not this weekend shall I be scooter’ing off into the sunset.

I actually dreamt that I was riding my scooter through the Presidio this morning.

That was the dream that I was having when I woke up.

It was very clear and I could smell the Eucalyptus trees and the sharp sweet smell of the bark peeling down from the trunks.

I guess you could say I am focused on the scooter, at least my sub-conscious is.

One of the mom’s asked me today if I had gotten my license yet and I told her I had not, the conundrum being that I am always working during the time the DMV is open.

She said that I should make an appointment and that they would cover the time.

Duh.

I have vacation days still.

Ask for a morning off.

I can’t for next Monday, mom’s got a dentist appointment, but I am going to see if  perhaps I can for the week following, that should be enough heads up for everyone.  I also wouldn’t have to take the whole day off.

Or, maybe I would.

I could see my friend who I am getting the scooter from, give him another payment, and pick up the scooter, after, of course, successfully finishing the written test.

I may just do that.

Trying to figure it out.

Even though I know that I am not the best at that.

It is not doing me any bad waiting a little longer either.

I have a bicycle.

It works great.

And it didn’t rain, much, on me today while I did my commute.

A little sprinkle right  at 5:30 p.m. as I was navigating my way from Cole Valley to the Inner Sunset, but by the time I was heading home, it was cleared up.

Yeah, I think I am going to do that, I will see if I can make an appointment for the Monday of the 24th or the 17th.  I can just take the morning off and go back to the Cole Valley gig and do it that way.

Good gravy.

I just tried to go into the website and do just that, set up an appointment, but the damn site is down on “March 5th for repairs to the system”.

Oh.

I see.

Future tripping.

Bring it back to today.

What is going on right now and what has happened and what can I do here with the rest of my evening.

I set up a photo blog post tonight, look here, with some photographs I took earlier on a walk about with the charges.   I had fun with the boys and the eldest is practising his jumping.

Very adorable.

The little boy reunion was a lot of shoving and pushing and hugging and waving and taking food from the other and sliding and demands for being picked up, and snuggles and more hugs and kisses and walks and Golden Gate kids playground.

And creepy, spooky, super meth’ed out bozo bag lady getting off the bus at the stop on Haight Street right next to the Whole Foods.

We were trying to pass, and the double stroller can be a big thing to manuever, but it doesn’t help when crazy meth lady is doing her jitterbug dance of tweak.

One of the things I love about the double stroller is that the boys each have their own separate seat area and cover awning, so if one is asleep, like the smallest one was, I can recline his seat and drop the awning down over his head for undisturbed rest.

Unless there is gross homeless party in the park meth happening, dread headed nasty piece actually reached into the stroller to push up the hood and coo over the baby.

Back the fuck up bitch.

I almost hit her.

I pushed her hand off the stroller hood and jammed by, I was actually a little shocked, I have had a lot of homeless kids and bums try to interact with the boys, but it was the first time one of them had gotten that close to either of them.

There’s a lot of homeless kids around the park and I mostly ignore them and say, “thank you God for not having me be a homeless kid in the park today with a dog,” under my breath.

You think I kid?

I do not.

I have been a homeless kid with a dog.

I don’t ever want to go back there again.

Although I loved the hell out of Layla, the border collie I had with Elliot down in Florida when we were exploring what homelessness looks like at age 17 and 19, outside of Miami, in Homestead.

I am not about to go there again.

No thank you.

So, if all I have to complain about today is that I don’t have an appointment made yet to get my motorcycle license, I can safely say, that today was a good day.

And it was.

When Is It Gonna Happen?

I had to cancel the appointment I made for the written test for the motorcycle lisence.

I was going to take my Thursday charge, pop in, pop out, and be off to the park.

But my conscience wasn’t having it.

I don’t know that I want to bring anyone that I dislike into the DMV with me, let alone a two-year old that I adore.

I also got some input from a friend about how long the process would take and it’s not going to be done in a half hour or forty-five minute time frame.

When it’s going to get done I don’t know.

I may actually have to take time off to do it or I will have to go at the crack of dawn, or so it feels to me, 8 a.m.

Who the hell wants to start their day at 8 a.m. at the DMV?

Yick.

But that’s the only way I can see around it.

The DMV is not open on Saturdays or Sundays, I used to recall that it was on Saturday, but no, the hours listed say definitively that the office is closed on the weekend.

And it closes by 5 p.m. M-F.

My start time is, depending on what part of town I am in, 8:45-9a.m.

My end time is, again depending on where I am in the city, 5p.m.-6p.m.

So basically my only get in is going to be to take time off from work.

I had thought that perhaps I could sneak in on Friday after court, but my friend, same friend with the motorcycle information, said it could take up to three hours to get through.

Three hours?!

Ugh.

In my dream scenario I go in, the judge takes a look at the ticket, says it’s bullshit, recognizes I am a valuable citizen who was not trying to break any laws, just expedite getting home from a long day riding the mean streets of San Francisco, and waive the ticket.

All in twenty minutes.

Ha.

Now, Friday is also not always an early start for me, sometimes I don’t have to be in the Castro until 10:30 a.m.

Therein lies my opportunity, me thinks, to get the written test out-of-the-way.

Friday, 8 a.m. DMV, Fell Street, be there or be square.

Then I will get to work, then  I will go to 850 Bryant and tackle the ticket.

I don’t know if that’s the nicest thing to do to myself though, double dip in the city’s system.

No one wants to go to 850 Bryant.

No one wants to go to the DMV.

To do them both on the same day seems masochistic.

Perhaps I can wait until next Friday to take the written test.

I am just bummed, not horribly, but I was hoping that I would get it out-of-the-way and be driving my scooter around the city this weekend.

Everything else has fallen into place so nicely in regards to the process, the safety course, the helmet and other accoutrement, so I guess I have been expecting the same with the licence part.

If I look at it with a tiny, teeny, tiny, bit of perspective though, I realize that since I have lived in San Francisco I have only been to the DMV three times.

Maybe four.

Definitively three.

I think one time I walked in, saw the line, walked out and went home and made an online appointment to come back another day.

That’s not bad numbers for having lived here for over eleven years.

And I have never been to court in San Francisco.

I have gone to 850 Bryant a whole bunch, just not to court.

I used to work for a small criminal law firm that was located kitty corner from the 850 Bryant and would whirl in and out dropping off files or paperwork for the attorneys.

This too is some good odds, only once in eleven years to go to court.

Not too shabby.

And for all things a bicycle ticket.

Not exactly getting crazy up in here.

Just kicking it with some glitter nail polish, that’s about as risky as it’s getting for me at the moment.

Other than that stuff on my plate, it was a pretty good day in nanny town.

The charge and I got out to the Discovery Museum in Sausalito, or right there outside of it at Camp Baker.

The view is just amazing.

Even if you have no desire or need to go to the museum–and really anyone going is going with kids under 8 years old–the view from the parking lot is worth the drive.

You get to see the back side of the Golden Gate and the view of the city across the bay is spectacular.

My charge had an awesome time.

As soon as I cleaned up the vomit he threw up in the car seat, I had an awesome time too.

He got carsick coming down the twisty road leading off the Alexander Exit.

I love driving it, but not so much fun for a younger passenger.

Fortunately there were back up clothes and though the day was over cast, it was not raining and it was great to go play in the tot area, the pirate cove, to go dig around the shipwrecked boat, to hand him a shovel and pail and a hard hat and let him go to town was awesome.

Even ran into a friend I don’t see much of since he moved to Marin with his partner and their baby.

Who, when I smiled at her, walked right over and plunked herself down in my lap.

Her mom said, “oh, she doesn’t usually do that with other moms”.

I smiled.

“I’m a nanny,” I said, “that’s my charge and usually I have two, so this feels just about perfect.”

I kissed the little girls head and she smiled at me and let me bounce her on my lap.

Nice.

Another mom tried to say hi to my charge and he burst into tears.

“Oh, no,” scary mommy said.

He was ok, it was just intense, sometimes I think we forget that they are little and things get overwhelming and they don’t move the same speed, especially in a new environment.

Plus, she zoomed up to him like he was the cutest thing on earth.

And yeah, he is, but you got to get on his level.

That’s what works best, just get on the floor and let them crawl all over you.

Ah.

I am starting to ramble and I don’t know where the blog is headed.

Suffice to say, there is no rush to get the licence.

It will happen when it’s suppose to.

I have wheels until it does.

No need for my to force a solution, it will happen naturally and when it’s suppose to.

Besides, I ride my bike past that office three times a week, I have the handbook in my bag and my paper work ready to go, when the window opens.

I will be ready.

Respond, Damn It

Not react.

Oh, lord.

The price of perfection.

I responded to a work request this afternoon, ignoring the faint alarm bells of doom going off in my head, with an affirmative, I can do that and awesome, how great.

Except.

Well, uh.

I can’t actually do it.

When I realized, quickly, oh so quickly after I had sent off the text that I could not do what had been requested, in fact, I had to put in a request to be done early on the day in question, I was horrified.

I mean, horrified.

Then I saw it.

Perfection, rearing its ugly head.

It had a great hair day, but it was still perfection.

Followed closely on the heels of that cock tease, people pleasing.

God damn.

How long does this go on for?

The wiring in my brain is so off.

I am so good at taking care of everybody else.

Me, not so much.

Although, I can and do recognize, when I am not hyperventilating into a plate of salad and scrambled eggs at Crepevine, that I have made strides, tremendous strides really in my self-care.

But sometimes, well, I back slide.

I don’t listen to that quiet inner voice, the one that says, uh you have something else going on, perhaps a pause here is called for.

I ignore it, because I really want to be helpful and accommodating and I want to please my employers.

As though the awesome care I provide is not enough.

It’s not even that I wouldn’t have done what was asked for, I am happy to be of service in the way the mom requested, I just forgot about the court date for my bicycle ticket.

March 7th.

Which is next Friday.

How the hell is that possible?

It’s the 27th of February.

February.

You cold whore you.

You short month of doom.

Already filled with unexpected bills and now short notice on my time too.

Add Valentines Day to the mix and just combust the entire month.

Ah.

It’s not the bad, I just got caught short.  I had intended to tell my employer about the date as well too, but had not.  I am human.

I forgot.

I hate that I did.

I hate that I am human and not perfect and not on top of it all.

I mean, I could cut myself some slack here, I am on top of a lot of other things.

But sometimes the stress of juggling three different nanny gigs per week really gets to me.  The continuity that I develop in one home is completely tossed out the window after mid-week and I have to think of my schedule, their schedule, what home am I in, do I need to bring lunch, dinner, snacks, etc.

It gets overwhelming.

My solution?

I was going to get up early tomorrow and ride my bicycle in the forecasted rain to 850 Bryant and stand in line at Room 145 and beg for a forbearance on the case–to push it forward instead of having to attend court next Friday.

I was until I found out that it being so close to the day of the case I may not be able to do so unless it’s an emergency in nature.

I can miss two hours of work on a Friday.

It’s not an emergency, except in my head.

I mean, the thought of getting up early to ride 30-35 minutes downtown during rush hour traffic on my bicycle in the rain so that I would be able to cover two hours of work next week is idiotic.

I would be breaking traffic laws to get there on time.

Now, wouldn’t that be ironic?

Getting a another ticket on my way to arrange a postponement on my ticket.

No thanks.

Then I thought, I will take MUNI.

Oh, like, that’s a good guarantee I will get there and then to work on time.

Then I thought, well, I will just suck it up and take a cab.

That is even sillier.

The cost of taking a cab from my house in the Outer Sunset to 850 Bryant would be astronomical and would cancel out whatever small revenue I would bring in next Friday with the 2 and a half hours I need to leave early.

So the pain of people pleasing and perfection had to be negated and fast.

I sat and talked it out with someone and asked her for suggestions and how to let go of it and what to do and I got some suggestions.

None of which I wanted to hear.

But all of which rang true.

The difference between feeling good, hiding in bed watching 7 hours of Netflix House of Cards, and taking care of myself, are two entirely different things.

I really want to do the thing that feels good, not the thing that is good self-care.

Perfection, but at what cost?

Not a cost I am willing to pay anymore.

I have to admit it.

I am human, I make mistakes, I am allowed, further, to do so.

Despite what I tell myself, contrary to all the “training” I received when I was younger and did not know better than to question the sacrifices I was giving to take care of everybody other than myself.

I got home tonight, after talking it over with another and vowing to write the e-mail and say that I could not work more than a half day next Friday, and I wrote the e-mail.

I did not want to.

It did not feel good.

But I did it anyway.

Because I am allowed to care for myself.

No one else has this job but me.

And according to the memo I got from the big boss, I am ok to be human and fall down once in awhile.

Humanity is endearing.

Perfection is debilitiating.

Imperfectly, perfectly human.

Sigh.

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?

Yeah.

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.

Ack.

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.

What?

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.”

Wow.

Ok.

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.”

Eek.

No thanks.

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

Ok.

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.”

Oh.

Lovely.

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.

 

Nice, Like Nice With Cheese Butter On Top

“Say cheesebutter!”  I urge one of my charges when I take a photographs of him.

It’s a word he made up.

“Cheesebutter, it makes everything better,” I smile and take his picture.

I am going to 850 Bryant tomorrow after I get up and do my daily routine and make sure that I am all nice and calm and serene and in a good head space and spiritual and shit.

And I am going to be nice.

Nice.

Nice.

That was my decision tonight when I was talking to someone about the red light incident on Tuesday and how I did a lot of writing about it and began to not only have forgiveness for the cop but actual compassion, hey, how much fun can it be doing his job?

I mean, my job?

Loads of fun.

Today I went to two different parks, was told I love you by my charge, had my hand-held as we walked through the Pan Handle park, got hugs, had her request that I sing “Hush Little Baby” to her, had her fall asleep in my lap in her rocking chair, had an Americano at the Mill, walked all over NOPA, took fabulous photographs of street art by E. Claire Bandersnatch,

Bandersnatch

Bandersnatch

Bandersnatch

 

went to Bi Rite for an apple and a bag of Holler Mountain Stumptown, had an amazing lunch with my lady, who slept two hours and twenty-five minutes, and then we capped off the day with a play date at Alamo Square Park and ran into a friend from Music Together class.

My job does not suck.

That cop, he has a job I would not want to have.

So, compassion for a person doing a job I don’t want to do and am really grateful that I don’t have to do.

Plus, as I was sharing with a woman who told me that the same night that I had my ticket incident, she hit a pedestrian in a cross walk, did not see him coming and he flew up over her windshield.

Now that makes one grateful for a ticket.

I did not get hit on my bike ride, in fact, I realized, I was slowed down, I was slowed down tonight riding that same route back home, slow, stopping not “running” any reds, and what do you know, I got to see three cops pulling over another person with a traffic infraction and listen to sirens wailing for another accident down the road.

None of these had anything to do with me except that I slowly, and cautiously rode past them.

So, tomorrow, grateful that I have a day off during the week, I  don’t normally, when I can actually go and spend time standing in line for room 145 at 850 Bryant.

Show up.

Suit up.

Let go of the results.

I know I was at fault and I am just going to go pay the fine.

I don’t have to be right.

I can just be happy.

And nice.

What if my only purpose was to go spread some good cheer at 850?

How many folks resolve to be nice when they go to 850?

I don’t believe all that many.

And I am not going to go and be nice because I think I am going to get off the ticket, I don’t think I can, I ran the red.

Granted, yes I was at a full stop and yes, I did look both ways, and yeah, the light was going to change, but was I in the wrong?

Yup.

So, be the adult and sack the fuck up.

Then I thought about my friend who had his bicycle stolen off the front of a MUNI bus.

I didn’t have my bike stolen.

I got to ride it to my awesome job today.

I did not get hit by a car in an intersection on foot.

I did not spend the last two days in the psyche ward at General.

Loads to be grateful for.

Oh, and like, hey, I have a three-day weekend!

I will pay my ticket then go on up to the Castro to see Barnaby, who just happened to have a cancellation in his schedule and will fit me in to touch up the stars on my neck and add two more for my anniversary.

Yes.

Afterward a manicure.

After that?

Well, I will be in and around the Castro neighborhood, then over to Our Lady of SafeWay to see some fellows.

Then if I have it in me, dancing at Public Works.

I’ll have it in me.

Unless something else awesome comes my way, which it might, you know, I have some special good feelings, like with cheese butter on top good, about tomorrow.

I will get to sleep in tomorrow.

I will take a leisurely hot shower, eat an awesome breakfast, drink really good coffee (I went to Bi-Rite!), write for a while, then take a sunny ride through the Pan Handle, then on down to 850 Bryant to see what happens when I show up and have accountability.

Life, I suppose.

A really good life.

A life built on responsibility, showing up, taking actions, letting go of the results, a faith-based life where I go despite the fear of financial insecurity, because I can afford it and ultimately, the money is not my money, it’s just this energy that I have been given to spread about me.

I shall spread it cheerfully.

Like a warm golden pool of cheese butter over grits.

I am going to love it up tomorrow at 850.

I might get obnoxious with it.

I will have fun with it.

I am actually, haha, kind of looking forward to going.

I will make sure I have a book to read and I will pay whatever I have to pay, and then you know what I will do?

I will fucking leave.

That’s the best part of it all.

I don’t have to stay.

I did not do anything to incur a real “visit” there and I haven’t in just a touch over 9 years.

That, that is what is really nice.

Like, cheese butter nice.