Posts Tagged ‘Blazing Saddles’

One Shot

October 20, 2015

It doesn’t happen very often.

And.

When it does.

It happens on the way home from work rather than on the way to work.

Every once in a while I make it the 6.5 miles from work to home without having to put my foot down on the pavement.

It is the most delicious and delirious thing and I realized as I was crossing Divisadero on Oak that I might actually have a unicorn of a ride happening.

I made the timed lights, I picked up my speed, I felt my left knee complain, I said, come on baby, we got this, and zoom zip, through the light and rolling down the Pan Handle and it’s all, almost, but not quite, downhill from there.

I have made it once to work from my house, 46th Avenue and Judah to Lexington and 20th, on my bicycle without putting down a foot.

It was a reckless ride and not something that I need to experience again.

I just wanted to see if I could do it, and I could, but it meant running lights, stop signs, riding down Lincoln all the way to the Wiggle and a lot of clever maneuverings on my bicycle that weren’t the safest.

I am really safe on my bicycle.

Some folks are nuts.

I want to live.

I have so much to live for.

Just the level of contentment I have for my little home right now, it knows no bounds.

I got the cutest message from a woman in my cohort about a photo I had put up on Instagram with my little nook in the corner of my studio that has a chaise lounge and a “new” reading lamp, that it looked like just the place to curl up and read all of Professor Dubitzky’s reading in.

Of course she didn’t say Professor Dubitzky.

Ha.

She said, “Milly D.”

Our inside, though, I am sure the professor does know and winks at it, name for the teacher.

What I love is that the class is all Freudian analysis and yes, that’s right, my corner seat is a chaise lounge.

The doctor is in.

Er.

The graduate school student is in.

I have started writing “I am a therapist” in my morning pages where I write my affirmations.

It follows right after the one that says, “I am an artist.”

And I added another today.

“I own a brand new Buddy Scooter.”

Yes.

I am back in the market.

I talked a lot about it with a friend of mine who is really good with money and negotiating and asked if he would help me go down to Scooter Centre and get a good deal on the scooter.

It does not look like they have the Buddy I want, I want the Buddy Italia in Avocado, in the shop.   Although, I bet they could get it in if they don’t have it in stock.

It’s a 170cc, goes up to 60 mph and gets 92 miles per gallon.

It also has a two-year parts and labor warranty which includes road side assistance.

It’s about $3200.

I could go buy it right now.

But.

That would mean using my prudent reserve and my student loan disbursement up.

I would feel uncomfortable not having a prudent reserve and I don’t like that feeling where there is nothing in the savings account.

So.

I talked to my friend tonight and told him about how I have been setting aside money and also that I expect I will get a bonus at work on my birthday again, which is a week before Christmas, so it was basically a holiday bonus, but whatever, I don’t have to label it anything other than a gift.

A gift that I am banking on using to buy the scooter.

In conjunction with the money I have been setting aside.

The plan, God is laughing, I hear you, my thought, is that I will go down on December 19th, which is the day after my birthday and hand my friend my money, I figure, go to the bank, withdraw the cash and walk in with cash and get a better deal, and let him do the negotiating.

Which means in 60 days I’ll have a new scooter!

This is the plan.

Who knows if it will happen, but that’s the thought process so far.

I won’t get burned buying a used “Vespa” again, although I wouldn’t mind a Vespa, new, they are a bit more expensive then the Buddy and I would have to wait a bit longer to save up the money, probably at least another six months.

I don’t want to wait that much longer.

My knees be aching again and maybe, yes, maybe, it’s time to stop commuting 15 miles a day on the thing.

It’s been 10 years of riding a bicycle in this city.

I would miss it.

And.

I would miss the exercise.

But.

I can do different things.

I can learn to surf, I got a wet suit.

I can scooter to a pool.

I can go to yoga.

The time that I would save from riding my bicycle would not be a great deal, but it would be significant enough that I think I would be able to take a yoga class or go swimming at a pool on the way to work.

Who knows.

I am not going to worry about the exercise part, it’s important to my life and I need it to keep the crazy brain at bay.

I thought all these things when I was riding through the park, the cool breath of October flowing over my body, ruffling my hair, there is nothing quite as sexy, to me, I don’t know that any one else who’s ever experienced it (not that I have asked), but, there is something so sensual about getting off my bike when I get home and after I lock up the garage I go inside my cozy, sweet studio, and sweep the hair up off my neck and it’s cold.

Cold.

From the wind and the air.

It is such a delicious feeling to lift the cool hair off my neck and swirl it up into a bun.

I shiver thinking about it.

I would miss that.

But then again.

I won’t miss the painful knees.

I did make sure to get to work early and do a lot of stretching, it’s the IT band in my knees that is too tight and I can do some things to strengthen the muscles around my hips, that’s why I was contemplating yoga a little while ago–although, really, in what time?  The stretching helps, but sometimes I think, maybe, just maybe, 10 years is a good run for bicycle commuting in San Francisco.

A decade of riding these mean streets.

I have seen a lot of change.

And more than one lost tourist with the Blazing Saddle logo on their bike stopped at Oak and Stanyan trying to figure out where they are on the map and where the hell the bike path goes and where is the fucking ocean anyway?  And the bridge, how do we get to the bridge?

I have even ridden folks through the Pan Handle and around the Wiggle to get them to go where they are going, I did that not too long ago, I was stopped, asked for directions and I noticed the glazed look coming over the woman’s face when I told her where to go and what streets to take, and just took pity.

“Follow me, just follow me for the next ten minutes, and I will get you to Market, at which point I will cross the intersection and you will turn left and be able to follow Market Street where you need to go.”

Just here to be of service.

I don’t have to think about it too much.

But it is exciting.

I like the idea of change and my life getting bigger and fuller and lovelier.

Not that more is needed.

I have everything I need.

And more than I ever expected to have.

So.

Much.

More.

So.

Much.

Love.

You Use Your Mouth Prettier

November 5, 2014

Than a twenty-dollar whore.

I’ll take that.

I have been on the receiving end of some really nice compliments the last couple of days.

I’ll take them all.

It’s quite handy to know that I am doing this thing alright, that it’s getting out there, that folks read what I write, that there’s an impact.

That it is not all for naught.

Not that I ever have thought that it was all for naught.

Not even when I had ten readers.

I, in fact, remember quite distinctly the day I came home from work and booted up my laptop, said laptop, self-same laptop, just about obsolete, vintage laptop, and typed in my blog and there it was–my tenth subscriber.

Ten people following me!

Wow.

I have a few more readers now, I believe, I’ll have to double-check, I have about 250 subscribers, that is folks who have signed up to receive my blog straight to their inbox.

Which, sometimes I feel like I might have to apologize for.

There are always a few typos or goofy footed wording that I might not catch until later on, usually, of course, after I have pushed the publish button and its sent out into the world, into the dark night of the internet to land in some one’s email account.

Then there’s anywhere from 40 to 50 people who pick it up off of Facebook or occasionally Reddit.

I get a read or two off of LinkedIn as well, but I stopped posting to my LinkedIn account when I was interviewing for my current nanny position, I didn’t want my blog to pop up on the family’s radar.

Who knows.

It may have.

I scrubbed it pretty clean though.

I did not want to, but I pulled about two hundred, maybe, three hundred blog posts off.

Anything that I felt was too nefarious, anything meanly said, anything judgemental, and a lot of the nanny blogs I had up from a tremendously challenging family I worked for years and years ago.

I knew my current employers were going to run a back ground check and I just wanted to be extra special careful.

Every time I see how many blog posts I have I always add another two hundred in my mind.

It’s sort of like getting on the scale and saying, well, my jeans probably weigh a pound and I had a big breakfast, so let’s just take two pounds right off the top to account for that.

Anyway, what I am saying is that I have been doing this a while and I do forget that there are readers out there, some I know really well, some I don’t know at all, a few family members here and there, old highschool acquaintances, perhaps a man or two I may have dated or slept with.

Hard to say.

Occasionally there is a reader or two that I am unaware of who they are, but boy howdy are they interested in me, they either search engine my name or my blog name and obsessively read certain posts.

This hasn’t happened in a bit, but when it does I do feel as though someone has walked across my grave.

The blog  means a lot though and I have found it comforting to have a few friends and fellows and folks and family reach out to me over the past week and tell me how much they either love me or they love my blog.

I had one friend who was wondering last night, as I posted quite early, if I had a date.

Nope.

I wish I had a date.

No date on the horizon.

Perhaps for the best as I sort through all the feelings and emotions from last week.

Oh feelings.

Someone break out a tiny squeaky violin for me please.

I am going to give it one more day of process and climb back aboard the dating train.

I am not fond of the whole deal, but I will say I am learning so much about myself that it is worth it and when it hurts or is hard, why it makes for a great blog.

“He’s an artist, he’ll create,” a friend said once over pints at the bar.

Said friend was perhaps a touch tipsy, but he was money on the nose.

Our mutual friend was grieving a rough break up with the woman of his dreams and it was almost, almost, not quite, comical, how devastated he was, the drama was pretty high color.

I remember we all laughed like hyenas at his pain.

But I recalled that this past week when I have been blogging, experiences that are painful do pull something extra out of my being, the writing, I suppose, makes the pain more bearable, then, almost as though I have put a balm on it, it is soothed and then goes away.

“It’s your process, you’re living in real-time, you’re revealing it all and you have to choose whether you’re going to put it out there and not care, really let it all go, or whether you need to be more circumspect.”

It’s a choice I am not comfortable making, the power of the word, the work, the way it flings itself out of my fingers doesn’t always feel like it’s mine.

Shadows of the trees on the grass swath of park lawn rolling along the road as I whip down the road, turning onto the last leg of my bicycle journey through the park.

The moon tonight, so bright, so high, that a few times I turned to see if it was the high beams of a car coming up behind me.

But no.

It was just the moon.

“There’s the moon,” I said.

I leaned into him and breathed in his smell.

How is that sentence to repudiate me at a later time?

I don’t know.

I do just know that as much as I wish I could curtail it, that it just comes out, so perhaps, it is a kind of self-sabotage, a sacrifice, a surrender of my life to the art.

Sure.

Maybe.

One day.

Down the road, around the corner, my shadow flying ahead of me, I won’t mistake the moon’s bright frosting of light for my own truth, but rather that of another and I can fictionalize this life I lead and I can write something out of experience that has the cake icing of fiction.

But for now.

This is what I’ve got.

I know it’s good.

And for the moment.

That’s all I need to keep going.

At least for tonight.


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