Posts Tagged ‘chemistry’

One Day of Freedom

May 19, 2019

It’s a full blue moon tonight.

A full flower moon.

It is the eve of your birthday and I can’t stop thinking about you.

I tried and then I just stopped trying.

It’s ok.

It’s been what, 3 months, of course I still think about you.

Even though I went on a few dates last week.

And I have to say, it felt really nice to be out in public on a date, of course I wanted to be on a date with you in public, but I know how that story goes.

He was nice enough.

But.

No chemistry.

Sad.

He thought we had gang busters chemistry.

I did not.

I know what chemistry is.

Boy howdy do I know.

I went on three dates to give him a chance and every single one just made me think more and more about you.

Damn it.

I love you monkey.

And I’m bummed that I won’t get to see you on your birthday tomorrow, to sing you happy birthday, to make your birthday cake.

I did love cooking for you.

Le sigh.

I’ll be ok.

I’m not crying.

Although I did rail at God one night, I think after the third date with the guy.

Because on paper he had a lot going on.

But when you kiss like a dead duck.

Ugh.

I wanted your kisses so damn bad.

I felt crazy.

I was so fucking angry.

I want a committed monogamous relationship and I want chemistry.

Is that so much to ask for?

I really think it’s possible.

Obviously I didn’t have the committed monogamous bit with you.

Double sigh.

And I haven’t had chemistry, EVER, like I had with you.

I want both.

Fact is.

I just want you.

I want you to fucking get your god damn act together and get a divorce and come for me.

FUCK.

And.

Done venting.

I don’t have it in me to be angry or sad.

I just want to wish you a happiest birthday where ever you are and hopefully you’ll get what you want and I pray all the time for God to take care of you.

And I knew it was going to rain tonight and the clouds would cover the full flower blue moon and I wouldn’t be able to see it, so last night, in my bunny slippers, I went outside and talked to the moon like I was talking to you.

I hope you got the message.

I’ll let myself be a little sad and a little maudlin.

I know that anniversaries are hard.

Fuck.

The two year anniversary of our first kiss had me crying myself to sleep.

Or your sobriety anniversary.

Walked around with a 7 year chip and a card in my wallet until my person was like, “hand it over.”

Just so you know.

I had planned on giving it to you but it was “suggested” heavily that I put it in my God box.

So that’s where it’s at, although, it’s yours if you ever want to make a move for it.

But there’s something about it being your birthday tomorrow and how it’s also wrapped up around my graduation party last year and getting my Master’s Degree and the party you threw me at the beach.

And I just finished my first year of my PhD program and I felt like we should have been celebrating.

I feel like we should be celebrating all the time.

Except that I’m not supposed to have contact with you.

I off and on block you on Facebook because I will find myself looking at your page.

Not that you ever post anything to it.

And I haven’t been a perfect princess.

I have looked at your LinkedIn profile, but then I unconnected us since that’s flirting with all sorts of danger.

God.

I wanted you to reach out to me tonight.

I wanted it so freaking bad.

Still do.

But.

I want it my way.

Not the way it was and you couldn’t give that to me.

I wish you could have.

If wishes were horses.

Beggars would ride.

I still debate getting one more tattoo with you in mind, a theme, I have three already dedicated to you.

But.

I can’t decide.

The little girl wishing for the moon card that I gave you.

Or two crows with a heart between the two beaks.

Or.

That one tiger dragon graffiti mural wall in Chinatown, the one I took a photo of you in front of.

Oh baby.

I’m not in tears.

And I want to recognize that.

I feel sad but it’s not torture and the no contact I’m sure has helped.

But man.

I still want to connect with you.

To have contact with you.

Those three stupid dates just made it so clear how much I love you.

Oh.

There.

Now the tears.

Ok.

No more of that.

Big breath and onto the point of the title of the blog.

One day of freedom.

Or relative freedom.

Tomorrow.

Because after tomorrow, it’s Monday and I have to start studying for my Law & Ethics exam and that takes about a month of study.

So.

Tomorrow is it.

I don’t have a lot of obligations, typical stuff, cooking, laundry, a lady bug, but nothing in the evening since my person is out of town and I don’t have any homework.

HOLY SHIT.

I don’t have to do homework tomorrow.

I got all my papers turned in and all my projects done.

I made it!

I really made it through my first year of course work in a PhD program.

I am sort of amazed.

So tomorrow, who knows what I’ll do with that free time.

But I will have it.

I hazard I will think of you and I’m sure I’ll send you a happy birthday wish.

Maybe tonight before I go to bed, I will look towards where the full moon is and wish you a happy birthday.

Happy.

Happy.

Happy.

Birthday baby.

I still miss you.

 

You’d Make Some One

November 14, 2016

A good wife.

I thought to myself as I was canning up homemade chicken soup with rice a few minutes ago.

I burst out laughing.

I make me a good wife.

I am my own good wife.

I do it all.

I do the laundry.

Two loads today.

I do the marketing.

I cook the food.

And.

The food is tasty.

I just finished putting up my food for the week and for the next weekend of classes which is fast approaching.

It’s hard to believe that I have classes this Friday.

I don’t know where the time went.

But fuck me.

It went.

I do know where the majority of today went.

Into my 14 page, 4, 484 word Psychopathology paper.

Holy Toledo.

Yeah.

Most of my day was that.

I was supposed to meet with a couple of ladies.

That didn’t happen.

And I was going to go to yoga.

That didn’t happen either.

Although I set my alarm to get up early and go.

What happened?

My internal clock went off and said, “get the fuck out of bed!”

And in no uncertain terms, my day changed and changed for well, the better, not that I necessarily had a bad plan for my day, things changed, they often do.

I got up earlier than my alarm by an hour.

I got up because I have a cold.

Oh.

It’s not devastating.

Although it is annoying.

It’s a sneezy cold with a bit of a fever.

No cough, which is nice, but a nice low running fever and a sneeze, also, a slightly whisky throated cigarette smoking huskiness to my voice that is actually sort of fun.

I think I caught it from one of the women I work with or one of the families.

Everyone has had it.

I’m better off than most of the folks that I have seen come down with it.

I’m a healthy lady.

But.

I didn’t want to meet with the women I do the deal with if I had a cold.

However, I wasn’t going to cancel my blind date and I wasn’t going to not do my paper.

So.

I offered both the ladies the option to opt out.

My person does that with me, as she knows I work with kids and I do the same for her, if one of us is feeling under the weather but capable of meeting we do, unless the other person opts out.

Both my ladies opted out and I have to be honest.

I was grateful for the extra time.

The paper took longer to write than I thought it would, although not longer than I estimated.

I was just hoping that my  estimate would be over.

Nope.

It was pretty spot on.

I estimated four hours and I started writing at 10:30 a.m.

Yes.

I did get up early, but I also did laundry, took a shower, got ready for my date so I wouldn’t be stressed about that, even wore my favorite dress, and I had a nice breakfast, tidied up the house, and wrote my morning pages.

I also had a phone check in with one of the ladies.

Then.

I wrote the paper.

I finished it just after 3 p.m.

I took a lunch break in there for about twenty minutes or so and I got up once and walked outside and just stood in the sunshine to let my brain rest and let my body have some sun.

I skipped yoga.

Kind of hard to do yoga if you can’t breathe and are sneezing.

But I’m grateful to that too, I needed the time I would have been in class to write.

My paper, as I already mentioned, but feels good to say again, thank you; clocked in at 14 pages, 4, 484 words.

Yeehaw.

I wrote about Post Traumatic Distress Disorder and Alcohol Use Disorder.

Things I know nothing about.

Ahem.

There was so much to write about and so many notes and books and stuff and things.

So much.

But it got done.

Thank God.

I even had time to proof half of it before I left for my date.

We met at Samovar Tea Lounge above Yerba Buena Gardens.

It was a beautiful late afternoon and I was grateful to be out in the world, even if it took a few minutes to come to and realize that I was actually on a date and not writing a paper.

It was a nice date.

I had a nice time.

There was not really any zing zip for me, but he was a kind man, a nice man, and we talked.

He wants to see me again, that was clear, though I will probably pass.

I am grateful for the experience though, to be out in the world, to be trying new things.

I mean, this was my first time being set up by a friend.

I’ve never had that happen before and it is super flattering to be thought of.

Speaking of thought of, I received an e-mail today in regards to a book project, turns out a photograph of me will be in the book.

I was super flattered and it’s really nice to be included.

My world feels sweet right now, heady almost, the relief of having that paper done is quite nice.

The author of the book asked if I was still in graduate school and a nanny, as those will be listed alongside my portrait in the book.

Yes.

And.

Yes.

Care taker–of myself, graduate student, budding therapist, Burner, all the things.

After I signed off the e-mail I finished proofing and editing my paper.

I printed it off and voila!

I’m done.

And so is my weekend.

Fuck it went by fast.

I’ve still got some reading to do for class but it can wait for tomorrow.

I have earned a video and a cup of tea.

My candles are all lit up, I have Coleman Hawkins playing and I have my bunny slippers on.

It’s a beautiful thing.

Happy Sunday!

The Dying Of The Days

November 6, 2016

Tomorrow begins Day Light Savings.

Fall back.

Thank you for that.

One more hour of sleep in the morning.

I can always use another hour of sleep.

I don’t mourn the passing of the day, I don’t have sorrow for the shorter day.

In fact.

I found myself with a kind of sweet, smokey soft nostalgia for it today, as the day was blurring down around the edges as I rode my scooter home from the date, the errands, the living and doing, the what all I could cram into my afternoon.

I had a nice day.

I had a nice date.

Not a swoon, oh my God he’s it, date, but a nice date.

Will I see him again?

Probably not.

Menlo Park is a little ways away.

And he’s not quite the guy for me.

I was intellectually engaged however, and really had a nice time listening and talking and we did have a nice lunch in the cafe at the MOMA and enjoyed a couple of cups of coffee.

A friend messaged me and said, if he doesn’t get you at least two cups of coffee, it’s over.

I laughed.

Double fisting coffee.

I suppose it is better than double fisting vodka and IPA’s.

Heh.

The date was a nice guy and smart, but I wasn’t physically drawn to him.

There was no zing zip for me.

It felt like making a nice new acquaintance.

But that doesn’t spell chemistry for me and I don’t believe I will be pursuant of it.

Not that I am at this moment pursuing anyone.

I’m not on Tinder, yes, I have hopped on and off it enough times that who the hell knows where I am, but not on the app, not on a dating site, not on the prowl.

Open though.

To possibility.

Magic.

That’s what it felt like when I was on my way back out into the world this evening.

I got done with my date and ran to Buffalo Exchange with the rest of the clothes I hadn’t sold at Crossroads–my bosses toss outs.

All said.

$20.

A free manicure and a nice cup of coffee.

Thanks boss lady.

Then I went grocery shopping and came back to the house.

I roasted a chicken and did some homework and headed back out the door to see some fellows and sit and listen and share if it seemed appropriate and be in the world.

It was on my scooter ride into the NOPA neighborhood that I got that feeling of magic.

The feeling of surprise and possibility.

Back lit by the smell of wood fires and the misty foggy chilly air.

It was like the whole world was smudged with it.

It was very romantic.

I am a sucker for romance.

And sweetness and surprise.

On my date today I was completely caught off guard by this flirtatious older man, totally flirted with me, asked me my name, asked about my tattoos, told me I was a walking piece of art.

He must have been in his late 70s early 80s.

I imagine he was quite the man about town in his day.

I smiled and chatted a little with him when my date got up to refill our coffees.

And then returned to my date.

Who did have some really cool things to talk with me about and in a way did make me feel very special, he was quite enthralled with my recovery story.

Very edited version that I gave to him.

“You should write about that!” He exclaimed at one point, “that’s just, you are, well, you have an amazing story.”

Thank you.

I have written about it.

I write about it all the time.

Ha.

Just check out my blog.

No wait.

Don’t.

I get myself in trouble here sometimes.

I get hot-headed and I have become a lot more circumspect in my writing, but once in a while I have been known to go on a tear, but it never serves.

I get to keep the focus on me and my experience.

Anywho.

I digress.

I was talking to my date about a trip he had been on and the older gentleman leans over and hands me a folded menu from the MOMA’s cafe.

“It was a pleasure to meet you!” He said and smiled brightly.

I looked at the menu.

Oh!

It was the sweetest thing.

A note.

Written in calligraphy.

“Carmen is beautiful.”

I can feel my heart swelling as I write the sentence.

I felt beautiful today.

I wore my favorite dress.

My hair was cooperative.

It can be a little untidy and unruly.

But today it was pretty in its unruliness.

I felt in myself, of myself and complete settled in my skin.

I don’t always and though I did have some nerves before the date, they dissipated.

The note made my day.

I tucked it in my notebook that I carry in my purse and when I got home I put it up on a plate in my kitchen displayed with my other little things that are flotsam and jetsam, moments of magic that I collect like a little squirrel to nibble with thoughtful contemplativeness and private enjoyment.

A post it note from my best friend about a necklace she gave me years ago that is a bike, an old chopper with a banana seat like my playa bike, that says how she saw the necklace and thought of me riding my bike happy and free on the playa.

A map of the Metro in Paris.

A note from a good friend that was stuck in a bag of Stump Town coffee that, paraphrasing here, that he expressed how much he was grateful for me and knew I was having a hard time–I was in that horrid month when I was out of work with a severe ankle injury two years ago–and how he loved me and he knew I would be taken care of, and folded up in that note a $50 bill.

The wedding invitation to a dear friend that’s coming up.

God I wish I had a date for that, but nothing so far.

Magnets from the museums I have been to–The Louvre, The Pompidou, The Musee D’Orsay, the LACMA, The Metropolitan, The MOMA, and many others.

Multitudes of postcards.

A thank you card from a friend that I love, the colors on it are so rich and lush, all pumpkin and gold and burnt orange.

Love letters to myself.

Yes.

Yes, I know how hokey that sounds.

But yes, I do often send myself postcards with little sweet notes.

In the vein of buy your own damn flowers.

Cook your own damn meals.

Write your own fucking love letters.

As I was leaving the spot tonight to ride back home towards the crescent moon sailing a little fuller in the midnight blue skies, I saw a fellow I don’t always talk to, but have always appreciated seeing around.

He had said something that resonated.

I told him that I had a dream about him.

He chuckled and I looked at him, “not like that wise guy.”

I told him a little.

He shared a little.

We had a moment.

It was magic.

And in that moment I realized that I have softened a little further.

Melted a little more.

Allowed more mystery into my heart.

I don’t know where I’m going.

I only know where I’ve been.

But.

Today.

Tonight.

That is just perfect.

Just like me.

And beautiful.

Just like me.

Trust me.

I have a note to prove it.

Heh.

 

Time To Edit

April 27, 2016

My mouth.

Or my pen.

Er.

My blog.

Haha.

Nope.

I mean.

Well.

Maybe.

I have done the thing where in I have facecrack friended a blind date before our first date.

It doesn’t feel like a blind date though, we’ve texted a lot, had a few phone calls and awkwardly face timed twice now.

We’ve got a date for Saturday and it’s been discussed that it’s going to be an all day date.

I also clarified if this was a hook up or a date.

Not that I am opposed to the hook up, he’s sexy and there’s chemistry already, so, there’s that, but it seems more than a hook up, there’s a lot of commonality.

Especially in the not drinking/drugging thing–he’s straight edge and well, if you haven’t figured out what I do you can always ask me privately, I’m not into breaking it all the way down on my blog, it’s um, not seemly.

Plus.

We both have loads of tattoos, always a plus.

Like pinball, baseball, music, books, and it’s apparent he’s intelligent.

I am liking it.

The only draw back is the distance.

I feel like I’m sort of breaking my own rule about dating someone on the other side of the bridge.

Hooking up might be different, but dating is a challenge with distance.

Never the less, there will be a day long date Saturday and I’ll know more at that point.

I’m tentatively excited.

I don’t want to have expectations.

They lead to resentments.

But.

Yeah.

There seems to be something here and of all the Tinder dates and matches he’s definitely head and shoulders above the rest.

So we have enough friends in common that we inevitably both posted on a mutual friend’s facecrack time line in regards to her anniversary today.

And there it was.

“I see you,” he texted me.

I laughed to myself.

I had already done the facecrack troll on his page.

I chided him a little, but totally said yeah, we can friend it up.

Despite being very well aware that all my blog posts are visible to anyone who friends me.

There’s a lot of incriminating shit here.

And.

There’s none at all, all at the same time.

I am transparent, most of the time, I put it out there and sometimes it ain’t pretty.

That’s ok.

If my blog scares him off, then well, it wasn’t meant to be.

I do know that I’ll most likely curtail any more writing about him.

Especially if this leads to dating, which I suspect it could.

No need to live in the future though, just taking it one moment, text, call, date at a time.

I have plenty, plenty, plenty on my plate.

The reading for school, the negotiating my last weekend of school–a lot of people want to have get togethers and hang out and such and I’m rather of the opinion that I would rather not, but I also kinda would.

I’m on the fence.

Like I said just a moment ago, I don’t have to figure it out now.

I know that I’m definitely hanging out with one of my girlfriend’s on Sunday, she’s goingt to crash over here and we’re going to have a slumber party.

And another of my girlfriend’s and I are going to the Steampunk Masquerade Ball at NIMBY the following weekend.

I like my cohort.

But I’m not sure I want to get real wrapped up in trying to spend time with everyone before the weekend is over.

I mean.

I’m still going to have to go to work and do the deal and I’ll have papers to finish before I head to New York too.

Ah.

See.

I can get caught up in the future so quick.

Be still my funny head and relax, all is good, I’m on track with my reading and I have a date for Saturday with someone I find funny, smart, sexy, and attractive, who I already know I can carry a conversation with and who won’t kiss me with beer breath.

I just keep showing up for what’s in front of me and the weekend will get here when it’s supposed to.

A little yoga.

A little work, a lot, boy, talk about work, today was a long play date with two other kids from school, I cooked up a storm and must have gotten a great work out in–all the toys I picked up, I cannot begin to count how many times I bent over and grabbed Lego’s or train tracks up off the floor, Magna Tiles, stuffies, blocks, Octonauts, books, markers, all the things.

A good bit of doing the deal.

I have a little something to do every night after work, someone to meet, somewhere to go, some church to sit in and get settled down about my life, recovery, all the jumble of work and school and time management and dating.

It’s been fun, though, this flirting.

I will not say that it hasn’t.

But yeah.

Thinking about it as I just texted him a good night thought, it’s time to not write about it anymore.

It’s not my place to reveal details and also, I know myself well enough to know I put my heart on my sleeve pretty damn quick.

Hell.

It’s usually out there all the time anyway, but I don’t need it to be seen so quick.

He may not have figured out the links to the blog yet anyhow, but I would rather him get to know me by hanging out with me.

And.

Well.

Since I feel this has potential, it’s got legs, it might go somewhere, well, then it’s mine to cherish and experience, keep private so to speak.

Oh.

No worries.

I’m sure there will be plenty of titillating things for me to write about.

Fuck.

I can make just about any blog I write provocative.

I’m a flirt.

At least in print.

Fingers crossed I can convey it in person.

Heh.

I’ll let you in on that.

I will be flirting.

And I will be wearing a dress.

Polka dots maybe.

Giggles.

See.

Already, an inside joke to myself.

I got to stop while I’m a head.

Nighty night

Y’all.

Monday, We Meet Again

April 26, 2016

I was supposed to have a date tonight, but he cancelled.

Which is fine.

I have another date this weekend and I feel like it’s a good match, helps that he does not drink or smoke, helps a hell of a lot.

Plus we’ve had a few conversations and we facetimed today.

I look better on Face Time than I thought.

“Did you wear that lipgloss for the call?” He asked eyes all a sparkle.

Um, ha.

No.

I am just that kind of gal, I have at least six or seven lip glosses in my bag, if not one or two more, I like my lips you know, um, shiny.

Heh.

Or sparkly, depends on the outfit.

My hair was pretty on point too, which has been fun, rocking the blonde curly like nobody’s business.

I only had so much time this morning to chat before getting my Monday the hell on.

I got up did my morning routine, breakfast, writing, a few pages of reading for school, and then off to yoga, back to the house, laundry, shower, dress, make up, Face Time, and then off to work.

Monday, Monday, Monday.

And that much closer to the next big move that I need to do for the school work thing.

I got another bit of homework done yesterday, actually, getting my Applied Spirituality posting up and doing the two responses needed for the class.

Now it’s a big push of reading of the week.

I plan on getting up early tomorrow and getting in an extra hour of reading.

I had some thoughts about getting to yoga, but I just did three days in a row, and I think a break for a day is not a bad idea.

Although.

I am very happy to report that I can feel myself getting better at things, and stronger, and feeling more and more in my body, which I am really enjoying.

My arms are getting cut, not that you can tell, but, man,  I can.

My core is also getting a lot tighter and leaner and though I am uncertain if I have lost any weight, which was not the goal of taking the classes, but I feel lighter, and that’s just nice.

Yeah.

So this week will be work, work out, work it, homework.

Then I can have some fun on Saturday.

“Work on your paper tonight!” My suitor for Saturday quipped, “so you don’t have to be worried about it on the weekend.”

I laughed.

Um.

No.

I have already done so much work today that once I am done with this blog I am going to watch the final episode of this season’s House of Cards and chill the fuck out.

“Nope,” I replied, “I’ve already done a lot of work today and I’ve got a plan, don’t worry, I’ll be present and accountable for the date.”

Which is true.

It’s one that I am looking forward to.

Unlike yesterday’s meet up, this feels pretty right on.

It’s looking like a hike around Sutro Baths and then maybe a little picnic action down at the beach.

“I want to see your freckles in the sunshine,” he said to me.

Blushing.

I forget I have freckles, but one of my photos on the dating app is of me either at Burning Man and when I get sun on my face, I get freckles.

I have a few now, but not that many.

However.

I don’t believe he’ll be disappointed.

And if he is.

Well.

Next.

I’m actually getting into this dating thing.

It seems to be gathering it’s own steam, I’ve been pretty solidly going on dates, some bad, oh so bad, some good, one great, for the last month and a half.

I mean I’ve had a date once, if not twice a week for the last six weeks or so.

Not bad.

I’m also seeing that it is really a huge numbers game.

As a friend texted me, “you’ve inspired me to go back to Tinder, but my God, all the ‘nopes’ so many.”

Seriously.

I almost never hit a match.

I’ve nixed hundreds of guys.

If I see you like small batch whiskey, nope.

Pictures of you and kids, nope.

Although I have a date with a divorced dad for this Saturday, his kid wasn’t in the profile, which I find reassuring, I don’t want to see kids on a dating sex aimed at hooking up, it’s just, I don’t know, unseemly.

Cigarette in your mouth.

Nope.

You and another woman?

Nope.

Likes red wine? Nope.  Likes going to wineries? Nope.  Attending school of hard knocks, no and no thank you.  Photo of your cute dog instead of yourself?  NOPE.

Blurry photo, no photo, old photo, no, not going there, nope.

Fish lips?

REALLY?

I thought only girls made the pouty lip thing in photos, but I have seen more than a few profiles with the big pouty mouth thing happening and it’s a bit unattractive.

No face shot, just a body photo?

Nope.

There sure are a lot of them.

The “nopes.”

However, just from using it enough, not obsessively, thanks, but enough, I have managed to match with about 50 guys.

Some of them became “nopes” after a few messages.

A couple of them I unmatched after some thought and realizing that I probably don’t want to go down that road.

And of the fifty of them, or so, I have had six dates.

One that was scary and creepy and ended with me blocking him on all social media and my phone.

Two that were just sort of not a match in real life and no chemistry.

One that was uncomfortable.

One that was good and we had some fun.

And one that was fucking amazing and we had a great time.

The last one we’ve texted a few times since and were supposed to hang out this past weekend but he got really sick, who knows, maybe something will happen further but I’m not too concerned, if it does, awesome.

The chemistry was great fun.

I’m hoping that Saturday’s date will be lucky number 7.

I have a good feeling about it and I think I’ll be trusting my gut on this one.

Until then.

The work, the working out, the homework, the doing the deal work.

You know.

Life.

Living.

Grateful for my full, abundant, happy, exuberant life.

It’s pretty damn good.

Seriously.

I am wanting for nothing.

I have so very much.

Luckiest girl in the world.

 

I’m Not Going To Kiss

April 25, 2016

You.

I said, direct, emphatic, no holds bar.

He startled back.

Thank God.

I was a little unnerved when he just hopped up, uninvited, be sure there was no come hither flirtations coming from me, and sat right next to me, arms, shoulders, legs brushing.

I know it’s a Tinder date and I suppose there is sex implied in the app, that’s apparent, and there’s a whole lot of fantasy, but I’m pretty up front with what I am or am not looking for.

And making a coffee date for three in the afternoon speaks to me of interviewing, not jumping right off into bed.

I had some nerves about the date, and that’s a good thing to note, I have begun to discern when I am balking at meeting someone or going on a date, versus, nope, you’re guts telling you it’s not a good date.

I’ve had the feeling before and this was the same thing.

Just not an appropriate date.

A mismatch.

Although he was very happy to meet me, said I looked great, was cute, had great style, was definitely intrigued by my tattoos.

However.

The constant interruptions when I was speaking, the jumping around, the distractedness of him, was well distracting.

I sort of felt like I was on a date with someone who was very ADHD.

Or high.

I wondered later after I left if perhaps that was it.

I can only speculate, but I was uncomfortable and also not attracted to the man.

Although his photos were pretty true to person, there was just something not there for me.

Sometimes the chemistry is so obvious for me, I can feel it oozing out of every pore of my body.

There are some I have had such intense chemistry with, it does feel electric and that is some snazziness, let me tell you.

This guy was just super flat for me, there was no juice.

And he ordered a beer and yeah, we hadn’t, as he pointed out later, had the talk about me being sober, I know this is true and I realize that I put it out there pretty quick with most guys on the dating app, but I had not with him.

My bad.

And also, in it’s own way, my recovery gave me the perfect out when the date started to get pretty fresh with me and my space.

I’m still sort of in awe of someone who did not see how completely uninterested I was, how does one miss that?  I mean, I was not giving out a single signal of interest with my bound up body language and crossed arms and legs.

But.

I suppose folks just see what folks want to see.

We did swap a few tales and spent an hour talking.

We each told about some bad dates.

My homeless guy date came up.

His ex-girlfriend he met in rehab for an opiate pain killer addiction after a gnarly accident who was a crystal meth addict, they met in rehab.

All my hackles went up.

I looked at the beer in front of him, empty glass, the packet of cigarettes in his front pocket–um no thanks I don’t smoke, haven’t for nearly 11 years and ain’t about to kiss an ashtray mouth–a shit, this is not good.

So.

When he made a suggestion, implicit again with this idea that because I had been on Tinder I was ready and willing to drop trow and get it on.

Sure.

Maybe.

If there had been some heat or chemistry, that could have been on the menu, even though the menu that was on my mind had to do with all the time I was wasting on the date instead of on my school books.

Not to worry though, once I dropped the “I’m not going to kiss you,” bomb, the date rapidly dissolved.

I took the “easy” way out and said that I didn’t want to taste beer when I kissed someone.

Which is true.

But I have dated normal guys who drink occasionally, how do they do that? And I haven’t had an issue with it, it was just more that I really wasn’t attracted and the beer drinking on top of the story about the ex-girlfriend crazy just sealed the deal.

“You know, you should expect this kind of response if you’re going to keep using Tinder,” he told me as we were parting.

I stopped.

I looked at him.

I apologized.

“You’re right, I should have been upfront,” I said, making the quickest, fastest amends I could, he was right, I did waste his time, he was looking for a good time party girl to come into the city to play with and I wasn’t it.

I had wasted his time and mine.

I did add, though, “it hasn’t been my experience that it’s an issue, that’s why I usually ask to meet in a cafe for tea, but I hear you and you are right.”

“You can go,” he said to me.

Whoa.

“Ok, thanks for coming out, I wish you the best,” I got up, touched his shoulder and walked out.

Ouch.

Well.

Human, Carmen, little mistakes are better than big mistakes, you went you found out, you got to hear a little bit of what you don’t want and perhaps I can be less blunt, I was just getting worried about getting to a place where I could say, I don’t think this is working, I don’t have to blurt it out.

So.

Chalk it up to another dating experience.

Just out there trying to learn how to do this thing that I have no clue how to do very well, but at least I know a little bit more from today than I did yesterday.

It’s all good information.

Not a bat to beat myself up with.

I tried.

It didn’t work.

And.

Now.

I’m just moving on.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

Yes.

I have another date.

This time emphatically.

Just for tea.

 

 

4/20 Expect Delays

April 21, 2016

You are not shitting me.

Seriously.

San Francisco.

The amount of smoke over Golden Gate Park this evening as I was riding home was stupid.

I mean.

It can be foggy in the park, but this was something the fuck else.

It was already getting a little crazy out there when I was heading into work today at 12 noon.

Vendors setting up stands with water and ice.

Just chilling on the sidewalk waiting for the cotton mouth to commence.

I actually rolled through a smoke cloud at the Pan Handle.

I was grateful to get to work and not have to deal with it all too much, in fact, I had rather forgotten, I work in the Mission, people are always smoking up, not much different.

It was when I went home that it was messy.

All day love fest with the marijuana leaf and it was stupid on the roads.

I split lanes at one point as this car was not moving on the green light.

“GET OFF YOUR PHONE!” I hollered at the dazed and confused young woman driver who was texting and sitting through a green light.

Then I zipped by.

Thank you God for lane splitting.

Seriously.

I suspect pizza delivery drivers are making a lot of money tonight.

Grateful to have gotten home safe and sound, to lock up my scooter, shoot out a flirtatious text about a possible date and hustle up the street to the market to get some coffee before doing the deal.

And there’s the motorcycle

Hello ex-boyfriend.

Why you got to look so cute?

Ugh.

And I’m on my period, end days you know, but it does not seem to matter right now, I feel like I am just at the top of my game.

Not to be all ego and that, no rather my body is hormonally doing the dance of Saint Vitus trying to get some.

It did not help when he hugged me later.

Was that a “mmm” on my neck?

Maybe not, maybe it was just my imagination, like that hand at my waist lingering just a moment.

Dude.

Watch out.

His room mate caught me watching him walk out the door and I blushed to beat the band.

Well.

He does look good in those jeans and that blue flannel, flattering.

And moving on.

I know better.

I am pretty certain he’s got a lady friend.

And it ain’t me.

And I’m pretty sure it’s serious.

Or.

I’m pretty sure we would have hit it by this point.

There’s still chemistry there.

That’s ok.

I think right now I have chemistry with a lot of men.

I’m not saying that to stroke myself off, I’m still single over here, going to bed alone, but not lonely, thank you, in my little studio by the sea.

But.

There’s interest.

Oh yes there is.

This is fun, I thought earlier, intercepting  a few messages about “thinking about you” and well, yeah, me too, thinking about you.

I do sort of feel like I am on fire and it feels good.

I am a house on fire.

Burn me all down to the ground.

I’m not upset about this, I’m not looking to change it, I am completely accepting this heat and enjoying it.

Perhaps it is the apex of something.

“There is more to you than, that, that,”  he hesitated.

“That thing in the desert,” I interjected.

“Yes! You are so much more,” he beamed at me tender with sweet deep eyes, my friend patted my arm, “there is something that is going to happen in that time, you’ll see, it will be great.”

It will be.

I’m positive.

There is so much.

And.

There is more time than I thought!

I got my weeks confused.

I still have two weekends before my next school weekend, I had this big idea that I had to have papers written this weekend.

Nope.

I have another weekend before I go back in for my last round of classes before summer break.

I have never been more excited for summer break in my life.

Seriously.

So I can have some play time this weekend and not get my undies in a twist about having to write papers.

Thank God.

I’m still moving forward with reading and making sure that I am caught up with it, but I have some breathing space.

And as of yet.

A completely free Saturday.

I have thoughts of things I want to do.

Sex.

Ahem.

Heh.

Yoga.

Doing that deal.

Getting my nails done, a little mani/pedi will be a nice treat.

Sleeping in if I want.

Like I ever do.

Well.

I sort of did today, I decided to wait on the yoga before work until tomorrow.

Wednesday’s I go in a little early as I have an evening commitment that I am adamant about getting to, so I go in early and leave early, not the best day to squeeze yoga in as well.

But tomorrow.

Yoga it up I will.

And hopefully by the time I do head to work the 4/20 will have been cleaned up and swept away for another season.

Unlike my hormones and sex drive which just seems to be coming out of the closet.

“Oh my forties were insane, enjoy them!  It’s the best time, really, the sex was amazing,” she said and smiled.

I’m sort of understanding that on a very new level.

Maybe I’m just comfortable in my skin.

Maybe I’ve just been in one place long enough.

Easier to hook up with a sitting target than one constantly on the move.

Maybe, after all these years, I finally am embracing the sexy that I have been told I have.

“You are so fucking hot,” he messaged me.

Thanks man.

I appreciate hearing that.

It’s nice to be acknowledged and it’s really nice to just not give a fuck.

This is where I am at in my life.

I don’t have to ask for approval or permission.

Not from you.

Not from me.

I think God’s got me covered pretty good.

I’ll go with God.

And if you don’t think there’s a lot of God in sex.

Well.

You haven’t heard me in the throes.

Ahem.

It’s all about the love.

Or the loving.

But whatever it is.

More please.

Thanks!

 

 

Epic Fail

March 3, 2016

Come on Tinder.

What the fuck.

Ugh.

Well.

At least I got to get dressed up.

I do love putting on a dress and hey, I used the guy’s height as my excuse to go traipsing about in my heels.

I mean.

It’s not every day that I have a date with a guy that is 6’4″.

Unfortunately.

He was not as upfront about the weight, it was a bit too much, there’s I’m a bit of a bear, and there’s what showed up.

Le sigh.

I gave it two hours though, he was nice, smart, but the chemistry was not there and we tried a little, but it was not what was promised, heh, I had a friend warn me about that, some guys really have a great text game.

I thought I had this figured out, at least this guy was the age his profile said he was.

Just not at all the body.

Unless those photos were, well, taken at really flattering angles.

We even Face Timed.

Oh well.

Chalk one up to I tried and I had fun being pretty today.

I did.

I loved being out in the world on my scooter in my crinoline and gingham skirt, my pink scooter jacket and my glitter star helmet.

I make quite the picture.

I waved at this little girl in a stroller and wished her a pink scooter for her sixteenth birthday.

Grow up and be fierce little lady.

I also admired the glitter mary janes she had on.

Seriously, sometimes I just want all the sparkle.

I also want a real god damn date.

I suppose it’s for the best, I do have a lot to do this week, yoga, school, school, school.

Work, work, work.

Recovery, recovery, recovery.

I was just hoping for a little canoodle in the mix.

Le sigh.

Ha.

I don’t mind, I don’t really.

And I know, from experience, that the online dating, the phone app, the whatever, it’s, well, it’s just a game.

I mean for fuck’s sake Tinder’s little prompt is to go back to “playing” if you’ve succeeded in making a match with someone but aren’t partial to sending them a message right away.

I haven’t started up my OkCupid profile again, I figure one is enough.

Frankly, though, I really did have better luck in the grocery store.

Of course, that was unexpected and also just goes to show what can happen when you look up, who knows who is looking at you.

I mean, most of the time I don’t know when someone likes me, I have gotten a little bit better at it and I heard something recently that I really like–assume every guy likes you until you are told otherwise.

Ok.

I’m about to cancel the damn app again.

Ugh.

It was suggested that I keep trying.

I feel like I have better things to do with my time.

But.

I also understand that dating is weird and hard and goofy and I can’t expect that I’ll even find someone or they will find me.

I have had love.

And I am grateful for that.

I would like, however, to have some fucking sex.

How hard can this be.

Or at least decent make out.

That’s a challenging thing too, I have someone who was, well, the best kiss of the past decade in recent memory and that does make a good make out session hard to find after that.

But that, as I well know is so not available.

It’s so funny how that happens.

I keep getting messages, like, oh, if it wasn’t meant to be, there’s better out there, and there might be, but apparently I have to wade through a few crappy dates before I get there.

I know that anything worth having takes time and effort and work.

Despite the instantaneous “feel” of the app, it’s all really just fantasy.

And frankly, I want reality and yes, boys and girls, for the last time, I just deleted the app.

Screw it.

I have other ways to meet guys.

I think that it’s not to much to ask to be asked out.

I don’t think it’s too much to engage with a person face to face.

And my date was right–he said I may change my mind when I meet him, but I really wasn’t expecting that much of a difference.

I so wasn’t feeling it when he showed up looking like he did, especially after some fun conversation and some flirtation that led me to believe he was a bit of a different person than the one who showed up, but I am happy to say I gave it the old college try.

Ah.

Oh well.

I am not resentful and I am not sad, it was what it was and I’m not changing the Universe by telling my little story, it was just an experience.

Not necessarily the one that I wanted to have, but that’s ok.

I bet there are more experiences out there to be had, in the real world, face to face, person to person and they don’t have to be dates, and there doesn’t have to be expectation and I can still dress up.

I really am allowing that for myself, the dressing up the last few weeks has been a lot of fun and I am going to continue to let myself have that fun.

Heh.

Speaking of.

I got a cute flower clip today, thank you Etsy, and will be putting that into the mix at some point, a bunch of pink vintage roses, very sweet and it looks quite adorable in my hair when it’s all piled up.

I’m thinking of wearing it tomorrow.

Although, I’m not certain what tomorrow will bring, the weather seems to be turning.

I could be on my scooter, but I haven’t yet ridden it in wet weather and I’m a little loath to start.

I may be on my bicycle.

That will be fun, it’s been a minute.

But I feel safer on my bike in the wet then I think I would on my scooter.

I’m sure there will come a time when I am out and it rains and that will be how I learn, but I have heard one too many tales of people wiping out in the rain on a scooter for me to just be considering that I might call a car or ride my bike.

And since my date was so short, fuck, I might get up early and do yoga before work.

Or school work.

That was actually a handy excuse to end the date faster, I was like, it is a school night.

Sort of.

I do have homework, but I was not planning on doing it tonight.

Tomorrow will suffice.

A new day, a new date, but this time the old fashioned way, or at least not the way of flipping randomly through strange photos of men on my phone.

I deserve real life chemistry.

I deserve hot make out.

And stupendously good sex.

Seriously.

I mean.

Who doesn’t?

Things That Are Taboo

May 21, 2015

Wanting to have sex with your ex boyfriend.

Or maybe, you know, just um, cuddle.

Yeah.

That.

My motives are shit right now and I know it and so I won’t be seeing my ex boyfriend any time soon.

It’s just in the air, the fog, the mist, the shiny, slippery streets–it’s so foggy out there that when I left the Sunset Youth Services a few moments ago I thought at first that it was raining.

But no.

Fog.

It’s lovely though and put me in the mood for snuggling.

I choose to snuggle with myself this evening.

Being in communication with my ex has been interesting and I have done some more work around me and how I respond and feelings and all that and why, gosh, it just turns out that I am human.

“You obviously had a strong bond,” he said to me over tea at the Church Street Cafe, “girl, you too were electric, there was chemistry there.”

“And that doesn’t necessarily go away, connection is connection, it’s when the instinct gets blown out of whack, that’s the problem.”

Yup.

So.

No calling up the ex, not inviting him over for a late night cup of tea.

If I were to see him it would best be in daylight across a table in a busy cafe.

No touching.

Ahem.

God.

I miss being touched.

I met someone tonight who I have seen around a little and we recognized one another from a different part of town.

He shook my hand and I just stood there.

Human contact.

Such a small thing and yet, so necessary.

I think about the failure to thrive orphanage video I watched in psychology class years and years and years ago, about the babies that had everything they needed, food, nutrition, a bed to sleep in, clothes, but no love.

And what happens?

They die.

I mean.

That’s serious.

I’m not there.

And I love myself enough to know that I won’t let myself get there.

But I can still get caught up in the what to wear thing and the being attractive thing and I was going to head out this evening after work and go straight to my place and do the deal in my pajamas after coming home from a long day at work and taking a smashing hot shower, but I got it in my head I would bump into the ex and boy, I better look cute.

Thanks brain.

Now I need to wash off the makeup.

But.

In reality, it helped, I like looking cute and you never know who you might run into, who might take your hand and squeeze it tight.

Of course.

I don’t remember his name, but the kind eyes were bright and the hand was strong and the arm covered in tattoos.

I like all of these things.

I like that he said he was in the neighborhood too, 48th and Kirkham.

I like that my brain also wondered, is he gay?

‘Cause I can pick ’em like that.

I like that he said, my class is done, I’ll be back here on Wednesday nights again.

Good.

So.

Something, someone to look forward to.

That’s been the other thing.

With the exception of someone from absolute left field who as it turns out, though attracted to me, though someone who has had a crush on me (!) reached out to me, he’s not available and I haven’t had anyone that I have been crushing on.

I haven’t had any zing.

Anything or anyone that makes me get all a quiver and excited.

I miss that feeling too.

That nice shiver of anticipation.

And kissing.

Oh.

I miss kissing.

I need to be kissed.

For reals.

It’s been four and a half months since the breakup.

There’s been no kissing, no sex, no snuggling, no cuddling, no nothing.

My bicycle seat’s been getting all the action.

And I look, good damn it.

In fact, I look better than when I was with my ex.

I dropped about five pounds and tightened up a bit, all the extra bicycle riding, went down a dress size, got my hair shaped up, and colored a fabulous pink, and I haven’t gotten any play.

Granted.

I could have.

That whole trying Tinder for a day was enough to let me know there are plenty of guys out there who have no interested in whether or not I can read a sentence in a book or carry a conversation, as long as I can bend over and lift my skirt.

Please.

You have to try a little harder.

I ride by Good Vibrations every day on my way back to my house, the one on Valencia at 17th, and I keep finding myself wondering if it’s just time for a new vibrator.

Sigh.

Nothing wrong with a new sex toy.

Let’s be adults here folks.

But my dildo can’t kiss the back of my neck while I play the soundtrack to Amelie and listen to the whisper of the fog horns off the coast herald the misty night swathing the neighborhood.

I wonder then if it’s time to climb back into the dating websites or if I just hold steady for a while yet.

See what happens when I’m not looking, just keep going about my day and my life and someone will notice, step forward, and say, yes, let me kiss you in the door way, press you against the orange painted gate of your house and run my hands though your wild pink hair.

I will here Yann Tiernan in my head and sigh and melt into the air and the fog will swirl my heart away out over the ocean.

I don’t want sex.

That’s the real taboo thing.

I can talk sex all day long, and I do want sex, don’t let my words mislead.

But I want the courtship first, the date, I want to pick up a book and hold his head in my lap and read to him and I want to be wrapped, tucked tight, really, in the crook of a man’s arm and held, guided, led through the mists out to the beach, where the love smashes itself on the sand and the electric blue jellyfish flay themselves on the sand, melting into the tide line like mermaid tears.

That’s what is taboo.

Wanting love.

To be loved.

To want romance.

That is the real deal breaker.

I wait for it.

The carousel will stop turning and I will grab the brass ring and sail around the perimeter of the square, while accordions play and the sun sprays on my face a calliope of desire and love.

Until then.

Another cup of tea.

A few more words on this page.

I open my heart to give and receive love.

I shall start with me.

Tonight’s Blog Brought To You By

October 27, 2014

Butterflies in my stomach.

I just got off the phone with the gentleman I was supposed to have coffee with today.

He had to retract the offer, it turned out to not be a good day for meeting up.

That’s two Sunday’s in a row now I have been cancelled on.  However, I don’t believe I will get stood up tomorrow, we rescheduled.

I wasn’t also stood up, it was more like, we should do coffee soon and we tried to make today work on short notice.

So tomorrow we will meet up for real, no coffee, but tea.

You know when you like a guy?

Or, excuse me, I, you know when I like a guy?

When I wash my hair.

Yeah, crazy that.

But no really.

My hair is kind of a big deal, literally–I have a lot of it, and it’s a hassle to deal with, although I love it greatly and don’t mind when the occasion calls for it to do something special.

In preparation for what I thought would be our first coffee date, I washed my hair, which means I shampoo’ed it, now I do that about once a week or so, maybe every week and a half, shampooing it is a huge pain and it wreaks havoc with it.

But.

Oh.

It’s so soft when I do.

And I took the time to air dry it.

That’s when I know I like a guy, when I air dry my hair.

It means I want him to touch it, because I take the time to let it dry naturally, which takes about oh, two hours to get it fully dry.  Two hours from wash to dry.  That’s a commitment, plus I pampered the fuck out of it–coconut hair mousse while it was starting to dry and finished with French Aragon hair oil.

This means nothing to you.

Unless you plunge your hands in the hair.

I looked like a wonton siren today roaming the beach as the wind blew my hair this way and that, it was windy down there, but my, the hair felt so good.

Ha.

Even though said date was unable to make today work, I don’t feel like the effort was wasted.

There’s nothing quite so satisfying as feeling sexy for oneself and I took care of that too, ahem.

I’m kind of like a guy that way, I figured better satisfying the itch before the fellow and I meet, I don’t need to dry hump his leg the first time we hang out.

Perhaps I am being a bit over the top here, but I did acknowledged to him while we were talking on the phone this evening that I might have pounced on him last night.

Not that he was complaining.

I saw him on campus and a mutual friend of ours introduced us, there was some spark immediately.  I probably spent too much time last night trying to look like I wasn’t looking.

But I was.

After an hour had passed and some hand holding, not with him, I might have fallen over, I now think, I thought to myself, you are making a move, lady pants, get on it.

Plus, I felt obliged as I outed myself and my intentions to have a date a week lined up–when I make a commitment I want to stick with it.

Not to find the one.

There is no One.

I am the one, but to date, to get out there, to not hide my light under a bushel, to share myself with another, to go out, leap, fly, blindly perhaps, but leaping knowing I will be caught.

Because that’s what I am realizing more and more, I am good at, taking risks, leaping, living.

I have developed faith.

So I leapt.

Well.

Let me be honest.

I was rather dragged, I don’t know that leaping is the right adjective for the feeling.

I have not felt this kind of pull before.

I went to the bathroom to collect myself and pee, because, well, frankly I didn’t want to be distracted by my bladder when I made my move.

I didn’t spend time hiding in the loo, though, I did the business, washed the paws and got out there.

Where’d he go.

I scanned the room.

I saw our friend.

Then.

I saw him.

Standing alone nibbling on a sugar cookie.

Mind if I nibble on you?

I strode across the floor.

It felt, in hindsight, like I was being pulled, that’s the best way I can put it, it felt like a magnet drawing me.

I don’t remember exactly what I said, I was a little distracted by the blue eyes, a lot, but it went something like this: “I have to say this before I lose my nerve, I find your really attractive and,” I think I laughed here, “I don’t even know if you’re single, but if you are and you want to hang out sometime, I would love to get a coffee with you.”

“Yes, I am and yes, I would, you’re hot,” he said.

I think that’s what he said.

I remember the “you’re hot,” part.

What girl doesn’t want to hear that?

“I’ve noticed you around before and I have to say that you’re yourself, you’re authentic, and that’s super sexy.” He said to me when we talked this evening.

Wait.

Say that again.

Ah.

Actually, you don’t need to.

I know that I am my best self when I am being myself and that when the time was right the time would be right.

The time is right.

“I have to say this and I’m probably jumping the gun, but, let’s go slow,” he said.

Yes.

I actually do know what you mean and I agree.

There’s nowhere I need to be immediately, I don’t have plans for you.

Well.

Ok.

I lie a little.

I really do want to kiss you.

But.

We both know that.

“I don’t know how long it’s been since I have felt that,” I said to him, acknowledging the very powerful and immediate chemistry we both owned up to.

He sent me a text re that.

And that’s private for me only folks, I get to keep some of this to myself.

I am like a greedy girl with secret treasure hoarding it all to myself.

But it was a snap, a spark, an electric pop, blue lighting, blue like his eyes.

“I felt zapped,” I said.

And I did.

Zoom zip and I wake up, zoooooom zip.

Hit by lighting and left a bit light-headed and light-hearted.

And unlike my date who forgot we had a date last week, said gentleman, Mister Blue Eyes, did not forget and we rescheduled.

For somewhere safe and public.

For tea tomorrow after I get done with work.

I won’t have time to rewash the hair.

But you know, I venture it will still be lively.

I expect it to stand on end when I see him.

God only knows what it will do if he kisses me.

Hair updates to follow.

Ha!

 

 

 


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