Posts Tagged ‘chocolate’

A Sweet Day

February 15, 2017

Despite it being Valentines Day.

Otherwise known as, achingly-painful-reminder-that-you-are-single day.

But really.

It was a sweet day and I did not find myself maudlin about the holiday, I haven’t really felt maudlin about Valentines Day in some time.

I have accepted where I am, who I am, and my relationship status is not a reflection of who I am or what I am.

It’s just a characteristic amongst many, many, many characteristics.


I have been told by a fair number of people over time that I have something that they want.

They’re own space.

They’re own room.

They’re own bed to roll around in.

No one hogging the blankets or snoring into their ear.

Or wet sweaty body lying clammy against them.

I just had a flash of an ex-boyfriend who was a profuse night sweater and how it grossed me out how wet the sheets got, I mean, soaked.

I was like what the fuck is detoxing out of your body?

And the man was sober.

Night terrors=night sweats.

I think he was still working out some stuff.

The relationship did not last long and I welcomed back my bed with wide open arms when he was no longer sleeping in it.

I also welcomed not changing my sheets every other day.

I actually find Valentines Day rather sweet.

I like sending cards and I loved seeing all the guys out there carrying bundles of flowers.

I liked imagining the faces of the women or men they were giving those flowers to.

It was like little pieces of tangible love adrift in the world and I did not need a piece of it, nor did I find myself lacking for it, rather I just felt in my soul, a comfortable witnessing and great appreciation for all those folks out there doing for one another.

There really is nothing like getting flowers from someone.

It is special.

And as per usual.

I eschew buying them for myself on this day.

They prices get rather jacked up and I’ll buy some tomorrow.

I did some nice self-care today, took a hot shower, did some writing before work, drank a nice hot cafe au lait, got out into the sunshine and did a big grocery shopping run after work, doing the deal and meeting with a lady this evening to do some work and reflection.

I feel like it was a pretty successful day.

It did not hurt that I was not much on social media.

Sometimes I need a break from that.

What was wonderful today too was running into people unexpectedly from school and my previous nanny gig.

I ran into a TA from my Gestalt class last summer and we had a great catch up and a warm sweet hug.

“You smell good as always!” She exclaimed.

We chit chatted for a few minutes then I ran to catch the train to do some errands for the family in Noe Valley.

Super grateful for that.

Running errands outside when the day was a nice as it was today.

67 degrees.


I actually put on sunblock today before leaving the house.

The utter sublimest luxury of sitting in the sun while waiting for the train with my eyes closed at the cafe on Church and 30th was so good.

I felt so lucky and blessed.

I was getting paid to wait for the train at a cafe in the sunshine.

That’s pretty damn good.

Then up in Noe Valley after I had dropped off dry cleaning and picked up dry cleaning, I ducked in Whole Foods and picked up a few things for the house and ran into a woman who I knew from the corner market at 21st and Valencia–the market that I frequented when I was nannying in the Mission.

She works there as the check out lady and she was all smiles when she saw me and she gave me a great big hug.

It was super sweet to see her and it made me realize how just small kindnesses can go so far.

I don’t think I did much besides always say hello and smile and ask after her, just basic humanness, and her response to seeing me was so nice, it just was a great reminder to take that extra moment, smile, be kind, be sweet, be generous.

I don’t need heart-shaped boxes of candy to remind me to do that, but it’s a pleasant thing to see people with them tucked underneath their arms.

I loved seeing the kids let out from Mission High School.

The balloon bouquets were pretty impressive.

Granted when I was in high school, Valentines Day was hell on wheels for me emotionally, but it’s not now, and I can look back with a great deal of love and humor for the girl I was hoping for the same acknowledgement, love, and passion as I saw happening for other girls and guys at school.

There can be a show-off-ness about Valentines Day.

But today.

I chose not to see it for that.

Rather I just let it be another day.

A day I got to show up and work and cherish my charge.

A day in the sunshine with the flowers fragrant and lush where ever I went.

Who doesn’t want to see bouquets of flowers all day long?

So much beauty.

And the warmth of the little girl hand in my hand as I walked from the train and up the hill to her house was all the Valentines Day love I needed.

I am lucky.

I have so much love in my life.

I need not pine for more.

Why would anyone want more if they are not happy with what they have?


I am happy.



Exactly as it should be.



November 23, 2015

You’re reading?

Take a break.


But wait.

I have to e-mail my professor.

Fuck my mother.

I was on the phone with a friend who I haven’t had a chance to talk to all weekend when I got a ping, I wasn’t paying much attention, trying to re-connect and make plans for when he’s back in town and then, I see it’s my T-Group professor.

Then I see the regarding part of the message.

Dear Carmen, it looks like you attached the directions to how to write the paper rather than the paper.

How shit.

Of course I did.

Damn it man.

I wrote that sucker eight days ago and really did not want to think about it.

My friend got off the phone with me to leave me to my fretting about school and so I could re-send the paper.

I got it off and the professor sent me a sweet note saying not to worry and it’s all set.

I decided to take my friend suggestion and relax the rest of the night.

Cue vibrator.

I mean, come on.

I need to get some stress out.

I came so fast I couldn’t believe it.


Should have put in the warning about relatives reading said blog.

Sorry, relations, you should stop reading blog.  Pick it up tomorrow.




That was fast.

Note to self efficacy of said fantasy extremely high.


I actually went for round two and the same thing happened.

I can’t remember the last time I had two back to back orgasms that fast.


Needed to unwind.


Into the shower.


And I just sat under neath the falling water and let all the cares sluice down the drain.

I am taking it easy for the rest of the night.

I deserve a break.

Twenty nine hours of school over the weekend and yes, ma’am, I do need a break.

Plus I went grocery shopping right after school.

I had not quite calculated enough food for the weekend and was a little short in my fridge.

I knew I needed to buy staples and I was going to go and do a nice run to Rainbow, I was on my scooter, after all, but by the time class was done.

So was I.

Done that is.

I negotiated with my self and decided I would just do a run to SafeWay for some staples and then over to Other Avenues for eggs, coffee, and persimmons.

I am grateful I didn’t try to do more than that.

I got overwhelmed in SafeWay.

Oh duh.

It’s the Sunday before Thanksgiving!

It was packed in the store.

I don’t know that I have ever seen so many people in a SafeWay.

I got in and I got out.

I got home and I made some dinner.

Pot of brown rice accompanied by ground turkey sauteed with mushrooms, garlic, brussels sprouts, and broccoli.

Hella good.

Then the dishes.

Then the phone call.

Then the fuck this I need to relax.

And I feel a lot better now.

The hot shower and I even splurged when I got out and slapped a face mask on myself.

Note to self.

Lovely gift from friend smells way too good to put on face, want to put in mouth, want to lick off self, perhaps use as aphrodisiac for next self-gratifying session.

Speaking of which.

I need to go wash the mask off my face before I start sticking my tongue out the side of my mouth and snacking on it.

Excuse me for a moment here.

I just looked at the ingredients on the facial masque–first ingredient–raw cocoa.

Second ingredient.


Well, of course I want to eat own face off.

I just washed it off and skin feels lovely.

And slathered self with coconut lotion.

Now self smells like Mounds Bar.

I smell delicious.

Is it possible to make out with own self?




I am nuts.

Just a little tired from three day weekend of psychodynamics, human development, Freudian theory, processing, group triads in therapeutic communication, playing therapist, playing the client, showing up in class, being on time, writing, writing, writing, reading, reading, reading.

But as I stare down the rest of the semester, there is just one weekend left in December before I am finished with the semester, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

It’s called the City of Lights and I can’t wait to go!

“You know it will be cold and gloomy, and somber after what happened,” my darling Parisian friend said to me this weekend.

“Yes, I do, and I am ok with that, I lived there during the cold, dark, dreary, and I am prepared for that, besides, I am happy just wandering the streets, I don’t need to have the best weather in the world.”

Although when Paris is warm it might be the most delicious place in the entire world.

And whatever the season, it’s Paris.

Christmas in Paris.

Sounds lovely doesn’t it?

Better than say, Christmas in Daly City.

And we have plans, ma poulette et moi.

She is going to show me the Jeu de Paume museum.

Which I can’t believe I never went to when I was in Paris, but it just went right under my radar.

It’s a museum of modern art and photography.

I am really interested in the galleries and also of the Phillip Halsman photos of Marilyn Monroe jumping.

I see a souvenir in my future.

Plus, she, my Parisian friend, vowed to show me parts of the 1st Arronsidesment that I have never seen.

I am extraordinarily excited.

And much more relaxed.

Scent of face mask fading.

Body relaxing.

Hot tea taking affect.

Laundry wrapping itself up in the wash.

Food prepped for the week.

And I have a few hours of down time that I will not, I promise, devote to school work.


A video.

A call back to my friend now that I am in my right mind.


I may never be in my right mind, but I am a lot more settled down, that’s for sure.

And a full night’s sleep.

Then back to the grind tomorrow.

But that is tomorrow.


I relax.



And more.


I swear that wasn’t meant to be sexual.

Freudian slip.





Sex and Chocolate

November 29, 2012

Yeah, I bet that got your attention.

It certainly got mine.

I was heading toward Charles de Gaulle Etoile, Metro Line 2, this evening and I passed what may be my favorite Patisserie and Boulangerie.

It smells so good.

I wrote a poem about it yesterday:


Patisserie in Your Pocket


Sex that tastes of chocolate and bread.

Smells of wood burning at dusk, cold

wind tries to tussle underneath.  Red

cheeked, ruddy nosed, I try to hold


you in my chest, tight, like nesting

birds after the sun has gone to bed,

close as the saucer to my resting

cup cooling after foamed hot milk bled


from silver canister to bowl.  Jazz

soiree in my heart dances still

with you and we never pirouetted, has

that thought occurred to you, will-


fully distant, ghost of breath haunts

me yet, even in Paris, in a café, it taunts.


I walked past the boulangerie, I do not stop.  I have nothing to partake there any longer.  And I thought of him.

“Glad I didn’t take you to ‘Flour and Sugar’,” in a text to me after our first date.

I do not eat either.

I quipped back, “at least you didn’t take me to ‘Vodka and Cocaine'”.

I was unexpectedly hit with the smell and all the good meals I got to have with him before heading over here.  And I had a brief scent bath walking past the boulangerie and it came unbidden, that is what sex would be like with him, it would be like how bread and chocolate taste together.

Some one who has lived here in Paris longer than I exclaimed out loud, “what?!  Bread and chocolate?”

Ah yes, a good baguette torn apart warm from the boulangerie wrapped around a dark piece of good chocolate, may be the best thing I have ever eaten.

I have no hankering to eat it again, I rather like how I look without the excess weight that a lot of bread and chocolate will do to me.  And, no don’t ask me if I can have it in moderation.

No, I cannot just have one cookie.

That is rather like asking, “can’t you just do one line of cocaine?”


I have also had that question asked, which makes me chuckle.

Not so much.

However, I do like the way bread smells baking.  It has to be in my top five smells.

1. Wood burning on a cold night.

2. Warm bread just pulled from the oven, brushed with melted butter.

3. Coffee steeping

4. Bacon frying in a pan

5. Lilacs on a warm night

The boulangerie of which I speak is not just a regular bread bakery, it is also a patisserie, so it also has tartes and cookies and chocolate cakes and sugar crumbled fairy star-dust, and it is striped pink and white and has bright red awnings.

It looks like a confection.

I walk by it about two, sometimes three times a week.  It is near the Anvers Metro stop and when I go to Charles de Gaulle Etoile–which will basically drop you right off at the Arc de Triomphe–I go past it.

Even closed it wafts sugar sweet chocolate drop dreams onto the sidewalk.

I imagine that is frequented often, it just smells way to good to not be, plus it is catty corner from Square D’Anvers which has a children’s play area in it and is mobbed daily with nannies and au pairs.

Then there is the something that takes my breath away, seeing a man and a little boy this morning walking hand in hand toward the park, both buried deep in their mufflers, it’s getting cold here (it might snow this weekend!), the little boy had a pastry wrapped in white paper clutched in his mittened hand and there was a smudge of chocolate on his nose.

I could have just scooped him up and licked his nose.

Papa might have been a little taken aback.

The French, they take their chocolate very serious.  There is a specialty chocolate shop (there are chocolate shops everywhere) I pass on the way to the St. Sulpice Metro line and they have hippopotamus heads carved, life-size, thank you very much, in cacao in the display room.  And the original picture, which shows a huddle of hippos, is propped in the front window.

I wonder where the other hippos went?

Swimming in a chocolate lagoon.

How come the Simpson’s never go to Paris?  I could see Homer dancing a soft shoe shuffle through the arrondissements with  a beret and a striped shirt and chocolate smeared all over his face.

I so digress.

The smell of the boulangerie reminds me of the Mister, and it makes me think not of eating bread but of having a sleep over.

Damn it.

I do not believe there will be any sleep overs here.

Not when my room-mate is sitting in my room with me reading online news about Syria.

There is no privacy here.


Ah well.

Not that the French men who have approached me have been exactly available.  Although I was flirted with quite a bit tonight as I hit the Metro going to Etoile.  He sat down next to me and he was definitely attractive and he smiled and said I was “tres charmant” very fuckable.

Um, I mean, very charming.

He said a few other things and he was flirting and I had to go and of course, I had been thinking about bread and chocolate and sex, the sex that never was, and I must have been oozing hormones.

He got off at the same stop as I, which is not actually unusual, it is a really busy stop with a lot of connecting lines that run along it, and he followed me up a set of stairs and then he turned left and I ducked right.

And promptly got lost underground.


I am not really remiss that I lost the man in the crowd of the underground, but I am a little over the longing for some one in another country, another continent–it smacks of a pattern that I have had for a long time and I am not interested in having it any longer.

Time to let that go to.

Time to be here fully.

I can still enjoy the smell of the boulangerie, then walk by and get on my way.

I gotta go Mister.

I have got a book to finish.




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