Posts Tagged ‘Chow’

Grace Over Drama

July 19, 2016

New favorite acronym.

Just saying.

I realized today as I was scootering to work and practicing what I was going to say to my boss that my fear was that I was going to fuck it up and not say it perfect and that was the reason why I had been waiting, consciously or not, to say my piece.

I had to get it perfect.

Ugh.

Girlfriend.

Haven’t you learned yet?

I don’t have to be perfect.

I am not that powerful, I can’t fuck anything or anyone up.

I’m not God.

I can only show up, do the best I can, speak, and let go of the results.

All of my people were behind me and I did the simplest little thing, the tiniest little change of my behavior and the next thing I know I was able to have a conversation because I had taken my break.

I didn’t ask.

I just took it.

I timed it and made myself sit down the entire time.

Well, except for when I got up to make a cup of tea.

I put everything on the back burner, literally, I was cooking, the boys were either napping or in quiet time, dad wasn’t working from home and mom was busy doing mom stuff.

I just sat.

I realized that knowing what I knew, that I am valuable, and needed and I’m good at my job and that I can ask to be of service to my job, to put into it rather than to take from it, but I can’t be of service without taking care of me.

So.

I asked the mom to help me.

I said I was happy to be flexible week to week during the summer time as long as I was getting the meal break I needed, especially since the boys are out of school, not in summer camp, and I’m working extra hours this week.

I told her that I felt the responsibility was on me to take the break and that I didn’t last week and that by the end of the week I really wasn’t my best self.

That I love my job and my charges and want to be the best I can.

Which means making sure I get a break.

The mom was super chill and easy and it was no big deal.

I was like.

Did I just make a shit load of drama and crash out my weekend for that?

Fuck.

Fear is so over rated.

Grateful beyond belief that I walked through it.

And I found that the family wants me to work for them into the fall and we’ll review again in January.

So.

Work is set.

Now the focus is back on Burning Man.

Like it’s ever really left.

I met with a girlfriend after work and had a nice meal over at Chow and got caught up and we tried to figure out the whole tent deal and the stuff and things.

And.

I don’t know.

It feels complicated and I’m not sure it’s the right answer, but we shall see.

Of course, I then got home and tooled around on the interwebs trying to figure it out.

Ah.

Obsessive thinking, so nice to see you again.

I remind myself that it’s got to be easy, simple is always the answer, simply find a ride, a shelter, a ride back, an early arrival pass, a, oh, fuck, stop it.

It will all come together.

I got the ticket.

Even though I don’t have the ticket yet.

Which I am beginning to wonder about.

There was a charge of $20 for two day secured mail and it’s been a week, plus the weekend, and I’m wondering, where’s my ticket, yo?

Or give me back my $20 cuz I got supplies to buy.

Of which I have managed to buy and set aside a couple of food staples, a parasol, and some baby wipes.

I got a tutu already, chill.

And boots, which I bought way back in February when I thought I was going to be working as a nanny at Star Star Camp.

And a shoulder harness.

Those things, my goggles, my plethora of bandanas, and my tutus, yeah, I have more than one, and I’m pretty set, in fact, costumes, hair stuff, flowers, ribbons, make up, I got that shit covered in spades.

You know.

It’s just the big stuff.

Ride.

Shelter.

Ride back.

Figure out how to get the bicycle there.

Fuck!

I just realized I need to text my OG playa family, the dad was going to drop my bike on Wednesday and I got pulled into working a late day for the family.

Note to self, text in morning.

That being said I do have feelings that things are going to work out in some crazy, sweet, magical way.

Burning Man.

How do I love thee?

Let me count the dusty ways.

The McFishlickers.

Action Girl, Thumper, Junior.

The “commiscary.”

Bacon.

Sunset over the Calico Mountains.

Curley.

The Trash Fence.

Rabbi.

Uncle Boy and the Gerlach Stage Coach.

Hand massage.

Poetry in the twilight.

Star Fuckers.

Anonymous Village.

Camp Stella.

STELLA!

Run Free.

Solar lights on bicycles.

In the inner circle for Man Burn.

Man Crew.

The art placement crew.

All the art.

ALL THE FUCKING ART.

The Hug Deli.

Dream Land.

The Monkeys.

The Temple.

Shadrach’s ashes.

Flying a kite on playa.

Mary Fucking Poppins.

Juno.

Lady Town.

The Nurse.

The Wilsons.

The Love.

The freaking Slug.

Gooey.

Hash marks on the trailer.

Ice cold coconut water left on my step.

Hearing my name shouted out from a passing art car.

All my crazy hair styles.

Tan lines.

Santa Claus at the burn barrel, 6 o’clock keyhole.

The sacred and the profane.

The hot springs pre-event.

Being a fluffer.

Explaining to the over heated gentleman on the Esplanade what a fluffer was.

I think I dashed his hopes.

Ha.

The Elco.

Gigsville.

Media Mecca.

First Camp.

The Poop Deck.

All the characters, all the dust, all the pretty, pretty, pretty people.

Sparkle ponies.

Fire.

Fire.

Fire.

I got my ticket to the circus.

I just need to find my train there.

I’ll be waiting at the station with my small stack of colorful clear bins stuffed with striped socks, goggles, crinolines, makeup, flowers, and joy.

Lots.

And lots.

And lots.

Of.

Joy.

Can’t wait!

Seriously.

Ready.

Not really.

But totally.

Ready.

Set.

Go!

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Darling Little Day

June 18, 2016

Even though it started rough.

Wow.

Sometimes it’s a wonder I get out of bed.

The head games that happen before I have even swung my legs out of the bed, they can be a little, well, crazy.

I got up though, and once I got moving I knew I was going to be fine.

Even not knowing what I was going to exactly do today.

It was going to be fine.

So I did the things that help me get to that place of being completely ok with what is happening, fresh sheets on the bed, laundry in the wash, kneeling down, taking some minutes, asking for guidance and direction, reading some stuff, saying some stuff, and a nice mellow, relaxed breakfast.

Since I had no where to be other than the noon yoga class I signed up for.

I did a lot of writing.

That always helps.

I don’t even recall exactly what I wrote of, not that I normally keep track of it.

It’s rather like empty a drawer of junk and being open for what God wants to put into my day rather than trying to organize any sort of relevant thoughts or plans.

Plans.

When I make them.

Foiled.

All the time.

What then usually happens, especially if I’m on the beam, is the reality of my day is much better than what I had planned.

Yoga was like pulling teeth.

To get me to.

However, when I was there, it was amaze balls.

Like the best class I have ever had.

I did ALL the poses, I was in my body, I could feel a shift that’s probably been building for a while, but I felt so on and in the groove and just there.

It’s been four months and I am so happy I have stuck it out and kept going.

It’s hard getting there, my head will start telling me stories about how I don’t need to go.

Funny that.

How my head likes to tell me to do things that don’t serve, even when I know, with some other mysterious part of my being, that doing the very things I don’t want to do will actually make me feel better.

Take the contrary action, Carmen, it really works.

All the fucking time.

There is a solution.

Thank God.

And it is almost always the opposite of what the brain says to do.

Don’t go, you don’t need to, you’re tired, there’s other stuff happening that’s more important, yada, yada, yada.

Ad fucking nauseam.

Anyway.

I went.

And it was spectacular and my teacher told me that she wished she had taken a photo of when I first started, “you are so much more flexible, it is amazing, it’s the best part of my practice, getting to see people when they first start and then, if they are consistent, how they change.”

I really did feel good.

So good that I don’t want to go tomorrow.

Ha.

I know.

Right?

Like.

I worked so hard today, I don’t have to do it tomorrow.

But I do.

Maybe not yoga, per se, but I have certain things that I just need to do and I’m cool with that, it let’s me do all the fun stuff.

Which today, was really chill stuff, the laundry, the balancing the checkbook, the yoga, some grocery shopping, a nice hot shower, some pleasure reading, cleaning out my closet a little, I sold some stuff to Crossroads–things that were nice, but just never brought me happiness when I wore them, and then took myself out to a little dinner at Red Jade in the Castro.

Went and hung out with my people and did the deal.

Then I actually hung out afterward.

I went and fucking fellowshipped.

I haven’t done that in a while.

It was good.

I mean.

Really good.

Just to get reconnected to some friends and catch up and been seen and see fellows.

So lovely.

We went to Chow.

And I haven’t been to Chow in awhile and I love Chow.

I didn’t eat as I had already had my dinner, but to sit with a pot of tea and laugh and tell jokes and swap stories and be fun and just alive.

God damn.

I am so lucky to be alive.

It is just astounding, all things considered.

And tomorrow?

More yoga, even though I don’t want to go.

Heh.

Then.

Yes.

The pink hair.

After that a date.

I’m actually rather tepid about the date and have come inches from canceling.

However, I remind myself it’s just an exploration, see if there’s chemistry, have a cup of coffee, meet another person, let go of the results.

Show up and see what happens.

Like I said, if I don’t want to do something, I probably should.

Even if the date doesn’t go well I’ll have done something outside of my comfort zone and that is always a good thing.

It’s a late afternoon/early evening date.

So coffee could roll over to dinner, but it doesn’t have to.

I may have the evening free.

I may not.

I will probably want to show off my hair like the hussy I am, but that’s normal.

And I’m quietly pleased that my hair will be pink for Pride.

I’m not even a pinch hitter for my team, I’m rather fond of the opposite sex, but I love, adore, respect and have great admiration for the men and women and all the in between shades of humanity, after all that’s happened, I will be with the city at Pride this year.

I haven’t gone in a few years, it can be overwhelming, but I feel like the joy of being unified will outweigh the negatives of being in a big old crowd.

Plus.

I’ll be on that side of town doing the podcast up in Noe Valley.

Anyway.

I get ahead of myself.

I usually do.

Right now.

Right here.

It’s all right.

It’s all good.

In fact.

It’s pretty fucking spectacular.

Seriously.

And Then

December 17, 2015

It all just came together.

I am uncertain how, but just like that.

I have a little birthday party happening with friends.

Nothing big, just a small group of us going to Chow on Church and Market after a little getting right with God sesh at Our Lady of Safeway.

I haven’t been to Chow in a long time and it felt like just the coziest place to be with some friends that are super hard to wrangle and then poof.

It all sort of fell into place.

Just like my outfit for the ballet in Paris.

Which is not at all what I thought I would be wearing.

Not at all.

The dress I ordered finally showed up, and again, the wrong size!

Ugh.

Seriously.

I have to return it yet again.

I was not happy and I will have to return it now for the third time.

Actually, this particular dress I am returning for the second time, but it’s the third go around with ModCloth.

The first dress was a horrible pattern, the screen color was no where near the actual dress and I rarely think about when a dress pattern or color clashes with my tattoos, because it so rarely happens.

But wow.

When it does.

It really does.

And the original dress was an awful clash.

So.

Returned for a different dress, this all in black.

And the first size, too small.

Returned.

And this size too small again.

Damn it man.

The instructions said size up, but two sizes up?

Ugh.

It’s not that I can’t get into the dress, it’s just that my rib cage, nothing else, is too big.

If I had the time I would take it out.

But I don’t, I leave for Paris in four days!

Four.

Holy crow.

After struggling in and out the dress I resigned myself to the fact, that I am just going to have to return it again and hope for a better fit.

I may just have to go with a different style, because I run the risk of the dress not fitting correctly if I size up further.

It fits everywhere else perfectly so if I size up it will probably fit in the ribcage but not elsewhere, it will be too baggy.

So.

Another dress return.

Oh well.

I was flustered when I left the house, thinking I may have to do some last minute dress shopping to get my outfit together.

I am dressing up, damn it, for the ballet, I just am.

I mean have you seen my new shoes?

But I had places to go tonight that were more important than my outfit and commitments to cover as well as a few groceries to buy for the rest of the week.

I came back to the house elated to have actually confirmed a dinner party with four, possibly five of my friends on Friday, this Friday, in the middle of holiday party season, for a birthday dinner.

Then I thought.

Well.

Shoot.

What am I going to wear?

Not that I have to get dressed up, but it might be fun.

The other consideration is that I will be nannying all day and so what ever I choose to wear will have some wear and tear on it.

I manage my clothes fairly well, but I do work with little boys, the dirt, it does happen.

So.

I was looking in my closet and then.

Oh.

Hey.

What if I do that and this and that and this.

And voi-fucking-la!

I have my outfit for the ballet.

Halter dress in black with white polka dots with white crinoline underneath and my Helmut Lang black cashmere sweater over the top, black tights, the new Fluevog’s in “Dots” and my hair up in a bun.

Perfect.

Chic.

Eclectic.

Retro pinup girl with class.

I tried on my new coat, the swing coat I got at Tatyana’s to match my shoes.

And.

Fuck me.

Swoon.

It’s a great freaking outfit.

I was so happy.

I will NOT be wearing it to work on Friday for my birthday.

I will wear something fun and sassy.

But this look.

Oh.

I’m saving it for the ballet.

I don’t know how I’m going to stuff my crinoline in my carry on to Paris, but that bitch is coming with.

Over the top.

I have my outfit.

And I have my birthday party with some of my nearest and dearest.

It’s such a pleasant surprise.

I really hadn’t much planned.

And when it all fell together I was so pleased.

I am so pleased.

And I’m doing pretty much exactly what I want to do on a Friday night in San Francisco, do the deal, and hang out with my favorite people in the city over a bite to eat in a cozy restaurant.

Some of whom aren’t in the city proper and I feel super grateful that they are going to come in from Berkeley and Castro Valley.

Drop on by if you like, always room for another smiling face at the table.

And like that.

It’s Wednesday.

I’m halfway through the week.

I have birthday plans.

I have a mighty fine ballet outfit.

I have my Therapeutic Communications paper three quarters done!

I have been working on it everyday before work.

I should actually have it completed either tomorrow or possibly I will be wrapping it up Friday morning before I go into work.

Work, some doing the deal, some fellowship.

Saturday, I’ll meet with my person, get my nails done and my eyebrows waxed, pack, and if I can manage to not break my brain, I’m going to write my Psychoanalytic paper Saturday as well.

Now that I don’t have to worry about buying another dress at the last minute, I’ve got plenty of time to kick it out of the way.

Then I’ll be free and clear for take off to Paris.

The cafes call, the museums beckon, there’s a steak tartar or three that have my name on them, I suspect there’s some oysters in my future, a trip to Sacre Coeur, possibly for Christmas Eve Mass, walking the streets with my girlfriend from school, buying notebooks and postcards, walking everywhere.

What a lovely holiday season this is.

I really am.

The luckiest girl in the world.


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