Posts Tagged ‘Church Street’

And We Have A Winner

April 7, 2016

Finally.

Thanks Tinder.

That took a hot minute.

But fuck me.

Ha.

It was worth the wait.

Oh my.

Was it ever worth the wait.

And.

Whelp.

I’m for sure ready for the school weekend now.

I  printed off my last paper this morning and did my references and took a hot shower, cleaned up the house, did some laundry, ate a nice breakfast and had a lot of coffee.

Not much sleep you know.

Mwahahahaha.

“I told you, you got to go younger, that’s the way,” my friend, a bit smug, even via text, I could tell he was being a bit smug, having been the younger one to my older once upon a time in a land far, far away, the Mission District, before I moved to Paris and all that jazz.

It was fun.

I’ll just leave it at that and delicious and completely made up for the other three bad Tinder dates and the one that cancelled–who still once in a while sends me some weirdo message.

Time to block that shit.

I see it and just delete, but really, why even accept any incoming message?

(Side bar, he just messaged and I just blocked)

That is where I am beginning to see how this app works a little bit.

Oh.

And my paramour gave me the best new word.

“Techtard.”

I am a total techtard!

I was trying to put my address into his phone as we stood next to my scooter after having just had a really, really, really good kiss, and well I couldn’t figure it out.  Could have been the kiss, could have been I’m a “techtard.”

I may go with it was the kiss.

Whew.

That was the best make out.

We had met a cafe I felt comfortable with.

I held firm to meeting where I wanted to meet.

No bars.

I’m not dating anyone, at least not yet, just out there having fun.

Though, truth be told, said gentleman from last night wants to hang out again I am on it.

Seriously.

SERIOUSLY.

Um yeah.

Any way.

I had suggested a cafe close to where I work, but it had closed early and he suggested a bar and I said no, I’m sober, I’m not interested in meeting in a bar, even if I have a good reason to be there.

Somehow a Tinder date does not seem like a good idea for me to go to a bar.

Um, yeah, not so much.

First rule.

Go where I want to go.

Second.

The ball is always in my court.

Always.

I’m not feeling it.

Leave.

There’s no chemistry.

Get the fuck out.

Schedule only on my time frame.

Remember.

I’m not dating.

I don’t have to be flexible, I mean, really, though, I was totally.

I couldn’t do a thing this weekend, school and all, and we seemed to hit it off, via text anyway, so it was worth the investment in time.

Plus.

I had finished the bulk of the paper yesterday morning before I went to work, I didn’t feel any kind of bad about taking the evening off to meet and connect with someone.

Whatever happens it’s an experience.

I am living.

I am not crying my tea cup alone wondering why I’m not out there grooving and shaking.

And.

Hey.

Lest you think this is easy, I had to talk myself into the date.

The man was hot.

HOT.

Ten years younger than me and by the end of my nanny shift, hello, what is that on my shirt?  Don’t think, just brush it off.  I was pretty wiped out.

You know, I only wrote a five page paper before work, then worked a long shift, then yeah, I’m going to go out on a date with someone I have never met before and the last three in person Tinder dates I had were ass, so yeah, you’re tired.

Go home.

Except.

Well.

I knew that resistance feeling.

I recognized it.

There’s a big difference between I need to practice some self care and go home and chill and read and write.

It’s another to self-isolate.

And this, the nagging thought, to cancel the date, was self-isolation.

I could feel it.

So.

I showed up.

Holy shit when he walked in the cafe.

I almost left anyhow.

This guy is not going to see anything in me.

And he’s tall?

Jesus God, thank you, I have been a very good girl, I promise.

Heh.

While he was getting a cup of tea I snagged the two front leather chairs in the front of the cafe and snuggled in.

I was tempted to text a girl friend.

But.

I kept my phone in my purse and promised myself I would stay present.

It was a little awkward at first.

First dates always are.

Then something shifted.

He shifted, I shifted, the conversation deepened.

We talked a lot.

Shoes and ships and sealing wax.

Cabbages and kings.

Family, work, school, Albert Einstein, intelligence, travel, life, experiences, Burning Man.

He shared some music with me.

I pulled out headphones from my bag and plugged into the song, watching the video on the screen, Listener–Wooden Heart.

Holy shit.

I was mesmerized.

I got the tears standing in my eyes.

Then one slipped down my face.

I think I was pretty hidden in my hair, it had fallen across my eyes as I listened to the music and I was just spellbound, heart open and beating and kaboom, kaboom, kaboom.

I remember thinking, well if nothing else, I learned about this incredible new music and I am happy girl for new music to put into my heart.

“I cried too, the first time I heard it,” he said and smiled when I handed back his phone.

“I sort of wear my heart on my sleeve,” I said and wiped my eyes.

Sort of.

Understatement of the fucking year.

The conversation continued.

I don’t even recall what we were talking about but suddenly there was this completely goofy conversation about Muppets and I am laughing so hard in my chair I am snorting and tearing up.

Complete belly laugh.

Now that’s been a while for a first date.

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” he said.

We got up, used the loo, and walked around the Mission taking photographs and talking this and that until we got back to my scooter.

And how we got the topic of the last Pee Wee Herman movie and bicycles I have no idea.

But suddenly.

He was there, leaning into me.

“Shhh,” he said, taking my face into his hands.

He kissed me.

And um.

Yeah.

The rest is my history to relish privately.

Suffice to say.

I’m a happy lady.

And I have new music to listen to.

#Winning.

 

Long Legs

February 24, 2015

Long day.

“Look at your legs!” The kid passing by me on his fixie shouted.

“Thanks, I’m twice your age, I don’t think I can keep up,” I shouted back.

He had whipped past me and gone up the right side of the flow of cars crossing Market Street at Church.

I, having discovered, weeks ago during my commute, that unless there’s a MUNI train screaming behind me, to take the far left lane that is specifically only MUNI and taxis–thereby avoiding the commuting traffic at Church and Market and also the drivers turning in and out of SafeWay.

“What the fuck?” The kid saw me angle left and whip around the N-Judah that was waiting to cross over to Duboce.  “How did you do that?!  Sneaky lady!”

I laughed.

I got to have some tricks up my sleeves.

“You’re not twice my age, no way,” the kid replied.

He was right.

I’m 42 and he was 32.

Still.

That’s ten years and I worked a 9 hour day today.

My 42-year-old legs, though lovely to look upon whilst riding my one speed from the Mission to the Outer Sunset, were tired.

Monday’s are always a busy day, a long day, full of stuff and things and work, work, work.

But today there was the extra hectic of a grandparent visit, construction happening at the house and the house next door, visits from out-of-town friends, and swimming lessons.

Whew.

I was never once alone in the house.

Or at the park, grandparent’s tagged along on the outing in the morning.

Fortunately I have gotten used to interacting with a lot of people while working for this family and I feel like I can roll with the punches.

I generally keep a pretty good demeanor and keep myself occupied.

It does, however, mean I was unable to take phone calls, make phone calls or really respond to texts messages during the day.

I realized that I hadn’t talked to anyone outside of work until 6:30 p.m. tonight when I rolled up into the Inner Sunset.

I was grateful to sit and be quiet though, sometimes that’s all I need, I don’t need to check in, I just need to claim my seat and sit.

Then pedal my bicycle on out towards the beach and the smell of the ocean.

Monday’s always go by quick, I tell myself this when I am eating my morning oatmeal and drinking my coffee, waiting for the caffeine to hit while I write my morning pages.

I was writing this morning about how I feel a little stuck on the dating front, I exhausted my list of guys and I haven’t met anyone new online that is a good match and well, what now?

I had a friend suggest I go perform, or try to perform, at the Moth tomorrow night at Public Works.

I was tempted.

I even came up with a few ideas about a piece.

The topic?

Heartbreak.

Heh.

I thought I could tell a story about red flags.

And there’s some funny ones that have come up for me and I probably could tell a five-minute story on them.

Truth though.

I’m tired thinking about it.

I have a long week this week with the grandparents in town at work, and the graduate school interview on Thursday, and the scooter getting checked out on Wednesday night after work, and stuff and things that I normally do, plus a workshop that I agree to run on Saturday.

I mean.

Sitting here at my table this morning sipping coffee and my whole week is mapped out and I wonder, well, fuck, the next thing I know it’s going to be next Monday and the whole thing will start-up again.

I felt exhausted even before starting.

I shook it off.

I had a really lovely, relaxing, mellow day yesterday and I bank rolled that into today, keeping my spirits up, not getting involved in drama, doing my job, keeping my side of the street clean, and going to do my commitment.

That leaves little time in my day to write out an extra piece and practice it.

Anyway, the contemplation process was short and sweet.

Not this time.

I can and will make time to do things, I will, I thought, I have to, if I’m going to date I definitely have to.

There’s a balance and I know it can be struck.

But I am, really, fresh out of ideas for the dating thing.

Y’all have any suggestions throw them my way.

The best thing I can think is to not isolate, and yes, I know that going and doing something like the Moth would be a great social event to check out, I just find it a serious challenge to add extra things onto my week day evenings.

I will though.

If I have to.

I’m willing to do the work, but right now, I don’t even know what that is.

I like myself, natch.

I take good care of myself.

I try to look cute when I leave the house for work, you never know when someone might be looking, at the “those legs” or that hair.

Or the glasses.

I got a lot of compliments on the frames today.

I am quite pleased with them.

They are outside my box, and yet, a perfect fit for me.

So how to get outside the dating box?

I tried Tinder and that was just nasty.

I’m not having much luck on OkCupid.

Unless you count offers in Scranton.

Sorry dude.

I don’t want to date outside of San Francisco, let alone outside of California.

I asked out the ten.

I did get two dates out of that.

So cool.

But what next?

I really would like to just magically get asked out.

Ah.

Magical thinking.

Fucks me every time.

I used to have magical thinking around my weight.

Turns out I had to have a huge bottom around it, get broken down, and find spiritual help outside my own brain.

Basically, I had to do a lot of work.

I did the same with my finances.

I had to do a lot of work to get out debt, stay out of debt, and live prosperously (thanks Jerrold Mundis).

I know the same is applicable to dating.

“You know what’s been nice about this graduate school deal,” she told me on the phone yesterday, “it’s not fast and wild and crazy, it’s been a slow, serene process, where you’ve taken things a step at a time and let go of the results the entire time.  It’s been pretty amazing to watch it all unfold.”

I know that’s a correct assessment.

Those things worth having are worth working for.

I don’t mind doing the work.

That’s not the conundrum.

I don’t know what the work is anymore.

So, this week, unless I get some stellar suggestions about dating.

I’m going to focus on taking care of myself and doing the things that I need to do for graduate school and doing my job at work.

As well as doing the deal.

Which is a non-negotiable deal.

The dating will probably happen like every thing else.

When I am not paying attention to it.

I’ll get popped on the head, or in the heart.

And I’ll be off on another adventure.

Such is life.

My life anyway.


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