Posts Tagged ‘dress up’

Foiled!

July 14, 2017

But not really.

I mean.

Yes, I am a bit disappointed that the Friday 8:30 a.m. yoga class I was going to hit up was cancelled.

Boo hiss.

But.

On the other hand.

I get to sleep in!

Yes!

Especially after a full week and a very, very, very full day today.

It was a good day, but it certainly had some big pockets of anxiety.

Not mine either.

The family I nanny for left today for three weeks.

THREE!

Oh my God am I so excited to have some down time.

I actually.

Wait for it.

I have the whole day off tomorrow!

The whole fucking day.

Can you tell I’m excited?

Like.

Over the god damn moon.

No clients.

No internship.

No paperwork.

Not as though they didn’t try.

Ugh.

I had an e-mail today that I wasn’t paying much attention to as I was busy helping the parents get ready for their trip.

I had to do a lot of monkey wrangling today and the monkeys did not want to be wrangled.

When I showed up the oldest boy was already in his travel clothes with his back pack on his back.

Oh dear.

They didn’t leave for the airport until 4p.m. today.

It was 9a.m. when I showed up for work.

Sigh.

I could tell it was going to be a challenge, but I was game for what was happening, although I thought I might lose it when the two oldest siblings just about killed each other at the playground.

They are really physical kids and sometimes I think they go at it a little too hard, somebody gets too aggressive, somebody pokes too hard, or pulls hair or bites and all hell breaks lose the the sister goes bananas.

I mean.

The lady can howl bloody murder.

I also know when she’s faking for attention, so there’s that, but like, the rest of the playground doesn’t know that, she sounds like she’s dying but it’s just dramatics.

I let it go as long as I can, hoping they will work it out and once in a while I do have to intervene.

And of course, though it was pulling teeth to get them to the playground, when it was actually time to rally and go back up the hill, we were at the Noe Valley Rec Center, they didn’t want to go home.

Haha.

Ah.

Nanny life.

They did get home though, and by the time I got them across the MUNI tracks at the end of Church Street and heading up the hill on Chenery, they started to get excited.

So too, did I.

I could see the end of my shift in sight and though I was going to have some down time in between my client that I saw tonight and the end of my shift, I was happy that my shift was about over.

It did seem like an extra long day.

Just the anticipation and the anxiety and the double and triple checking the passports and visas and id’s and snacks and last minute laundry, and cleaning out the fridge (I was given three pounds of asparagus as a parting gift and two avocados that hadn’t been eaten.  What the hell am I going to do with that much asparagus?  Soup maybe.) and getting the keys to the house and making sure I had an extra set of car keys if there was an emergency and also co-ordinating the cars and the all of it.

It was a lot.

So yeah.

Four o’clock and I was able to zoom out.

I got a check for the overtime I worked this week.

Yeah.

Overtime.

And I’m interning, but whatever I got to make it through and yes, I am a bit disappointed about the lack of yoga but the additional sleep in time will be nice.

The time I had in between work and my client this evening was spent running errands, post office, zip home, drop off package, collect mail, tidy house, clean bathroom, masturbate, ahem, I needed to de-stress after I sat down and checked my e-mails.

They booked me a client for tomorrow!

NO!!!

I said no clients.

I wanted to have this one fucking Friday free.

What the hell?

I was upset.

I have plans.

I thought about contacting the person I am seeing tomorrow and saying, well, shoot, sorry, I got a client, but then I saw it was a consult and I was like, no, this is bullshit, I marked the calendar clearly and I do not want to take a consult tomorrow.

NO.

I started an e-mail and then I was like, why the hell am I fucking around.

Call my assistant director.

I did.

We cleared it up.

I have tomorrow off.

Which is fucking good since I’m getting my hair done.

Cut and color and a blow out.

Please and thank you.

I laughed with the mom today when she asked if I was doing anything fun, besides working at my internship while they were on vacation.  And I told her I was going to a ritzy upscale salon downtown to get my hair did.

I always feel a bit out of place there, so many ashy blondes with razor cut layers, so much money, the atmosphere is very white, upscale, wealthy, which is fine, I just feel a little out of place, although I like to play like I have money and I hazard I tip better than the majority of the clients, much better.

The cut and color will still be a pretty fucking penny, but I don’t care, hello student loan summer disbursement.

Thanks overtime check from this week and last week.

I got the cash and I deserve to be a little spoiled.

Anyway.

I do like Harper Paige (good grief even the name sounds like ash highlights and toner), I get a sassy cup of coffee, fashion magazines, and the prettiest smock I’ve ever worn getting a hair cut.

And.

I know the colorist.

I have known her for over twelve years and she’s amazing and probably has as many tattoos as I do and we have a lot of mutual friends in common, I mean a lot.

So.

She’s the reason why I’m “slumming” at a fancy pants salon down town.

I’m even going to skip taking my scooter and splurge on a car.

Get all dressed up, wear some stockings, put on some heels and a pretty frock and really play the part, you know, tattoos be damned, I can look hella polished and femme when I want to.

I’m so excited.

It feels nice to take the time and let myself be properly pampered.

I may even book a massage over the next couple of weeks.

I have a tentative MOMA date with a girlfriend Monday after I meet with my supervisor and some lunch dates and coffee dates with friends lined up.

Nothing solid yet, but I’m going to enjoy my time “off” so much.

I’ll still be taking clients.

Just not tomorrow.

Heh.

Here’s to a very well deserved day off.

I mean.

Seriously.

Luckiest girl in the world.

Cherry Popped

June 14, 2017

I had my first client.

It went well.

That’s all I’m going to say.

That and holy shit.

I had my first client!

I did my first session of therapy with a client.

The client has rebooked for another session.

So it really begins.

As though it’s not been beginning for a very long time, all the time training and studying and reading and writing papers and working with my cohort.

All that.

Plus.

Years of other kinds of service, sitting and listening to another person check in, being honest, being accountable, showing up, doing the deal.

I mean.

Fuck.

I have been working hard for a god damn long time to get here.

I had my first client session.

I know I won’t ever forget it.

And I am grateful for it.

It was a good day.

A sunny day.

A lovely day.

I did a lot.

Showered and wrote and coffee and reading and making sure I had a back up outfit for work, just in case I get nannied in the line of duty.

Last week the baby spit up on both my arms.

Nothing says “let’s create a therapeutic alliance” more than smelling like regurgitated breast milk.

Ha.

So.

I have a back up outfit at work.

I actually have two.

I have one just for work, if I need to I can do a quick change out and being able to work the rest of whatever hours I have work and run my stuff through the wash.

And now.

I have a second outfit that is more appropriate to looking like a professional.

Oh.

I’m still pretty casual in my attire.

But.

I today I was was also softly polished.

Black leggings, long drop waist charcoal grey dress, baby blue cardigan, and my new Fluevogs.

I wanted to look nice, warm, inviting.

I also liked dressing for the part.

I love dress up.

I love clothes and shoes and I have secretly waited to arrive at the day when I can start to be a little more polished and professional.

It was really nice to transition from my nanny clogs to my therapist shoes.

It felt like I was putting on my superhero cloak.

Nanny by day, psychotherapist by night.

I’ll be seeing all my clients in the evenings after I get done with work.

I was talking to my own therapist this morning, I see her on Tuesdays before work, so it’s like my day is completely bookended with therapy, about how lucky I am that I have the job that I do and how much it fills me up.

My therapist and I talked a lot about how strong I am and how I don’t always know how to let myself recognize that, that I do the work.

I can logically see it, but sometimes when I have felt like I have had no other option, no one else to rely on, just me doing it on my own, how devastatingly lonely that can be and how hard.

It has taken getting pretty beaten down by a few accidents during the last twelve and a half years to help me see that asking for help is a valuable experience for me and when I am more vulnerable.

Well.

I am stronger.

There is such strength in vulnerability.

The more I can allow myself to be seen, to be vulnerable, the more I learn and the more I am able to use my own inner resources without having to feel like I’m justing working hard to work hard.

I am so grateful that wall has dropped.

It goes back up at times, but I find the more I can let it down the happier I am and the fuller my life become.

I am incorrigible in my aliveness and lust for living.

Absolutely defiant with my need to feel more happiness and joy and see more and go further and have as many experiences and have as much growth as I can.

Yeah.

I know that might be courting some painful things too, but there is growth where there is pain.

I do hope to reach a point in my life when I can make changes before I have to experience pain, a place of simple humility about what I can and can’t do, rather than a forced feeding of excoriation because I am simply unwilling to let go of some characteristic of myself that I think still serves me.

Not acknowledging my strength today in my therapy session would have been akin to that.

I acknowledged it.

And.

I also had to hold the fact that there’s an inner critic who still holds a lot of sway and likes to smack talk me quite a bit.

Not enough.

Not smart enough.

Not pretty enough.

Not lovable.

Not good enough.

But.

Those things are simply not true and they taste older and more and more faded and dusty and the cloth binding is falling apart.

Let me drop it to the floor, sweep it out the door and find something fresh and new and lovely.

There is so much loveliness for me.

I am sure of it.

“Your capacity for love is enormous,” my therapist said, “you have the biggest heart.”

Hearing a basic stranger, I mean, we’ve had, like what, eight sessions, tell me that my capacity for love was not just big, but enormous, I was floored.

I was validated.

That is what I hope to do for my clients.

To see them.

Honest in who they are with whatever they bring.

I know that I can do it and I am honored that I got to do that today.

And yes.

Log my first freaking hour of individual therapy.

It feels amazing to be logging hours.

I have a long way to go.

But I am on the path and that is all I need to be present for.

I don’t have to know where it ends.

I just need to continue moving forward.

One baby step at a time.

 

A journey of a thousand miles begins with one step

–Lao Tzu

Little Boxes

February 22, 2017

In the hallway.

I got my first little small packages of joyful celebration in the mail today.

Yeah.

When I discovered that I had gotten the time off request for Burning Man from work I made some celebratory purchases on-line.

I couldn’t help myself.

I got some hair flowers.

Heh.

Yes.

And some glitter barrettes.

Because.

Hello.

Sparkle pony.

I had a host of hair flowers.

Like.

A lot.

Really.

From all over, from places I have traveled too, a hair flower from a wig shop in Brooklyn, to a hair piece from Magazine Street in New Orleans, to barrettes I have gotten in Paris.

But.

After the lice apocalypse over Thanksgiving.

I got rid of them all.

I know.

I know.

I could have quarantined them or something.

But I was in a frenzy.

When they comb through your hair and it takes four people, FOUR, three hours to get through all of it and they can’t and won’t guarantee that they got them all, in fact, they did not, and I had two more treatments, when you go home and firebomb your house and put everything and anything that is fabric in the wash, thereby blowing the fuse to the washing machine because you’ve overloaded it, and you throw away your brush, all my hair accessories went the fuck out to the trash.

It was such a horrendous and horrific experience.

I just couldn’t fathom ever putting that stuff in my hair again, even if it meant starting over completely from square one with some basic hair elastics and bobby pins.

Part of me thought.

Well.

Hell.

Maybe that part of my life is over.

You know.

The one where I play the part of the girl with the flower in her hair.

Maybe she needs to grow up.

Yeah.

That lasted all of a few seconds the minute I found out I could go to the event.

I was online buying hair shit like nobody’s business.

I will say this year I won’t be dying my hair any funky colors.

Been there.

Done that.

I’m good with just going with my natural shade of brown and quite happy to augment my hair with accessories versus hair dye.

So.

Yes.

Some fabric roses.

A yellow satin one and a dark red velvet one.

Some daisy hair clips.

Pink and white.

Little, like tiny miniature daisies that you see growing in the outfield of baseball diamonds.

And.

Yes.

Glitter barrettes in pink, teal, and silver.

Because.

Glitter.

See aforementioned sparkle pony.

I may have some other things arriving too.

Ahem.

Yes.

I did.

I went ahead and ordered a jackalope headpiece.

Yes.

It was expensive.

Yes.

I don’t care.

Yes.

I got a tax return.

I am fucking going to embrace it.

A friend at the event last year had a pair of horns with flowers that really were sweet and she loaned them to me for a night and a day and I wore the fuck out of them.

I have been ogling a pair of jackalope bunny ears and horns on Etsy for three years now.

I got the news about getting the time off and I went to the site and I bought them.

In fact.

I totally splurged and bought a bigger set then I had originally been looking at.

It can’t be called an impulse buy if I’ve been thinking about buying them for three years.

Or so I rationalized the purchase.

Check them out.

Here.

God.

I am such a dork.

And.

Nope.

I don’t give a flying fuck what you think.

I am happy.

And they are fabulous.

The artist is going to make the ears in candy floss pink and use cream flowers for the headband.

I also asked that she incorporate some daisies into the piece.

Since.

Favorite flowers, yo.

I’m stupid psyched to see them.

I should get them sometime in March.

Plenty of time to co-ordinate outfits before the Burn.

Heh.

I also reached out to a camp today about camping with them.

I really liked where I camped last year.

But.

I want to try something new.

Not too new.

I know plenty of folks where I asked to camp and the head of the camp is a dear friend of mine and someone with whom I experienced my first burn with when he and I were both affiliated with another camp.

Then he split off from that camp and started his own and I was always working and camping with whomever I was working for.

But.

NOT WORKING.

No.

Not working this year.

I have vowed to myself that I am going to Burning Man.

I am going to participate and help out wherever I camp.

But.

I am not working the event.

No nannying.

No fluffing.

No nothing.

Just me and a spiritual experience out in deep playa.

Aka.

Make out session.

Hahahahaha.

Sleeping in whenever I want.

(If I can manage a shad structure over my tent this year, it gets hot early and there was little sleeping past 7 a.m. in my tent last year)

Staying up late.

Not being tied to anyone else’s scheduled.

Free to play.

Free to wear flowers in my hair.

And jackalope horns.

Because why the fuck not.

I’m an artist.

I get to express and dress as I want.

Not to impress anyone.

No.

But because it makes me happy to do so.

I love playing dress up.

Putting up my hair.

Putting on make up.

I’m just going to go and play playa princess all fucking week-long.

So help me God.

I deserve to put myself first for a turn.

And.

Like that.

I just got word back from the head of the camp, that I am indeed invited and welcome to camp with them.

I’ll be at Camp Run Free this year kids.

Seems quite apropos.

Does it not?

 

 

The Empresses New Clothes

November 4, 2016

I got some hand me downs today.

Let me say it’s been a hot second since that has happened.

I used to get them in elementary and middle school.

High school once in a while too.

Hated hand me downs.

Tossed away, given away, old grumpy clothes that weren’t pretty or bright, that were already tattered.

By the time I was in high school though, I was buying my own clothes.

Mom’s rules.

She paid for school supplies.

And as soon as I started working I paid for my school clothes.

I think I got the raw end of the deal in hindsight, but you know, whatever.

I was frivolous with my first real paycheck.

I bought a brand new leather jacket with a removable rabbit fur collar.

God damn I loved that jacket.

Loved it to tattered bits.

It was my own version of the Velveteen Rabbit.

I spent my entire summer earnings on that jacket and I did not give any of the fucks.

It was mine.

And it was fucking glorious.

Top Gun had come out the that year and it reminded me of the leather bomber that Kelly Mcgillis wore in the movie.

That was probably the last time I wore a hand me down.

At least for a while.

Now.

Well, fuck, we just call it a clothing swap and throw all our stuff in a pile and go hog wild and wow, this will work great at Burning Man!

I have gotten some sweet pieces from clothing swaps.

And.

Today I got a bunch of clothes from my boss.

It’s funny, I don’t always have a real good feel of my size, I think I’m bigger than I am and then I obsess about how I look and who the hell wants that?

I try to stay off the scale.

And I have felt that I put on a little weight over the last few months.

And I did.

Like two pounds.

OH NO!

I laughed my ass off when I weighed myself, not something I do very often, it’s not necessary for me, I can get all wrapped up in the stupid number and then be wrapped up in the idea that I’m not enough, and well, that shit is shit.

I’m a beautiful woman.

I’m not stupid.

But.

Often times I just don’t see it.

Oh, I see it, but I don’t act it.

I remember an ex boyfriend years ago looking at me from across the kitchen table at his house.

“What?” I asked him, “what are you staring at?”

“You really have no idea how beautiful you are do you?” He asked.

I blushed.

He got up from the table, straddled my lap and smashed me with his mouth.

God.

He was a good kisser.

We could make out for hours.

I miss make out.

It’s been a while since I have been properly kissed.

Anyway.

I digress.

I was two sizes larger than I am now.

But I was perfect and beautiful and he couldn’t keep his hands off me.

Note to self.

You are exactly the way you are supposed to be, the body is exactly how God wants it, relax.

So.

My boss has money.

Obviously.

And nice clothes.

And good taste.

Granted.

Not my taste.

And we’re not the same size, but we’re not that far off either.

She’s maybe two sizes smaller.

So.

Her jeans.

Not a fit.

But I took them anyway.

“Take them, try them on, give them away, sell them, they’re yours,” she said and dumped a huge pile of clothes on the table.

Fuck yes.

And she was totally correct.

A lot of them are not my style.

The jeans are so not a go.

She’s shorter than me too.

But.

They’re Vince Camuto.

I can sell that shit.

I also scored a sweater that surprised me, I wasn’t expecting to like it, but I was thinking, hey lady, you’re going to Wisconsin for Christmas time, a sweater might be a nice thing to have.

I mean I have two.

But I’m there a week and it gets cold and I’m going to want more than a couple.

So I tried it on, also a Vince Camuto.

And it fits!

And it’s cute on me.

Score.

I also scored three super cute long skirts that I thought, yes, these too, I will wear them in Wisconsin.

Skirts in winter?

Fuck yes.

Layered over wool tights or fleece lined tights, which I do in fact own quite a few pair of, paired with my black engineer boots and some layered thermals and a sweater.

Perfect.

Super stoked for the new clothes.

“New.”

Heh.

I’m not so picky anymore, nor so tied to it being new.

I have plenty of re-sale shop clothes, clothing swap clothes, vintage clothes.

I’m happy to accept the gift.

And I may not get much for the clothes, Crossroads doesn’t always take what I bring in, but they usually take a few things, and I’ll get a free lunch from it or a manicure.

I’m down with a free manicure.

Any old day of the week.

I might do some clothes shopping this month, I thought to myself this morning as I was sitting and sipping some delicious coffee.

I was sent a package of Stumptown Holler Mountain from a friend who commiserated with my grad school and full-time work hours.

Thank you my friend.

So good.

I “splurged” on the second cup and heated up unsweetened vanilla almond milk and made a cafe au lait and sprinkled it with raw cocoa and cinnamon and nutmeg.

Swoon.

I was happy.

Just a little.

Then I did my numbers for the month of October and tallied my expenses.

After that I did my spending plan for November.

Not bad.

Not too bad at all.

I may even have a few ducats to actually buy some new clothes.

Not much.

I don’t need much, especially after the windfall today.

But I could use a new pair of jeans.

Perhaps this weekend I’ll do that.

I was invited to go dancing tomorrow night and that’s a possibility.

And I have a coffee date and MOMA visit on Saturday.

Which makes me laugh.

I think folks have finally figured out that I have a membership.

In exchange for a coffee in the Sight Glass Cafe that’s inside the MOMA I will happily escort you into the museum for a free companion ticket.

I can take up to two people in with me at a time.

I can always handle doing another stroll through the 7 floors of galleries.

Always.

And perhaps I will get dressed up too.

I have some options.

And tomorrow.

Yes.

Is Friday.

Yay!

Making it through the week.

One

Little.

Baby.

Step.

At.

A.

Time.

 

Sorted, Satiated, Seduced

July 5, 2016

By my sweet foggy city.

Home.

It is such a nice place to be.

I am so grateful I put it all back in place to when I got home last night.

I unpacked and put away all my little treasures from the trip.

Some flower hair clips.

Two vintage cardigans.

A couple pairs of cheap earrings.

Some stickers.

Two pounds of locally roasted coffee, one from Mojo and other from Hey Cafe and Coffee.

Two pairs of new sandals.

And the little bit of swag from the conference.

I was a little wound up from getting home.

I got the butterflies and the happy sparklers of joy in my belly as the plane flew in over SFO International Airport.

It is this way every time I fly into the airport.

This feeling of happiness and glee.

This recurring knowing of being home, even before I called San Francisco home, it was home.

I still remember, sixteen years later, how it felt the first time I flew in over the city and how giddy I was with it.

Anticipatory joy and love and awe.

Awe that I was coming and getting to see the friend, a man I was in love with, romantically crushed out on, a man that though I did eventually get to have for one one night, was not the man for me.

But.

I will always be grateful for that unrequited love song that yearned in my heart for it led me to this city, this amazing space and land and confluence of fog and love and flowers in my hair and self-discovery.

And.

Of course.

No matter what.

No matter where.

It will always be home because it is where I got sober.

No other place can lay claim to that piece of my history.

So on top of the general body and soul and heart knowing, there is this deep pocket of grace that I am here.

I leave and return.

I tried to move to Paris.

That didn’t work.

I could see living in New York, it has it’s energy and allure and spark.

But.

Yet.

I am here.

And I continue to return and be soaked with gratitude every time.

I could live in New Orleans.

Oh, the hot humid sexy of it.

The big lushness of it, the flowers and trees, the moss in the trees, the drawl of the voices, the funky, bluesy, jazzy’ness of it, the art and the creative.

And also the underground dark scary spooky.

I suppose everywhere has pockets of wildness and dark.

But I could sense it closer to the surface there than a lot of places, maybe any other place I have been.

Death and sex and hot damp over abundant wildness.

It is there just skimming along below the pulse of warm air on your skin.

I can’t quite describe it, it is intense and dark and surreal and powerful and made my skin feel electric at times, the small hairs on the back of my neck rising in silent acknowledgement of the old the, wild, the barbaric yawp.

I feel it at times, in a different kind of way, but a dark wild way, in pockets of Golden Gate park when I would ride my bike through it at night.

Not always, but often, and though a different kind of energy then what I felt in New Orleans which was at once languid and violent, it too has a dark windy animal howl.

I am compelled by both those energies, softly drawn and also quite aware and wary that it is not my space to wander through.

I get to give it a wide berth.

The other thing about New Orleans was the architecture that was so heavily French influenced.

I do have a thing for all thing Francophile.

It is a definite and well defined influence that I really felt drawn too.

Plus, the colors.

Oh, so bright and many.

And that too, is something I find wonderful and compelling about San Francisco–the Victorians and the architecture here, gorgeous and bright and colorful as well.

I also recognized a kind of art and brightness that I normally associate with San Francisco and the Burning Man culture here.

In fact, at one point when I was in a little store on Magazine Street, I recall thinking to myself that I didn’t know New Orleans was such a Burner’s city.

Then I realized that it was Burning Man influenced, though, there may be some of that too–I know Burner’s Without Borders did a lot of work in Louisiana after Hurricane Katrina–it was Mardi Gras.

The store was full of costumes and feather boas and masks and at first I thought it was a store like you might find in the Haight that specializes in festival gear and clothing.

Nope.

Mardi Gras.

Either way, it’s dress up.

For me, though, although I flew my personal little self-expression flag high, I was not as comfortable with it in New Orleans as I am in San Francisco.

I felt at times, if I were to live there, I would tone it down a bit.

Then.

I realized.

Nope.

I am not toning it down for anyone.

I am wild and free and wonderful and live a happy, joyous, compelling life.

And so far.

That life has been focused and centered around living in San Francisco.

Even when the fog, Karl, sweetheart I did miss you, is so thick you can’t see the fireworks display in the sky on the fourth of July.

Even when I needed to unearth the heavy sweatshirt today.

Even with the tech kids and the Millennials and the people getting pushed out and the high cost of living.

Even with the extra traffic and the gentrification.

I still love it so.

I still get feathering tickles in my body of joy co-mingled with electric blue sparkles of anticipation and awe, the wonder of it all.

I get to live in San Francisco.

I.

So.

Am.

The luckiest girl in the world.

Seriously.

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?

You Look So Pretty!

February 11, 2016

What’s the occasion?

“It’s Wednesday,” I said and smiled.

She looked agog at me, “oh my God, that’s fucking brilliant, I want to dress up like a princess too!”

Just doing my job.

Being happy.

“You look like a 50s pin up girl,” the greeter at Office Max said to me as I sauntered into the store.

I have no idea what over took me.

I spun on my toes and my skirt flared out.

I guess you could say I was feeling sassy.

I had a fast, brilliant, quick, and delicious ride into work today, but before I got there I had made a pit stop at Office Max to pick up a new USB cable for my printer–I will be printing off my first paper tomorrow before I head into work!

And.

I also got a two terra byte portable hard drive.

I am going to pull off my photographs and music library and give my Macbook Air some space.

I keep getting the message that my disc is almost full and I need to delete files.

Um.

No thanks.

I may not be the best photographer or writer, but I do have such a connection to those things, the pictures and the blogs, the poems and stories, the papers.

I did a bunch of clean up, but really, I have known for sometime that I need an external hard drive and I was there, so I got it.

I spent money like I wasn’t worried.

I am not.

Oh.

It’s been an interesting twenty four hours with it.

My landlord raised the rent.

Yesterday.

But not too much.

It did freak me out, but I can afford it.

Then.

I didn’t get as much back from my student loan disbursement as I thought I would.

I really don’t quite understand the breakdown, but instead of breaking my head on the numbers, I just accepted that they know better than I do what things cost and that I am grateful that I had some left over, $477, instead of owing anything out of pocket.

So money stuff came up, but I feel good about the fact that I have a prudent reserve set aside of a month in savings, I have money from the tax return, and I am getting paid for the week that the family is away on vacation without having to take any corresponding vacation days for myself.

I am saving them up for the school retreat in August.

I get to go to grad school.

I remind myself.

It’s the best debt I can have and the only debt I have.

Student loans how I do love to loath thee.

Anyway.

I was feeling happy.

I let myself put on my favorite polka dot dress and I wore a bright cardinal red cropped sweater with it, black leggings, and my crinoline.

I put red roses in my hair and red lipstick on my mouth.

I even did a tuxedo eye.

I looked fucking smashing.

“I love your dress!” The three year old said to me.

Both boys home sick again, but making it through, and I am holding steady, nothing seems to be taking me down.

I hope to stay healthy.

I have one more day of working with the sick monkeys and fingers crossed the oldest seemed better and will be back in class tomorrow.

I confirmed that I would come in on Monday and help the housekeeper and do some small tasks about the house.

Then I got on the making plans tip.

I am going to see a girl friend from my cohort on Friday after classes for dinner.

Confirmed.

I am getting to hang out with another of my school girl friends on Sunday, she’ll be joining me and my person for dinner at Firewood Cafe in the Castro and then coming to hear me share my experience, strength, and hope.

And fabulousness.

“You will get dressed up, and girl, make an entrance, people need to see that,” he told me last night.

I will be pleased to do so.

And it was pleasing to my heart to be pretty today.

“You look great!  Reminds me of those girls, you know, from the drive ins, you look like one of those girls,” the FedEx driver complimented me.

I smiled and said thank you.

It was a happy day.

I also had myself a little self-love splurge at Rainbow Co-op.

I don’t often shop there any longer since it’s a bit out of my way and I’m a member of a great organic co-op out here in the Outer Sunset–Other Avenues.

But.

I had some time after grabbing my computer accessories at Office Max and figured I would grab a couple of apples and some carrots for work.

Which ended up being an $88 trip.

Oh Rainbow.

I forget how sneaky you are with all those lovely lotions and soaps and candles and cards.

I was like.

What just happened?

But.

It was fun and I have a lovely little stock of small indulgences that make me happy.

It’s all about the happy today.

In fact, it was my spiritual principle.

Speaking of.

I have finally found, at least I am hoping, what I will be doing for the exercise that my person suggested to me.

Yes.

It does seem that yoga has won the fight.

Really, what it is, scheduling.

I needed to find something that was going to be close to either work or home and that would work with my work, school, recovery schedule.

Laughing Lotus!

I had forgotten a darling acquaintance of mine runs an amazing yoga studio in the Mission.

They have late classes!

8:30 p.m.

I can go after work three days a week.

Or twice a week and once on the weekends.

It’s working out.

I still feel like I’m balking a tiny bit, but I am going to head over there on Monday after I finish work and have a tea time date with a friend of mine in the Mission I haven’t seen in ages.

In fact.

I also made a dinner date with another friend who will be in town working, for next Friday.

I have three dinner dates and a tea date lined up for this up coming week!

Yoga class.

Maybe some swimming.

A massage.

Playing.

Having fun.

Being happy.

Lightening the fuck up.

It’s all happening.

It’s all coming up.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

 

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.

These Boots Were Made

April 18, 2015

For walking.

And that is what I did a lot of today.

No bicycle for me.

I had today off.

It was not much different, in some ways, then a normal Friday.

I just got up an hour later, what a treat, and did laundry a day early, also a treat, but instead of getting on my bicycle and heading to the Mission for work, I headed to Mission Bay, UCSF to visit a friend and her husband and their brand new baby boy.

It was really amazing to see the little nuclear unit and he is a delicious little boy, the cheeks, oh, I could write pages of words on those cheeks.

I might lose a reader or fifteen, but really, fresh baby boy cheeks, so lovely and divine.

Mama was looking great and I was honored to be holding the little guy not even 24 hours after he was born.

It’s a privilege, this life.

And to get to stare into the eyes of a fresh, new, human being, I felt so alive and hopeful and happy and awed.

And well.

All the things.

It was also an experience to be at the UCSF Children’s Hospital.

I remember when it was the old Burning Man offices.

I remember when I nannied out of that space and all the things that have come for me because of that experience, an experience I get to continue having, so grateful to get to be a playa nanny again.

It really is amazing.

And I was wearing my playa boots.

New ones.

I did pull the trigger, I found a great pair on sale on-line, not too expensive that if I trash them I’ll be horribly upset and not too cheap that they won’t wear well on playa and they are cute and shall be wearing them out tomorrow night as well to the Steampunk Masquerade Ball at NIMBY in Oakland.

I broke in the boots a bit today with the walking around.

After I tore myself away from the new baby and kissed my friend goodbye I headed to the Mission to do a little shopping for the ball.

Because, well, why not.

I had spent some time looking through my supplies and things last night and I looked over my spending plan for the month and I found a little wiggle room.

And I found a few things to wiggle into that room.

I went to the obvious place in the Mission for steam punk attire.

Five and Diamond.

Normally, not a spot I frequent.

Too expensive.

However, if one is savvy shopper, there are things to be found.

And I found the two things I wanted and both were on sale.

Yay.

I got a pair of navy ruffled bloomers high-waisted with three buttons running up the front panel and ruffles around the bottoms and tidy little ribbons on the side.

Normally $100.

On sale.

On sale.

And further on sale as they were the last pair in the store.

Final price.

$20.

Go me!

The other thing I picked up was a pair of goggles, $25, same exact style as the ones I have worn for the last five burns.

I won’t be wearing them tomorrow, it’s a masquerade ball, I’ll be wearing a mask, but I had to replace the ones that I lost last year.

It was time to replace them anyhow, I recall not being horribly upset that I had lost them as the lenses were scratched up with use, five years for a set of playa goggles is pretty good, especially when I think of how long I used them.

Then I popped into Multi-Kulti on Valencia, which is a like a discount “dance” store–like on a pole kind of dancing–and got a pair of KBell knee-high socks in grey (to match my boots) and black stripes with ruffled tops.

Plus a plain black mask.

I have another mask already, but you have to hold it, it’s on a stick and I know I am going to want to dance, so I figure a plain black one that I can slip on my face will do me much better than carrying around a mask on a stick.

Besides.

It was a buck and some change.

And then it was off to get my nails done and do the deal at Our Lady of Safeway.

But something lured me into Cary Lane.

And there.

Oh yes.

Just there.

That sweet spot.

You know it, I know it, when something sings out and it’s the perfect fit and the perfect dress for the occasion.

I felt pretty set with my ruffled bloomers.

I mean, I figure, wear my utility belt, my boots, some fishnets, the striped socks with ruffles, some makeup and a few flowers in my hair and boom.

Steampunk Masquerade Ball.

Oh.

I will compare and despair.

Hopefully I will keep it brief.

There are always going to be extraordinary, sexy, over the top, amazing people at these events, the costumery is just outstanding and my stuff is not really steam punk, but it will work and it’s cute.

Then I saw the dress and it is.

Not over the top with details and I might not coin it steam punk as a stand alone piece, but it’s damn close.

And it fits like a dream.

I was sort of shocked.

It’s not a style I normally try on and I just went for it and I am happy I did.

Regular price $137.

On sale.

$45.

Sweet!

So now I have a “costume.”

It’s not really a costume, but I will fit in and feel good and be pretty and I like that.

Being pretty.

It’s nice.

It’s a gift and I am grateful for it.

The dress is versatile too, I could wear it on a date.

Although, I have to stop asking.

Really.

Total sidebar.

I inquired after someone tonight.

Gay.

Gah.

Damn it man.

I’m done asking out as well.

The only way I am going to know for sure.

Is if the guy asks me out.

That’s it.

No more online dating.

No more asking out.

Done and done.

Tomorrow will be for dressing up and playing and hanging out with my friend and seeing old friends and maybe making a new friend or too.

I’m not going to focus on what I don’t have.

But what I have.

Fabulous friends.

New boots.

A beautiful new baby in my community.

A gorgeous new dress.

And somewhere to wear it too.

That is more than enough.

Abundance.

Prosperity.

Love.

More than enough.


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