No More Tears

What a freaking relief.

Yesterday, last night I should say, because technically yesterday was a vale of tears from morning until about 6:30p.m. when I had to pull it together to take care of my Sunday night commitment, was the first night since my landlady gave me notice that I did not cry myself to sleep.

And!

Oh.

So good.

This morning too, no tears!

I did a lot of work yesterday, and throughout the week when I think about it, to get through the fear.

A lot of self talk, a lot of letting the tears happen when they did.

Granted.

I did holler a couple of times, “stop, just stop.”

But.

For the most part, they just kept on coming.

Yesterday was by far the worst day of it.

Of course, it was pointed out to me later that I had actually time to stop and have the feelings, I have been a busy lady and not being able to do much sitting still when I did have the chance to the emotions just ran away with the house.

I cried a lot.

But.

I think it moved things along and by the time I met with my person up at Firewood Cafe I was almost cried out.

Almost.

I still cried for the first half hour or so and then I slowly started to get relief.

And perspective.

And that it was more than just the threat of losing my place, it was also the past few weeks of busy and go, go, go, graduate, and hang out with my mom, and get all my paperwork turned in so I am really done with school, and have an endoscopy, and maybe I have cancer, but probably not, but maybe, and having to terminate with a client and all sorts of stuff, it was all the things.

All the things needed to have a word with me and then did so in a grand sweeping emotional way.

I seriously thought a few times that I was hormonal, I never cry like this for this long, unless really depressed, but then I’d still be crying and that crying is a different kind then what I was doing.

The crying I was doing was all fear based.

Not so much sadness based.

Fear based and anger based.

I have had some angry moments, let me tell you.

But it got worked out and the more I talked, cried, muddled through, the easier it seemed to be until by the time I walked into the basement of Most Holy Redeemer to take care of my Sunday night gig I was almost wholly myself.

And then!

Oh.

My old friend from my early days in recovery came prancing into the room with another dear friend and it was so good to connect and reconnect and catch up.

She’s been living in London for the last seven years, New York before that, and it was her first time back to SF in ten years.

I mean.

It was good to see her.

And hear her.

And then go out and hang out afterwards with all the friends and people and go to La Meditereanee and have some good food and laugh and get perspective.

I also heard so much advocacy for me getting to be taken care of and that there is abundance and that I do deserve it.

I sometimes forget that.

All the time.

That I am allowed to embrace abundance.

So.

My attitude changed and I began to see this whole thing as an enormous gift.

Oh.

Like many gifts I have received I did not like the wrapping paper it came in, and I have wanted to give it back, but there it is, in my lap, begging to be opened, to be revealed.

More will be revealed.

There’s always more to learn.

I get to take this situation as an opportunity to grow and to manifest what I want in a living situation.

I also get to take this as a chance to let my voice be heard, to not be run over by the circumstances, to advocate for my rights.

I listened again to the voicemail of the woman from the SF Tenant’s Union who reached out to me the day prior to my going in to the drop in session and was assuaged again to hear that what is happening is not legal and I have loads of rights.

She reiterated a bunch of them and I found comfort in that.

I know my rights and I get to speak up for myself.

Not something I have always done.

Not something that I am great at.

But fuck, what an opportunity to learn.

So.

I’m going to get to learn about something new and in the process I will find a new place to live and it will be done with grace and dignity.

At least on my part.

My part is all I’m responsible for anyway.

Speaking of my part.

And taking responsibility.

I have filled out my BBS (Behavioral Board of Science) application for my AMFT#!

Yesterday I got passport photos taken so that I can turn in a recent photo to the BBS.

All I need to do now is get LiveScanned fingerprinting done.

I will be doing that on Wednesday.

The hope is to have it all taken care of and ready to send into the BBS by Saturday.

It was strongly suggested that I send it in registered mail and insure it and track it and make sure it gets signed for.

So a trip to the post office before my internship on Saturday.

It’s a really exciting thing.

Once the BBS gives me my AMFT# I will officially be able to take payment for my therapy sessions.

At which point I will be transitioning from my current internship to my private practice internship.

I am really excited.

It feels so nice to have positive, forward motion actions happening.

And though I do not know how long this hallway of uncertainty is in regards to where I live next.

I do believe.

With all my heart.

That is will be fucking fabulous.

Seriously.

The Miracle

That is sleep.

My God.

REVELATORY.

How much better I feel from having gotten a full nights sleep the last two days.

I mean.

Fuck.

I feel like superwoman.

I”m also a little afraid that I won’t be able to wind down from this good, good, good feeling in time to go to bed at a reasonable hour tonight, I do have supervision in the morning before work and that means an early start to my day.

But for right now.

Damn.

I felt really good today.

And yes.

A teeny tiny bit sassy.

I rocked some blue glitter lipstick for the fuck of it all day.

Because sometimes a girl has to work it.

Plus I had my Sunday evening commitment up in the Castro and I need to bring it for the gay boys.

“Girl.  I am LOVING the blue lip,” was said to me many a time tonight.

My pleasure to provide the glam.

I love going up to the Castro and being fabulous.

Fuck.

I love being fabulous in general.

But even though it is San Francisco, there is still a lot of tech culture here that seems to translate to some pretty fucking boring ass clothes and looks.

Lots of yoga/work out gear.

Which I suppose is fine if your going to the gym, but all day long?

Please.

Some style.

Sundays I also feel like I can be a bit sassier too as I’m not seeing clients and I’m not working.

I don’t have to find that oh so fine balance between what I can wear as a nanny and then what will translate to seeing clients in the evening.

I typically find something neutral, black or grey and then bring a long a pair of my Fluevogs to slip into when I finish my hours with the family.

My shoes elevate my outfit and make me feel like I’m stepping into my psychotherapist persona.

One day.

One day in the not so distant future.

I will not have to wear nanny shoes again and I am certain I will let my wardrobe reflect in the not necessary to wear something that may stain easy, shred easy, get yanked on by a toddlers hand, spilled on by an eight year olds excitement with helping me cook dinner, or have stickers put all over my outfit by a five-year old with a thing for glitter and unicorns.

I feel her though on the glitter.

It’s silly, but it makes me happy.

A friend in my cohort once sent me a little article about why humans are drawn to glitter–it reminds us, that animal part of us, of the way light reflects off water.

Makes complete sense to me.

I just now that it makes me happy.

Today I felt happy.

I might have also allowed that to spill over into a few purchases today.

I got myself a new Iphone 8 phone case.

The family I work for gave me a brand new Iphone 8 for my birthday along with a silicon cover.

Unfortunately the silicon cover won’t work with most glues or adhesives, so the magnet that I have on the dashboard of my car won’t work with the cover.

My best friend suggested a thin magnet in between the cover and the phone but I decided I really just wanted a new cover, one that I could affix the magnet to, and one that’s more me than the bright red cover that’s on my phone.

I mean.

Red’s nice and all.

But when a girl can have pink glitter?

Well.

Yeah.

So, happy equals getting a new Iphone cover in pink glitter as well as a new set of headphones.

I am over the moon at the ones I found and pretty happy with the price, $79.

I got a pair of retro over the ear headphones from Imego.

They are super cute.

And I am happy to have them for my trip to Paris.

It’s a long flight, a bit over ten hours and I will want good headphones.

I can’t wear ear buds for too long, my ears are actually pretty small and the buds hurt my ears after a while, they are too big, and it gets really uncomfortable after a few hours of wearing them, usually I can’t go more than that without having to take them out.

I splurged when I moved to Paris five years ago an a really nice over the ear set from Head Candy and I had them for almost four years, but they got worn out and the last time I went to Paris they died.

I was going to get some before I went on my trip to D.C. but never got around to it.

Since I recently got my tax refund I decided it was time to get a new pair.

I’m quite happy and I know that I will have happy ears on the long flight there and back.

Yes, it’s a bit early to be thinking about Paris travel, but I also know that sometimes when the timing strikes I just have to do the thing and get it off my list of stuff to get.

I got a lot done this weekend, the sleep really did help, from doing all my laundry and housecleaning, to selling clothes, getting a manicure and my eyebrows waxed, to dropping off clothes to get mended, and a pair of my dear Fluevogs to get re-soled.

I also cooked lots of food, roasted a chicken today and also made an Italian chicken and sausage stew with crushed tomatoes, mushrooms and artichoke hearts, so yummy.

I got to hang out with my best friend and have some spectacular connection.

I got to be of service.

I met with some of the ladies I work with.

I did my commitments.

I went to group supervision.

I went to Office Max and got some folders and a binder for keeping my paperwork together for graduation purposes.

I even did some reading for school.

And now.

It’s time to wind down and get ready for Monday.

It’s going to be a week.

But.

Then again.

When fuck isn’t it?

Heh.

 

Hurts So Good

God damn I got a work out today.

First I did yoga.

And I do not know why, if it’s this particular teacher, I cried in pain the last class I took, and I felt close to tears in this one, maybe I’m old, my body is just not what it used to be.

And when it was.

Well, fuck, I was like 80 or a 100 lbs heavier, so who would have known anyway.

But.

I was stiff and sore and tender after.

Which was not a bad thing.

Especially since I splurged and booked myself a Thai massage today.

OH MY GOD.

It was so good.

I decided to splurge, last of the Christmas bonus, which I also used to pay my January rent a little early, not all of the bonus, but a big chunk, it’s pretty much gone at this point.

I let myself investigate a few options and I decided on this particular place for two reasons, one it was in a neighborhood I’m familiar with and two, it was next to Rainbow Grocery and I love shopping there.

I, in fact, had lunch there.

I got to the spot, the massage place, a little early as I wanted to take my camera out and get some street shots of Erie Alley.

Great graffiti.

Unfortunately, also a little on the edgy side, there’s a big homeless encampment on the street.

I did venture further in than I normally do, but when a dog fight broke out between a homeless guy walking by with his pit bull and a prostitute doing her trade, I was like, ok, I’m out.

I got some great shots though.

Check them out here.

I was happy.

Then.

Rainbow for “lunch.”

It’s not what I would typically have for lunch, but I had a big breakfast, and I had booked the massage at an odd time of day for having lunch–2p.m.

I got myself an hour and a half massage and as I booked during the weekday I also got a free 15 minute foot massage.

Please and thank you.

So, all told, I was on the floor for an hour and 45 minutes.

Yes.

I said floor.

Thai massage, if you haven’t had it, is a little different than traditional massage.

I was on a low platform bed on the floor.

There is a bar over head that the masseuse can use to keep themselves balanced, some massage therapists will massage with their feet.

My therapist used hands and elbows and I think her feet once or twice, I don’t recall.

I was a wee bit blissed out.

Right now I’m also sore, but she worked out some kinks that I have had for, well, years.

I don’t often indulge in massage, I suppose I should more often, I was super tight.

She got into areas that made me want to wail, they were so tender and tight and painful, but my God, afterward, the release was so good.

And.

I didn’t just get the traditional Thai massage, I had gotten myself a package, which for an hour and 45 minutes was $130, a fucking deal.

There was the free 15 minutes of foot massage and the, wait for it.

HOT COMPRESS MASSAGE.

Oh my fucking god.

It was the best massage I have ever had.

She did the big deep tissue stuff on my back and my legs and arms and then wiped me down with big warm towels to get the massage oil off and rewrapped me in blankets.

Then.

She took out these big hot compresses that were filled with some sort of grassy sweet smelling herb.

It was a cross between warm baked bread, hay, and cotton sheets being hot ironed.

It was amaze balls.

I mean.

I can’t even begin.

And then I got the same treatment on the front, deep tissue massage, mostly with her hands and elbows, then the wipe down with warm towels, and after the hot compress massage.

It was like being massage with big loaves of fresh baked bread.

I mean.

I can’t even quite explain.

My only complaint was that the room was a tiny bit too cold.

I am sure the therapist didn’t notice as she was moving and using hot things on my body, but my feet and hands got a little chilled.

Good thing to note.

As I wanted to fully relax but at times I also just wanted to get my hands and feet warm.

Granted.

It was like she’d read my mind and I got an extra hot towel wrapped around my feet for a little while when she did the last manipulations on my back and neck and head.

Fuck me.

Facial massage.

So, so, so good.

And I’m getting warmed up now.

Hot tea.

It really is something that I have noticed recently and I don’t know if it’s the riding on the scooter, I mean, the wind chill is nothing to sneeze at, or if I’m just, well, getting old.

I know that I also tend towards anemia and that translates to poor circulation in hands and feet.

All I know is that after I lost the biggest amount of weight, every year I seem to notice that I chill faster and faster.

I could see moving somewhere warmer.

I thought about that while I was lying there getting the rub down.

Maybe somewhere further south in California.

I’ve occasionally thought about it, I love San Francisco though, I don’t see moving anytime.

But you know, I can understand how people get tired of the cold and the fog, it does get into your bones.

At least into mine the last few years.

And now I’m thinking that I may splurge again and go to either Kabuki Spa and do a hot tub or go check out Banya SF, which is a Russian bathhouse out in the Bayview, I have heard a lot of good stuff about it.

We shall see.

I don’t have plans past tomorrow morning and early afternoon.

I’ll be heading to the MOMA at 10 a.m. to get my art on with two of my favorite, fabulous, and oh so fierce men in the Bay Area.

I can’t wait to stroll the galleries with them and have a nice lunch after.

So sophisticated.

Ahahahahaha.

Me.

Sophisticated.

Shoo.

 

A Possible Solution

Day by day.

One small action at a time.

Things are falling into place.

I bought my ticket last night.

I made some calls today.

And.

Ooh.

I got a message that will need some exploring, but it looks like I will have a fabulous friend’s set up at Burning Man.

In fact.

It may work out really well for both of us.

I have to go early and leave early.

She won’t be able to get there until the day or the day after I need to leave.

I can go, take her gear, tent, sleeping mattress, etc, and get her tent set up, have it for the first part of the event, then leave it there, all nice and set up for her to take over for the second part of the weekend.

I mean.

Freaking fabulous.

I will be conferring with her this Thursday.

Last Thursday I had the heart to heart with me, myself, and I, did some inventory, got right with God and made the leap to go to Burning Man.

Less than a week later, ticket purchased and possible camp set up, well, set up.

Freaking amazing.

Rather like the show I just came from.

Diana Ross.

DIANA ROSS!

So freaking good.

The woman is what, 72 years old?

And she can still sing.

I mean sing.

Here’s the set list from the show, In The Name of Love Tour:

1. “Overture”
2. “I’m Coming Out“
3. “More Today Than Yesterday“
4. “My World Is Empty Without You” / “Baby Love” / “Stop! In the Name of Love” / “You Can’t Hurry Love“
5. “Love Child“
6. “Instrumental Sequence”
7. “The Boss“
8. “Touch Me in the Morning“
9. “Upside Down“
10. “Love Hangover” / “Take Me Higher” / “Ease on Down the Road“
11. “Instrumental Sequence”
12. “The Look of Love“
13. “Don’t Explain“
14. “Why Do Fools Fall in Love“
15. “Theme from Mahogany (Do You Know Where You’re Going To)“
16. “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough“
17. “Instrumental Sequence”
18. “I Will Survive“

Encore

19. “I Will Survive” (Reprise)

 

The encore was actually shorter than I thought it would be, but her voice, by the end of the show was tight, it was just starting to get a little noticeable in her last two songs, but her energy was super high.

I was hella impressed.

And quite happy to see so many friends in the audience and to be there with my friend from school.

I felt super happy to be there and to see an icon and be in the theater with so many people who obviously just adored her.

So much joy.

“You are hitting musical jackpots,” my person texted me this morning.

She had asked what my principle was for today and I responded happy since I didn’t think fabulous was a spiritual principle, though, I could be wrong, it seems to fall under “joy of living.”

And she’s right.

I got to see Paul Simon at the Greek.

I have gotten to see Diana Ross at the Orpheum.

I am going to get to see Mike Doughty in somebody’s living room in Burlingame in September.

And who the hell knows who I will see at Burning Man.

Odds are generally good that I will see some good music.

The dj set I caught last year on top of the Mayan art car deep in the playa was astounding.

And since I won’t have to work, I will be able to go play and dance and not worry about getting “home” at a reasonable hour.

More like getting home, to San Francisco in time to see Mike Doughty play and get myself ready for the first weekend of my second year of school.

I had a moment of thinking about going to Outside Lands, but one, it’s sold out, and two, it’s sold out, and three, I’m not always great at great big festival thingy’s.

Too many people.

Yeah.

I know.

I’m going to Burning Man, but it’s pretty spread out.

It’s about as big as San Francisco in circumference.

It covers about seven square miles.

That’s a lot of space.

Outside Lands happens in Golden Gate Park and it has about oh 40-50 thousand people.

Per day.

That’s a lot of freaking people in a space that is not all that big.

I should know too, I live by the park and it is always a bit of a shit show the weekend of the festival.

I have only been once and that was almost three years ago when I first moved into this studio.

I had been given VIP passes by my employer for the last day of the event.

It was actually really a lot of fun to see Hall and Oates from VIP.

I saw a dj, who I can’t remember now, who was really good, and some fun people watching but I was pretty over it, pretty quick.

Too many people.

I did resolve though, tonight, watching Lady Diana Ross up on that stage, girl, she changed three, no, four times!  That I should make an effort to keep going to live music shows.

There is something about it that just fills me up.

And I love music.

Radio Head will be at Outside Lands, that might be fun to see, and Grimes.

But yeah, not too worried about missing the shows.

I will be busy with plenty of other things.

My weekend is getting a tiny bit booked up already and it’s just Tuesday.

A tentative MOMA date with a friend in the afternoon on Sunday.

A blind coffee date on Saturday in the early afternoon.

Doing the deal with the ladies.

Doing some yoga.

Really glad I got up this morning and went.

I will definitely be hitting the yoga again a few times this week.

Not tomorrow though, early to work and a longer day for me, it’s the dad’s birthday.

Ah.

Anyway.

Happy feet.

Sore feet.

Busy feet.

One step at a time.

Doing a little happy dance of joy.

Getting my diva on.

Diana Ross.

Getting my Burning Man.

Fuck yeah.

One foot in front of the other.

Life is fucking fabulous.

Seriously.

 

 

 

Looking Forward To Seeing

You in Black Rock City!

Welcome home!

But first I need to fleece your wallet.

Fuck me.

$541.10.

Yikes.

But.

Fuck it.

What’s a few bucks?

I would regret it so much if I didn’t go, I’m supposed to be there and there is the off chance I may be given a ticket anyway.

I won’t count on it, that’s a great way to cop a big fat resentment.

But should it happen.

I will sell the one I just bought and use that money to buy myself a nice tent.

That was my compromise to myself when I was looking at the money.

And I have it in savings.

I would have to dip into my prudent reserve, but fuck it.

I am only living once, I want to live it fully.

Besides.

When I think off all the fun that I am going to have.

I mean.

It’s going to be a very different experience for me not working the event.

I mean, what the fuck am I going to do without having something or some kind of job out there define me and my experience?

I might just go to Burning Man for reals.

And although I am not able to go for the full event, I will still be getting four possibly five days of the event to experience.

Which is also more than I have had to experience in years.

Granted I have been up on very long runs, 21, 22, 23 days in a row.

Working always and having very little time off.

Coming back destroyed from the event, exhausted, sick, crazed a little, wondering why I did it again this way.

I’m quite curious to see what it will feel like to be completely autonomous at Burning Man.

To not be on a schedule or tied to camp, to come and go as I please could be really fucking fun.

That’s not to say that I haven’t had fun my other events, I have, I have had a lot of fun, I have also worked my fucking ass off and broken down a few times.

Emotional catharsis is a good thing but it does’t have to be a big burden of the event for me.

I want to go and be free and easy and breezy and light and bright and all things wonderful.

Oh I know.

There’s going to be dust and tiredness and crazy emotional swings, that happens but there is possibility here that I haven’t had before and a kind of joy, such joy, that I get to go.

There a plenty of folks who don’t like the way the event has changed or won’t go anymore or feel like something has been lost, or God, it was better last year, but I don’t feel that way.

I still feel like a kid in a candy shop with a handful of coins ready to buy my hearts desire for a few pennies.

Plus.

So excited to see friends that I really only see when I am out there.

The great big dusty family reunion.

I’ve started taking some actions toward finding a ride.

I did explore the ride board on the event site a little, but I’m hoping to catch a ride within the community of my fellows who are going.

I got one offer, but he was going up days earlier than I and staying all the way through the event.

I suspect I am going to have to get a ride up with one person and get a ride back with another.

Not that many people will be leaving the event Wednesday, and though I don’t want to leave that early, I do have school to be going to and the Mike Doughty concert with my friends Thursday night, and at least the drive out won’t be a grid lock of cars.

I will hopefully get all the dust off me so the audience doesn’t spend it’s time sneezing during the show.

I posted to a couple of camps that I used to camp with and have friends at, but aside from the one offer, nothing more yet.

It will fall into place.

I know it.

And for tonight.

I don’t have to figure it out.

I did the big action, even though I balked for a moment, I took the action, and I bought the ticket and vehicle pass–the taxes and the vehicle pass bumped up the price, the ticket is $390–I’m hoping that I can offer the vehicle pass as incentive to get a ride.

Anyway.

It’s done.

I’m going.

And for the rest of tonight I’ll just be thinking about my outfit for tomorrow night.

I’m going to see Diana Ross!

I got a message asking me if I wanted to go and got me and a plus one and got free tickets and I asked a friend from school and he said yes, so I’ll be heading to the Orpheum Theater tomorrow night after work to see the lovely and supreme Ms. Ross.

I joked with my friend about how big I was going to try and get my hair.

Unfortunately, though, I’ll be arriving via scooter and will have helmet head.

But that won’t stop me from throwing it up in a big messy bun and sticking a bunch of flowers and shiny things in it.

Plus.

Ahem.

My disco platform shoes that I bought in New Orleans?

Oh yes.

Those will be coming out of the closet.

I have to be fabulous.

It’s Diana  Ross for fuck’s sake.

There is not excuse to not be.

In the name of love.

So apt.

So true.

So excited to see my life unfold, big and bright, wild and huge.

A little like Diana’s hair.

Heh.

Luckiest girl in the world.

Calendaring

Seriously people.

This is a thing.

I need to be booking dates with folks weeks out it feels like.

Sometimes it just feels like too much and I want to cancel, but then, I am so glad I didn’t.

I even made it to Oakland today!

I know.

Right?!

Big fucking move, taking the BART going across the bay, I mean, I came from the Outer Sunset, which, fuck, for people in the Mission is a distance.

Makes me laugh, but that’s pretty much what it’s like.

Oakland?

Berkeley?

Cool places, but I’m in San Francisco, sometimes the effort to get to the Inner Sunset is too much on my day off.

But I’m glad I did, did get to the Inner Sunset, did do the deal, did hear some fantastic recovery, did get to be of service to some women I know and did get to share my experience.

Which is only valuable if I pass it on.

Then.

A manicure, a little lunch, and the train downtown to catch the BART to go to West Oakland for a friend’s birthday party and housewarming.

It was lovely.

And sunny!

And warm.

It was really good to see my friend, though it took me a minute to get comfortable with being there, but hey, hand me a baby who is four and a half months old and I’m all ready to hang out all night long.

“You’re really good with him,” the parents were rather in awe and I just smiled and talked with them and said it was no trouble at all, I mean, seriously, the warm, just baked baby smell wafting from his head.

I couldn’t decide if I want to eat him or squash him in my bag and take him with.

So delicious.

So divine.

The soft, sweet, warm pressure of a tiny foot in the palm of my hand.

The heaviness of his head on my chest.

I was in infant heaven.

And the parents, it was adorable, they were so relieved to just have moment to be themselves, I could tell they’ve not had much sleep, but so kind and lovely and it was nice to just hold the baby for awhile.

The mom took a picture of my with her son.

I have no clue what the parents names were, in one ear and out the other.

But the baby.

His name is Maverick.

And he was beyond scrumptious.

Then.

My friend from school showed up with her husband, I had no clue they were coming and it was just such a lovely confluence of people and conversation and suddenly what had seemed, in my head, a chore, was the most surprising mix of new friendships and plans to go dancing and have dinner and socialize.

I like to socialize.

I forget this.

I can be awkward and shy and then, not.

Just wide open and fun and ready to hang out and talk and I was absolutely astounded that it was nine o’clock.

I had been there for five hours and if you had asked me that when I first got there, I would have said, five minutes, I give this party five minutes, then I’m out.

That’s the nature of my disease sometimes.

I just want to isolate.

So realizing that.

I could immediately see that I need to start connecting with people before the summer is over and I’m back in school.

My friend and her husband and I are making dancing plans.

I got a message from another friend about finally getting our asses over to the new MOMA and getting shared membership there.

We are thinking next Sunday.

I also might have a brunch date, Tinder.

Which would be a second date with said gentleman.

No, none of these dates have been in the bedroom, thanks for asking.

Although there is possibility there.

I may have another date sometime this week, but nothing confirmed.

Just out there having fun, y’all.

And of course.

There is the big get together out in the desert coming up that I need to prepare for.

You know what I have done today?

Aside from conferring with the person I asked for help with regarding getting the ticket.

I looked online at parasol’s.

Yeah.

I know.

I didn’t look for a ride up, which I should definitely get the fuck on.

I didn’t look for a tent, which I definitely need, since I have no gear.

Nope.

I looked for a parasol.

Ha.

God damn.

I amuse myself.

I will get on that too.

But today, tonight, I just wanted to get connected with people in my life.

I also might go to the Diana Ross show Tuesday night, just got a message from a friend regarding an extra free ticket.

Diana Ross?

Free?

Hells yes.

I’ll put on my new disco heels from New Orleans and do my hair up real big.

Oh my gosh!

It does look like I’ll be going to Diana Ross!

Holy shit.

And I may have two tickets.

Yes!

I am going to Miss Diana Ross on Tuesday!

How fucking fabulous.

And.

I just confirmed a dinner date and tea, with possible make out, for tomorrow night.

Excellent.

Nice weekend.

And all totally unexpected.

But so grateful to get to do stuff like this, to have connections, to live life, in fabulous San Francisco.

Which doesn’t mean I don’t have plenty of just regular, getting it done, doing the deal, going to yoga, it’s been a minute, and groceries and cooking to do.

That all goes in the calendar too.

Just means.

That I have a rich, full, wonderful life.

Especially when I get out of my own way and let the plans fall to the side and let myself be open to going places outside my comfort zone.

Like.

Oakland.

Ha.

Who knew.

It has sparked a delicious domino affect of friends and plans and goings on.

So grateful.

So happy, joyous, free.

Even when it’s foggy.

Luckiest girl in the world.

It’s true.

Sashay

Ooh.

The good timing.

“Are you dressed up for Pride?” My friend asked as she stopped in front of the cafe on Church Street that I was hanging out at doing the deal with another lady before going to Our Lady of Safeway and doing that thing I do on Friday nights at that spot where they do those things.

Wink.

Wink.

Nudge.

Nudge.

I mean.

I always knew I would be a part of a “secret society” but not this one.

Ha.

Oh.

I love it.

“How come you know so many people?” One of my charges asked when we were walking around the Mission and I ran into a friend.

I get around kid.

And I digress.

Back to the original conversation.

“Nope.” I replied to the young woman, herself a portrait of fierceness, “I’m just dressed for me.”

And I was.

And I will continue to be.

Even when I wonder what the fuck people will think, then, I remember, oh yeah.

It’s none of my fucking business what people think of me.

Only what I think of me.

And I like the way I dress.

Twirl girl.

Oh my gosh.

I got two new dresses in the mail today.

I had a feeling they would arrive and I was super happy to see the box in the hallway when I got home tonight.

I ordered them thinking about New Orleans and wanting to have a couple of cute dresses to sashay around the French Quarter in.

Or just, you know, be dolled up in to sit around on the veranda at the HISTORIC MANSION I’m staying in.

I showed my person a photo of the Air BnB and she was like, “you have to take a bath in that tub! You just have to.”

Oh my God.

Yes, yes, I do.

In fact, I was thinking about doing a photo shoot in it.

I have a photo of myself from a few years back, must be six now, in Texas, at a wedding in a mansion in the Hill Country, outside of Austin.

I was wearing this navy blue retro vintage dress with small white polka dots and coral colored espadrille wedges.

I had short hair that was a little retro flip and I was wearing a white head band with a big flower in it.

I looked fabulous.

And skinny.

Fuck.

What was I doing?

Oh!

I must have just come off the AidsLifeCycle ride, yup, my calves look crazy.

Heh.

A good reason to do some bicycle training again.

Fuck.

I also look so young.

It was only six years ago.

Damn.

Time, it does fly.

So.

Maybe I’ll do another photo shoot with me in a dress in a bathtub in a mansion.

I mean.

Why not?

I’ll have to get someone to come back to the room with me and help me out with that though, not really able to do a full bodied selfie.

Not that I wouldn’t try.

Especially considering the two new dresses I got.

They are hella cute.

The first is not going to work for me right away.

The color does not quite work with my hair.

It will, the color just needs to soften a tiny bit.

Right now it has too many magenta pinks going on, it will fade off a little and be the perfect pastel pink in about a week I think.

Then the kelley green dress will look gorgeous with my hair.

Ooh.

I can’t wait.

Until then, though, the other dress works perfectly with my hair color right now and I believe with any and all colors I may do with my hair in the future.

It’s white, has a square cut bodice, A-line skirt, and a large cobalt blue rose pattern that is feminine and fabulous and all that.

Totally on point.

I tried it on and twirled and sashayed down my little hallway.

I threw on a black crinoline underneath.

Fuck.

Even more fabulous.

Added a black cardigan and it looks incredible.

Very cute.

Very sexy.

Very femme.

My curves look good and I didn’t have any sort of upset about that, that I have curves, that I’m not some skinny little thing.

I have been thinner, smaller, but not by much, but I don’t know that I have ever felt quite this relaxed and at ease in my body.

I love my body.

Nope.

It’s not perfect.

And thank God for that.

I would be boring.

I like my flair.

“Your hair looks even better in person,” he said to me tonight, “and the pink flower, you put flair in your hair.”

Yes.

Yes, honey I did.

Later tonight when my friend gave me a hug goodnight he whispered in my ear, “you looked beautiful tonight.”

Aw.

Thanks darling.

It was a nice thing to hear.

I was wearing one of my favorite Modcloth numbers, a swing dress with heart shaped pockets, a heart shaped bodice, and behind the neck halter tie top, my hair, the mountainous pink of it, up off my neck, curls falling all over the place, bright pink rose clip and a sequined star in there too, and I felt really good.

I love being glamourous.

I love wearing makeup and being fabulous.

Sometimes it takes me a minute to get there.

But get there I do.

And I love that I don’t do it for anyone else.

Just myself.

I’m not doing it for Pride, although, I am more than happy to be thought of in that way, I’m doing it for myself.

I’m not dressing for a man.

Although, should I attract one, I’m not going to be upset with that.

As the case may be, tonight I thought I would probably have a date, and it didn’t happen.

But considering I was on three this past week, really not too upset about that, and the weekend is young and I have time.

Especially since the podcast canceled.

And I have a fabulous new dress to wear out and about.

Sashay.

Work, turn to the left / Work, now turn to the right / Work, sashay, shante / Work, turn to the left…

Happy Pride family.

I love you no matter what day of the year it is.

I mean.

Seriously.

xoxoxo

Let The Shopping Begin!

Or the obsessing.

Depends on how you care to phrase that.

I officially bought my first Burning Man thingamajig this past Monday.

VERY quietly.

I don’t want to draw too much attention to it, but it was fabulous and it’s from Community Thrift on Valencia Street and it was the first Monday of the month, so said item was 1/2 off.

I got a vintage 60s aquamarine sequined dress with a marabou off the shoulder collar for $4.62.

Not bad.

Pair that sucker with a pair of boots, some fishnets, and some electric blue eyeliner–the dress is entirely aquamarine sequins, I’m going to shimmer in the high desert air, yes I am, and stick a flower in my hair (or five, it’s Burning Man after all, I wear flowers in my hair almost every day, I should up the ante for the actual event) and I will be set to sashay my way across the playa.

Or ride my chopper.

I may wear the dress to a party I was invited to recently, but I am not sure.

I actually want to have it slightly altered, the fit is not the greatest, it has a bit of a sack feel to it, but the fabric was so fun and it was so cheap to buy, that I had to have it.

The other thing I got today, specifically for Burning Man.

Baby wipes.

Yeah.

I know.

Not exactly glamorous, like my sequined dress, but necessary, and the damn things are expensive, at least the ones I like to use, so when I saw them on sale at the store, I grabbed a pack.

I parse out my Burning Man buys so that it does not feel like I just exploded my entire life savings on going to that thing in the desert where they burn the man, hey.

I got home from work and shopping and doing the deal and unloaded my messenger bag with my groceries and toiletries and thought, I should stash these, and here it is, I now have a Burning Man shelf in my little utility cupboard in my kitchenette (I also have a list of supplies that I wrote out two weeks ago).

And as I was putting away the wipes I thought, here it is, was my official first Burning Man purchase for the upcoming event.

But, nope, I realized, when I looked in my closet, there was the dress.

“Oh, I didn’t think this would last long when I saw it come in the store, and I was right,” the clerk said at Community Thrift when he rang me up.  “I do hope you have a special place for it.”

I smiled.

“Burning Man.”

“Oh, are you going?  First time?” He asked, then continued, “I’ve never been, but I hear its fabulous.”

“This will make number nine,” I said, grinning, I couldn’t help it.

It really is rather amazing when I think about it, I can’t get my shit together to go camping at Yosemite–I’ve never been–nor to the Grand Canyon, but I have gotten out to Burning Man eight times now and am about to embark on my 9th.

Not that it’s around the corner.

“When is it?” The clerk asked, folding the dress up for me, “next month?”

“Oh no,” I replied, “not until the end of August, but when you see something that so obviously says Burning Man, one is compelled to buy it.”

With that said, I’m waffling on pulling the trigger on a pair of boots.

I always do this.

The boots thing for me is a constant negotiation in my brain, whether I splurge and buy something fancy, or I cheap out, as the dust is going to destroy them anyhow and I just get a pair to beat up and toss.

I wish there was a boot fairy.

I have this dilemma every year and I am about over it.

I also was thinking that if I got the right pair I could wear them over to the NIMBY event a week from Saturday.

I am definitely contemplating going, just got to get the logistics worked out and I suppose, buy a ticket.

I get paid tomorrow, so that should not be an issue.

Plus, I made sure to put some money in my spending plan for entertainment purposes, and I can afford the ticket.

By the time I purchase it I think the price will have gone up to $30.

Not horrible, but the last time I spent $30 on tickets, the Basement Jaxx at Public Works, I didn’t go.

I don’t want to do that again.

Decisions.

Decisions.

Luxury problems all.

I actually have a pair of boots that I am probably going to sacrifice to that great dust god in the sky anyway.

I bought them for when I took the motorcycle training course to get my license for my scooter.

I have worn them but a few times and they just sort of hang out in my closet taking up space.

I don’t really have to buy boots.

It’s just my brain looking to latch onto something, anything, to obsess about.

Ah, brain, I hear you, there’s no problems, so let’s manufacture some.

Work is good.

Life is good.

My hair is fabulous.

I just got out of the shower and have laundry in the wash.

I have a new laptop.

My rent is paid.

I’ll be paying my phone bill here in a minute.

I’m going to graduate school.

I’m going to Worlds in Atlanta in July.

I’m going to Chula Vista to see my grandmother in May.

I’m going to Burning Man.

Yeah.

Not really any problems in my life at all.

Bird song at twilight as I rode home, the dusk purple and gray, soft, the twitter of robins flying through the bracken, the cool rush of air over my body as I round the corner near the falls, the echo of the water crashing across the road and bouncing off the Eucalyptus trees, the smell of spring, the soft lushness of roses blooming wild in a small bowl of a valley across from Spreckels Lake, the last of the sunset blushing the sky as turn right and fly home the last few blocks from Chain of Lakes onto Lincoln Ave then to 46th Avenue.

Beauty everywhere.

All for free.

Nothing to obsess over.

Just to observe.

And absorb.

Into the wilds of my heart.

Who needs boots when there is such beauty?

Well.

Maybe, I can have both?

Ha.

I’ll Be Your Arbiter

Baby.

We both laughed.

“I want little placards that read ‘straight pepper diet’ and ‘imperious urge’ and one small gavel.”  I then laughed uproariously.

I amuse my own self.

I have been asked to run a workshop on sexuality and body image in recovery and though so flattered, did I want to do it?

No.

Fuck no.

Hell no.

I think not.

“God alone can judge my sex situation,” I explained to her, “which means, I can’t judge my sex situation.”

Always a good thing to be reminded of.

“I just immediately thought of you and how you embody your body and you’re fabulousness, and you just seemed the right person for the job.”

Again.

So flattered.

Then I thought, well god damn, I best get me laid before the event on the 28th of the month.

What does that give me?

25 days.

Let’s go boys.

Bwahahaha.

Ah.

Chuckle.

I mean, yeah, hey, I’ll take some loving other than self lovin’.

I’m down for the latter too, but my vibrator isn’t really made for making out.

Ahem.

For me, however, it’s not just about sex, it’s about letting myself be sexy.

“You sort of ooze sex, I think a lot of people think you’re getting laid all the time,” he said to me.

“Not like that,” I slapped my leg, “Jesus, no wonder I don’t get approached.”

I may not get approached also because, well, I’m fucking flamboyant as hell and got up and it takes some balls to approach this woman.

Unless of course you’ve been smoking hella weed in the soccer court at Mission Pool and Playground, then it doesn’t even matter that I’m with two young boys under the age of five, I’ll get heckled.

Or leered at, same thing really.

This morning I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, no particular reason, I just did.

I tossed my grumpy ass in the shower and washed up and dried my hair and decided what I was going to wear and I climbed into my attire for the day.

I made my bed.

I read some things.

I said some things.

I ate breakfast.

I drank coffee.

I washed my breakfast dishes.

I pulled out my notebook, aqua blue glitter, thank you very much, and started to write.

I wrote about being cranky for no particular reason and what that brought to mind.

I drank my coffee and decided I had time for a half cup more, and time to do my make up and fuck it, I’m cranky, I’m going to fake it til I make it.

And I swept my hair up into flower clips.

Not one, but three.

Because why the fuck not?

Then, yes aqua blue eyeliner, and silver hoops in my ears and glitter aqua blue stars in my ears, the second and third piercings on the left ear, and why not, I’m not saving it any longer, the lipstick from the Monoprix in Paris on the Champs Elysees that I ducked into one day on my way to Charles de Gaulle Etoile Metro stop.

I was a wild mix of purple, glitter, aquamarine, and hair flowers with feathers and glitter.

I looked mad good, in case you were wondering.

And I felt fantastic.

I’m living the Burning Man dream, riding my sparkle pony up Lincoln Avenue with a big smile on my face.

If a little face paint and a few hair flowers can change my mood, then why the hell not embrace it.

I embraced the fuck out of it.

She smiled and said, “you’re so colorful.”

“Thank you,” I said and smiled, as I pushed the stroller through the gate at the front of Mission Pool and Playground on Valencia Street.

That is what sexy is for me.

When I am having fun with myself and being bold and not caring what the world thinks of me.

“I used to keep a hula hoop in my kitchen,” I said, laughing, “not because I really hula hooped all that much (although for a weekend I got into it), but because it was a good visual reminder (being oversized and vibrant lime green with dark green sparkles threading the outer edges of it) to keep the focus on me.”

“What is outside of the hula hoop is none of my business,” I said and made a circle with my arms to represent that.  “What’s inside is my business.”

“Who are you dressing up for,” my ex boyfriend asked the week before we broke up.

“Ah, nobody, I always dress like this,” I said.

Although, truth be told, I had been taming it down, my way of dressing and makeup weren’t to his taste.

Which in hindsight is a red flag, note to self.

How I attire myself is also a reflection of myself as an artist.

My body, my hair, my tattoos, my choice in makeup, my way of dressing, of expressing my sexuality, of allowing myself to be sexy, are done in ways that I believe, really, truly, in my heart, to be an artistic expression.

I am my own walking poem.

Sometimes the stanza is a dance move, a twist of the hip, a rotation of the foot, a twirl in my bedroom, listening to Daft Punk and grooving out to my own little dance party.

Sometimes it is the sweep and swoosh of eyeliner, I like a cat eye, or a retro glam look, or it could be that the color on my eyelid matches my shoelaces, which match the second heart glitter earring on my left ear.

I am a palette and I glow and fuck yeah.

Bring it.

I’ll run a workshop on sexuality and body image.

I may even wear my leopard print, pony skin, black platform heels and make everybody get up and shake their gorgeous booties to a hot track.

I just got to step into my body, my self and be the awesome creature that God made me.

You’re not the arbiter of my conduct.

God damn it.

I’m here to enjoy this life.

This body.

This everything.

Bring on the dating.

I got 25 days to practice.

Giggle.

Break a girl off.

 

 I want a little sugar in my bowl
I want a little sweetness down in my soul
I could stand some lovin’, oh so bad

 

 

I Just Wanted To Tell You

I think you’re fabulous.

Really.

I know you don’t know me.

(I do a little, by sight, around the block, in the circles, you know.

But no, I don’t know you, although I do know your name and that you seem kind and sweet.)

But I really wanted to tell you that I think that, that you are fabulous, really, everything about you, I just thought I should tell you.

I smiled and said thank you.

This stranger, not a friend, a passing acquaintance at best, but someone who has seen me show up for the last few years, out of the blue, right when I am making my strides, the come back kid.

Come back to fabulous, baby.

We’re all waiting for you.

It felt so nice to hear.

I didn’t even tell her that her timing was fabulous, really, that hearing from her after the past week was such a nice thing.

I just thanked her again and smiled and let her give me a hug.

I mean I had no idea volunteering for a commitment would illicit such a response.

I am not sure if it was the relationship, though, I do think in its way, it totally was, that finally got me to figure out my routine in conjunction with work and living out by the sea.

Small aside.

I, for a hot second, considered a place out in the produce market neighborhood which is sort of an industrial wasteland of railroad tracks, low-income housing, and warehouses that most folks have no idea exist.

A long time ago, eight years, I believe, I worked as a customer service rep at one of the produce markets.  My room-mate got me a part-time gig there.

The pay was shit, but it was pay, and it was easy, and I got all the free produce I could possibly eat.

That was the pay off really.

Yes, sir, I was literally working for food.

I know the neighborhood, and the place available is in an artist/work/live space.  I considered it, not because I want to move, but because if it’s less than what I am paying, than that might make sense with graduate school tuition looming.

But it is not cheaper and I am staying.

Much to my relief, really.

Why live in a neighborhood where I would have to bicycle commute through one of the filthiest homeless thorough fares in the city–under the bridge at Cesar Chavez and the 101/280 split.

There is a bike path there, but it is not fun to commute through.

Anyway.

The bicycle commute I do, though longish, is not bad, and my rent is good and my location, down by the sea, with the buttery moon cusp crescent sinking into the indigo sea as I write, is divine.

In fact, I shall be down by the sea this weekend.

It’s a good place for me to go.

Just sit, with a book, in the sun.

Or walk the shoreline for a while.

The weather is actually predicted to be 70.

I’m there.

I want to continue giving myself space to feel out any other feelings that may be coming down the pipeline.

Today was pretty mellow.

One small, brief, slightly petty argument with the ex in my head which I promptly realized was fear, and was able to quickly let go of, and nada.

Just some serenity.

A busy day at work didn’t hurt.

Nor some check ins with friends.

I have some unexpected and really nice responses to the writing that I have been doing here.

I appreciate the feedback my friends, I really do.

And then to be given such a sweet and unexpected, out of left field really, compliment, was just the cherry on my love sundae.

That’s what I have been feeling a lot of lately.

Ha.

I just realized something, and it’s akin to when I adopted my feral cat Uni.

I had been praying for love.

But not very specific.

I was given a cat.

I meant a boyfriend, I hollered at the ceiling when the little white furry nugget that was Uni as a kitten kneaded on my chest and put her small white and pink face under my chin and purred so loudly that I was smitten with love.

Smashed with it really.

I realized that I have been praying for love a lot recently, even before the break up.

Not his love.

No.

Just love.

Ok.

Maybe a little for his love.

But again, I was unspecific.

I was just lighting candles, I like candles, shaddup, and when I light one I usually ask for love.

Not money or sex or prestige.

Love.

God for me is love.

So whatever conduit he decides is where it’s at.

Of course, I have been absolutely showered with it, bathed in it, swept along with it, flooded with it.

Love.

Everywhere, like rich golden sunlight and warm sandy beaches and it’s poured out from my community like a river of buttery goodness–affirming me, my process, my person, who I am, what I stand for–smothered in it, love.

From friends and family and community and my fellows, those I know and those I don’t know very well.

It’s been a virtual love fest.

I laugh.

God, my God, has a funny sense of humour.

I am back on the beam.

Back to my fabulous self.

Reconnected with that which is the most important to me.

My self-love and acceptance of who I am.

I don’t need to forgive him.

I never did, not really, he’s just doing the best he can.

I needed to forgive me.

And I am just doing the best I can.

I hid my glitter under a barrel and apparently it burst out, a love bomb explosion of fabulous.

Nobody puts Baby in a corner.

Least of all myself.

I promise I won’t glitter bomb any of my friends, or myself, but I won’t hide who I am either, nor get small, nor not speak up for who I am and what I am.

I am fabulous.

Hear me roar.

Or whatever sound glitter makes.