Posts Tagged ‘Face Book’

Time To Edit

April 27, 2016

My mouth.

Or my pen.

Er.

My blog.

Haha.

Nope.

I mean.

Well.

Maybe.

I have done the thing where in I have facecrack friended a blind date before our first date.

It doesn’t feel like a blind date though, we’ve texted a lot, had a few phone calls and awkwardly face timed twice now.

We’ve got a date for Saturday and it’s been discussed that it’s going to be an all day date.

I also clarified if this was a hook up or a date.

Not that I am opposed to the hook up, he’s sexy and there’s chemistry already, so, there’s that, but it seems more than a hook up, there’s a lot of commonality.

Especially in the not drinking/drugging thing–he’s straight edge and well, if you haven’t figured out what I do you can always ask me privately, I’m not into breaking it all the way down on my blog, it’s um, not seemly.

Plus.

We both have loads of tattoos, always a plus.

Like pinball, baseball, music, books, and it’s apparent he’s intelligent.

I am liking it.

The only draw back is the distance.

I feel like I’m sort of breaking my own rule about dating someone on the other side of the bridge.

Hooking up might be different, but dating is a challenge with distance.

Never the less, there will be a day long date Saturday and I’ll know more at that point.

I’m tentatively excited.

I don’t want to have expectations.

They lead to resentments.

But.

Yeah.

There seems to be something here and of all the Tinder dates and matches he’s definitely head and shoulders above the rest.

So we have enough friends in common that we inevitably both posted on a mutual friend’s facecrack time line in regards to her anniversary today.

And there it was.

“I see you,” he texted me.

I laughed to myself.

I had already done the facecrack troll on his page.

I chided him a little, but totally said yeah, we can friend it up.

Despite being very well aware that all my blog posts are visible to anyone who friends me.

There’s a lot of incriminating shit here.

And.

There’s none at all, all at the same time.

I am transparent, most of the time, I put it out there and sometimes it ain’t pretty.

That’s ok.

If my blog scares him off, then well, it wasn’t meant to be.

I do know that I’ll most likely curtail any more writing about him.

Especially if this leads to dating, which I suspect it could.

No need to live in the future though, just taking it one moment, text, call, date at a time.

I have plenty, plenty, plenty on my plate.

The reading for school, the negotiating my last weekend of school–a lot of people want to have get togethers and hang out and such and I’m rather of the opinion that I would rather not, but I also kinda would.

I’m on the fence.

Like I said just a moment ago, I don’t have to figure it out now.

I know that I’m definitely hanging out with one of my girlfriend’s on Sunday, she’s goingt to crash over here and we’re going to have a slumber party.

And another of my girlfriend’s and I are going to the Steampunk Masquerade Ball at NIMBY the following weekend.

I like my cohort.

But I’m not sure I want to get real wrapped up in trying to spend time with everyone before the weekend is over.

I mean.

I’m still going to have to go to work and do the deal and I’ll have papers to finish before I head to New York too.

Ah.

See.

I can get caught up in the future so quick.

Be still my funny head and relax, all is good, I’m on track with my reading and I have a date for Saturday with someone I find funny, smart, sexy, and attractive, who I already know I can carry a conversation with and who won’t kiss me with beer breath.

I just keep showing up for what’s in front of me and the weekend will get here when it’s supposed to.

A little yoga.

A little work, a lot, boy, talk about work, today was a long play date with two other kids from school, I cooked up a storm and must have gotten a great work out in–all the toys I picked up, I cannot begin to count how many times I bent over and grabbed Lego’s or train tracks up off the floor, Magna Tiles, stuffies, blocks, Octonauts, books, markers, all the things.

A good bit of doing the deal.

I have a little something to do every night after work, someone to meet, somewhere to go, some church to sit in and get settled down about my life, recovery, all the jumble of work and school and time management and dating.

It’s been fun, though, this flirting.

I will not say that it hasn’t.

But yeah.

Thinking about it as I just texted him a good night thought, it’s time to not write about it anymore.

It’s not my place to reveal details and also, I know myself well enough to know I put my heart on my sleeve pretty damn quick.

Hell.

It’s usually out there all the time anyway, but I don’t need it to be seen so quick.

He may not have figured out the links to the blog yet anyhow, but I would rather him get to know me by hanging out with me.

And.

Well.

Since I feel this has potential, it’s got legs, it might go somewhere, well, then it’s mine to cherish and experience, keep private so to speak.

Oh.

No worries.

I’m sure there will be plenty of titillating things for me to write about.

Fuck.

I can make just about any blog I write provocative.

I’m a flirt.

At least in print.

Fingers crossed I can convey it in person.

Heh.

I’ll let you in on that.

I will be flirting.

And I will be wearing a dress.

Polka dots maybe.

Giggles.

See.

Already, an inside joke to myself.

I got to stop while I’m a head.

Nighty night

Y’all.

To Thine Own Self

January 19, 2015

Be true.

That’s what it says on the metal coin I was handed this evening.

I like that.

I spent a lot of time doing that today in small ways.

I slept in.

I ate my favorite breakfast.

I read some things and said some things and asked for another 24 hours of sobriety.

I meditated.

Outside, in the sun, fourteen minutes.

I had set the timer for twenty minutes, but a neighbor started having a very loud argument with someone on the phone about how she was going to “fuck them up” and that sort of disrupted the meditation.

However, it was really nice to sit, to be still, to let the feelings come.

I had more feelings today than I did yesterday.

I was so busy yesterday being busy that not too many of them managed to sneak in.  I did, however, realize they were there, although I tried to keep a cap on the lid.

I am not very good at suppressing my emotions though, they tend to flow over and that’s alright, they are allowed.

I received some very sweet messages, texts, phone calls, and e-mails regarding my relationship status returning to single this morning and that sort of brought on the waterworks for a moment, but then passed.

Which, fyi, I am grateful did not get blasted all over Face Book.  I remember quite well the last time I was in a relationship and then turned it back to single and everybody in the entire world chimed in.

There was not a peep when I went back to single.

Just maybe a few sad squawks in my heart.

I deleted the photos, took him off my news feed, and deleted our text message history.

Which in the moment was easy and now, well, now I wish I had read them one last time.  There were some extraordinary messages he sent me that I wouldn’t have minded perusing another minute or two.

But that just prolongs it, I know that it does, so it was best.

I have to delete the messages on Face Book as well, but for whatever reason seem unable to do so.  Although I was able to remove him from my instant message feed and to not look at his page at all.

I have to stay away and let the feelings run their course.

I also got to be true to myself by taking out my scooter, starting her up, and going for a ride to the Castro where I had a meeting with someone near and dear to me for an hour and a half.

We’re not suppose to meet that long, but he made me talk, and talk I did, and acknowledge that I was walled up and tight and did not want to open up.

I knew I would be crying at some point today, that’s what I do, so I wore no eyeliner, but I had some mascara on and despite it being waterproof it still flaked off onto the tops of my cheeks.

I got to be present and sit and talk it out and then do some reading and talk some more and let myself get talked into staying in the Castro–I had parked my scooter next to Most Holy Redeemer and knew I needed to stay put.

Really.

It was the best thing a heterosexual girl going through a break up could do.

I was safe, I knew I  could just wander around and look at pretty things in pretty stores and window shop and eventually I got a book at Books Inc and then sat in a coffee shop with a big cup of tea and read for a few hours.

I cannot remember the last time I did that.

I kicked through a good portion of the newish Stephen King novel, “Doctor Sleep.”

I love me some Stephen King.

I also bought my best friend in Wisconsin a Valentines Day card.

We exchange those and I saw one that reminded me of her and then I got walloped with emotion.

Valentines Day.

No.

No.

No.

I don’t want to think about Valentines Day.

Argh.

And then a quiet voice, a still voice, the voice of reason, was like, sweet child, stop.  Get in the moment, you’re in a bookstore, one of your favorite places to be, enjoy it.

So I did.

I walked around and browsed and smelled the good smell of new books and I got the card and the new novel and left feeling quite happy about getting back into a book.

It made me realize that there were a few things that fell away when I got involved in this relationship.

First, the blogging, then the reading, then my voice, then I got small.

“You sort of disappeared,” my friend texted me last night.

“You got so quiet,” another observed.

“You were mute,” he said to me across the table, “and then you weren’t.”

And then I wasn’t.

Things happened exactly how they are supposed to and I won’t stop being grateful for that.

But I did have some other feelings come up.

Anger.

That surprised me.

I realized I was mad, that I had wanted the ex to work harder at the relationship, that I, oh.

There it is.

I.

I want.

I need.

Do it my way.

Nope.

I got to bring it right back to me and see where I was in the wrong, where I wasn’t vocal about some things, and where I get to have a voice in my next relationship.

There will be another.

I am getting back on the horse.

“What I noticed with __________ and also with _________ (the man I dated a few times before hooking up with my ex) is that although you approached them, they ran with it really fast, I mean, really fast.”

Yup.

I need to slow the roll.

I do have the disease of faster, faster, more, more; but it has to be tempered and slowed down.

So.

Coffee dates.

And walking dates and lunch dates and getting to know the person and keeping my autonomy and being me and being fabulous.

That was the other thing that was nice about being in the Castro today, feeling fabulous, yes subdued, but still fabulous, in my red lipstick and curly pony tails and red leather vintage letter man’s jacket.

“I know you from somewhere,” she said to me as she was walking out of the gated entrance to a walk up on Castro Street.  “Are you a drag queen?”

No.

But I play one on tv.

I might be too much for the average boy.

But I am just perfect for me.

To thine own self be true.

Indeed.

Hello Stranger

November 17, 2014

Where you been?

I have taken the last couple of days away from the computer, the laptop, the internet, the interwebs, the social media, the facebooking, twittering, chirping, instagraming, tinder, okcupid of it all.

I have been busy living.

I am being a little oblique.

I understand.

Curiosity it killed the cat.

This may be one of the harder blog posts I write.

There was and is a very good reason I was offline for the last couple of days.  I mean, I wasn’t totally, I checked a few things on my phone, I’m not a Neanderthal after all, but I haven’t booted up the lap top to input the blog.

I have been, um, busy.

Yargh.

This is hard.

I just recall certain things that certain folks have passed a long for a little while now, snippets of suggestions, dollops of care, maybe I sound like your mother, but I love you, advice.

And you know what is happening?

I am listening.

I am really listening.

To my heart, to my gut, to my instincts.

There are truly some things that I am not going to write about.

I can’t.

Too much is at stake.

Therefor I stayed off the blog the last few days.

I let things unfold, I discovered what feelings were in real-time and had them and processed them and went about my life with new and unusual information about who I am and let myself enjoy the fuck out of it.

I will drop a few hints and if you should be curious, I know one or two of you might, please call me on that old-fashioned thing called a phone and we can have a chat and I can give you details.

There are details.

Be assured.

Some things that I am willing to cop to.

Number one.

Get Tinder off my phone.

Don’t want the app, not interested in using it, not needed, get thee gone.

Except I can’t figure out how to get it off my phone–it may have something to do with the fact that I never was successful at installing the app in the first place; it wouldn’t load and I spent more time watching the error sign come up then swiping left or right.

Second.

I killed OkStupid.

Yup.

It’s done.

I’m off the site.

Now.

I know my friends are some smart monkeys.

If a + b = c one might surmise that.

a. No OkCupid

b. No Tinder

c. No blog for last couple of days.

I will say no more.

See.

I can do this!

Not certain for how long I can keep the hat on it, but I am going to give things room to grow and breathe and be, myself included and keep focus on the practices that I am currently doing.

Writing, writing, and more writing.

Maybe if I’m not writing about certain things I can be writing my autobiographical statement for graduate school.

Not tonight.

I’m too tired.

I had a busy weekend.

I got behind on some things and played catch up a lot today.

For instance, my Sunday soul soup is still cooking on the stove–my food for the week is a vegetable three bean chili with brown rice–I didn’t get to the cooking for a little while today and it still needs a good hour of simmering on the stove.

I did have an awesome late lunch at Thai Cottage, but that’s not cooking for the week.

I did get groceries done, but far later in the weekend then I normally do, same with cleaning the in-law and doing laundry–one load left to go.

I was a little behind on things, I had my attention elsewhere.

I enjoyed that attention being elsewhere.

Especially as I head into a busy week.

One with dancing at the end of it and a lot of service thrown in between.

Two speaking engagements this week and it feels like there’s another lurking around the corner, but I can’t put my finger on it.

Thanksgiving is coming up, which is frankly weird, not the holiday, just that it’s so close already.

I had some plans for the day, and I still think that it will probably happen that I end up in the Castro with Honey and the orphans and take out and a movie matinée at the Castro Theater.

I have plenty to be giving thanks for.

I tell you what.

So many things.

Like already booking dates in December for Christmas parties and on into January for a night at the symphony (the San Francisco Symphony is doing a big screen viewing of the original God Father and the symphony will be playing the soundtrack to the movie).

I actually opened up my closet and started poking through it, could I wear that dress to the party, would this work for the symphony, what about those heels?  Are they too high?

I may have to go out and buy a holiday frock or two.

I can’t remember the last time I had plans around the holidays that required some more formal attire.

I have dresses, but they are not so formal.

Ah.

Yes.

What every woman needs, or just this woman, an excuse to go dress shopping.

I can handle dress shopping better than jeans shopping.

Yikes.

I really do have to buy a new dress, probably two, and maybe some new heels.

My ankle should be all healed up and ready to prance about.

Speaking of prancing, I shall be dancing this weekend too, very much looking forward to the party at the Armory and getting to see some friends who I haven’t had much chance to catch up with since Burning Man.

This party I have clothes for.

And I won’t be wearing heels too, oh no.

Sneakers.

I may lace them up with some pink ribbon shoe laces for flair, but I am wearing flats for my night out dancing.

No hurting the ankle.

Well, the soup is simmering, the tea is in the process of sipping, the night is young and full of stars.

Far away messages of mystery in the sky.

Dumped over the bowl of dark covering the ocean and beach, drizzling me in sweet dreams and delicious thoughts from the weekend.

~End vague blog~

 

Split Pea Soup and Sex

March 23, 2014

I don’t actually believe very many folks are going to bait into this blog with that title, but you never know.

I mean, I imagine that the first thing that comes to mind is having sex with split pea soup in the equation, but split pea soup is not necessarily a sexy soup.

I mean it’s green and sort of mushy.

Delicious.

But mushy.

Then I think, is that soup hot?

That would burn.

Maybe you’re kinky?

Hot mushy soup instead of candle wax.

Then I thought, well then, how about cold, like that nursery rhyme: peas porridge hot and peas porridge cold, peas porridge in a pot nine days old.  Some like it hot and some like it cold and some like it in the pot nine days old.

Now first off all who the hell likes anything nine days old?

Nine day old peas porridge sounds like salmonella poisoning to me and nothing says sexy like vomiting.

But cold pea soup, is not sexy at all.

Not even like I am wearing this as a mask to get sexy.

Sexy foods are chocolate and whipped cream, sticky though, let’s be honest, who has had sex with whipped cream?

Raise your hands you kids you.

Uh huh.

And it’s sticky.

Unless you’re hopping in the shower right quick sexy with whipped cream is not sexy.  It makes a good visual, I will grant you that, but otherwise it gets tacky and kind of gross and then you have like lint stuck to you and who wants that?

Or dog fur.

Or gack, cat fur.

“Don’t post a photo of you and your cat!” My friend said over the phone today.

He was asking me to help him look at a few things on his OkStupid profile and I immediately went to you need to change your profile pix, not a good one, take off the sunglasses, show a current photo, you don’t have a beard and the hair cut is much better.

And he replied with the cat insight.

Not that I have a cat photo on my page, but apparently girls do.

“Oh and no kids, even if they’re your cute nieces and nephews,” he added.

I know that one too and told him to do the same, except not with kids, with other women.  I don’t want to see the guy with another woman, whether it’s a co-worker or a sister or an old friend, only pictures of said dude.

As soon as I see another woman I think ex-girlfriend, ex-wife, and it sours me whether or not it’s true.

All this talk about sex and soup and whip cream.

Where is this going?

I basically did my shopping and cooking today, is where it’s going and I was trying to make it sound sexy, and self-care is sexy, split pea soup can be sexy, as long as it’s not cold and nine days old, and I was filled with a kind of warmth, and yes, I dare say it, love of self when I saw my full fridge with healthful stuff in it–homemade soup in canning jars, fresh veggies and fruit and it’s all organic and good and yay.

I suppose that’s where I sort of left it.

I got up late today, almost 11 a.m. before I rolled out of bed, but considering I went to bed at 3 a.m. last night, it makes perfect sense.

I knew I would be busy tomorrow–Joan’s birthday party–and I wanted to get all my stuff dealt with today.  So soup making and food shopping, laundry, and fresh sheets on the bed, flowers in vases, check book balancing, bill paying, and tidying up.

And voila, my day.

No, there was not sex in my day, but you know, as a friend recently commented, I have been baiting my reader with sex in my titles to get a read.  I don’t usually have high readership on Saturdays anyway, so I thought, why not.

I mean, I have sex on the mind, why not put that out there too.

Or at least body contact.

Out at the club last night I sat by my friend for a moment in between dancing and he put his arm around me and I threw a leg over his lap and we hung out.

I have to say, it felt good.

And I wondered, how come never this?

But, he’s a smoker and that’s not a match with me and I know from some experience that guys will let you know if they are interested and I don’t think he is, but we are messaging back and forth on OkStupid to help out both of our profiles.

Apparently the more often you reply the more you get asked out.

According to some blog he read about the site.

I have never even thought about that.

Then when I told him he could use better profile photographs we actually started talking, joking, but I think it could actually be funny, about going around and fake doing things to have that perfect profile shot.

So basically now we need groomers and photographers and more media manipulation on our social sites to get what we really want, personal contact with another human being.

The internet is great, don’t get me wrong, but when I am blogging I am alone, so too when I am on my FaceBook page or OkStupid or Twitter or anything else.

The interconnectivity is awesome some times, although I did not need to see the post my sister just put up about not wearing underwear anymore.

TMI.

Then again, seeing photographs of my niece, pretty cool, especially since, when will I see her next?

Could be awhile.

But I feel that I need to see people face to face and not just over the net to really connect.

I need to watch people too.

I am an artist and I observe.

I take.

Like the small Asian man on the MUNI tonight, with age spots and a mole the size of a quarter on his face the skin on his face sagged and his eyes weary closing against the overhead lighting on the train.

His shoes were worn down and he walked with a bow-legged swagger that made me immediately think sea man and he was far shorter when he stood to get of the train than I thought he would be, almost diminutive in his navy suit and rumpled white dress shirt that was baggy out of his pants, pulled askew on the left side where he had been  scratching his ribs.

And the hat.

Slouched down, yet dapper, a fedora in tweed with flecks of brown and mustard.

That hat said so much.

Would I have noticed that hat had I been engrossed in my Facecrack feed on my phone?

I don’t think so.

I don’t know where all this is going, but I am grateful for these powers of perception whether they are reflecting on soup or sex.

Or hats.

I am writing and that’s the sexy in my soup any day.


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