Posts Tagged ‘fear of missing out’

All The Gifts

June 26, 2016

The constellations in the sky.

The love in my heart.

The ocean, the waves this twilight, late afternoon walk to the beach, perfect curls and peals and no one there.

No one.

The whole city, and a few extra thousand folks, were all at Pride.

I didn’t have FOMO.





I thought I would, but truth is, I’m in the Mission and the Castro a lot and it felt like it was going to be like going to work and all the traffic and the drinking and sloppy, I just didn’t have it in me.

Although I did get dressed up for it, just in case I happened to change my mind.

I did the yoga and that was great.

Felt nice to be in the studio and stretch and get strong.

I had a nice breakfast at home then scootered up to the Inner Sunset and met my person and did the deal and connected and got perspective.

And fuck.

The gratitude.

Just whelmed me.

That I get to do all the things that I do.

That I get to go to New Orleans next weekend.

Next weekend!

I mean, it feels like I just got back from New York.


I sort of did.

I mean.

There was a moment, and it was so brief, that I just waved it off, swatted it like a little gnat, I don’t have a date for Saturday night, oh boo hoo.




You know.

The thing is, I do.


And I am damn fine company and not that there’s not interest.

There is.

I just have some rules about dating that I am pretty unbendable on, even if he is hella cute.

No touching.

Hands off.

That’s the policy, always has been, always will be, but it was sweet to get his messages and catch up, we’ve known each other for years and always stayed in touch.

We reconnected and that was nice.

Although, also a tiny bit disappointing to hear that there was a misadventure and a return to day counting.

Le sigh.

Oh well.

So it goes.

Although, it was sweet to hear the incredulity he had that I was still single.

I’m saving myself for Mike Doughty.



I took myself down to the beach and I had me a me date and it was fantastic and I sat in the dunes and let the wind rumple my crinoline and sat with my face in the sun and let God blow love into my heart.

It was a good time.

I’m such a lucky girl.

Pink hair and all.

I think that this is going to be it for a while on the hair color too.

Time to go back to brown.

I’ll spend the summer pretty in pink, but yeah, I have been thinking it could be time to go back to my natural color.

I also thought about hacking it all off at the end of summer.

Go short again, cut off all the colored bits.

That’s on the table though, I do love my long, curly hair, I do.



Maybe back to natural.

Who cares?

I am rambling.



And I could have had a date tonight too, now that I am reflecting.

I must have been putting it out there on my way back from the beach, I don’t know how the guy didn’t hit me, but I literally had a guy whip across the MUNI tracks and pull his car in front of me while I was crossing the street at Judah and 46th and ask me what I was doing tonight.

I was like.

What the fuck?

Do I really look like a prostitute?

Were you just hoping I would say, well, dear, I wasn’t doing anything, but since you zipped up in your brand new bright orange SUV mini Cooper (which is so not mini and so ugly), I’ve totally changed my mind.

Let me get in your car and give you a blow job.

What you say?

Fuck off.

I just walked around the car and kept going.

I’m not sure if he thought I was a working girl, I mean, I am sure there’s lots of extracurricular action going on this weekend, but come on.

I was walking home in my flip flops.

Of course, I am tall, maybe he didn’t see the beach wear.

Just the bright, hot pink, hella big, curly hair waving around my pink glitter lips.

I get it, but seriously, fuck off.

Besides, like I said, Mikey, I’ll be waiting for you, nice and cozy, down here by the sea in my little love shack.



I fucking amuse myself.

I do have a thought though to message him when he gets to San Francisco.


I heard “Don’t You Forget About Me,” and I heard Shadrach in my heart.

“Be the ball, Martines, be the ball.”


Like that.

Go where the water is warm.

Let myself be pursued.

I’m not real good at that, but I’m willing to try.

Flowers yo, courting, pursue me, damn it.



I feel like I’m trying all sorts of things.

Although I have yet, and really don’t plan on doing so, returned to OkStupid.

I can’t bring myself to do it, after having a profile on that site for like six, seven years, time to move on, it didn’t work.



I still feel like I am hurtling, inexorably toward the man I am supposed to be with.




Not worried.

I’m in love with me.


I know what that sounds like, you can fuck off, but it’s true.

I really do feel that way.

It only took like a few decades or so.


And it may change tomorrow.

But right now.

Life is so fucking good.

It really is.

I have so many astounding gifts.

I am so grateful.

If life were fair.

I would be dead.

I am alive.

I am a light.

I am loved.

I am.

I am.

I am.





So There’s Like This Thing Happening

August 30, 2014

I can hear it.

I can smell it.

Smells like burning wood and fireworks ember and bacon.

Pretty tasty smell that.

I can see it, sort of, if I lean myself out the open door of my trailer.

But I am not much participating with this thing called Burning Man.


I am a part of.

And I am not exactly upset that I am missing all the “fun” and fire and boom and bang and the flashy, flashy, that can get all little overwhelming.

But I am feeling a teeny tiny bit FOMO.

Fear of missing out.

I believe that’s because I spent a lot of the day, a lot, inside a trailer, with the charge.

It was a horrendously dusty day.

I mean awful bad.

There was no going out all day, it started up pretty early and just barely seems to be ending now with the some of the bigger burns happening and the fireworks and the Friday night of it all.

I was yawning when I was checking in with the mom and knew that although I had drunk two cups of coffee at dinner, I wanted to be awake and ready to rumble, that the best thing I could do was call it an “early” night.

Early for me is midnight.

Which is already past my bedtime when I am in the default world, but it’s the earliest I can get myself to bed out here.

I’ll be up at 7 a.m. to do my deal and get ready to be ready to work at 8 a.m.

And that’s cool.

My choice.

I could also choose to be cracked the fuck back and not sleep and hope that maybe I’ll get a nap or a bit of down time, but I so know better and despite a bit of longing to go out and throw myself into the fray, the fray is doing just fine without my pink fuzzy self out in it.

I sat down tonight in the Commissary with my boss, a Ranger manager, in a sea of rangers.

I had to laugh.

I stood out like a Fruit Loop in a bowl of khaki Cream of Wheat.

There were easily twenty Rangers at the table, men and women, all in various shades of khaki (not even sure that is possible, I should say arrayed in various styles of khaki), and then there was me.

Teal mini dress.

Hot pink bra.

Hair up with pink and teal and yellow roses in it.

Rainbow fishnet tights.

Hello Kitty striped hot pink socks.


I mean.


It was hysterical.

I said it out loud, “one of these things is not like the other.”

“We’ll recruit you yet kid,” an older Ranger said smiling at me.

No I don’t think you will.

Not that I don’t think they fulfill an important feature at the event, I just wouldn’t be able to handle the drab dress code.

“They’re just so, cliquey,” the DPW guy said to me last night in line at the Commissary for dinner, he nodded to a couple of tables loaded with khaki counterparts.

I had to laugh to myself.

Pot calling the kettle black, my friend.

DPW’s traditional colors are dusty black.

It doesn’t matter where I go in the Commissary, I tend to stand out.

Maybe if I was hanging with the Greeters, but they’re few and far between.

This was my first day really rocking some bright colors, truth be told, I feel like I am growing up a little bit with my attire and my choices have been pretty utilitarian out here when I reflect back on previous Burns.

That’s not to say I am anything pedestrian in my dress, just a touch more restrained.

And perhaps there is a tiny bit more black in my wardrobe.

“You look like you have a Gate shift today,” the mom said one day earlier this week.

I had to chuckle at that too.

Y’all can try to categorize me.

But no matter what way it’s sliced I am going to be fabulous.

It’s just in my blood.

And so be it.

So, too, is Burning Man.

And as I told not one, not two, not three, but four friends, dear friends, close friends, like I want to spend a lot of time with these friends and here they are, some virgin Burners, some long in coming, that I was going back to camp to have a cup of tea and wind it down at 10p.m. and go to bed early, it hit me.


I want to have some Burning Man.


Since I have decided to pursue some graduate school action next fall I think this is where the nannying on playa stops.

I want to make an affirmation that next year I go to Burning Man as a tourist.


I know.


I’ll still work.

I mean I can’t not.

But just not as fucking much.

Not so much that I can’t go play with my friends.

It’s probably all for the best, my ankle is still healing and I would have to be chill anyhow, but still, I can hear it, there, just outside my door, the thrum of life and stuff just happening hard, and it’s not the party that I want to keep missing.

There’s plenty of magic still to be had for me this burn, I know that, and plenty of experience to grow through and from.

This too is spiritual for me.

This learning and growing and expanding.

My friend sharpied my arm a couple of days ago.

It read.

“Carmen 1st.”

I am self-centered and often self-deluded, but it is not often that I put myself first.

It’s time I did.

I am good enough.

I am allowed.


Back at home.

I made my nanny bed for this Burning Man and I am grateful, so grateful, without the experience and the painful growth of the job I would not have reached out to the degree I did and I would not have had the enlightenment I have gotten.

And I am beyond grateful for that.


I emailed the admissions department at CIIS today.

I mean, if I was going to be stuck in a trailer in a dust storm all day.

I was going to make it fucking count.

But I am done putting Baby in a corner.

I am too fabulous to be stuck there.

Time to let me out.

I am ready.


%d bloggers like this: