Ooh La La

Je suis fatigue.

I am tired.

I was up at 6 a.m.

I couldn’t sleep.

Oh.

I tried.

But gave up the goose around 6:20 a.m.

I popped up and decided to head out to a spot over by the Arc de Triomphe to see some fellows this morning at 8 a.m.

I arrived with plenty of time and was able to grab a quick cafe creme at Comptoir de L’Arc, a little cafe I got turned on to by a friend when I lived here four and a half years ago.

And!

I got a message from that friend today, she’s going to be in town for a quick visit and we are going to meet up at a spot tomorrow with a few other fellows, hang out, do the deal, and go to some French fellowship after.

I am super excited.

I may be super exhausted, but I’m going to sleep when I’m dead.

Or.

Perhaps after I write my blog.

I really did make a big run on the day.

Up so early I felt like I got a scandalous amount of things done today.

One of which has been on my list of things to do in Paris that I never quite got to the last few times I was here.

I went to Marche Aux Enfants Rouge this morning after doing the deal.

I bought cherries and Belle Pomme de Boskop!

My favorite apples in Paris, I believe that they come from Belgium, but they are the apples I used to buy at the market at Square D’Anvers when I lived next to it.

I took my booty to the park nearby, Parc du Temple, sat on a bench and watched the children play in the playground and the ducks paddle about in the pond.

It was spectacular.

Quiet.

Serene.

I had a moment, a Paris moment, and I almost laughed out loud, this, this sitting still on a park bench in a quiet park, off the beaten tourist track, in a sweet neighborhood in the 3rd Arrondisement, may have been one of the highlights of my trip.

It was so serene.

Sometimes a girl has to fly around the world to sit still.

I’m sure I’ll have other opportunities to sit still, although perhaps not tomorrow, as a friend and I are heading to Clingancourt early, but I will give it a shot.

Speaking of friends.

There is nothing, and I mean, nothing quite like bumping into a friend at random in the Marais.

It was amazingly serendipitous.

We walked all over the Marais, chatted, caught up, window shopped.

And.

Ha!

I got my Paris sweatshirt!

Except.

Heh.

It’s not exactly a sweatshirt.

It’s so much better.

And.

It’s so damn me.

It’s a pink satin bomber jacket that I got to have custom patches put on it.

There’s one on the right arm that says Rue Cambon, 1st Arr.

Rue Cambon is where all the fashion house are.

And.

The patch on the back.

Rue de Mauvais Garçon, 3rd Arr.

Literal translation:

Street of the Bad Boys.

Yeah.

I will run with that.

I haven’t had an impulse buy like that in some time and with that I am pretty tapped to with my spending.

I have gotten all my booty and then some.

In fact.

I am a shopped out, museum’ed out, and just about walked out.

My ankle is holding up and I am super glad I go the walking shoes, and I have been careful to not push too hard.

I can easily go too hard too fast.

Which is why I am very happy that I took time today to sit down and watch ducks for a while.

And despite being tired, which frankly makes it harder for me to speak French when my brain isn’t running on a full nights sleep, I got wonderful compliments about my French several times today, and many times over the course of my time here.

I was told by one person that my French was so pretty and where was I from.

He was shocked when I told him that I was from the states.

“But you have no American accent!”

Thank God.

Not that I’m not happy I’m where I’m from, but it does help tremendously to not have the American accent, there is much that is disparaged here about America and sometimes, well, it’s just nice to slide under the radar.

Not that I slide very far under the radar.

I am still quite noticeable in Paris.

I have tattoos you know.

But.

It’s also nice to be recognized.

I had dinner again at a little place by the Musee D’Orsay on Rue de Bac called Cocorico.

The waiter waved me to the table I had last night, the owner came over and chatted with me and we talked about where I was from, again, surprised that I was from America, with my lack of accent, about me being on vacation, that today I was tired, but happy to be eating in her lovely restaurant.

She asked me what I had been doing and I told her, walking and museums and then I told her about the show at the Orangerie and the amazing installation there and she got excited and said she was going to go.

It was a super treat to be chatted with in such a manner, I’m not a local, but I wasn’t treated like a tourist.

She bought my cafe creme for me and when I went to leave she asked my name, “Carmen,” I said, “comme l’Opera.”

Carmen, like the opera.

“Enchante,” she replied, ” je m’appelle Odette.”

I told her it was such a pleasure to meet her and that I was so happy to enjoy her delicious food and I wished her a good night and a good weekend.

I floated out the door.

It’s the little things.

I felt very special.

Thank you Paris for dressing me up in pink satin jackets and making me feel noticed and loved.

It means the world.

It really does.

Made It

To the weekend.

And I’m just hella happy to be home writing my little blog and it’s not even 9p.m.

I’m already in my bunny slippers.

At least I have some good music on.

There is a dance party up in here, y’all.

I’m listening to Parov Stelar, Mama Talking.

So fucking good.

I’m not quite sure what to call it, Neo Swing,  Electro Jazz, maybe Electro Swing.

Whatever.

I fucking love it.

I definitely dance my ass off when it comes on and I’m quite happy to have discovered some new tunes.

Dancing makes me happy.

And I haven’t had very much chance to do it recently.

I don’t think I have been dancing since right after New Years Eve.

To be honest, I’ve been pretty bushed with the work, the school, the internship, the supervisors, the finding a therapist, the whole damn deal, it’s taken a bit out of me, but I’m grateful and I know it won’t be forever.

I do suspect that it’s going to be about a year or so of being pretty exhausted and trying to keep whatever equilibrium I can.

I also suspect that it will be exhilarating and exciting and overwhelming and sure, why not, I bet it will be fun too, it’s fun to be on the path, to be headed somewhere, to have a direct goal, a vision, I feel like I’m fighting the good fight and doing the work and I know that is its own reward.

Yeah.

I also look forward to a time when I’m actually taking real clients and making money, like real money, I’m just getting by at the moment, it’s not a bad getting by, but it’s a tight getting by for living in San Francisco.

Especially when I start to contemplate having to start to pay out-of-pocket $120 a week for therapy.

The money will be there though, I know it, I have faith, and I’ve a bit socked away for a rainy day.

In Paris.

Actually, I fucking hope that it will not be rainy in Paris when I get there, I will want to devour every last bit of the city and I am hoping for sunny days, warm nights, long walks through the markets, the Marais, where I will be staying, a lunch at a cafe by Place de Vosges, a visit or four to Les Rouge Enfant Marche, a trip out to see the Louis Vuitton Institute out in Parc de Butte Charmont, a walk through the Pompidou, a tattoo, I mean, hello, that’s what I do, at Abraxas, a shopping visit to Fleux, a hat from a vendor in the Bastille, an afternoon at the Jeu de Paume, the Orangerie and the D’Orsay, a walk along the Seine, a walk up to Sacre Couer, a dinner at Odette and Aime, maybe a visit to a Brocante, grab a book and some postcards from Le Merle Moquer, fuck, as long as I’m in that neighborhood I suppose I’ll have to hop to Pere Le Chaise for a stroll, oh the places I’ll go.

I’m allowing myself to use half of my travel savings when I go to Paris.

The rest will be used for Burning Man tickets, travel to and from, supplies, food, and camp gear and that infrastructure.

Of course.

I haven’t gotten the ticket to Burning Man yet.

I have, though, to Paris and I have a place to stay, so I’m allowing myself to spend some money a few nice things and experiences while I’m there.

Not extravagant by any stretch, but for me, decadence.

I’ll eating out, I’ll definitely be drinking cafe cremes in cafes, I’m for sure going back to Cantine, that was fabulous, plus, I know my friend whose place I am staying at in the Marais, will have all sorts of good recommendations for me.

I swear.

Paris dreaming is what is helping through this part of the school process.

I’m in the short stretch of the semester, I’ve got to write a paper this weekend, I remind myself, there’s only two weekends of class left.

I e-mailed my advisor regarding all my paperwork, the supervisor, the therapist, and the internship hours, all the things, and I will be going in next Thursday to get his signature and turn over all the forms to the practicum office and registrars office.

This is happening.

I’m pretty happy with this turn of events, it’s been, yes, a bit nerve-wracking, a bit anxiety inducing, my own doing, but, to be able to walk into my next weekend of classes, two weeks from today, and have my internship nailed down, my schedule of hours, my supervisor set up and scheduled and have started my therapy requirement for the Master’s program requirement, big fucking stuff for me.

I was hoping to have my Community Mental Health project done too, but I’ll be ok with what I just mentioned.

Plus.

I have been knocking back the reading for my classes.

I may try to finish up Couples Therapy this weekend on top of writing my paper for my Trauma class, I will be working next weekend, so I don’t think I’ll be writing any papers.

The kids are also on Spring Break and the family is not going anywhere.

The big yummy hours of reading time I had this week will evaporate the next week.

I’ll get as much prep done this weekend and really, I’ll be damn fine with what ever comes of it, I’ve really been kicking it out.

So.

NO.

I’m not at all sad that I am not out at some club tonight celebrating Friday.

I am happy to be here, at home, rocking the fuck out of some good music.

Besides.

I’ve got a yoga class in the morning.

And.

I will make sure I spend some time hanging out with people tomorrow.

Some fellowshipping and some socializing.

Now.

Excuse me.

I need to dance around my room a little more in my bunny slippers.

Happy Friday!

That Was Fun

And it didn’t kill me.

It was just tacos.

And I don’t like tacos.

But.

I went anyway.

I know, did you read that, I don’t like tacos.

Who doesn’t like tacos for fucks sake?

I love tacos, people, love them, rub those greasy soft tortilla wrap things all over my naked body, smear me with guacamole and sour cream, drape me in cheese.

And then watch me binge out on all the other things that I would be eating if I decided to eat something that I refrain from for my abstinence.

I was laughing with a friend.

Like anything with sugar.

“You can’t just have one piece?”

(or one beer or one shot or one line)

No.

Chocolate cake would eventually go something like this–one piece of chocolate cake, becomes two pieces, becomes, let’s eat the whole damn thing, and have a big glass of milk and since nothing is better after a “meal” let’s have a cigarette and fuck since I’m smoking I might as well have a cocktail and if I’m going to have a cocktail let’s call my dealer and get a bag of blow.

And.

Well.

There it is.

Chocolate cake equals cocaine.

You think I jest.

But that is my truth.

So no tacos for me.

I had the taco salad without the taco.

Fuck.

I had Mexican food twice today, that was not planned.

Much of today was not planned, on purpose, I wanted to leave some space to be free to actually have a day off and be flexible.

I did get up and do yoga, my arms are a little sore, but not too bad.

I had a nice leisurely breakfast and took a hot shower and went to meet up with my person and do the deal and cry a bit about being overwhelmed with the internship stuff and school and practicum and stuff and life.

She slowed me down, and really helped me get into the present, into today, into the joy of living and admonished me to have fun, which she actually does a lot now that I am thinking about it, she often tells me to have fun, and I decided to take her suggestion and see if I could have fun.

It wasn’t always easy today, I can get stuck trying to make things happen, but I just tried to let myself go with the flow and show up where I was supposed to be and after that see what happens.

What happened was a nice lunch, a manicure and a pedicure and then a scooter ride over to Waller and Stanyan to Free Gold Watch to play pinball.

I actually got sore wrists from playing.

Hehe.

Does any one get carpal tunnel syndrome from pinball?

I might have today.

I played my favorite, The Addams Family, and also I played The Twilight Zone a lot.

Then I zipped over to Turk and Divisadero, got right with God, made a confession at group level about being wildly adverse to fellowship and needing to do it and supposedly having to have fun and I don’t want to eat tacos.

And I got merry hell from my friends and ended up going out to some taqueria on Divisadero with a crew of people and hanging out until there was no one left to hang out with.

Got to love it when I take suggestions.

I don’t regret them ever.

Oh, sure it’s uncomfortable, social stuff is, being vulnerable, letting people see you, but I have community and as I do ramp up with all the school stuff I really am trying to keep my toe in the pool, maybe even sit on the steps and get a little submerged.

I remind myself, hey you, you like to swim, don’t be afraid.

And I will be afraid and that’s ok, but I don’t have to let the fear run the show.

It did a lot early in the week when I was freaking out about my schedule and meeting with my site director and setting up what my internship was going to look like.

I was anxious and in so much fear.

It was unnecessary, it was unpleasant and I just got spun out.

Anxiety is useless.

It’s worrying about the future and trying to worry so hard that I have all the fretting out-of-the-way before the actual event happens as a way to control the uncertainty of the event.

I want to be in control because if I don’t know what’s going to happen, something really bad might happen.

So I find myself pre-emptive and I fret.

God, how I fret.

And you wonder how it was that I was diagnosed with clinical anxiety ten years ago.

Yeah.

I had no clue that was what was going on with me.

It’s always been there, I just hadn’t the vocabulary to describe what was happening, or the knowledge that it wasn’t normal, or that there were things I could do to alleviate it.

Or that, I don’t know the horrific shit show of things that happened to me as a child were traumatic and might have long-lasting effects, like, um, I don’t know, being scared to be out of control of my environment because something bad this was coming.

Anxiety?

Nope.

Not me.

Bwahahahahaaha.

Fuck.

Grad school has definitely stirred that pot, from working with the stuff that comes up for me, working through a lot of it, processing, training myself, learning how to deal with my emotions, finding things that stir me up, realizing how things land in my body and how my body is affected.

All sorts of things.

I am super grateful for all the things and the getting to work through them and not have “death by tacos” and hanging out and getting connected with a group of pretty awesome, talented, kind, cool, smart folks.

In other words.

I had fun.

Mission accomplished.

 

Staying In The Moment

Is hard to do.

Seriously.

If I’m not careful I’ve skipped over the whole weekend and I’m back at Monday and in the work grind again.

I can do that, magically get so caught up in the things that I need to get done that I forget to do the things for myself that I need to do, slow down, breathe, appreciate my efforts for the things I have done.

Acknowledge that shit, yo.

I worked a full week of work after having done a full weekend of school which was just following a full week of work.

So yes.

Tomorrow is my first day off in two weeks.

Hallelujah.

I am stoked.

I am going to do some nice things for me as I have done a lot of work for school over the past week, from showing up to my internship and signing papers, to e-mailing and contacting supervisors, to making appointments to interview with a possible supervisor–next Wednesday, to reading four chapters of Trauma class readings, and contacting possible therapists as I will need to be in therapy as I am working with the clients that I will be helping.

I have signed up for two yoga classes this weekend.

I have plans to see my people, two back to back sit downs to read and do the deal on Saturday.

And yes, I think I will, a nice little mani/pedi at the local nail salon as well as some eyebrow help, they’re starting to get a little out of control, as they do.

I may take myself out for a nice lunch.

I am thinking I will go out to dinner tomorrow night and do some fellowship.

Dinner somewhere in the NOPA neighborhood.

Sunday a day with a friend in San Leandro.

Sunday night a quick visit with a friend in the neighborhood.

And bam.

See.

I told you.

It’s Monday.

And somewhere in there I need to do food prep and cooking and I have entertained the possibility of writing my Trauma reflection paper.

Just to have it the fuck out the way.

Especially since I am going to be working an extra weekend this month.

I was also asked to work next Friday by a family I used to work for and I had to say no.

I am going to help out my current family the last weekend of the month, basically work a Saturday and a Sunday while the dad is away on work, the days won’t be super long, granted, but not having any days off will be challenging and I’m pretty aware of that.

I have turned down two gigs recently.

The one to work next week and a wedding in Napa.

Part of me considered very seriously both propositions.

The extra money would be nice, but.

I really want to see the boys I used to work for, but.

I just can’t do it.

I feel like I need all the reserves I can get to just get through my work and my school work and the additional stress of figuring out all the practicum stuff has been wearing on me, I am hoping, so hoping, that the Wednesday interview, before I go to work (which I might as well get used to, I’m going to be working with a supervisor once a week for two hours before I head into work for a year) and interview with him.

Please say yes mister supervisor.

I don’t have much energy to keep looking.

I am also looking for a therapist.

The first one who was referred to me couldn’t fit me into her schedule.

But she was super helpful and offered to refer me out and I said yes please, of course, I haven’t heard anything else back, but I tried.

I just emailed another therapist tonight too to keep that ball rolling.

I will have to be doing it as part of my program and I have to be doing it while I see clients.

This is good and I am rather looking forward to it.

And frankly.

After two years of studying and training and practicing how to be a therapist I’m ready for a little of that love to be turned back around on me.

In some ways, it has, especially in the actions that I took today and over the last week, in regards to what I can do, how I can take care of myself and what I need to do to take care of myself.

Like.

Not working on my days off.

Ok, yes, I am working that weekend for my current family, but we negotiated easy hours for me, a big break, payment in cash, and I’ll get my meals covered and probably have a fun field trip type day out with the charges.

It will be a fun adventure.

And yes I will be tired, and yes, I will need to be gentle with myself.

Which is also why I said no, to the other two queries, and the best thing about it?

God damn.

It felt like such a win.

I didn’t justify or explain my response.

I said simply in both cases, thank you so much for thinking of me, which is true, but no thank you.

It is nice to be thought of, it is nice to be the type of person that others want you to work for them, that they want you so much that even though they think I probably can’t (both parties said it, it was sweet), they want me bad enough that they’re going to ask either way, just in case.

I was flattered.

And though I felt momentarily guilty about taking care of myself over taking care of others.

I got the fuck over it.

Self-care people.

It really is a thing.

So.

Here’s to me doing some sweet, kind, generous, loving things for myself this weekend.

So that I may be sweet, kind, generous, loving, and caring to those around me.

Now excuse me.

I have to put on my oxygen mask before assisting others to the exit slide.

Heh.

 

 

I Did Not Write My Paper

I stressed out about writing it though.

That was fun.

I burst into tears in the parking lot of a church this evening when I was invited to go get noodles in Japan Town.

It was too much.

“Honey, I was just inviting you to fellowship,” he said and gave me a big hug.

I was not going to leave the house this evening.

I was going to get the fucking paper done.

Although.

Let me be honest.

I didn’t actually think I was going to write it today.

I spent a lot of time wondering exactly when I was going to write it and started to be honest about my schedule and what I could do when and I did some negotiating with myself and decided that I needed to do certain things before I wrote the paper.

OH.

And FYI.

I did do a lot of work on the paper.

Just because it’s not in paper form doesn’t mean I didn’t do work.

In fact.

I have done more work on this paper than I do on most.

I have read all the material.

And re-read some of it.

I have outlined and noted, and post-it noted things.

I have organized my material.

And I have a title.

The paper is writing itself and has been writing itself all weekend.

I haven’t spent this much time thinking about a paper in a while.

But.

That being said.

Yes.

It’s not written.

I did a lot of self-care today that needed to be done.

The weekend before the weekend of school for me is often the busiest of the month.

I went to yoga.

YOGA!

I’m back baby.

It felt a little like coming out of a cave yesterday.

It just opened up, the window and I realized that I needed to be there this morning, I really did, I set my alarm early and got up and made my bed, said my daily prayers, and got into my yoga clothes.

Hello old friends.

I went over to the studio early.

I was the first one there.

I talked the woman at the desk and got signed up again and did the monthly plan, where I pay a set amount, they pull it from my bank account, and I go to class whenever I want.

And.

She remembered me and though they, the studio, had raised its rates, she grandfathered me in at my previous amount and included my student discount.

Thank you, my grad school pocket-book thanks you Yoga Beach.

And yes.

I’ll be up early tomorrow to go in and do it again.

Because.

It felt good.

I mean, I’ve lost some flexibility in the weeks I have missed and I am a little sore, although not as bad as I thought I would be, but it felt so good to be there.

To be in my body.

To not be in my head.

Just to stretch and move and get a good sweat on.

And.

OH.

I cried.

I got a nice big fat, unexpected, emotional release at the end of the class.

It felt cleansing and good and letting go and walked out of the studio thanking God and into the light of a brand new day.

It was fucking fabulous.

Why didn’t I want to do this?

Probably because it’s so damn good for me.

Story of my life.

If it’s good for me I don’t want to do it.

Eventually I come around to it.

After yoga.

A good hot shower, a good hot breakfast, hot coffee, and some writing.

Then a scooter ride up to the Inner Sunset to do the deal with my person at Tart to Tart.

After we reconnected I went next door to the nail salon and got a mani/pedi and my eyebrows waxed.

Paper or no paper I like to be groomed and this is the week in the month that I could squeeze it in and so I did.

Read some trashy magazines, chilled out, tried to not think about my paper, thought about it anyway, and then took myself out to a nice lunch.

Because I decided the thing to do at that point, it was after 3 p.m. was to go grocery shopping and I know better than to do that on an empty stomach.

I shopped extra for the week.

Anything that I might need or want for the week and next weekend of school I made sure to get and be stocked up on, extra tea, coffee, all my staples, and stuff to cook, plus all my household stuff that I didn’t want to have to think about.

I ran into a few people at the Safe Way out by Ocean Beach and caught the eye of a cute guy in the store, but didn’t think about it twice.

Then as I was loading up my basket on my scooter and juggling my bags and keys and purse, he walked by and looked at me, “you are very pretty,” he said and smiled.

I am surprised I didn’t drop my keys, “thanks,” I replied.

“Have a good one,” he said and walked off.

Wait.

What?

I was a little flustered, very complimented, it rather made my day it was so unexpected, but then I was like, isn’t this where one asks the other out to coffee?

He just walked away.

Oh well.

I was flattered though and it put a nice little pop of joy in my afternoon.

I zoomed home, unloaded my groceries and then headed up to co-op on the corner that I am a member of to get the rest of my basics for the week.

I came home, balanced my check book, put all my groceries away, started a pot of brown rice and threw a chicken in the oven to roast.

There is just something about having a homey smell in my house when I’m doing school work really makes me feel grounded and it’s nice to have good self-care around my own diet and needs.

While the chicken roasted I did more prep work on my paper.

I organized it, I re-read some more stuff, I got a general idea of where I was going with it, I made a plan.

Then.

I got a text asking what I was doing tonight.

I replied.

And before you know it I am off.

I went to do the deal, it’s my commitment on Saturday’s and my friend was unexpectedly in town and wanted to meet me there.

I haven’t seen her in months.

Of course I’m going.

And.

I’m going out afterwards to fellowship, because sometimes the best way to write a paper is to give yourself some fucking down time with your best girl friend in the city.

Well, she doesn’t live in the city anymore, so I really had to do it and I am so grateful I did.

And yes.

I will crank out the paper tomorrow.

It will get done.

They always do.

I have time.

I will make time.

It will happen.

And truly, the big heavy lifting, the research and reading and organizing, that’s all done.

Yoga in the morning, doing the deal with a couple of ladies, a tea date in the afternoon, then home again, home again, jiggedy jig.

The paper will get written and all will be fine.

Because.

It already is.

Despite the fear factory in my brain.

The paper will be written.

And life will go on.

Just like it always does.

 

Detach With Drama

Or.

Detach with love.

I know I sound like a wussy, but I chose the latter rather than the former, even though I wanted to be all dramatic about it.

I got a text from the ex again last night.

Come on.

It was hard enough to see him, and just move on, I had my feelings, I processed my shit, I wrote it out.

I thought, I don’t need to do any more inventory, I’ll just do a gratitude list tonight and e-mail my person with that and then.

Eeeooo.

My phone whistled at me.

I had a text.

It was 11:38p.m.

I ignored it.

I was busy watching the last few minutes of Broadchurch, so good, if you haven’t seen it, get on it.  I highly recommend it.

I had forgotten, by the time the episode ended, that I had received a text and I was getting myself ready for bed and checking to set my alarm when I saw it.

Unidentified number.

But oh, very identifiable information.

Fuck.

Leave me alone man.

I had deleted my ex out of my phone, but receiving a late night text about how it was good to see me, even from afar and how it took all of him to not come up to me and engage with me and interact so he could hear my voice, well the number might not have had an id attached to it, but it was him.

And I don’t quote exactly.

I’m giving you the gist of it.

I don’t remember the message verbatim.

I read it once.

Deleted it.

Then I cried.

Then I got pissed.

Then, well, I guess I did have an inventory to write.

When we retire at night.

Uh yeah, I had me some resentments, some fear, some selfishness crop up.

I wrote it out.

I sent it off.

I went to bed and slept like a log.

No texts this morning, no messages, no nothing.

No drama in my head.

I thought about it.

I thought, I should text so and so and call this person and that person and I should.

Get over it.

I should get over it.

Oh.

Who cares?

I don’t give a damn no more.

I’m moving on.

I’d like to suggest to my ex that he do the same.

And who knows, I suspect he is, in his own way, and though it seems a bit bumbly, I’m sure he’s pretty unaware of the emotional impact of his actions.

I don’t believe he’s trying to hurt me.

And he’s not stalking me.

A friend suggested today that he was being selfish though, texting after he asked for 90 days no contact, texting me twice in the last week, really, and that I should block the number.

I hadn’t thought of that.

I suppose I could.

What I did though, was practice being in the moment today.

Being in the sunshine.

Dude.

It was 70 degrees today.

I rode my bicycle home, and it was a slightly chillier ride than I anticipated, but, I rode home without a sweatshirt on.

Just me and my short-sleeved mini-dress and leggings.

Delicious.

I wanted to enjoy every drop of sunshine I could.

I ate well.

I woke up early and wrote extra pages this morning in my notebook.

I devised my hula hoop in my head and I climbed inside the ring.

Taking care of myself and believing that there is enough, more than enough, all the resources in the world, I have them.

I am not deprived.

There will be other dates.

There will be another boyfriend.

There will be more sex.

Please.

Let there be more sex.

It wasn’t forthcoming towards the end of the relationship and I am ready for a little affection.

To that extent.

I got on the phone today and made a call and let the gentleman from last night know that I have a three-day weekend and we should get together.

Has he gotten back to me?

Nope.

Nor has anyone else who I have asked out this week, and you know what.

Who cares?

Again, there’s no drama here.

Detaching from my own expectations around dating too.

However, I keep taking action, that is where the juice is.

Doing the deal.

Of course after the hug and the aforementioned snuggle conversation I had with my friend I was prone to want to see him again, but if I don’t it’s cool.

It’s just more information.

I don’t have to put a good or bad tag on it.

I am just clearing the way for what comes next, or whom.

And my vibrator’s all charged up in the meantime.

Ahem.

It’s a three-day weekend though, and who knows what magic is going to happen.

I’m listening to some Basement Jaxx as I write and I get to go see them Saturday at Public Works.

I am dancing.

I am also going to go to a party for a friend who is moving out of the city indefinitely, so there will be fellowshipping happening and who knows, maybe someone to add to the list.

That’s Saturday in the afternoon.

Tomorrow night I’m meeting a couple of people after work for tea and talk and then doing my regular Friday night deal.

I could go out after that.

Or not.

I’ve got Sunday pretty wide open.

And the weather is supposed to be in the 70s for the next four days.

Excellent.

There are no problems.

My life is lovely.

The weather is divine.

I’m going to ask someone else out tomorrow.

Who?

Don’t know yet, but I will.

Or maybe I’ll get asked out.

Don’t have to worry about it.

And I don’t have to have drama about the ex.

I really don’t.

Even though I have had a few moments of violent excessive thoughts of smacking him.

And then fucking the hell out of him and then walking away.

And well.

That’s not very spiritual now is it.

They are only thoughts though, and I don’t act on my thoughts, they pass, emotions go away, and really, at some point, I’d like to give him a hug and say no hard feelings.

But I think maybe when I am not a single lady.

Whilst I am a single lady I am just going to stay out-of-the-way and continue to not contact him and let it all go.

Sweetly.

Quietly.

Without fuss.

Wearing my big girl pants and walking through with my head high and my dignity in tact.

Like I already have been.

Gracefully keeping my side of the street clean.

Clean as a motherfucking whistle.

Another One Bites the Dust

Check.

I just scratched another name off the list of ten guys I would be interested in going out with.

This makes number three and boy howdy was he surprised when I dropped the bomb.

It was funny.

I hung out with friends tonight, you know, doing that fellowship thing, even when I’m not eating the pizza, I need to do it–fellowship, that is, not pizza.

And I am really glad I did, I got invited to go swimming at China Beach and try out some body surfing, which is something I have wanted to try for some time now.

Anywho.

Get to the point here.

I wrote my number down and my name, like he doesn’t know it, he’s known me for 10 years, and touched his arm, handed it off and said, something to the effect of:

“Now that you have a tattoo (tattoos being on my ideal list) I can ask you out.  Here’s my number, if you ever want to go out and grab a coffee let me know.  I’m practicing asking guys out and the whole dating thing.”

He fumbled, “Me?”

“Huh?”

“Uh, um, I don’t ah, usually date you know, in the….”

“Yeah, I gotcha, no worries, I’m just practicing,” I said.

And I didn’t even blush.

“Well, you know, maybe we could do a coffee sometime, um, I…”

“No pressure,” I laughed, “don’t feel weird, no weirdness here, heck I even asked out your friend at one point awhile back, don’t feel too special.”

I smiled, “night.”

I turned, unlocked my bicycle and hopped on it, rode off down the road and into the sunset.

Well, it was late, not the proverbial sunset, but the Sunset, where I live.

It was a giddy ride home.

I almost could make a habit of asking guys out, I certainly get a jolt of adrenalin from doing it.

I can tell the answer is no and he won’t be calling and I’m so cool with it, it’s not even funny, I’m just pleased as punch, to continue the lazy use of cliché, that I asked.

Another one-off the list.

Another fantasy squashed.

I really didn’t ever think he would, I never got that vibe from him, but I like him, he’s smart, and he’s very funny.

Two characteristics I am a big fan of.

So.

Next.

Oh.

And the gentleman I called yesterday and called an asshole on his voicemail sent me the no response response, which is basically a no, in a twee little text message this afternoon.

My response, “oh you’re fucking funny.”

And he is.

And the response he gave me was funny.

I can’t wait for the ribbing I’m going to get when I see him next.

Hopefully I’ll be dating someone so I don’t have to listen to his crap for too long.

I am getting to see some funny stuff here with the dating.

Oh.

What else is funny?

OkCupid picked up and re-Tweeted my blog from last night and I got a huge amount of reads off it, which was cool, but I wanted to ask the robot, “did a human read what I wrote, do you know I call your service OkStupid?”

Ha.

Oh.

Good times.

“Breaking up is good for you,” he said to me over a slice of pizza at Pasquale’s in the Inner Sunset, “your writing has been on fire.”

Thanks.

I appreciate that.

I do love to do the writing and if one of the consequences of my break up is better quality blogs, hey, bring it on.

I’m so grateful for this blog, for putting it out there, for not caring, too much, who reads what, for having a forum to dump my day into.

All the goofy stuff that goes through my brain, all the dreams and fantasy, all the angst and anxiety, and the silliness of myself that I get to let go of.

It’s the best and I’ve also become quite a fast typist.

Really, my words per minute is off the hook.

I have to say I am glad for the dating experience, and man it is an experience, a lot of work,  a lot of self-discovery, a lot of letting go of results.

And every time I get the surprised who me, or the tee hee response of someone who isn’t right for me, it makes it a little easier to go onto the next one.

I have complete faith that I am on the right track.

Oh.

I don’t know that I am taking the “right” actions.

I can sit here in my head and debate right and wrong all night long and not take any action whatsoever, because I want to make sure it’s the right one.

Rather.

I’m bumble fucking the hell around and providing myself with some ridiculous life experiences.

Ones I would not have if I was keeping myself to myself all the time.

I have to be willing to look like an ass if I’m going to get anywhere with this thing.

I’m not even feeling rejection from the last two guys, and you know, rejection is God’s protection, I’m just feeling ok, cool, moving on.

And not in a strident kind of way.

Just going with the flow.

Moving on.

Easy like.

I suspect too, that the more action I take, the more results I’m going to get.

I just have to continue to put it out there.

It’s going to be the thing that I don’t think will work, or the guy that I never would have asked out, except that I said I would take someone else’s suggestion.

It’s going to be right when I am left.

Or up when I am down.

Sideways and silly.

I just have to let it all out and do my thing.

Do your thang, do your thang, make my body sing

Let me see you do your thing now

And who knows, maybe some one will ask me out.

Now that would be something.

Just as long as it’s not on Tinder.

I am done with that.

Here’s to making a fool of myself and living through the experience.

To making an ass of myself.

In the best possible way.

For yet another day.

And God Laughs When I Make Plans

Damn it.

I had plans galore.

I did.

I was going to go here and go there and do this and do that and he is cute.

He sent me message that he was not going to be coming around.

Then the tattoo session ended and I abruptly decided to head to the Inner Sunset and do the deal there then where I was planning on going.

After which, slightly disgusted with myself, I annihilated a pair of blue jeans, making them into jean shorts, ripped the sleeves off a white button up shirt and pulled on some lace tights.

Fuck it.

I will go dancing.

But as I hemmed and hawed and checked my messages while waiting for the N-Judah I wound down.

What am I doing?

Yeah.

I know, I am running away from hanging out by myself on a Friday night, but I also did just sit for an hour having tattoo work done and I am stupid if I go get sweaty and dance with new ink.

I flipped down my phone, stepped off the platform and walked back to the house, past the neighborhood drunk with a twelve pack of Pabst, that’s where I am going, I thought, if I do stupid shit like fly off the handle because I can’t sit still and face up to some things that need to be done.

I need to do some work here at the house.

I was given a list of things to do today from a dear friend and I need to take these suggestions.

I did a little bit, just a moment ago, spending a few minutes looking online for some information.  I actually am going to keep this all under my hat for the time being.  I am not necessarily certain about writing about it until I have done the work suggested.

And I know that the work needs to be done because of the visceral response my body gave when she made the suggestions.

Ack.

If my response is fuck off, or any variant thereof, it’s time to take that into consideration.

It used to be I had to get into a lot more pain than an uncomfortable conversation over a meal with a darling friend.

That was also not planned.

I began the day with an attitude of get it done and get on with it.

But I was stopped at 850 Bryant, my agenda blown in minutes.

There was no line.

What?

I went right up to the clerk in Room 145 and showed her my ticket and my id.

The cop hadn’t even entered the ticket into the system yet, so the clerk had to do it, and she asked what it was for and was pissed, I mean, pissed that I was there.

“What a waste of time,” she said, and grabbed some paperwork, “hang on, I’ll be right back, I need to look up some things.”

She came back and showed me a schedule with some times and dates listed, “pick one and I’ll put you on the court calendar.”

“Wait, what,” I said, confused, “I have to go to court?  That’s why I came down here, so I wouldn’t have to go to court.”

“Honey, you are not paying that fine, it’s $197.  You are going to contest it,” the clerk said firmly, “now pick a date.”

Wow.

Ok.

So I did.

I have to return to 850 Bryant for another date, this time to go before a judge and see what happens.  I will tell the truth and I will show up and take whatever happens.

“It won’t be $197,” the clerk promised, “but don’t be late and don’t miss the date, otherwise the fine will go up.”

Eek.

No thanks.

Which means that Friday, March 7th at 3p.m. I will be back at 850 Bryant to contest the ticket.

Ok.

I got a copy of the paperwork, thanked the clerk and left the Hall of Justice twenty minutes after entering, and that includes a trip to the bathroom.

I hopped on the bicycle and headed to the Mission, going to my old nail salon and then messaging a friend in the neighborhood to see if she was available for lunch or coffee.

And she was!

We caught up and she inspired me to do some work and made some suggestions and she gave me some assignments to do.

“The measure of a person,” I heard tonight, “can be made by the people they surround themselves with.”

Oh.

Lovely.

It made me think of my friend, who is my advocate and how she wants to help me help myself and better my life.

How lucky I am to have the friends I have.

I really am.

I knew everything she was saying was also on point and as I grow up I find that I can take these suggestions with more and more aplomb and ease, not that I find walking through the fear any less uncomfortable, I just know that I can since I have so much already.

I want a better life for myself as well and basically what she was suggesting is going to lead me to that.

And faster than my own timeline.

“Set a calendar and stick to it, e-mail me the things you find, and let’s meet for coffee on a weekly basis,” she concluded.

I wrote the list down that she suggested and stared at it tonight.

Which might have led to me wishing to flee into the night in my new hot pants, lace tights, and ripped up shirt–I ain’t gonna drink–to go clubbing.

And there’s nothing wrong with dancing or clubbing or me going out, except that I have new ink, feel punked out, and was avoiding looking at the work.

I do not feel upset now that I have written this out.

I am allowed to change my mind and plans did change today, but that is just the Universe making room for me to make room.

“I am supposed to be fellowshipping,” vomited out of my mouth without meaning to, “what the fuck is that, oh yeah, something I suggested to other women I work with, fuck,” I finished shaking my head.

I just wanted to come home and drink tea and hide.

I am sort of doing that and sort of not.

Therefor, since I have taken off said lace and hot pants and washed off my tattoo, took the flower out of my hair, and put on my Hello Kitty pajamas, I am just going to make a resolution to do some of the fellowshipping thing tomorrow.

I can only do so much in one day.

I had some plans, I did.

And none of them happened at all like I thought.

But I got beautiful new ink (two stars added to my neck and the colors gone over and bumped way up, plus some unexpected liner work done on an older tattoo since he had me on the table) and I had lunch with a dear friend who wants more for me than I have.

That’s a nice day anyway you slice it.

And I did not have to pay $197 out-of-pocket to have it.

But it did set the ball rolling.

Or should I say the bicycle.