Posts Tagged ‘first date’

I Have A Question For You

April 19, 2017

Why are you single?

You’re gorgeous.

Wow.

Thanks darling.

That was super nice to hear, especially in my nanny regalia, which granted is cute, but not sexy.

I also got the sexy compliment.

Which coming from a FIREFIGHTER made my day.

Did I just turn down sex on a first date with a firefighter?

FIREFIGHTER!

Fuck.

I did.

Damn it.

First off.

I’m going to TMI y’all right now.

First day of a my period is not my sexy time.

It can be, I can and have had great fucking times on my period, but for my first time with someone, my first hang out, yikes, not so much.

And.

I didn’t shave today.

So.

No.

I’m not sleeping with the firefighter.

Right now.

Ooooheee.

God damn.

Smokin’.

And nice.

He was very nice.

We “met” on Tinder.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, like last summer, I think, when I was still using the app, but we never quite connected.

We’re not friends on facecrack but he does follow me on Instagram and, yes, that’s right, I had my first time getting asked out on Instagram.

That was a new one for me.

Kind of fun.

The crazy thing is, we live in the same neighborhood.

Like.

A fucking block away from each other.

Shit.

If it weren’t my first day on my period I would throw myself in the shower, shave them stems and um, heh, go make a new friend.

Ahem.

FIREFIGHTER.

Ok.

I’ll stop now.

firefighter.

Heh.

I feel like Samantha in Sex in the City when she goes to the firehouse.

Of course, in the episode, I think she got stranded naked in the station when the alarm goes off and her date has to leave to go put out a fire.

Not really the outcome I want to have.

Anyway.

Said gentleman, liked one of my posts on Insta and sent me a message.

The timing was pretty spot on, I had just gotten in and I was registering for fall classes.

And I was messaging with some of my classmates about classes and things and I get the message let’s get a coffee.

And of course.

I’m intrigued.

He’s gorgeous.

And well.

I’m trying to be spontaneous.

And we live in the same neighborhood.

I asked, “let’s get coffee sometime or tonight?”

“Tonight.”

Well then.

I suggested tea since it was late and we met and hung out and marveled that we’d never run into each other before, I mean, he literally lives a block away on the same fucking street, but nope, never seen each other in the hood at all.

We flirted.

There was flirting.

There was a lot of flirting.

And I let it stay there.

I am actually rather amazed that I did.

Of course when I got home I got a few more messages.

This time on my phone, I figured we’d gotten to know each other enough that I could give him my number.

When he texted me and asked me why were texting and not making out I just about fell out of my chair.

I told him I had homework.

I told him I was writing.

I got flustered and broke and dropped the TMI bomb.

“That has nothing to do with us making out.”

Oh damn.

I’m not flustered at all, at all, at all.

Ok.

Well.

Maybe a little bit.

I did, before we parted, give him a little information, as he asked the why am I single question twice, I think he may have also been implying that he might want to try out for the position, or perhaps just positioning himself to be, I got to stop, I can’t even go there.

Um.

Where was I?

Oh yeah.

I did tell him I was seeing people, that I had, in fact a date on Thursday, but that I wasn’t exclusive with anyone, not that I would be, the date Thursday is a first date, but all in all, I have to say, um, super fucking validating and fun experience.

I liked his confidence and I liked that I felt confident too.

Even in my nanny togs.

If a man thinks I’m sexy in a long sleeve black dress with black leggings and Converse, well, that bodes well for when I am actually in a put together outfit.

I don’t look slovenly, there’s that, I won’t lie, if I thought I wasn’t looking pretty I wouldn’t have left the house in my work clothes.

But.

I also didn’t feel like trying really hard on a Tuesday night to get all made up and glammed up, especially to grab a cup of tea at Java Beach.

There will be time.

I told him that was very tempted by the make out, but, I decided, for me, that it would be better to go on another date, before leaping into the make out.

So.

I asked for a rain check.

Who is this person?

And.

He said, absolutely.

And we text flirted a little more and now I’m up past my bed time, but, so what, that was fun.

I haven’t had that kind of forward as fuck attention in a while, super fun, super validating, sexy as fuck flirting.

I think the Universe did that one up on purpose.

Thanks God.

I needed that.

And.

Um.

I’ll take hot make out with a firefighter for $200 once I get my get out of Jail free card from my body.

Anticipation is also not a bad thing.

Not a bad thing at all.

Giggles to self.

Ok.

Going to stop this silliness now.

Night.

Sweet dreams.

Or

Incindiary.

Same/same.

Heh.

 

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Everything Is Coming Up Pink

June 19, 2016

I mean everything.

Fuck me.

Ugh.

I got my hair done today and it’s awesome and fun and I had a really nice time at the salon reading trashy magazines and drinking coffee and discussing dating with my hair dresser.

You know.

Tinder versus OkStupid.

And it was a great time.

It’s nice to let myself be pampered.

I love, love, love, having my hair played with.

Seriously.

Offer to brush my hair, wash my hair, play with my hair, I’m yours.

Give me a scalp massage?

Dude.

Yeah.

So.

Getting the hair done is always an extraordinary treat.

And not one I do all that often.

Although when I do.

I do like to pull a bit of a hair geographic.

Today’s was pink.

Pastel and hot pink and it looks fantastic and my colorist was a doll and mixed up some extra color for me with some conditioner to put in my hair the next couple of times I wash it.

And away I went to Sephora on Cloud 9 to go match my hair color to my lipstick.

Because.

Please.

That is how I roll.

“Oh, I like the glitter,” my colorist said, referring to my nails which are painted sky blue, robin’s egg blue, and overlaid with, yes, pink glitter.

Because.

Again, I ain’t nothing but subtle.

Anyway.

I came back to grab my scooter and head off to my first date of the evening.

Yes.

I said first.

I had two dates tonight.

Yeah, I’m a hussy, get over it.

I’m also making up for lost time, the cancelled dates over the past few weekends, the one guy not available and the other that just never bothered to confirm, so I figured, fuck it, book two, one is bound to not be good.

They were both good.

But in very different ways.

Anyway.

I get a head of myself.

And yes, Virginia, I don’t normally do that, I have never actually done that before, but it just sort of happened and it just sort of worked.

So.

I head back to my scooter, replete with my pink hair and blow out, that’s the other thing, I got a blow out and that is so much fun, I have wild curly hair and not one iota of desire to blow out my hair, it would take me days, no thank you, not going to do it.

But put me in a salon.

All bets off.

Blow it out.

Side bar.

I can’t believe I’m blogging right now, I should be in bed, considering what time I got up this morning and that I did yoga as well, but I also had a late, as in way past my normal cut off time, Americano and I think that has just jazzed me up a bit.

So.

Blow out, new lip gloss, matches the hair like spot on and is glittery, natch, floating in the late afternoon, early evening golden light bathing the downtown and open my purse to get out my keys and check my phone.

And what the fuck?

Oh.

No.

Oh.

Shit.

Oh.

Pink.

EVERYWHERE.

The jar opened in my purse, I managed to finagle out my phone an wipe it down and my wallet, but all the stuff, all the lining of the purse, the canvas tote I got from the Jeu de Paume in Paris all of it, doused in hot pink hair dye.

Ugh.

What I am happy to report is that I did not lose my shit.

Nope.

Just took the jar wrapped it up in the bag, wiped off what I could and got on my scooter and said, well, I’ve been wanting to replace that purse anyhow.

And off I went to the first of my dates.

We met for sushi, I recognized him at the corner as he was crossing over to the restaurant, yay for looking like your profile, always a plus.

Yay, also for being on time, in fact, just a tiny bit early, which I totally appreciate as that’s how I tend to roll.

Yay for being tall.

I mean, hello, 6’5″.

I could have worn heels.

It was a slow to start date, but in the end, the dinner was nice, although I was slightly surprised to be asked to go dutch on the date, I was like, ok, whatever, not the first time, although, I had expected…

Oh, sneaky, expectations, I know where you lead.

But, I was like, ok, whatever.

And moving on.

But.

Not exactly moving on.

We walked down Valencia Street, which is odd for me to walk down when it’s the weekend and also when I’m not working, I ran into a lot of folks I know and that was amusing, always nice to be seen and to be seen on a date, I think too, is nice.

We went to Ritual, aforementioned late Americano, we sat outside.

We discussed some things.

Talked over some things.

And oh.

There.

Ha.

I wasn’t sure.

He was indeed attracted, just a slow burn sort of deal.

And that’s ok.

Some times quickly, sometimes slowly.

He had friends to meet and I had a friend to meet.

Well.

I should clarify.

I had a friends with benefits to meet.

Which was fantastic and fun and none of your business.

I can’t put it all out here, now can I?

I did find out some lovely things about myself in the whole process.

First.

Guys don’t notice, and/or care, that I had a huge, awful patch of pimples on my temples.

Like bad.

Like haven’t had a break out like this since high school.

Hello hormones, fuck you, I’m 43, enough already.

If they were noticed, which I noticed them, gah, get off my face, nothing was said.

Of course, said dates could have been blinded by the hot pink hair.

Second.

That despite getting thrown a curve ball, one in which I would have used previously as an excuse to cancel or delay, pink dye all over my purse and stuff and things, was just a small impediment to the evening and nothing to get worked up about.

What I found is that by not caring so much about how I look and presenting myself as I was, pink hair, purse, pimples, and all, I was just more me somehow.

More human.

Less put together.

And perhaps.

More approachable.

I sure hope so.

I like this new part of me emerging.

Oh.

I’m sure I’ll get wound up about something.

But for right now.

Despite the ruination of my satchel.

I’m really sitting pretty.

And.

Very.

Very.

Very.

Pink.

 

Date Night, For Realz

March 26, 2016

Should equal not writing a blog night.

This is how I justify skipping out of writing a blog tonight.

Except.

Well.

Fuck.

It’s sort of how I unwind.

Like an after sex cigarette.

Not that there was any sex tonight.

A sweet, some what chaste kiss.

A very nice and cozy first date.

A getting to know you sort of date.

A possibly interviewing for a second date.

There may be one, not sure yet, and that’s ok.

I’m just supposed to be light and having fun.

I had fun.

And that’s all that’s important.

A good practice and a lot of honest conversation and there’s some chemistry there and that was nice.

It’s always nice to be told you’re sexy too.

That does not hurt.

More will be revealed.

The best part about it was that I didn’t have an agenda, I didn’t have any expectations and I didn’t have any plan on how it was going to go.

I just showed up.

And the date happened.

In one sense of the word it was really educating, like, oh yeah, the whole point of going on a date is to get to know a person and find out if you want to spend more time with them.

Or not.

Sometimes.

Well.

Sometimes I know right away.

Yes!

I want to spend more time with this person.

As my friend Juan says, “girl do I need to get a tux?”

After my first date.

Heh.

Which is a great indication to me that the date was too hot, too heavy, too fast.

I didn’t feel that tonight, it was just sort of a getting to feel what this dating thing could be about.

Not a hook up, we both made that clear.

We also both made it clear where we were at in our lives and in our dating lives.

That was great.

Loads of transparency.

Anywho.

I’m not interested in reporting every detail, that’s not going to be what my blogging is about, I have learned, the hard way, that I can’t write about other people, only about what I am feeling and doing.

And that if I so choose, yes, I can skip a night blogging if I want to.

I didn’t want to tonight.

I wanted to blog.

I also wanted to be honest in my day, in my person, and in my life, which, often times I can’t always quite get to that point without a bit of self-reflective writing at the end of my day.

I usually have a great idea where I stand in regards to my day, but it is still nice to come home, light some candles, make a cup of tea, and sit here, at my little blue table in my tiny kitchen, under a glowing globe, next to some fresh bought flowers that I got for myself today and write out my day.

Sometimes I feel the most “me” here.

Sometimes, a lot of times, although I don’t always seem to be with holding information, I don’t write about things in my day.

There’s a lot that doesn’t make it into my blog.

But there’s enough.

Enough self-honesty.

Enough awareness, enough of my heart, of my journey, of my experience, that I feel good when I am done with the writing, the work, the getting clean of my day, the unloading and sending it out into the universe to live its little life long after I have forgotten what I have written down here.

So much of what I write seems to be a repetition of themes, ideas, or thoughts about certain aspects of my life that I would appear to be able to substitute one blog for the other in regards to nannying or dating or Burning Man, or what’s up in my recovery this week.

Yet.

I find there is always some fresh perspective or feeing.

Some new growth or learning.

That it doesn’t matter if hey, look, there’s Carmen, writing about dating again.

And yeah.

I’m going back to the way back board.

And just asking out guys again.

Or at least, as I talked it over with my person earlier this afternoon when he asked me what my motives were in regards to my date and I was honest and said, I actually had no agenda, no motives, I was not looking of a quick hook up or to get my ego stroked I was just exploring.

That.

And I also mentioned how I had run into said guy from the past this week and how I was sort of toppled over by some attraction to him and my person was like, so ask him out.

And I know that’s a good thing to do.

Because I don’t want to live in fantasy land.

I’m not looking to be on the prowl and ask out anyone I run into, instead, if I do happen to find myself attracted to someone I just get it the hell out of the way.

Ask, find out, and then go from there.

No stories in my head about the person is probably not attracted to me, no manipulations, just me being me and if you like it, hey, let’s hang out.

Me being me can be a lot.

Although, I dare say, I am a good time.

Not many deep thoughts for me this time of night.

I’m about ready to pull the plug on the day, have a little more tea, an apple, an e-mail check in with a few people.

Then off to bed and the weekend.

Yay!

I made it.

I have a few plans.

But mostly flexibility.

I’m excited to see what it brings.

More fun.

More light.

More joy.

More love.

I.e.

More.

Living.

 

Bottle of Whiskey

March 15, 2016

And a pack of cigarettes.

I laughed.

Softly.

No.

Fool.

I did not drink or smoke last night.

However, I sound like it.

I’m sick, but not sick.

I was tired last night and could feel a little tickle in the throat.

It suggested that there could be a cold brewing and I made the decision to stay in bed and get an extra hour of sleep rather than push myself to do a yoga class this morning before work.

I am glad for it.

Whatever little bit of cold I may have seems to already be fading.

But it was hilarious to have this raspy, sexy, throaty, low, husky voice all day.

“You sound really sexy,” my boss said.

I laughed, but softly.

It did make for a day of being really hands on with the boys, but it was a great day to be with them.

We got out to the park and thank God.

The rain seems to be ceasing for this week.

I could use the break and it was really nice to ride my scooter to work.

I topped off the gas–$1.10–and chortled.

So much cheaper than taking a car to work or MUNI for that matter.

Faster, efficient, and so good to be back on the road and autonomous.

Not that I wasn’t extremely grateful to be using Lyft all this past week and weekend, but it adds up and I don’t want to be putting that much money into something when I could be saving it for a trip or an experience.

I’m thinking time for a show, a movie, a massage, a steam and a soak at Osento.

I got a sweet message this morning about taking it easy and maybe taking a day for myself in the very near future.

I love this idea.

This week may not be the time, but I’ll see what I can shake out of the trees.

Time is a commodity that I can tell myself that I have little of.

The truth is.

I have time.

I have God’s time.

When I am in my time, man’s time, I am blocked and dated and timed and not at all flexible.  I wish to be flexible.  Not just in the yoga studio, but in my life in general.

Tomorrow I’m only working a half day, for which I am extremely happy about.

I’ll be going in from 1p.m.-5p.m. and then off for the rest of the day.

I have an optometrist appointment.

New glasses and prescription sunglasses for the scootering about town and that thing in the desert.

I may do yoga tomorrow night after that.

Try a different time of day.

I may not.

I think the cold, or maybe the just a tiny bit run down with the big school weekend, is definitely passing.

I can sing.

I wasn’t able to sing earlier.

I’ve got some Mike Doughty on the stereo and I’m jamming the hell out.

Well.

I’m not singing at full force, but I can sing and that’s pretty cool.

I like some music when I am writing.

It’s nice to have a sound track to my life.

There is some music I will always associate with certain times of my life.

There are songs that tap a wellspring of memory and make my heart hurt and also make my heart leap about with joy.

This particular album, Stellar Motel, tends to make me jump about in joy.

I always dance to the first song on the album and generally find myself belting out the songs following with much gusto.

Ooh.

I actually like my voice at this octave, it is super sexy.

I like being sexy.

Ahem.

I mean.

Who doesn’t?

No dates lined up for the near future, but I think there will be movement.

I have been asked out for tomorrow night but I wasn’t feeling the date.

He wanted to take me to Banya SF.

Which sounds like a place I need to go to, for fucking sure, it looks amazing.

But.

Um.

No.

Not for a first date.

That’s a bit too much.

At least for me.

That being said, I am interested in going.

Although, I don’t think tomorrow is on the menu for me.

An evening yoga class has a stronger appeal for me.

I would like to do a soak soon and some steaming and dry sauna action, Osento could be in the near future.

I did my spending plan this morning before heading into work and there’s a little scratch extra that could go towards a spa day.

Or I was thinking when my dear friend came over to the city and we went to the Balboa Theater and got House of Shanghai and had lattes in the Richmond.

That was fun.

I could definitely do a movie date for myself.

Dating.

So interesting.

Or not dating.

Life.

I could just say, life, is so interesting.

I’m pretty fucking grateful for it right now.

It was a big weekend and it’s nice to be at the beginning of a “regular” week for myself.

Recovery.

Writing.

Homework.

Reading.

Yoga.

Work.

Life.

If a date gets tossed into the mix, then cool.

But it’s got to be fun and easy.

I’m flexible, but fun and easy has got to be a goal.

I will say, now that I am not so heart broken it’s been easier to think about as just dating and having fun and having new experiences.

When I was talking to my friend last night at dinner and we were comparing notes about dating and our past relationships I could feel the emotions there as I describe what June to January of this past year was like, and I could also feel that though the feelings were there, they weren’t going to topple me.

I did mist up a little.

I may always when I recall what happened.

But.

I am also so grateful for the experience and to have come out the other side of the tunnel.

I’m not in that dark hallway anymore confused as to which way to turn or how to move forward.

I made it out into the light.

Which was blinding when I lifted my face.

I am still a little flash blinded with the normality of my life after the ups and downs of my roller coaster emotions.

There’s an after image of love and desire, expectation, fantasy, and hope.

My hopes may have been dashed.

But I seem to be moving forward, out into that bright sunshine.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

Single and available for dating.

Hit me up.

Seriously.

 

The Consensus

June 12, 2015

Is in.

Spa day.

That is the best suggestion I have gotten from the majority of folks that I have asked.

That and playing with kittens.

Sounds purrfect.

I’d like one day at the spa with intermittent breaks to snuggle with kittens.

Spa day to celebrate the scholarship.

I may not.

I may not (wo)man up and go to the spa, it is a big deal, in my brain at least, and I’m not sure I want to spend the money, but I do like the thought of hot baths and hot tubs and hot saunas and water.

I mean, I don’t have a bath tub at my house, it would be a nice way to celebrate.

Now where to go?

And when?

I already know that Saturday is out, I’ll be up and out of the house by 10:30a.m. doing the deal, then meeting a few folks at Tart to Tart for a couple of hours, squish in lunch, probably at Crepevine, then down town to the SOMA to meet my friend at the Scooter Centre and check out scooters.

Admission.

I am not sure about the scooter.

I am loath to finance anything, I have been realizing, my bicycle works fine and maybe I just want to save those pennies a little longer.

Although my knees could probably use the break from the bicycle.

I’m probably just in fear of getting burned again on a scooter.

I’ll show up and see what there is to be seen and leave it at that.  No use fretting until I know what I am dealing with.  I am also just as afraid to walk into a deal where I am suddenly buying something vintage and I get screwed there too.

Just going to play it by ear and not worry.

This is also about fun.

Having fun.

I’ll definitely have fun later Saturday too.

Once I get back from the scootering I’ll be getting ready for the first date with the gentleman who asked me out last night, who, I must say, without saying much more I want to keep this on the down low with my blog, said one of the best things to me ever as we parted ways last night.

“Let’s not chat until Saturday, that way we’ll have things to say to each other,” he declared before rolling on down the hill.

Yes.

I love that.

I don’t want to have a texting flirtation.

I want the real thing, right in front of me.

I am also enjoying the anticipation of this date.

There is something here that I am excited to explore.

Enough said there.

But I don’t see squeezing in a spa date on Saturday, unless said date has sauna, hot tub, and massage table at his house (and then, well, all bets off) and maybe someone to wash my hair as that is the ultimate luxury.

Ooh.

Now there’s an idea.

I could get a blow out.

That is definitely not something I ever splurge on.

I get my hair blown out once, maybe twice a year.

I don’t wear it straight and I love my curls, but that’s a thought.

Anyway.

I don’t think I’ll be asking my date to provide me spa services.

At least not on the first date.

I keep going back to Kabuki and I keep balking.

Maybe I just go buy a dress.

Or some flowers.

I don’t have to get crazy.

I don’t always know how to do these things, it’s like the manual was left in the dashboard and the vehicle’s been sent to the dump for scrap.

I’m sure the thing will come to me and I will happily celebrate.

I am happy.

That is to be sure.

My life doesn’t look that much different from it did before I got the e-mail with the news, but it’s been radically altered and I know it, the gift is huge and accepting it is a big deal.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.

I keep saying it when it strikes me, all these things, all this love, I am so lucky, I get stand here with my arms open and receive and allow myself to be seen and this is who I am, pink hair and tattoos and all.

And it’s all good.

About a month ago a dear friend of mine took me out to tea and we talked about graduate school and whether this was really the program that I wanted to be in and what was I going to do when I got out, would I be able to turn around and find gainful employment, would I be able to handle the debt load of my student loans.

$90,000 is nothing to sneeze at.

But I knew I was on the right track and here is the confirmation.

Two years of tuition being paid for.

Thank you.

I still have lots of work to do, but it seems unfathomable and I will allow myself to feel all the feels around this, it’s a big deal, I deserve to acknowledge it, I deserve to be happy about it, and ah.

Heh.

I just had a thought.

I’m going Burning Man shopping.

That is what I want to do to celebrate.

There are always a few things that I lust after each year and why not indulge one of those items.

A new dress.

A fun pair of tights.

Perhaps a shoulder holster.

A trip to Haight Street and some hat shopping at Goorin Brothers for a new fedora perhaps.

I keep trying to think of something that I have always wanted to do and haven’t yet done, but the fact is, I do a lot of things, so it doesn’t have to be extra outside the box.

Maybe I just go down to the beach and sit and watch the sunset this weekend and let the waves wash away the sounds in m brain, ah, that is a good idea.

I could go down to the beach and do a bon fire.

That is celebratory and I have not done a beach bonfire since I moved out here to the Outer Sunset, I should rectify that.

And what better reason than this?

I think I have a winner.

Bonfire, Ocean Beach.

Let the celebration begin.

Now, if I can only arrange to have some kittens there to snuggle with.

Work, Work, Work

February 20, 2015

Work it out.

And I’m not talking about work.

Although it’s been a hell of a week at work.

Ski week.

Ayup.

Private schools in San Francisco have what’s commonly called ski week–Tahoe anyone?

My boys don’t ski, although the family does take a week in the summer to go to Tahoe.

Nope.

My boys have been with me all week, keeping me busy.

I thought to myself tonight that perhaps I should not schedule any more dates after I am done with work.

That I should go on dates when I have a chance to be fresh and relaxed and mellow and can show up with some sparkle.

I have another first date tomorrow and I am trying  to figure out the cute for date and works for work outfit.

You know, a day to-night sort of deal.

I’m not horribly concerned, my date will be arriving via bicycle, as will I.

My date and I will both be coming from work.

And that’s the work I am thinking about, the work of giving myself time to date and to be available.

It is really easy for me to book myself in.

For instance, I have nothing.

And I mean nothing (ok, well, a commitment Saturday night, but other than that) happening on Saturday.

I really want to schedule some stuff in that time.

I was hoping for another date, either another first date with someone or a second date with someone.

Or.

I don’t know.

Something.

As my week is ending and my weekend fast approaches, I feel compelled to have it all figured out.

More work than I need to give myself.

The illusion of control.

If I know what’s happening, I can control the outcome and manipulate my situation to my best advantage.

Or so my brain tells me.

Shut up brain.

A little free time is good.

Who knows what may happen.

I did think tonight, when I was riding my bike home from my Thursday night commitment, that it would be so nice if the guy I’m going out with tomorrow hit it off and I don’t have to think about asking anyone else out.

I’m a bit tired of it.

I haven’t asked anyone out all this week.

I realized I was coasting along on the fact that I asked out 8 guys last week.

And scheduled two dates for this week.

After tomorrow’s date there is nothing lined up and oh no.

I mean, really, in the scheme of it all, no big shakes, but I feel that I want to keep the momentum going.

It’s just.

Well, it’s a lot of work.

I know that it will pay off.

I just don’t know when and sometimes a girl gets tired doing all the asking.

Hey you.

Yeah you!

You want to ask me out?

Do it.

I mean, I have fucking blinders on anyway, half the time I have no idea if you like me or not anyway, so if you’ve been waiting around wondering if you’re on the list, just cut to the chase and ask.

Because I’m in no place to say no.

I’m throwing it all at the wall.

I’m not desperate.

Really.

I just realized that I like being in a relationship.

I do.

I make a pretty good girl friend.

Even though I wasn’t the right girl friend for the last guy.

And I like the company.

And you know, sex is nice, and kissing, and uh, stuff.

Ha.

Oh.

Fuck me.

I think what happens for me is that at some point or another I try to find the magic bullet.

That thing that is going to work, that combination of asking out, following suggestions, doing the online dating world, Facecrack messaging, etc, that I will figure it out.

And poof!

Boyfriend.

I mean, it’s no different from any other time I have tried to put myself out there as sexy, single, available for dating, smart, fun, great in bed.

Fuck.

My blog is now an over stated want ad for a partner.

Heh.

I’m happy to say I have some humor around this and also, that I am willing to try to change and do different things.

I don’t think I will ever figure it out, dating, life, love, friends, family, recovery, any of it.

Really, it’s all a lot of work and I just have to do it.

The good things, they take effort.

I mean I didn’t lose all that weight by wishing on a star.

I radically changed my diet and lifestyle.

No sugar.

No flour.

No fried foods.

Organic foods.

Bicycling four to six days a week.

Yeah.

That was not a magic pill.

That was some hard fucking work.

And it’s paid off.

So, I’m going to have to do some more work with dating.

And then with school.

Woohoo.

I am still a little in shock that the day has been set for the interview.

A week from today.

I cleared it with work and I will go in for a half day, leaving at 2 p.m. to make sure I get there on time and have a few minutes to sit still, breathe, say a prayer in a bathroom stall, re-apply my lipstick, and nail the interview.

I know I can do it.

Why?

Because I don’t shirk at doing the work.

I’m not about to change that now.

So when a wave of fatigue washes over me, I can surrender to it, and know that this too shall pass, that I am just here playing the role assigned and that God really does want me to be with one fine man.

Seeing as how I am one fine woman.

I will show up tomorrow at work and do my job.

Then I will show up for my life and do the work that leads to the relationship.

It doesn’t have to be with this man or the man I dated last night or the one I haven’t asked out yet, but I will.

I don’t have to know.

I just have to do.

Thinking about it is not the solution.

Acting is.

Here’s to doing the work.

It’s worth it.

I am worth it.

You Seem Really Happy

February 19, 2015

That’s always a positive response on a first date.

Yup.

Knocked one out of the cafe.

Park, seems, so, cliché, but cafe, where we sat, drinking tea and hanging out, feels about right.

He asked me later if I was going to blog about it.

Of course I am.

Not about him.

But about the date, why yes.

If it pertains to my life, then I am blogging about it.

That’s what I do.

I do have boundaries and I try to be discreet and I do my best to not involve other people; it’s taken some practice and I haven’t always been the best at it, but I do leave others out.

Especially should they be in my circle of people.

I will say I had a nice time, there was laughter, we have some things in common, he has nice blue eyes, I could see myself having another date, there was a connection, and dare I say a little chemistry.

That’s nice.

He bought my tea and got there early.

I appreciate that.

The small things count.

I like my door being opened, I like having a tea waiting for me, or flowers, or a thoughtful gesture, it means that it means something.

I got half way through my day and I have to admit, going on a date was the last thing on my mind, it was there, the thought, the anticipation, but by the time I was half way through the work day I was wondering if I was going to get out of it alive.

Let alone have any sass or sparkle for a first date.

But it feels like it went well and we acknowledged that there was more to explore there and mutually agreed to another date.

Nothing has been set up.

If he wants to see me further, he knows my number.

And enough about me that a second date shouldn’t be too difficult to negotiate.

We also talked about the fact that we are dating.

Though we are both looking for monogamous relationships, yay!  We are both seeing other people, we both have dates set up for this weekend with other folks.

I received a few texts this morning at the park while I was still in the early part of my day and didn’t know that I was going to be run over with the demands of potty training, nap time melt downs, things getting thrown in restaurants, and the general melee that just sometimes happens with little boys.

It was a nice moment to get the texts from the other gentleman I’ll be seeing this Friday.

We caught up over the weekend, he was out-of-town in the East Coast and in the crazy weather, and confirmed that we would be meeting this Friday for tea at a cafe in the Church and Market area.

Excellent.

I’m really doing this dating thing.

It’s happening.

I also responded to an OkStupid ask and said I would be up for a coffee date with a gentleman from Alameda.

Which is sort of breaking my date only in the city rule.

I had one gentleman in San Jose ask me out and get a little pushy about it.

I just don’t see sustaining a relationship with someone who has to commute to date.

There’s more than enough fish in the sea here in San Francisco.

But the guy on OkStupid had one of the best, if not the best profiles I have ever seen.  We are also an 89% match, which is a huge plus, and he’s tall-6’5″.

Mama can wear her heels out dancing.

Thank you very much.

So I said yes to a coffee with him as well, although we have set nothing up yet.

Life.

It is happening.

What else is happening?

Oh yeah.

This.

Hello Carmen,

You are scheduled for an interview on Thursday February 26th at 3pm in room 210.

This message was in my inbox when I got back from my evening out tonight.

I have a date to interview for the cohort at CIIS for the Masters program in Integral Counseling Psychology.

Yikes.

This is happening.

I mean, this is really happening.

I told my employer this week, yesterday, now that I think of it, that I was going to be interviewing soon and would let them know when.

Next Thursday.

Holy crow.

I am very grateful I got my shit together and applied for student financial aid last week.

It feels like it’s moving along.

I’m going to be going to graduate school.

Who is this person?

I mean, yeah, I have wanted to go to graduate school for a while, there’s something about having a Master’s that appeals to my ego in a hard-core way.

But I never, not once, suspected that it would be to get a Masters so that I could be a therapist.

Huh?

Aren’t I the one that needs therapy?

Ha.

I suspect that will be part of the program as well.

A week from tomorrow.

Wow.

Makes dating seem like no big deal.

Which I feel like is the point of asking as many guys as I have and trying new things and putting myself out there, do it so much that it becomes no big deal.

“You need to date a bunch of guys, five or six, all at the same time,” was the suggestion.

Now in my mind, which is diseased, let me not forget that, I hear, “you need to sleep with five or six guys all at the same time.”

Well.

Um.

Not at exactly the same time, but you know what I mean.

I have this thing where I am used to just seeing one person at a time, not actively dating a bunch and finding who works out and who doesn’t.

I have an idea, an old one, that I have to be loyal to the person I am on a date with, see it all the way through, and if it works, fantastic!

And if it doesn’t, wait until it’s completely obvious and then move on to the next guy.

Turns out I don’t have to do this.

I really don’t know what actions I have to do or take or how many dates it takes to get to the middle of the Tootsie Roll Pop, but I am willing to try things that are outside my bag, my small bag, of dating tricks.

And oh yes, have fun.

If it’s not fun, than it’s not worth doing.

Light, easy, no getting caught up in expectations.

Just show up and see what happens.

I suspect my interview will be much the same next Thursday.

Eek!

I really am doing this.

All in baby.

Graduate school, dating, life.

That’s how I roll.

Flashback City

October 25, 2014

I was sitting in the audience tonight at the Hypnodrome for the Grand Guignal spectacular of The Bloody Debutante and I kept having these moments of deja vu.

What the hell is going on?

I mean.

I know I am ass out tired.

Sorry date.

Not you, I swear.

Just running amok after two little boys today, end of the week, running errands, twice to the market, once to the dry cleaners, over to the park, make the lunch, prep breakfast for the weekend, make the dinner, gather the snacks, and all other various sundry nanny and household duties.

You know.

Typical day at work.

At least I am getting used to it.

And the days, they do go by quick.

I was not even able to worry about the date, although on the occasion when I had a spare moment to think, I was concerned with what the traffic was going to be like, you know, first home game, third game into the World Series, San Francisco Giants.

But.

As it turned out.

I got done with work right after the Royals scored their first run of the evening.

The streets of the Mission were eerily quiet.

The normal Friday night melee was all inside cozied up in front of televisions and big screen monitors in various bars, restaurants, coffee shops, and laundry mats (I kid you not, if it was a place of business, it probably had a huddle of folks around some screen watching the game).

I had a pretty easy commute over to Wicked Grounds for the first leg of the date.

Which made me laugh.

First.

I haven’t been to Wicked Grounds in years and years.

And it’s a damn funny place to take a girl for a cup of coffee on a first date.

It’s a sex positive coffee shop that was opened, I think, but am not certain, by the same folks that run the Citadel, an underground dungeon up the road off of Market Street.

Butt plug with your Americano?

Ball gag on the Halloween pumpkin at the register.

Pictures of naked women in Japanese rope bondage scenarios.

I had a giggle or thirteen as I waited for my Americano to be made.

And.

As luck would have it, two dear and darling friends happened to walk in while I was paying for my coffee.

They were at the art gallery show next door and had popped in for coffees.

“You are everywhere!” My friend exclaimed.

“Carmen sandwich!” Her husband declared.

Yes.

Ah, friends, love my friends, so good to get squeezes and squishes and hugs when in slightly uncomfortable dating scenario.

First dates are awkward, that’s the nature of a first date, I think, but it didn’t help that every time I looked up from my coffee I was looking at the vaginal canal of a woman prostrate in rope bonds.

I didn’t know where the fuck to look.

It certainly encouraged me to make direct eye contact with my date.

I will give my date some credit, I don’t believe he was trying to drop hints (or was he?) about future possible dates, I think it may have been the only coffee shop in the neighborhood of the theater.

Besides, I don’t think Mister Leather had a coffee bar service.

Ahem.

The show was at 8 p.m. and despite my Americano, I was lagging.

But intrigued by the theater and the host who greeted us at the door to the theater and allowed us to sit front row in the handicapped reserved seating (as there were no handicap patrons at the show) which was really quite sweet.

I sat stifling yawns through the first half of the show and trying to appreciate the theatrics.

The first half of the show was good, but a little slow and I kept having odd thoughts and memories needle at me.

I could not figure it out and when the intermission happened I hoped that I would be able to make it through the rest of the show and not fall asleep on my date.

As it turned out, the second half was much more energetic and engaging and I got quite caught up in the theater and it was good, really good.

In fact, go see it.

If you want to take your Halloween honey somewhere fun and unusual next week, or even this weekend, this would be a great date.  The theater really is a great space and if you can afford it, buy a “Shock Box” which is basically a grand theater box that are rather tricked out and cozy and sexy.

Definitely a place to have a little canoodle or knee grabbing during the show.

The show is called the Bloody Debutante and it really is quite a bloody show.

At times it’s quite campy and I kept being reminded of something and then it hit me.

The Cockettes!

I first moved to San Francisco in 2002.

The same year the Cockettes documentary film came out.

I worked at Hawthorne Lane and one of the waiters took a shine to me, he was older, but I couldn’t tell you how old, fabulous, gay, and as it turned out a master seamstress and costume designer.

In fact, he designed a lot of the costumes for the original Cockettes shows.

To celebrate the documentary and because it was Halloween and no other city on earth quite does Halloween like San Francisco, there was a party for the movie and a fashion show and my friend from Hawthorne Lane needed an extra model for the show.

“He bailed at the last moment!” He hustled me in the dressing room at work as we were finishing our lunch shift, “you have to help, I need someone fabulous to rock it out.”

Well, nothing says stroking a girls ego, especially a fresh transplant to San Francisco from Wisconsin, like telling her you want her to model some fashion on a runway at the opening of a film.

I wore a hot pink rabbit fur coat with the most fabulous pockets and buttons and swag and geegaws sewn all over it.

I had on fishnet stockings and one of my garters snapped when I was walking.

I stopped mid catwalk, bent over, wiggle my bottom in the air, pulled it up and sashay’ed to the end to many a hoot and holler.

I had completely forgotten about my first Halloween in San Francisco until the second act of the show started and I realized that there were members from the Cockettes in the show and then it all suddenly flashed upon me.

Holy shit.

My life.

I may be just another nanny on the block.

But once in a while, when no one is looking, I’m on the run way in hot pink furs.

Because that’s just how I roll.

Fabulous as fuck.

 

 


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