Posts Tagged ‘Georgia’

Happy, Joyous

July 5, 2015

And packed.

Yup.

I called it an early night, although I had said, yes to dancing, yes to hanging out, yes to more stuff, my heart was just not in it.

And I have to say.

Thank God.

I got back from a really big emotional night, walking in the rain, with no umbrella–which in the South, is not such a huge deal, at least it’s warm–but slightly chagrined as I had actually bought an umbrella earlier in the day (and of course as soon as I bought it, it stopped raining, oh well, I’ll have a new ‘brolly for the playa), and had a late dinner and took it easy.

I talked to a dear friend on the phone and found myself in tears.

It’s been quite the experience.

Overwhelming, moving, intense.

And I did not do it all and I did do a bit of self-flagellation for doing self-care.

Shouldn’t I be cramming 800 different things into my day and night, who needs sleep, or quiet time, or writing time, or any of that when there is spiritual intoxication to be had.

But the fact is, self, I do.

I need quiet time.

I needed to get off campus today and take a break from it all and I needed food.

Real food.

Not fried, processed, greasy, sugary, carnival food.

I swear there is not a piece of fruit to be bought in the mile radius of my hotel.

And the offerings around the Georgia Dome and the Centennial Convention Center did not help me out.

I searched the internet last night and found a few farmer’s markets and a couple that looked really promising that were close to the MARTA–the municipal train for Atlanta–and I took the half mile walk to the station and chose to take self-care with my food and prioritize that before anything else.

And lo and behold.

The damn thing was closed for the holiday.

Despite it being posted on the website that it was open.

I was frustrated and upset and was kicking myself, I should have just stayed put, sucked it up and gotten by with whatever I could get by on.

Then I asked myself what would a friend of mine do.

It just popped right into my head.

Uber.

I opened the app on my phone, dropped the pin and was picked up in five minutes, which was nice since it was raining on me, and my parade.

The driver was awesome and as I explained what I was doing and where I had intended to go, he made a suggestion for me and we headed to Little Five Points.

It was perfection.

I felt like I was with my people.

My tattooed, slightly edgy, yes, you might call them Atlanta hipsters, and I relaxed and for the first time since I have been in Atlanta, I wasn’t the only girl around with tattoos.

The driver dropped me off at Aurora Coffee and I had a scrumptious cold brewed iced coffee and a local organic bottled fruit and vegetable smoothie and a banana.

I got right with the world and felt so much better.

I walked out and wandered around the neighborhood and discovered the Junkman’s Daughter.

A vintage store meets head shop meets rockabilly meets costume emporium.

I bought my umbrella, a pair of tights, a pair of earrings and a crinoline to wear underneath my black and white polka dot dress.

I was quite pleased.

Especially since the crinoline was such a steal.  Had I bought it in San Francisco, it would have been $50 at any of the stores on Haight.

Here.

It was ten.

Score.

Then I saw a atm for my bank and I was able to finally deposit the check I had been carrying around since Wednesday from my employers for my health insurance for the month of July and as I was taking out a few bucks in cash I had a feeling and looked over at what.

What am I looking at?

I suddenly saw it.

An organic market.

Just there.

Just hidden, set back from the street and not the first thing anyone might notice had they not been looking for it.

Hallelujah.

I went in and was so happy.

Organic, fresh, healthy, sustainable, tasty food, get in my belly.

I bought some raw almonds, a container of cut up papaya, three bananas, three apples, and some raw coconut.

I sat in the store at a little cafe area and had some almonds and a banana and decided I was ready to go back into the fray.

I, yes, went back to Aurora and bought another coffee, I mean, when was I going to have any better where I was headed and proceeded to order up another Uber.

I got back to the hotel, slipped into my crinoline, it looks fabulous underneath my polka dot dress, if I do say so, and then went out to grab some solid food.

Yes.

I went back to Smoke Ring.

And was it packed.

Holy moly.

The secret was out.

But I was handily sat in the same section and my waitress remembered me and kept my ice tea glass full and made menu recommendations and treated me like a princess.

I over tipped and with a belly full of smoked chicken, brisket, corn on the cob and smoked and grilled brussels sprouts, I walked the mile back to the convention center.

And yes.

I was a tourist.

I bought a magnet.

I bought a couple of postcards and filled them out and dropped them in the mail.

I even bought a t-shirt.

Gasp.

Then, instead of trying to push and make things happened, I just took a walk.

I ran into a friend, who too was desperate for sustenance and I gave him an apple.

I don’t know that I have ever seen someone so happy for a piece of fruit.

I sat in the grass for a while and drank a bottle of sparkling water and got some sun on my face, the rain had stopped, and I gave myself the quiet I needed before heading in with all the other folks from all the other places all over the world and got my gratitude on.

And now.

Well.

it’s just about done.

It’s a quarter of three in the morning and I have to get up in an hour.

Part of me thinks I should just head to the air port now.

But I think it better to at least get a few zzz’s under my belt.

Grateful for this experience.

Grateful to not beat myself up.

Grateful I let myself take care of myself.

I am a better person for the experience.

When I take care of myself.

I can be of better service to another.

And that.

Really.

Is how to be.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

Let alone packed and ready to head home.

See you soon.

In a foggy city on the other side of the country.

Thank you Atlanta for all your gifts.

Big hugs.

I’ll see y’all in five years.

Tickets Please

January 31, 2015

I just bought my tickets to Atlanta, Georgia for July 1st-5th.

I leave SFO at 10:30 p.m. on the evening of the 1st, so I will work that last shift before heading out and not have to take an extra vacation day.

I will arrive in Georgia, land of peaches, the morning of the 2nd.

Oh.

My.

God.

I’m going to Atlanta.

Now all I need to do is find a place to stay.

I talked to another friend today who wants to go and we spoke about getting a bigger space for three instead of just two.

I found some things on AirBnB and I think I may have to confirm, but really, it would make better sense to have another person stay with, cut down on the cost of being there.

The plane ticket was $438.

The registration was $100.

I am figuring that housing will be about, fingers crossed less than $500 for the time I am there, I think it could go quite a bit lower, though.

I did find a few things on Airbnb that would be quite affordable for three people, one that caught my eye was $560 for three people for four nights.

That is a steal.

That would be slightly less than $200 for the time there if I split the cost of staying with two other people.

Hell I could even book it and say, who’s in?

My friends could say no and I know that I could find a few other friends who would be down for jumping in the boat.

It’s a bit out time wise, but I suspect that closer to the event, the more expensive things are going to be.

I also wonder about whether or not a lot of Atlanta knows what’s happening in July, but that  when they do, prices may go up and availability down.

I want to book a place as soon as I can.

Which means coordinating with my friends.

Or.

Just making the decision to reach out and take action and book a place and then invite the my two friends to join me.

I don’t have to make any decision tonight.

The main action was taken.

I bought the ticket.

I’m going to Atlanta!

Hot damn.

I get to wear summer dresses and sandals in July!

I know I live in California, but I live in San Francisco, it’s chilly, if not down right cold in July, I’m going to be thrilled to be somewhere hot, to walk outside at night, to be in humidity and warmth.

Oh deliciousness.

I suppose I might change my tune when my hair explodes from the humidity, but who knows.

“You got a lot of hair!” The homeless woman on Church Street said to me around a bite of scavenged burrito.

“I do,” I laughed and kept walking.

The hair it has been getting bigger.

And longer.

And by the time I get to Atlanta and have oh, about twenty minutes in the weather, it will be twice as big, I’ll be able to give Diana Ross in her prime a run for her money.

Let me just take another moment to fantasize about sundresses and sandals.

Ah.

That’s nice.

In fact, I will tell on myself, there’s a pair of sandals I promised myself I would buy when I bought the plane ticket, they’re on sale and I thought, you know, they’ll be perfect for Atlanta.

Hehe.

As though I don’t have other sandals.

I do.

But, I might want a pair for each day I’m there.

“Excuse me miss, we’ll have to check your bag, too many shoes to carry on the plane.”

Bahaha.

Oh.

I amuse myself.

I was thinking when I was riding my bicycle home from a successful end of the week, I actually snuck in a trip to Whole Foods and to the nail salon before going to my Friday night commitment after work, that I just had to put this recovery thing first and the rest would follow.

It’s something I always forget and when reminded, it is such a relief.

Who am I going to date next?

Becomes how may I be of service in this situation?

And suddenly.

I don’t care who I’m going to date next.

What am I going to do about financial aid for graduate school?

Becomes, who do I need to call and check in on?

And suddenly.

I don’t care about graduate school either.

I know this much, I have complete and utter faith that if I take the continual actions in front of me, focusing on what I can do and where I can take action, instead of thinking about it, the graduate school stuff will all fall in line.

If I get in, the money will show up.

If I don’t.

Then I try something else.

I’m young.

I’ve got time a head of me.

I could probably get two Master’s Degrees and a Doctorate before I die.

I’m going to be an old lady, it runs in the family, and I’m down with it.

So, yeah, focusing on what I can do, what action I can take today, just one or two, and it builds up.

It’s divine.

And so simple I forget that it’s often the smallest things that lead to the biggest revelations in my life.

I may troll around on AirBnb a little more tonight, but I have done the heavy lifting for the day.

Now it is the weekend.

Which always goes by so fast, and is quite loaded up with things to do and places to go.

And I want to get my taxes done, that is a priority.

Oh.

And perhaps I should breathe a little too.

Ha.

Just slow it down.

It is the weekend after all.

I don’t need to get too far a head of myself.

Relax.

Enjoy a little down time.

And.

Think about picking up another summer dress.

To go with all my sandals.

Giggle.

Hatching Plans

January 29, 2015

I just ran into a dear, dear, dear friend of mine.

Someone who has known me for ten years.

Someone who is going to Atlanta in July.

Someone I just made plans to be hanging out with in Atlanta, in July.

Yeah.

I know, Atlanta, July, those two things seem not so amazing, too hot, too humid, but considering that San Francisco in July is fucking freezing and foggy, especially out here at the beach, a fourth of July weekend in Atlanta sound pretty amazing.

Especially considering that there will be lots, and I mean, lots of friends there.

I paid my rent early.

I paid my student loans early.

And this Friday when I get my pay check I will be paying for the convention registration, $100, and buying an airplane ticket to go to the South.

I have never been to Georgia.

I am excited.

I started making some travel plans in my head last night and as I realized that so much of actually getting to said destination has nothing to do with thinking, I had to take some actions.

Action one was writing about it.

When I write it out on my blog, it tends to happen.

Burning Man.

Paris.

Graduate school.

Boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend.

Ahem.

Having my own place in San Francisco.

Writing.

So much of it happens, trips, dancing, getting a Vespa, because I do the work, the little actions that add up, and it starts with writing it down.

Things can be up in my head for a while and in my head is no good.

All I do is obsess about it.

What ever “it” is.

I will obsess.

Today I choose to take an action.

I asked my friend if he had registered and he had and then I asked the big question.

Do you have a place to stay?

The hotels are already booked out close to the area of the convention and when I was doing some searching I really could not find anything appropriate hotel wise.

I did locate some things on the AirBnB site that might work for me and I have a friend in Atlanta I am sure I could peep who might let me crash on the couch, but I want to be in the thick of it with my fellows.

My friend has to confirm his reserveration.

We might be roomies.

It might be wonderful.

Either way.

I committed.

When I say I am going to do something, then I am going to do it.

That’s one of the most amazing things about the last ten years for me.

When I say I want to try it.

I do it.

Trampoling?

I’ve done it.

I might be too old to do it again, but I did it.

I told my friend that Friday I would register.

And Friday I will buy the airplane ticket too.

The best way to get me somewhere is to buy the plane ticket to the destination.

Then I’m pretty sure to show up even when I don’t know what it’s going to look like when I get there.

Paris.

When I had a little break time at work today, which was not much, the oldest boy was home again sick, I spent some time looking over my calendar for the year.

I can absolutely do Atlanta.

And I can do Atlanta without having to take any vacation days at work.

The conference is July 2-5th.

I have off for the holiday the 2nd and the 3rd, Thursday and Friday, then it’s the weekend, basically I have off, paid for the trip.

Perfection.

When I saw those dates I knew it was on.

Then seeing my friend tonight, sort of sealed the deal.

I am ready for this adventure.

Then I looked up Burning Man.

August 30-September 7th.

I have September 7th off from work, paid.

The family wants me to travel with them to Sonoma in August.

But not the first week in September.

I could take my vacation, which I haven’t taken and I get two weeks paid off for the year, and go to Burning Man.

Now.

Burning Man still depends on graduate school and the fact that the program I applied for has a one week intensive retreat to start out the semester.

I looked up the dates for the program, but realized after staring at them awhile and toggling between my calendar and the school’s website, that the program didn’t have fall 2015 listed.

The dates were for fall 2014 and spring 2015.

So, not really able to quite tell whether there is conflict in that or not.

I know there’s the retreat week I have to take for the program, but not the dates for it.

I also know there’s a weekend soon thereafter, I’ve applied to the program that is the intensive, so it’s full time school, but only on the weekends, which may or may not conflict with Burning Man.

Plus.

I did have the thought, the family might not be too keen on me taking all my vacation time in the same month.

Then again.

I can always ask.

Still.

Not going to know what’s happening along those lines for a minute yet.

I won’t know until March if I got in.

Although I did get the thumbs up from one of my letters of recommendation that it was being sent off this weekend, which is good.

February 1st is the deadline for the program.

Then next.

The trip to Chula Vista.

Which I was admonished by a cousin to make sure I co-ordinate with everyone in the family so that I could visit more than just my grandmother.

I’m excited by the prospect.

Getting to know my father’s side of the family really feels like a special thing.

I will get a hold of my grandmother this weekend and see what her time frame is too.  I don’t want to make any plans without consulting her as well.

But a spring time visit to Chula Vista seems definitely on the books.

Then a jaunt to the North Woods to see my best friend.

When?

Fuck if I know.

But I know.

It will happen.

Sometimes just saying it will make it so.

And so along those lines.

I am hereby ready to be asked out on a date.

Haha.

No.

Really, I am.

That was the last of my “plans” for the weekend.

Allowing myself to be asked out.

I realized.

Again.

That my picker is broken.

So instead of doing the asking.

I am going to wait to be asked.

Go on.

Ask.

I’ll make room for you, kind sir.

My schedule may look busy, but I’ll squeeze you in.

You have my word.

It may be around some travel plans.

But you’ll like Burning Man.

I swear.

It’s not that dusty.

 

Fingers Crossed

May 8, 2014

The Vespa starts tonight.

I just tried and it wants to, I know she wants to.

Yes, my Vespa is a girl, I don’t know her name yet, but she’s a she.

My bicycle is too.

I got her, the Vespa, when I got home tonight, tucking my bicycle in the garage, hoping that I would not have to ride it on Friday.

Yes, I know tomorrow is Thursday, but I wouldn’t ride my Vespa to my Thursday gig if it was running–there’s no where to park it.

I have a place to park it at my gig on Friday.

In fact, the mom told me that her landlord, who was curious about the Vespa when I rode it in last Friday and parked it up on the sidewalk against the house (not in the way of the garage or blocking it at all, just up along side) and asked my employer who’s it was, it turns out that I can get a nanny permit to park it up there.

Apparently there are so many families that employ nannies on the block that they lobbied the city to allow them to let their nannies have permits to park on that specific block between Noe and Sanchez at 19th.

I have never seen another nanny in that neighborhood.

Doesn’t mean there aren’t, I just haven’t seen anyone else pushing a stroller up and down the hills.

Maybe they stay inside.

Anyway, I can apply through the city to get a nanny permit.

Hysterical.

I will do it too.

Although the mom made it clear that I probably can just park it, when it’s running, fingers crossed, tonight, in their part of the garage when I come into work.

I will be going back to Cole Valley next week Monday through Wednesday and if I decide to ride it in to work, they have plenty of space by their garage up on the sidewalk for me to park it.

I am not certain that I will though.

The bicycle commute from where I am to Cole Valley is less than twenty minutes.

The one to the Castro is between 30-35.

I give myself about five to ten minutes leeway on both commutes.

I prefer to be early to on time.

On time for me is early.

This can be a great way to work up a resentment when I start thinking, where are they–insert anyone here–at two minutes before 6:30p.m.  Or whatever time said person, insert anyone here, shows up.  If you show up on time you’re late, if you’re a little late, your really late and if you’re more than five minutes I am going to freak out.

I once had it suggested to me that I try to let myself be late for something.

I don’t think I was able to.

I am sure that I can associate some tragic event from child hood, insert 1,000 different things here, to explain this, but I don’t feel like digging around the memory banks at the moment.

My friend said he gets done with work at 8p.m so he will be here between 8:30p.m and 9p.m.

I expect him at 9:15p.m.

That way I don’t get mad.

Just my crazy way of handling the world that does not run on my schedule.

Which is fine.

I could stand to relax a little.

I dare say I am a bit beat from the extra mileage this week.

I normally only have one day of riding into the Castro.

Three back to back days of hill climbing and pushing myself to make it on time have left me with some sore legs.  Plus, if I want to head to the park I have to go down hill, which means coming back up hill–pushing a stroller.

It’s not bad, I am not complaining.

The ache means I am alive and I am glad for it.

Achy legs made me remember that I have been entertaining the idea of more hill climbing on a bicycle.

I am contemplating doing the AidsLifeCycle ride again, a friend of mine has never done it and she wants me to train with her.

I think it would be great to do again, even though I currently don’t have a touring bicycle, I could get one, and I know better how to train for it then I did when I went on the ride in 2010.

This thought led to another thought about 2015, some other travel plans that I am hatching with some friends to go to a convention in Atlanta, Georgia.

In yes, July.

Ha.

I can’t imagine how nice and toasty that will be.

But a lot of my friends are going and though it’s over a year away, I like the idea so much of going that I already have started to do a little bit of research about it.

I won’t be late to this event either.

Through this small bit of drama with my scooter, which is like nothing when it comes down to it, I have been made more and more grateful for my bicycle and that I have options.

There’s the MUNI of course, but my bicycle is such a stable stand by.

Even if I end up only using my scooter on the weekends for recreational purposes, I am ok with that.

There was a time when I only had one mode of transportation–my feet.

I didn’t even have money for the bus.

I have come a little way since then.

I have a great bicycle and I know how long it takes to get just about anywhere in the city.  Not that I am always interested in getting up to Twin Peaks, but I have done it before on a bicycle I could again.

I don’t have a reason to and I am not running out the door to find one either.

I would like a break, though, from the bicycle riding.

And I do want to have the Vespa up and running by the weekend, I have been really grooving on having it for getting about on the weekends.  Plus a friend who recently bought a house in the Bayview is having a birthday get together and I haven’t been yet to his place.

Yeah, I could ride my bike.

But fingers crossed.

I won’t have to.

 

 


%d bloggers like this: