Posts Tagged ‘girl friend’

Do A Little Shimmy

November 12, 2016

In front of the mirror.

Um.

Yes.

But before that I have a lot of moving and shaking to do.

Holy shit do I have a lot of stuff to do.

I preempted it by doing some of the work today.

I mean I got busy already.

I brought reading in with me to work and for the second day I was able to do reading while the boys were on their quiet time I kicked out some reading.

I also just finished doing another hour of reading.

That’s right.

Because this is how I have to roll to get it all in.

Actually.

I did an hour of reading then I took another twenty minutes or so and organized the material that I will be using for my big Psychopathology paper.

It has to be 12-15 pages long, in APA style and it will be an in-depth analysis of two different diagnosis with emphasis on using the DSM V and as well as a psychoanalytic approach.

I will be addressing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

And.

Alcohol Use Disorder.

Ahem.

I may have a little experience with the two.

Hahahaha.

Fuck I amuse myself.

But.

Hey when writing I have found that the best things to write about are things that I have experience with.

I have experience with both in spades.

Thank you very much.

So after I did another two chapters of reading for my Family Therapy class (this is after working a full day at work, and yes, it was full, though lovely, so lovely especially, getting out to the park in the sunshine) after I got back from doing the deal tonight, I sat down and organized the reading and the materials.

I did not start the writing.

But I have started the thinking.

It sits and stews a little up there in my head.

I don’t know exactly how that works, but I do know from a great deal of experience that it does.

I have done the reading, which is a huge part of the battle.

I have the beginnings of where I need to go in my mind.

I have reviewed the directions for the paper a number of times.

I have started sticking post it notes in the places I need to go back to and integrate into the paper.

I will devote seven pages to each diagnosis.

I will break them down, do an assessment, how it presents in the client, what the diagnosis looks like in the DSM V, what it could be, and how to address it psychodynamically.

I have FIVE books I am working with.

One of them is the full size DSM V and the other is the desk reference.

One book on psychodynamic psychiatry and another on psychoanalytic case formulation.

Plus one book of personal experiences.

I actually won’t be using that one so much, I have, ahem, plenty of my own first person accounts to draw from.

I really won’t have any problem sketching out what the presenting problem looks like in the client.

Anyway.

So yeah.

That.

That will be taking up a big part of my weekend.

But it won’t be all my weekend.

I meet with my person tomorrow.

I plan on getting up and doing yoga, I need some exercise, before I meet her as well.

I need a mani/pedi and some eyebrow waxing and I need to do grocery shopping and cooking for the next work week.

I will also do the deal tomorrow.

And I will meet with two ladies on Sunday.

I plan on doing the bulk of the writing tomorrow after I get back from doing my errands in the Inner Sunset.

I am not sure how long this paper is going to take, it’s a big fucking paper, but having started to delve into it and having organized my materials is a big step forward.

I estimate three to four hours.

That sounds like not that much, but for me three hours of straight writing is a fuck of a lot.

I wrote my Family Therapy paper last weekend in two hours, but that was not with as much referencing and was seven pages.

This paper will be double that.

So I figure four hours of writing.

My hope is to get the majority of it written tomorrow before I head out to my 7 p.m. commitment.

And I will work on it more after ward.

I had originally planned on doing the bulk of the writing on Sunday.

But.

Um.

Ha.

Something came up.

I have a date.

What?

Totally out of the blue.

Once it was all set up I messaged my friend, what do I wear?

I laughed to myself, the quintessential question.

Not whether I can appropriately show differential diagnosis in a co-morbid presenting psychological disease, but what dress to wear, and heels, should I wear heels?

I mean he is 6’4″.

6’4″!

Yes.

Thank you God.

And doesn’t drink.

Yes.

Lives in Oakland.

And happens to be a friend of a friend.

This was not the message I was expecting to get today as I was reading my text books at work while the boys were down in their rooms.

A message pops up.

A friend doing some match making!

OMG.

Blush.

Flattered.

So, so unexpected.

Would I be interested in?

Check out…

And yes?

Ok?

What’s your schedule look like?

How about these days?

And this time.

And.

BOOM.

Date with guy set up for this Sunday at Samovar Tea Lounge.

Holy shit.

I mean.

My friend did all the leg work, said to both parties, hey go check out so and so on my page and if you like I arrange.

She did it all.

Professional like.

Damn Gina.

I feel hella looked out for.

By the time guy had checked me out and I had checked guy out she’d verified times and dates for both of us and had gone ahead and made a freaking reservation for us!

Holy Toledo.

And like that.

I have a date for a cuppa tea and a new friend on Sunday.

So.

Yeah.

Um.

Writing that fucking paper tomorrow like a house a fire.

Heh.

Oh.

And side note.

I GOT THE ASK FOR MY NEW JOB!

I got it.

I got the money I asked for.

They responded today and said, absolutely, totally reasonable, no problem, we can do that and we can’t wait to start working with you.

Quote, “can’t wait’ end quote.

Fuck yes.

I was so freaking busy after lunch with the boys, then doing the deal, then homework that I totally forget to check my e-mail.

The response had sat for seven hours in my box.

Hahahahaha.

“I’m sure you’re going to be taken care of,” a friend of mine told me when I bumped into her after my get right with God.

“I always am,” I said, “I’m sure they’re just figuring out the contract.”

And they were.

The family will have the contract to me by next week to sign.

Huge sigh of relief.

So what am I wearing to my date on Sunday?

When I jokingly asked my friend.

She was like, girl you don’t have to worry about that!

And I liked her rule of thumb.

Wear whatever makes you stand in front of the mirror and do a little shimmy.

Yes.

I know exactly what to wear.

Hello weekend.

Let’s get cracking.

I got places to go and things to do.

So.

I get to get my shimmy on.

Shimmy, shimmy.

Coco pop.

Shimmy, shimmy.

Pow!

Oh.

Yes.

Yes, please.

Soft, Sweet, Wet Kisses

May 9, 2014

For me.

All for me.

Drenched with them.

Saturated with them.

Slowed down with lush.

Face full of mist, warm, enveloping, deft, dewy, succulent.

Safe.

I felt cocooned in the rain and mist and fog as I cycled, slowly, through the park.

I knew about one-third through the Wiggle (San Francisco’s bicycle route to get around all those hills from the Church and Market area to the Haight and all points West) that I was not going to ride my bicycle in the weather down Lincoln Avenue.

Nor was I going to take Irving with the train running and the parking and the commuters who suddenly get weird when the weather changes on a dime, like it can here.

I was not suspecting rain at all today, no fender on my bicycle, no thought in my head of wet weather.

After the nap time extravaganza of two hours that my little girl Thursday took, however, I began to suspect something was up.

It got humid in the afternoon.

And heavy overcast, thick, dark clouds, the smell of rain just wafting through Alamo Square park presaging the mist and fog and light Spring rain that was to marshal me home.

So, yes to the park, yes to light to none existent for blocks, traffic.

Just me, the bicycle, the wet, which was not the kind of wet that drenches you quickly, but soaks you in a quiet, seductive way.

It was not overpowering or cold.

It sprinkled down about me in the way that reminded me of soft warm rain in the late Spring in Wisconsin or even early summer, the rich smells not being the heavy drowsy perfume of lilacs, but rather the pungent spice of eucalyptus, searing sweet jasmine, and succulent honeysuckle, wet grass, and then, as I turned down Chain of Lakes, the seminal smell of the ocean.

It is the kind of weather that I wished, for a moment, that I did have a lover to walk through the park with, hold hands with, and yes, find a canopy of mimosa to shelter under and kiss wet and dark and long.

Spring has indeed sprung.

And summer is coming.

Summer.

I am going to experience it.

I am.

Not just the fog in the city.

But summer in California, in Bradley California, in just two weeks.

I am going to Lighting in a Bottle!

I got asked to go a couple of weeks ago but after just purchasing a ticket to fly back to Wisconsin I didn’t think I could swing it.

My friend shot me a text today, she’d gotten the weekend off, let me help subsidize your trip, will you please come?

How in the world can I say no to that?

A weekend with one of my best girlfriends, camping, a road trip–small one, Bradley’s only about three hours away from San Francisco–music, dancing under the stars, an opening salvo to the summer.

Oh my.

I had to say yes.

She bought the tickets and I am going.

My friend said I’ll sport you $100 off the ticket, take care of all the food, and get you there and back.

How could I say no?

I didn’t of course.

And of course, pride, ego, lack of humility, wanted to say, no really, that’s too much, but  I also know better than to look a gift in the mouth.

I said yes.

I am still going to give her $180 for my ticket (the ticket is $280–just a basic general admission ticket and we will be tent camping by the car) but that is a steal to see the line up, which is kookoo crazy good.

MOBY.

Beats Antique.

Amon Tobin.

Kraak and Smaak.

Claude Von Stroke.

And a whole lot more.

Plus, camping, yoga, art, pretty festival people, DANCING, dancing, dancing, and yes, more dancing.

I have not gotten my butt to Coachella yet, maybe next year, but I am going to this.

It’s a nice, sweet, unexpected surprise.

I feel that there is more of that to come.

Scooter riding as a part of that surprise.

Glad again to not be on my scooter today, riding in the rain is one thing on my bicycle, I have 8 plus years of riding around this city in the rain on my bike and zero days of being on the scooter in the wet, I have no idea how it will respond and am not yet prepared to ride it and find out.

That being said, fingers crossed, I will be able to venture forth tomorrow to work at 19th and Noe, ie all places hilly, as I got it started, the scooter, last night.

My friend came over and I wheeled it out, showed him what I was doing, then stepped back while he asked, “have you been priming it before starting it?”

Uh.

What?

Um.

No.

Turns out, I probably was, accidentally, but not with real intent, that is giving the throttle a little gas to go through the system and get some fuel to the engine.

Oh.

Well, now I know.

My friend stepped up, gave the throttle a little twist, stepped on the kickstart, and kicked it over on the first try.

D’oh!

I knew it was me and not the scooter.

Yay!

I will give myself a little time to make sure I can replicate it all tomorrow, although, I feel quite certain I will be able to start it, I still want to make sure.

Because I don’t want to repeat the manic bicycle ride that I endured on Monday tomorrow.

I would rather go, sweet, soft, slow, and mellow, zooming up and over the hills on the Vespa.

I shall see what the morrow brings.

Nothing to worry myself with tonight.

Just the enjoyment of knowing that in two weeks from tomorrow I will be heading out and having a new adventure, seeing something new, having new experiences, and hanging out with one of my best girls.

Summer.

I think this may be my best one yet.

I am ready for it.

The warm soft rainy mist bestowing its kisses upon me has primed my engine.

I am ready to kick it off.

 

 

Put Your Hair Up

February 26, 2014

It’s time to write.

I have the same routine when I get home.

I say, “hello house,” and set my messenger bag down on the table.

I turn on the heater, which is off all day and my little space it pretty cold, although after the conversation I just had with my best friend back in Wisconsin I feel that I have absolutely no right to complain.

Wisconsin has been experiencing the coldest winter in record for quite some time, tomorrow’s high?

-5 Fahrenheit, with the windchill making it feel like -21 Fahrenheit.

That’s the high.

And I am worried about whether or not it’s going to rain.

This is a legitimate concern, I feel, especially, since I commute on a bicycle and rain slick streets in the morning are no fun.

No fun at all.

After the heat goes on I turn on the little lamp by my bedside and the Ipod cube with its little color faded.

Tonight, jazz.

Some Chet Baker to get me going and in the mood.

Then, I light candles.

I like candles.

I buy them all the time and yes my house probably smells like a potpourri shop, but fuck off, I like it.

Actually it smells like this currently: dark Mexican chocolate and coconut.

I would hazard that I have the best smelling room on the block.

I like to have a cozy environment.

Then I strip down out of the jeans and put on some yoga pants, the watch comes off, as I don’t need to look at what time it is for naps anymore.

Not that it mattered today, oh lord, no afternoon naps at all and the morning naps were staggered so I had no down time again today.

I was pretty beaten by the end of the day.

Plus, both boys are in a transitional period, one of them is entering the twos and is experimenting with temper tantrums, the dramatic, throwing of self on the floor and banging it with hands and feet.

The other, is realizing at the ripe age of one, that he is an independent creature and wants to do whatever he wants to do.

Like navigate up and down the stairs.

I am all for learning, but hey kid, you’re giving me a heart attack.

You can’t walk yet, please don’t climb that.

I watched him push a toy fire truck up to an ottoman and climb up onto the fire truck, then onto the ottoman, then onto the chair and then attempt to scale it like Everest.

What do you think you can do up there, fly?

Please don’t try.

His mom told me today that they are calling him Evil Knevil.

He really has no fear.

Which is awesome and scary for me.

Oh well.

It’s just part of the territory.

So, the watch comes off, and the earrings come off and then I grab the foam back roller and while the room is warming up I roll out the kinks in the back and sigh with deep pleasure whenever there is a little popping noise that I can feel my spine getting re-aligned.

“Up, up,” he pleaded with me all day.

“Lap, lap, up, up,” he repeated all day.

All day.

Normally my little nearly two-year old boy is independent and all about doing it on his own and he is amazing with it, climbing stairs, coming down the stairs, opening and shutting things and he’s a great little helper, likes to help sweep and pick up and it’s great.

Today.

Nothing doing.

It was all about being held and all about me holding him.

Which made sense too, he’s just getting back from a vacation and getting back to being in the groove, and he’s also getting used to sharing his people again.

I almost feel like I could use another rolling of the foam roller just from writing that.

After the back gets rolled out, the kettle goes on and I get my tea-cup ready and then I do the last bit before I do this, the writing, the getting down and getting serious.

I always put up my hair.

I never do this with anything else.

I don’t always eve wear my hair up at work.

This can be fun or not fun, depending on how much the one year old wants to tug at my hair, less and less these days, but it still does happen.

Nope.

The hair goes up.

I wonder if it’s because I am all business when I sit down to blog or if it’s that I have this idea of what a writer looks like, hair in messy bun, glasses perched on end of nose.

Which would bug the fuck out of me if my glasses were perched at the tip of my nose.

I believe that it’s more the former than the latter, but that the latter does have a little weight behind it.

Yeah, that’s right, somewhere in the convoluted mechanism that I call my brain, I have an idea that I will be a better writer if I look like a writer.

Then again, it’s nice to have it out of my way, it’s become its own creature.

I can’t remember the last time I wore it this long.

I rather like it, but it is something else to contend with.

Then, with my tea made, my hair up, and my laptop open, I set out on the hunt for what I am going to write my blog about.

I drink my tea, after it’s had a chance to cool off, right around 450/500 words, then I proof it lightly, mainly for spelling errors, read it once, change anything that’s glaring, and send it out to the world.

That’s it.

That’s my night.

After which an apple, some yogurt, a cup of tea and a down loaded video.

I have some Walking Dead cued up, but you know, I am just not in the mood for the zombie apocalypse.

I have to tell you sometimes I put off watching the show because I want to enjoy my snack and I can’t when listening to the sound of zombies getting thwacked.

It just doesn’t do it for my appetite.

Tonight I will probably watch Glee instead.

That routine was thrown of a tiny bit, as I was sitting down my best friend from Wisconsin called.

And I don’t care what routine or how important the blog, I answer her calls.

We talked and it was like getting love blown straight into my heart.

I owe this woman my life, sometime I will tell you about it, suffice to say I made a really important phone call to her January 12th of 2005 that changed my life.

And the debt of gratitude is almost as big as the debt of friendship.

There are those in your life that won’t let you go, whether or not you have seen them in the last year or five, and you won’t let them go.

She is always going to be one of my keepers.

We talked and made plans.

I really am going to go see her and her family this summer.

I am.

I probably will wear my hair up then too.

Nothing says Wisconsin like extreme temperatures.

July is hot, humid, saturatingly warm.

The average temp is in the mid-to high 80s with humidity bringing the heat index up over 100 degrees.

Sexy.

But oh, the nights, the warm, delicious nights without having to wear layers, to have that for a weekend is well worth the heat of the day.

And that’s a wrap on my day.

Hair up and ready to decompress so I gets to do it all over again tomorrow.

Hair will be wearing itself in weather appropriate braids.

Yes, and shut up.

I know I just wrote an entire blog about my hair.

It’s fabulous.

You would too.

 


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