Driven

I did not fuck around today.

This happens when one, and I mean, me, is up at 6 a.m.

I actually woke up at 4 a.m. to use the bathroom and my brain attacked me.

I couldn’t fall right back to sleep.

So many thoughts in my head.

So many places I wanted to be.

I had a rough time getting back to sleep, so when the alarm went off at 6 a.m. I was not happy, but I bounded out of bed and jumped right into my day.

I was up early to do my morning routine and because I had to be in Berkeley this morning to set up my account with Wells Fargo.

Grateful Heart uses Wells Fargo and thus, now, so do I.

I also was up early so that I could get across town and pick up another associate who I have known for years who happened to get hired the week before I did.

She knew I had a car from doing orientation with me a few weeks ago and had asked if she could get a lift to and from the city.

I was happy to oblige.

I was thinking earlier of all the people who have given me rides here and there in the city and how nice it was to finally be playing that gift forward.

So yeah, I could have used an extra half hour of sleep, but it was really quite nice to be of service to a fellow.

We chatted and caught up on the way there and I think I may be developing a new friendship.

With a woman!

With a woman my age in recovery.

So freaking nice.

I have had some dear, amazing, special friends over the years, but San Francisco can be a bit transient, especially with the rents being what they have become and the cost of living going higher and higher.

We talked a lot about that.

I told her about my buyout and she told me how she negotiated down a rent raise at her current place.

A place that although she does not have rent control, but because she’s been there so long and it was in an area of the city that was previously not a delicious place to live in the city, is still relatively cheap.

When she told me what her new rent was I was astounded, it was $100 less than what I spend her on my studio and I’m paying below market.

I told her she could not move, that there really was nothing at all out there in the price range that she described.

In fact.

There is little in the price range that I was hoping for, for myself.

But.

The buy out.

And having taken a bit extra out in student loans for this semester, I have enough to get me into a place comfortably.

And I can spend a little more than I want, should I need.

I started doing some bigger price searches.

I’ve raised my rent to $2300 a month in my searches.

Part of me cringes at that.

That’s basically a thousand more than what I spend now.

But I can do ten months of that kind of increase with the money from the buyout and with the student loan disbursement after I paid tuition, I can cover a few more months of that and be in someplace much more expensive.

Because, fingers crossed, I will be making substantially more money as I go about setting up my private practice internship office.

I got the small business loan monies, that I have to pay back to Grateful Heart, either through fundraising, which I will shortly be setting up a GoFundMe account, or through the accrual of fees from my clients.

It wasn’t a huge loan, $1500, but that’s enough for three months of rent at my office space.

It doesn’t cover three months of administrative costs, or the cost of getting a Square account, setting up a website or doing GSuite, which I have to set up all of that as well, plus business cards, but it gets me started.

I can’t withdraw any money from the account, I can only deposit to it.

So now that I have the account number I can set up the GoFundMe and it goes directly to Grateful Heart.

I can be transparent about where the money is going, that it’s not lining my pockets, but setting up a base for my practice so that I can get started.

So that happened.

Then I headed back to the city, dropped my new friend/old acquaintance, and headed to my first open house of the day.

I had four that I wanted to make before I got to supervision, for my other internship.

Between the two internships, I put in four hours of work on my “day off.”

I didn’t know if I was going to make all four, but the one I wanted to see the most was the one with the earliest open house.

And in the end, it was also the only one that I applied to.

Fingers crossed people.

I was ready to drop all the money I could on it, but the manager had very strict directions for how the process was going to go and I couldn’t get into the conversation with him without it getting misunderstood really quickly.

Language barrier.

So.

I just made it very clear that I wanted the place, I filled out the application, turned over my credit report, my letter of reference from my job, and gave him all the information he needed.

If I get it, move in would be next Thursday.

If I get it, I’m moving in next weekend.

Like I said, fingers crossed.

The only thing it didn’t have that I wanted was laundry on site, but there’s a laundry mat a 1/4 block away, so I wasn’t too upset about that.

It was big, the main studio part wasn’t that big, really just a touch bigger than my main room currently, but the kitchen.

OOOOH.

So big.

I mean.

Really big.

I could have a huge table, which I have always wanted, I have always envisioned a great big farm kitchen table to spread out all my books and school work and papers on.

I once housesat for a man in East Oakland who had this magnificent huge dining table and I would spread out all my work on it, it was just lovely.

I could see myself in this studio, with a great big table, a couple of chairs and just acres of room to write and work and do homework.

The kitchen also had a full size fridge, a full size gas range, lots of shelves, two windows, and a pantry!

The bathroom was no great shakes, no bathtub, but a good clean space, and a decent shower stall, plus again, lots of shelves, including shelves outside of the bathroom.

I mean.

Really I want the place.

I did all the actions I could do, now I have to let go of the results.

And I really made an effort to get to all the open houses.

From the one I saw at 11 a.m. on Guerrero and 18th (location!!!!) then over across town, like literally all the way across town, to a one bedroom in-law in the Outer Sunset on 45th and Taraval by noon.

To a studio on the Haight, literally on Haight street, just in the lower part, not the upper.

To another studio on Fell Street.

All three were poor fits for me.

The in-law was cramped, dirty, and ill lit, low ceilings, bad light, I was like, no more goddamn caves for me.

I said thank you, no thank you and left.

Which was what happened at the next one on the Lower Haight, much smaller than the place on Guerrero and $150 more expensive.

No thanks.

Then when I zipped over to Fell Street, the studio was already taken and was no longer being shown.

I mean, literally some one did what I was trying to do at the Guerrero studio, but they managed to drop the cash to the landlord and get it.

There was an agitated man on the porch angrily texting a friend when I arrived who informed me.

Oh well.

So then I drove back over to the Mission and made group supervision with enough time to grab a salad from Guss’s Market and do twenty minutes of reading for school.

And that’s not counting the driving I did later.

I think I drove more today than I normally do in a week.

I am very, very, very grateful to my best friend for talking me into that car.

It has been such a gift.

So I took care of her too, my little marshmallow, and drove her to the car wash as well.

Before I did my evenings derring do’s.

Grateful for that car does not begin to even cover it.

Seriously.

No More Tattoos

There.

I mean.

I don’t know that I can say no more tattoos, tattoos I think will continue to happen, but.

No more tattoos there.

Specifically on my collar-bone.

Whoooee getting my touch up today was not intolerable, but I had some dread going back in, which is fairly unusual for me in getting work done.

Especially with something so small, but the location and the thinness of the skin over the collar-bone, really was, well not excruciating, but challenging for sure.

I have an idea for a tattoo I’d like to get next year but aside from that I have no other tattoo plans in sight.

In fact.

I was thinking that the one I get next year may be it for a good while.

Then again.

A lady can change her mind.

It’s just that I am not feeling the need for more ink.

Granted.

I’ll probably get to Paris in May and go to Abraxas and want a tattoo.

I do like me a tattoo as a souvenir of my travels.

I have two from Paris and one I got in New York.

The rest of my work has been gotten here in San Francisco.

I have had one primary artist.

Barnaby Williams.

He is currently at Tiger’s Blood in Alameda.

I first went to Barnaby when he was the owner of Mom’s in the Haight.

I had made an appointment to get a dragon tattoo from Barnaby.

I walked into the shop into a huge bear hug from the man and big mournful eyes.

“Hey,” he said quietly, “how ya doin’?”

I teared up.

“I’m ok, but um, I don’t want to do the dragon tattoo anymore,” I said, eyes blurred and starting to sniffle, “I want to get a memorial instead.”

He nodded.

Sat down and drew out the tattoo for me.

Two white French Tulips.

(Shadrach’s favorite flowers)

And the last line of the elegy that Dylan Thomas wrote for his father.

Until I die/He will not leave my side.

It was written in beautiful calligraphic script.

The flowers he outlined and used white ink on, white does not traditionally stick very well, but it seems to have weathered the test of time.

I have had the tattoo for 9.5 years and it still looks bright and fresh.

It was the biggest piece I had gotten up until that point.

The other two were small, a cover up on my left shoulder of my name in flames, a cover up that Barnaby later covered  up with a dragon, classic little known tattoo–the cover up of the cover up.

In the end, so far.

Barnaby has done two dragons on me, both left arm and right arm, and a beautiful pink Jackalope surrounded by French Marguerite daisies, my favorite flowers.

I have had work done as well.

By Ross K. Jones out of Idle Hand on Haight Street.

Although when I got tattooed by Ross he was out of a warehouse space in the SOMA before warehouse spaces in the SOMA were at a premium.

Ross tattooed my first set of stars.

Seven stars for seven years of sobriety.

To this day I can say that Ross has one of the gentlest approaches and best bedside manner of any tattoo artist I have had.

I have one tattoo from a guest Chinese tattoo artist at Abraxas in Paris when I was there last year at Christmas, his name was Bin and we “talked” via Google translator.

He did the Reve (pop a circumflex over the “e” in reve and you get “dream” in French) piece on my chest plate.

Despite the area being a thinner place of skin, he was fast, smooth, efficient, gentle, it was quite a bit less painful than I thought it was going to be.

Barnaby has done one star as well–he did number 10, which was a bit bigger than my other ones and I had him do an homage to Van Gough’s Starry Night painting, but I asked him to use yellow and pink in the tattoo (thereby balancing the pink of the other stars that I had and complementing the sky blue ones I have as well).

Danny Boy Smith, at Let it Bleed on Polk Street, has done two of my stars.

Number 11, which I had him do as a black star to homage David Bowie’s passing last year and also my 11th year in recovery.

And.

This current new star, star number 12.

Which is a soft pastel blue with black outline.

I like my tattoos.

They tell me a story.

They are beautiful art pieces.

I am connected to each in memorable ways and each has meaning to me.

They needn’t tell anyone’s story but my own.

I often forget I have them and will be startled occasionally when someone references them.

In Paris it was challenging, albeit not so much the last time I was there since it was winter, when I have shown off a lot of tattoos.

There are plenty of shops and plenty of people with tattoos in Paris, it’s become quite a bit more acceptable, but I have gotten some stares, tell you what.

Especially at the swimming pool or just walking the streets or going through the Metro stations.

I forget about them too, living in San Francisco.

It seems like everyone has one.

But some, well, some are better than others and I can tell the jail tats from the gang tats from the home-made gun tats and the sleeves of suddenly wealthy dot-com kids who made it big in the 90s to the hipster tattoos and throw back retro vintage Sailor Jerry tattoo art that is so popular today with the Millennials.

I was getting tattooed and pierced long before it was popular.

I don’t care about the time line on it, it’s just an observation.

I am grateful though, that I have had such great artists in my tattoo history.

I am proud of my ink.

Sometimes it is a mask to hide behind.

Sometimes it is a shield.

You cannot hurt me I have done the hurting already.

Sometimes it is art.

It is beauty.

The narrative of my recovery and the sheltering sky storms brewed up in my psyche.

Just another indelible way I wear my heart on my sleeve.

I’m serious.

Courtesy of Mat Moreno out of Three Kings Tattoo in Brooklyn.

I have a heart tattoo with cherry blossoms on my left inner arm.

Heh.

 

 

Feeling Back To Normal

Even if my Internet is slow and wonky.

I’m feeling much better.

Today may be my first official “normal” day since the whole “she’s got lice” fabulousness went down.

So relieved to be back into my own regular schedule and getting out and about in the world.

Even if all the out and about was scootering from one hard ware store to the next.

I went to six, SIX, different hard ware stores trying to get the blue ceramic Christmas tree lights I wanted.

No one had them.

Sad face.

Cole Fox Hardware in Cole Valley.

Nope.

Ace Hardware in the Outer Sunset on Noriega.

Nope.

Ace Hardware in the Castro.

Nope.

The hard ware store on Haight, which I forget what the name is.

The hard ware store in the Inner Sunset on Irving.

Nope.

And more nope.

I even went to Sloat Garden Center.

Nada.

I know, it’s a garden center, but I thought, well, they sell Christmas trees, maybe they’ll sell Christmas lights too.

The one place I for sure thought I would be able to get them, Ace Hardware in the Castro, were out, and the check out person was sad too, “shoot! Those were the ones I was going to get too.”

Ah well.

Next year.

I did find some blue LED lights that will work, they’re going to have to, as they’re currently on the tree.

Yes.

I got my tree.

I just figured what with the lonely Thanksgiving I deserved some cheer.

I even did a tiny bit of Christmas shopping.

A little thing for my mom.

A little something for my friend in Wisconsin.

And my sister’s Christmas present.

I do like getting Christmas presents, cheers me right the fuck up.

I like wrapping presents and sending cards.

I’m a bit old-fashioned.

The running around to find the lights led me to the other shopping and I was grateful for that.

I stocked up on some lip balm that I can only seem to find at one or two places and never quite seem to be in the right neighborhood to procure it.

Today being in Cole Valley I popped over to the Upper Haight, ostensibly to check the hardware store on Haight, but being in the hood, I dropped into Loved to Death and picked up my current favorite lip balm.

My favorite they don’t make any more.

I still so wish they did.

But.

The one that I get is pretty dreamy and delicious—from Tokyo Milk.

I got one pot of Salted Carmel, one of Cherry Bourbon, and one Dark Cocoa.

Oh my, so very good.

Yes.

I taste good when you kiss me.

Heh.

Not that there’s any kissing on the menu, I’ve been so isolated these past few days I haven’t had a chance to get out there, plus, well, it’s not really sexy to go on a date and like possibly have lice.

I mean.

I needed to make sure I was not lousing up any one’s day.

Pun intended.

If you know what I mean.

Anyway.

So I got those and I picked up a couple of lovely little things for my mom and sister and best girlfriend in Wisconsin when I was in Cole Valley, at Pharmica.

Lovely little store I used to go into all the time when I worked in Cole Valley.

OH!

Shoot.

I know where I should have gone.

Cliff’s Variety on 18^th and Castro.

They would have had them.

Oh well.

Like I said, next year.

I did rather enjoy zooming around the city on my scooter though, ha, add another hardwared store to the list,  I also checked the hardware store on Divisadero and Fell, I really was all over the place, looking for the magical, mystical, fairy blue lights.

I did finally cave and I bought some regular LED blue lights, unfortunately they are a bit brighter than the other two strings of little blue Christmas lights I have, they are a tiny bit overwhelming.

Ah, nothing’s ever perfect.

It’s good enough though.

It really is.

And my tree is lovely.

It has a nice shape and isn’t too tall or too big for my little studio space, but it is bigger than the one I had last year, which was a gift from the man I was hanging out with at the time.

Irony?

He never saw the tree in my house.

That whole month we were pretty estranged, even with the plans to go to Paris.

I was emptying out my Facebook messages yesterday and discovered a cache of messages between the two of us.

Fuck.

That needs to get deleted.

Don’t read them.

Don’t read.

Don’t.

I , um, I started to read a few, then noticed something.

He had finally taken down the photograph I took of him on Christmas Day in front of the Temple Metro station stop in Paris that he was using for his profile picture.

So.

Yes.

Ugh.

I trolled his Facebook page for a moment.

Then.

I went back and deleted every message.

And I did not read them all, no, just the first couple, it was enough and I didn’t need to be feeling anguished, but what I did find, which was good and soft and tender and a tiny bit vulnerable, was that I hoped only for the best for him, that I wished him love and joy and that I was ok.

The reality is I learned a lot from the relationship, even if it some of that learning was painful, I grew like gangbusters.

Pain.

Great fertilizer for spiritual growth.

I mean, like Miracle Gro on steroids.

So.

Happy to be taking care of myself and be out in the world and though it didn’t go how I had hoped, when does it ever? I did have a good day, I got to a yoga class, met with a lady and did the deal, and I got my Christmas tree.

That’s a damn fine Sunday.

I’ll take it.

Please.

And.

Thank you.

 

So Happy

So very, very, very.

Happy.

I’m currently listening to Coleman Hawkins–At Ease, With Coleman Hawkins.

Because.

I am officially.

At fucking ease.

I did it.

I finished my final project presentation for my Human Development class.

Yes!

God damn was I sick of thinking about that fucking thing.

However, I realized that I knew a whole lot more than I was letting on last night, to myself, when I talked the ear off the guy driving me home from work.

We got into this crazy discussion about, ha, of all things, human development.

By the time I had finished telling him about my findings in the research that I had done about babies and using sign language, he was a convert.

You should have seen the photo of his three month old he showed me!

Beautiful, funny, horrible, and amazing all at the same time.

Big huge pink bow, huge swath of black hair underneath, serious chubby cheeks, and the cutest (and somehow horrifying) pink Hello Kitty onesie ever.

It was just too much and absolutely perfect at the same time.

By the time he had dropped me off I realized that I had done enough research, that I did not actually have to go to the library and do more.

That, in fact, my wanting to do more was an act of martyrdom and not very becoming on me.

I admitted as such to my person this afternoon when we met at Tart To Tart.

“About that,” she said, with a knowing look in her eye, “when you left me that message yesterday regarding all the things you were going to do I just thought to myself, where is the fun in any of this?”

I teared up.

I admitted that I was not having any fun today.

I also admitted what I wanted to do rather than go to the library.

Nails, I desperately needed a manicure.

And.

Shoe shopping.

I needed to get a pair of shoes to go with the dress I got on Modcloth for the ballet in Paris.

“You do that instead, you go have fun, you go buy some shoes!” She said and smiled.

You know what they say about suggestions.

Well.

I do.

It’s suggested I take them.

I am so much happier when I do.

This life is not a vale of tears, we absolutely insist on enjoying life, there is much fun to be had in it all.

So much fun.

I got my fun on.

I did.

I took myself to Fluevog on Haight Street and I got me some shoes.

Oh.

Darling.

They are so beautiful.

I got a pair of the “Dots” in Arbus.

A gorgeous t-strap heel in black leather with plum, gold, and white polka dots of various sizes.

And.

Oh my!

I found the perfect coat to match the shoe!

I went in to Fluevog and knew I pretty much wanted the Dots version of the Arbus, the other, though equally adorable was in patent leather and does not compliment the matte black fabric of the dress, so the Dots version was the right choice.

But.

I wasn’t certain I was going to be able to find anything in a coat that would work with the shoe.

Plus.

The shoes were just a tiny bit tight.

My left fit perfect, but the right, which is a 1/2 size bigger than my left, felt tight and I knew I was going to be uncomfortable wearing it for long.

I didn’t feel like dropping a big, for me, amount of money, on the shoes if they weren’t the perfect fit.

I told the salesman I would think about it.

I relayed that I really liked them, but the tightness on the toe box of the right shoe was worrisome.

I shook his hand thanked him and headed out the door.

I was stopped in my tracks though when he said.

“Oh!  We can fix that, we can stretch the shoe to fit you, it’s very easy to do.”

Oh.

Yay!

But the color?

Was I going to be able to make it work?

Heh.

Turns out when God wants a girl to get her shoes on, he will provide the perfect coat to go with them.

I found a gorgeous, on sale, swing coat in plum at Tatyana, a few blocks down on Haight Street.

It’s a modified swing coat with rusched sleeves and big black buttons.

It was so perfect it shocked me.

Then the price shocked me.

Then I said screw it.

I’m buying the coat and going back for the shoes.

And that is exactly what I did.

I pulled the coat out and showed it to the folks at Fluevog and they were astounded that I had found the exact match to the color of the plum polka dot on the shoe.

I pointed out a scuff on the right one and they said, only pair in that size, so we’ll take off %15, which basically covered the cost of the coat!

Win.

And.

Winning!

They had me try on the shoes again and the owner saw exactly where the right shoe needed to be stretched and I go back tomorrow to gather up my glorious new shoes.

Sigh.

Life is lovely.

Despite what my head can say and how I felt a little lonely tonight and a little woe is me to not be hanging out and seeing my friend, who is still very sick, and after a trip to the grocery store and some homemade dinner in my tummy, I could not shake the feeling.

A little sad.

A little lonely.

A little left out.

Irrational feelings of being avoided.

Out comes the God box.

Out comes some paper.

Some writing.

And I put a couple of folks in Gods hands and asked for direction and guidance to do what I needed to do next.

Work on my fucking Human Development final project presentation.

I so did not want to.

But.

I did it!

I just fucking started and a few hours later.

Boom.

I have it done.

Well.

Not quite.

I have to practice it a bit, it’s rough, but the hand out that I have to have for it is done and I can practice all week long and time it.

With what I have I either need to gloss over certain things, or I need to talk really fast!

I also have to write the bibliography.

In APA format.

Ugh.

But since I have the presentation done, bullet points, graphics, and all, plus a short video, I felt like I could give myself a break for the rest of the evening and do the bibliography tomorrow.

And you know what else I can do tomorrow?

I can have more fun!

I am done with my homework!

For the first time this semester I have done all the reading that is due for the classes before the classes!

I have done two papers and a final project presentation.

I have two papers left to do before the semester is done.

One down today.

Two to go.

I can do it.

And there is nothing, really to do tomorrow, but meet with my ladies and go back to Fluevog and pick up my gorgeous shoes.

I will likely do a little food prep for the week and a little run to the market, but I have most of the day free.

Maybe I’ll go to Free Gold Watch and play some pinball after I pick up my heels.

Or down to the beach.

I hear the waves are still quite big.

Regardless.

I have time to have fun.

Hell.

I proved that today.

Here’s to taking suggestions.

So much better than my little plans and designs.

They always.

Always.

Are.

Better.

And.

They have much better shoes!

Heh.

Hug And A Squish

A kiss on the cheek.

A tear in my eye.

Don’t cry, don’t ruin your eyeliner.

A hug for the mom.

A thank you.

And off into the sunset.

Literally.

On my chopper playa bike with my purse in the front basket and a 1/2 gallon of unsweetened vanilla almond milk that I had left at the house in their fridge.  Right on down the road, well, not really, I rode the sidewalk all the way back until about 41st Avenue, then I turned in and onto Irving to take it all the way down to 46th Avenue.

And home.

I parked my playa steed in the garage and brushed the dust off my hands.

All done.

I said goodbye to my little chap in Cole Valley and gear up to start a new position in the Mission in less than a week.

Today I had scant plans, except the goodbye and the bicycle pick up.

I had a friend get a hold of me and we zoomed around the city and caught lunch, pun intended, at Catch, up on 9th and Lincoln.

The last time I had been there was with this friend and I rather enjoyed the continuity of it and that there are friends of mine that I can go months without seeing (even if we live in the same city my friends are hard people to keep up with, we all have such full lives) and it’s like we are instantly comfortable and relaxed and down for hanging out and shooting the shit.

I must have had five glasses of ice tea refills and we took forever to even look at the menu because we were too busy catching up and getting back into the swing of our lives, dramas, comedies, and situations.

I caught him up on all things work, Burning Man, New York, dating, lack there of, and plans to attend graduate school in the fall.

“What didn’t you write about in your blogs,” also came up as a topic.

There is some stuff that doesn’t make it here, fyi, should you think I lay it all out on the line.

I do, occasionally, keep some things to myself.

That’s when I know I have a friend who is absolutely interested in spending time with me, when they know that I edit and they want to hear about the edits and the intrigues and the life and times.

OH.

Don’t worry.

I still put an awful lot, if not most of it here, you’re not missing much I promise.

We also talked all things scooter, he’s the friend who sold me the Vespa, and I told him about my desire to sell the Vespa and trade it in for something automatic.

We chatted about that quite a bit, on and off with the general catch up that friends need to have.

Then we swung through the Haight and went sneaker shopping and window shopping and cool art book shopping, him, I was just along for the stroll.

After.

A car ride, it is fun to cruise about town in a car, I have to say, it really is.

We rolled over to Hayes Valley, did more window shopping, then enjoyed an Americano from Blue Bottle’s shop on Linden Street.  We sat in the open parkway area and soaked up the autumnal kissed sunshine until I had to make my way to Cole Valley.

I love San Francisco.

It was a treat to be a little tourist gal with my friend today.

We may even hang out again tomorrow if he has a clear schedule at work and go walk through China Town and eat cheap Chinese food with the rest of the tourists.

If he’s not available I may wend my way down to the Embarcadero and actually go out on a ferry-boat.  I didn’t end up going last Wednesday, I got a late start on the day and just didn’t feel like I had it in me to do a late crossing.

I may tomorrow.

I may not as well.

I may just sit in the back yard with a Edward St. Aubyn novel and enjoy the sunshine and the distant shush of the waves on the beach.

I do like the shush sound right about now.

There’s little traffic and the sun has set, and the roll of the waves can be heard in between the slide of the MUNI train rumbling down Judah Avenue.

I like this time of year out here.

It feels all summery and yet, there are few tourists and it feels like the sneaky summer that nobody knows about is happening.

I can leave the back door open to the sound and it’s not chilly inside, the heat of the day still dissipating into the air from the back patio where it’s been warmly collecting itself all day.

Maybe I will take my bicycle out for another ride.

Not too long.

Perhaps a swing through Golden Gate Park, go to the Japanese Tea Garden, hit the DeYoung, go to the Conservatory of Flowers, do a day at the park.

I am sure it will be quiet.

Then swing over to the Inner Sunset for an early evening meet up with some folks and back to my little bungalow by the beach.

I was even proactive today, which means tomorrow is really, truly wide open to anything, and I made soup and brown rice for the rest of the week.

In fact, it’s simmering on the stove right now.

White bean stew with organic chicken, carmelized onions and garlic, zucchini, corn, carrots, a little celery, a little kale, and some slow cooking on the back burner.

It’ll be done and ready for putting away by the time I am done blogging.

Not bad if I do say so myself.

Even my days off I like to get something done.

My goodbye is done.

My bicycle is back.

My staycation hits hump day.

More stories to come.

Get Yer Pink Hat On

I got me a fedora.

I have been wanting one for a bit and when I saw this one, I had to stop and grab it.

Pink.

Sequined.

Jaunty.

Yes.

I said jaunty.

And it works with my hair and my eyeglasses.

Best of all.

The cost.

$4.49.

Courtesy of your local Good Will.

I nanny in Cole Valley Monday through Wednesdays and I walk by the Good Will probably once, perhaps twice a week, depending on what park I am headed to.  It is a great Good Will and it has big windows for “La Leche Vitrine”.

Literal translation from the French: “window licking”.

Now, I am not a typical window licker, I don’t often purchase what I see, I window shop a lot, I am good at it and it’s a harmless, cheap habit.  Today especially.  A girl can’t go wrong with a hat for under five dollars and it’s pink and it’s sequined.

It now also has a pink rose attached to it and a pink feather that I got last year around this time to make hats and all things haberdashery for the playa, from the arts and crafts store on Haight.

I was house sitting in Cole Valley, just off the Haight Street neighborhood, last year about this time and I had decided I wanted to make all my little hair pieces myself, instead of laying out forty, fifty bucks for the pieces that I was drawn to.

Hell I saw some cute ones at Lightening in a Bottle too, but all were quite expensive and I recalled again, with a smidgen of guilt for not having done anything with all the gear I got for this project.

Buttons, bows, ribbons, flowers, glitter, feathers, netting, little metal charms, embroidery floss, hair clips to pin everything to.

I got all the right stuff to make some fascinators and some other pieces.

And I never did it.

I remember taking it all back to Grace Land with me after the house sitting gig had ended and spreading it all over the gigantic table in the dining room, then getting out needle, thread, scissors, the fabric glue and sorting everything into piles and sighing and sitting down to go to it.

And not being able to go to it.

In hindsight, I was pretty depressed and not certain what was happening with my life, having just returned from France and it being a difficult transition from the 9th arrondisement to East Oakland, 51st and International was a bit of culture shock to me.

Granted my dear friend who was letting me stay, was a dear friend, and had all the comforts of a well stocked home, kittens to snorgle with, Netflix on the tv, internet, a big cushy bed, so much nicer than the lumpy futon I had spent the majority of my nights on in Paris, and a big huge vat of popcorn that he had gotten special for making kettle corn.

Thus began my slippery slope that led soon to my relapse on all things sugary and floury and donutty and icecreamy and basically way bad for me and my health.

I picked up all the flowers and ribbons that I had planned to bedeck myself with, shoved them in a hat box and went to the kitchen.

I got out the air popper and poured the kernels in.

I just started with butter and salt, a big glass of sparkling water, and I cued up the first season of the West Wing, which I had never seen before, and proceeded to check the fuck out.

That’s not a solution for me today.

Thank God.

I was reminded of that today and I am grateful to have the way of life I have now.

And also a degree of humility about it, I could have checked out with some booze, there was a fully stocked bar.

I could have checked out with some crack cocaine.

There was East Oakland right outside my doors.

And I did not.

And for that I am ok with the fact that I checked out with the popcorn, then the ice cream, then the donuts and macaroons, and Arizimendi pizza, the hamburger and french fries from Burger Joint, the boxes of cereal and more Netflix, and then lots of self-loathing and hatred.

I got through it with a lot of help from some dear friends who reminded me that this too shall pass and I went to work to get out of the clutches of my historical reliance on food as a means of self-soothing.

It didn’t work for me then, it never had, and it was the place that I went to.

I pray I don’t have to have the experience again.

I lost the weight I put on with that binge that ended up being about three weekends of self-destruction.

And for the first time, for me, it was not about losing the weight (in fact, I have only weighed myself twice in the past year so I don’t even know what it is), it was not about checking out to solace myself.

Buying that pink fedora at the Good Will store when I was window shopping on the way to the park was like waiving a flag of victory.

I wore it all day long.

I even rode my bicycle home with it perched on my head.

Which was a great test for Burning Man.

The brim shielded my eyes and did not get in the way of my glasses and best yet, though it was windy, it stayed put.

That is important.

And when I got home I was happy to deck it out with the feather and the pink fabric rose that I had bought this time last year.

In fact, I am so pleased with the results that I am thinking I may host a little playa prep party at my place and see if anyone wants to sit out in the back yard with me and enjoy the sunshine, drink tea, and make some fascinators and hats and clips.

It would be fun, I have the gear, and so many of my girlfriends are going this year, it might be just the thing to do.

Celebrate my 8th year returning to Burning Man by putting another feather in my cap.

Literally.

Oh, Him, He’s Got A Girlfriend

Well, that explains why I didn’t get a call back from the cute guy I gave my phone number two weeks ago Friday.

Good to know.

And he smokes.

Not a fan of the smoking.

Onto the next one.

And in the mean time, how about adding a new girlfriend to the mix.

I got a text yesterday from a woman I recently hung out with and was thrilled to be asked out for a girls coffee date out in the Haight.

Today I was done with work early and was raring to go when I got another follow-up from her, bogged down with work, but still want to meet, let’s push it out a little.

Ok.

I suddenly had three hours of down time that I was not expecting, the combination of getting done with work early and the push back on our meet up.

I floundered for a minute, what was I going to do?

Where was I going to go?

One of the things that I like to do when I am headed somewhere on my bike, is get there.

Get there.

Get off.

Lock it up.

And go.

I knew I would be meeting my new friend at the cafe Coffee to the People, at Masonic and Haight at 5p.m.

I had about three hours to hang out and I decided I would not run errands, not buy groceries, not haul around laundry detergent, even though I need to pick up some and I could use a grocery shopping trip.

I decided, rather to let myself have a wander.

I shoe shopped.

I found out that the shoes I was silently lusting after, though they fit, were really quite unattractive when I tried them on.  I also found a pair of Frye boots in a vintage/second-hand shop and discovered that though the size was correct, the style was not flattering.

Good information.

I flitted in and out of stores and surprised myself twice in two different shops and got two new dresses.  Both quite affordable and both flattering.

Score.

I am not a clothes shopper and when I can find myself with some time and money it is still hard for me to get myself into something new.

But new I wanted, because I have a pair of heels I want to wear tomorrow night because, well, there’s always someone else to ask out, now isn’t there?

I did not want to spend my entire afternoon shopping, nor did my pocket-book want that and as I wandered further and farther up Haight Street I realized Free Gold Watch!

I went and got my pinball on.

It was lovely.

I placed The Machine and I played Whirlwind.

I won a replay on both and spent about $3.00 for an hour of entertainment.

It used to be, once upon a time that I could play for hours on $0.25.

That was when I was playing much more often, like everyday if I could.

It was pretty cool to be in the arcade rocking out the old pinball games and having a little time with me to have some fun.

I have been told a lot lately that more fun needs to be worked into my life.

I am doing the best I can.

I am, I am.

After my hour I went back to Haight Street and walked down the other side of the street, my mark?

Booksmith.

I picked up two new books and pursued the stacks.

God.

I love a good book store.

Then off to Mendel’s for stickers and a couple of little gifts for my niece in Florida who is turning twelve next week.  I have a little box with this and that for her that I have been scooping up when ever I see something that a 12-year-old girl might like.

I got her miniature Star Wars lunch boxes, skull stickers in two different styles, a skull candy emery board, and a skull hair clip.   Her mom said she was into skulls and skulls she’s going to get.

After the art store I was ready to meet up with my new friend and discover yet another person who is aching to go to Burning Man.

She applied for a reduced ticket and told me about the application she put in.

Fingers crossed she gets a low-income ticket.

It feels like she’s going to.

And I got to regale her with stories of Burning Man, where I have camped, which camps she might want to check out–Anonymous Village, Camp Stella, Hokey Pokey Camp, Run Free–camps that she would feel comfy staying with like-minded folks.

It was so nice to sit and share my experience around it.

And exciting to see yet another friend getting geared up for their virgin run at the event.

I am gearing up for burn number 8 and am very excited.

Though I can get ahead of myself very quick with it.

I sometimes have to remind myself that it is only one week out of the year, yet it does pre-occupy a lot of my mental space.

I found myself laughing about my brain and where it goes, like I need to wait until Burning Man to ask out this other guy, since it’s going to be his first and wouldn’t that be fun, to hook up at the event?

Ah.

No.

I don’t need to wait until the last week in August to ask this dude out.

I can do it tomorrow night.

Let’s see if I can.

I got a cute new outfit to wear.

I made it to Coffee to the People, drank a large coffee at 5 p.m., which would explain why it’s almost 10 p.m. and I feel WIDE AWAKE and spent an hour and a half hanging out with my new friend.

It was an awesome time and we promised to see each other soon, dancing, hanging out, Burning Man preparations, boy talk, getting to know another friend in San Francisco.

How awesome is that?

Add pinball, two new dresses, two new books, and stickers to the mix.

What do you have?

A good freaking day.

 

 

Red Dress On

I have the song in my head.

And it’s not the one you think, since I sort of bastardized it to fit my mood.

It’s from Masters of Reality, Sunrise on the Surfer Bus, “She Got Me When She Got Her Dress On.”

I got my dress on.

My Norma Kamali original tags and all ($255) from Waste Land for, $45.

Yes.

And it’s red.

And I was feeling it tonight.

“You look like a ripe berry,” my dear friend told me tonight.

All ready for the plucking.

Yup.

I am putting myself out there.

I did a lot of the suggestions, all of them, now that I think about it, that were given to me to do today and over the last week.

“Do something ceremonial, witchy, if you will, burn your sexual ideal, light a candle, have a moment with your HP,” she told me last week after I finished reading some inventory to her.

Of course I didn’t do it.

Totally balked on it.

But it was there in the back of my head so when I went to do the deal today I laid that out and what I intended to do to change that.

See, I got up early.

I got up almost two hours before the alarm I set was to go off, I got eight hours, I had plenty of wiggle room, I just wanted to give myself the option of sleeping in.

Sometimes just the option is enough.

I won’t even take it.

It’s just nice to know it’s there.

The extra time I gave myself lead to me taking on my Saturday with a different kind of relish, getting my cleaning done early, the laundry, getting in a shower, breakfast, an extra cup of coffee, writing.

Still had time and I realized I could go grocery shopping and get that out-of-the-way for the week, because I also planned on making soup today, so that I would have meals for the week at work and not have to think about it.

So I rode my bike up to the Haight to go to Whole Paycheck and pick up a few things.

I realized that when I got to the Haight I had more time then I thought and I pedaled past the grocery store and headed to Book Smith and had myself a little impromptu artist date right then and there.

I grabbed two books–Fondly by Colin Winnette, and A Visit From The Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan.

Yay books!

I already knocked through 80 pages of the Winnette book, and that was just riding the MUNI back and froth from Noe Valley this evening.

Reading is a really important part of my art, seeing how other authors string words together into a narrative is part of how I write.

If you want to be a good writer, you have to be a reader.

And I have been a little lacking in that department this past week not having made time to get to the bookstore or to the library.

Today I made that time and it really is one of my favorite things to do, browse the book aisles in a book store.

So luscious, the paper, the tactility of the books, the smell.

Love.

Which is secretly the thematic of this blog if you haven’t figured that out yet.

As I sit here in my red dress doing my blogging.

After the book store I went to Waste Land.

A vintage and used clothing store in the Haight.

I have popped in before, but never given myself the time to really look.

Oh my.

I saw a coat I will be going back for, which I was tempted to purchase as soon as I put it on and saw how fabulous I looked in it, take my word for it, amazing coat.

But I still needed to pick up groceries before heading over to Tart to Tart and I put it back on the rack and promised I would be coming back for it.

Although having found my red dress, I will be waiting until next month to buy the coat.

I saw the dress, found the dressing room, danced around the dressing room grinning like a mad woman, and bought the dress.

It’s an amazing little dress.

I feel happy wearing it.

I don’t often wear red, but when I do, watch out.

I left the store smiling like an idiot and went over to Whole Foods, splurging on berries and a Persian rose candle to burn in my little ceremony.

“I am going to write it all down, I have a Valentines Day card that I am going to write it on, then I am going to light this candle and go burn the card in the little fire pit in the back yard,” I told her.

I also agreed to sit quietly in contemplation reviewing my work for an hour.

I lit up the fire with old boughs from the Christmas tree and some left over wood from the birthday bonfire I had in December for my belly button birthday.

I sat for an hour.

I closed my eyes and meditated for about forty minutes and the rest of the time I quietly sipped a cup of tea and watched the late afternoon sky as the sun started to go down.

It was quiet and sweet and I vowed to be willing to show up and not be perfect, but to be open to intimacy and to be becoming and let other see that this thing works.

That whole attraction not promotion thing.

I came in the house and put on Bill Withers and sang at the top of my lungs to Lovely Day.

That is what I want to be, somebody’s lovely day.

Then to push the whole thing over the top.

Symbolically, of course.

I bought myself some long-stemmed red roses from a flower shop up in Noe Valley (since red roses are not my favorite flowers but I think they were what was called for).

It was like I had my own private Valentines Day with no one the wiser.

“You look so pretty,” she said to me tonight as I was heading back to the MUNI, back to the beach, back to sit and be carried gently without having to worry about getting hit by a car.

“Every time I see you, you look prettier and prettier, and congratulations on nine years!”

I smiled.

It’s true.

It just gets better and better.

Now excuse me, I need to let my hair down and dance around one more minute in my red dress.

She got me when she got her dress on.

I did get me.

I did.

All The Old Familiar Places

The streets of San Francisco were all a bustle today.

No fog.

No chill.

Just sunshine and ice cream cones.

And lines at the ice cream shops.

Bi-Rite, it still amazes me that anyone will wait that long for an ice cream cone.

The last time I was there, years ago, was on my birthday.

As my birthday is in December, there was no line.

I rode the 33 bus to the Mission today after a very slow start to my day.

I am staying at the family’s home for the weekend.  The thought of getting myself to East Oakland brought tears to my eyes this afternoon when I was trying to figure out what and where I was going to go and when I was going to do it.

I decided to take the family up on their invitation to let me stay as long as I need.

I need until tomorrow night.

I spoke with my friend on the phone earlier and the in-law is looking great, but it is not quite done.  A few more touches here and there, another coat of primer on the cabinets in the kitchen and another of paint.

Unless I want to sleep in some fumes, she recommended that I wait to move in until Monday.  I can do that.  I don’t want to huff paint fumes my first night in the new place.

She’s going to loan me some furniture until I get myself set up, so I won’t be moving into a barren room.  And she is, schedule depending, probably going to help me move my stuff from East Oakland out to the in-law on Monday as well.

This will be great as I can also catch up with her.

I missed my friends.

That was very evident to me as I made some phone calls and caught up with some fellows and made plans to meet up with some ladies in Noe Valley today.

Thus the being on the 33 bus and the sight line on Bi-Rite ice creamery.

I decided after a bit of out and about–one trip to the phone place to fix the phone–$50 later, but so much better than buying a new one completely–and one trip to Whole Foods to get a few groceries for the next couple of days, that I did not have it in me to navigate the city on my bicycle.  I wanted to take it slow.

I had breakfast at Crepes on Cole while the phone was getting repaired and wrote my morning pages in the middle of their bustling brunch crowd.

It was not as surreal as I thought to be returning, but my brain does not yet seem to be firing on all pistons.

And I found myself getting mad at a hippie caravan of dust bowl campers.

“Motherfuckers, you’ve been back over a week, clean that shit up, you asshats,” I thought to myself as I walked into the parking lot of Whole Foods at the end of Haight Street.

I mean, I got in two loads of laundry last night and another two this morning–one more of mine mixed with some of the baby’s things–I wanted to make sure that he got his little Pedro Bunny clean and his Kitty Cat for nap times.

Plus, I, oh there I am getting all indignant and I know better than you how to burn.

I don’t, but the hippies did rub my fur the wrong way or maybe it was the tourists who were taking photos of the dusty hippie camper.

“What’s the difference between a burner and a hippie?”

“A ticket.”

There, all out of my system.

Part of it is just being in the Haight neighborhood, the little Hippie Hill in Golden Gate park, the number of dirty trustafarians hustling “dank nugs” on the street, and “sweet smoke” and the grime of it all.

Trust me, I am not into grime, dirt, or dust right now.

I was more than happy to wash the playa out of my clothes, and hair.

Speaking of hair, say bye-bye to it.

I am going short again.

And I am going crazy color again.

I was asked to be the hair model for my friend’s salon who is being featured in a 7×7 shoot on upcoming fall hair trends.

What?!

I got the message and of course my response was that I would happily be their model.

Are you kidding me?

I know the cut is going to be edgy and modern and forward and their will be bright colors and probably weird crazy makeup.

Come on, I just got back from Burning Man, bring on the funky crazy cool cut.

I am down.

Plus I get to be in a photo shoot.

Hello.

My ego got all puffed up and excited.

Yes please.

Now I can say that I have been published in Paris–The Bastille, I have the song writing credits as well as lyrics for an album–Belle Ame Electronique, I am in a movie–Spark, A Burning Man story, and I get to be featured as a hair model in 7×7 magazine.

Awesome.

I am sort of famous you know, mostly in my own mind, but maybe just a tiny bit out there too.

I am excited.

Although, I have to say, the long hair has been lovely and it feels pretty right now and I talked with the Mister today, he who left me a message, and we are going to see each other next week, and I like being pretty and feminine, I do.

But, come September 18th, the hair will be radical.

That’s ok though, if I recall, he’s seen me with some far out there hair.

I mean when we were dating before I moved to Paris, it was blue.

I think he can handle it.

It was good to talk to him and I stated pretty much up front that I wanted to see more of him.  This getting together every other month or so is nuts.

As it turns out he just moved to the Richmond and I being on my way to the Sunset, will be putting us in much closer approximation.  I foresee more of him in my future.

Foreseeing some beach walking action I am.

Oh gush.

Hand holding on the beach?

Really?

Sure, I might have a mohawk for it though.

Inside, however, will still beat the drum of an old school romantic.

You can tattoo the girl, you can dye her hair magenta, but you can’t scrub that heart off her sleeve.

You can even cover it up with a fine layer of dust.

But wipe gently and you will see it, just there.

Just so.

Just so ready to love.

And be loved.

I left my heart in San Francisco.

And I am here to pick it back up.