Wildly Annoyed

They fucking misspelled my motherfucking name.

Ugh.

I mean.

I was nice, really, really, really nice about asking them to change it to the correct spelling when I noticed it was misspelled on the sheet before the performance.

I just posted the YouTube video of the lecture that I gave back in December for People Who Usually Don’t Lecture.

I didn’t even realize my name was misspelled.

I probably would have not posted.

I’m tempted to pull the post now.

I get really ruffled when my last name is misspelled, especially when I make the effort to tell people the correct spelling.

I’ll get over it, I will, it doesn’t fucking matter in the grand scheme of things.

Just something to distract me from life at the moment.

A little distraction is not a bad thing.

Here.

In fact, just to show I don’t really give a fuck, here’s the link.

I also hate the fact that they filmed the damn thing from underneath the stage, hello there’s a nice double chin.

Ugh.

Anyway.

Vanity.

It will get me every time.

I haven’t watched more than a few seconds of it, I actually don’t want to watch it, I don’t need to be critical of myself.

Because you can be damn sure I went there.

Why did I wear that dress?

Holy shit I look fat.

What’s going on with my hair?

I should have worn this, that or the other.

NOBODY cares.

So in lieu of torturing myself I’ll just leave it here and should you like to look, feel free.

In the end, I’m grateful that I got to have the experience and I really had such lovely and amazingly positive feedback from the people in the audience that came I don’t really care how the video looks.

In fact.

I would have been fine not seeing it at all, but I did have a lot of requests via social media to post the video up when it was ready, so I honored that request and put it up.

Anyway.

Like I said.

A small distraction from my current state of affairs.

I had a long day, another early day into work, another day with one of my charges home sick, another day of being sad.

But not as sad.

It’s shifted a little.

It comes and goes.

It screams in and out and then meanders off into the other room for a minute and then comes back and surprises me.

I have changed up my listening habits regarding my music for the moment still and I have made myself listen to upbeat dance music in the car.

Driving and crying while listening to certain music is just a fucking danger to myself and society.

I’ve not cried as much today, although cry I did.

I had a phone call with my person this morning and laid out all the ugly emotions the hurting and the sadness and the not wanting to do this any more and how to keep marshaling on and doing the next thing in front of me.

I talked with a girlfriend in the afternoon and sobbed for a while, but I gave myself a very short leash, I had to do school pick up for my oldest charge, he’d requested a date with me to Maxfield’s and so I had to buck up for him and it was good, he’s such a sweet, tender boy, he’s got a birthday coming up and he’s made some dinner requests for his birthday dinner which is adorable.

I love that he loves my cooking.

He’ll be eight in a few weeks.

He’s having a weekend birthday party with his friends but asked his parents that I get to be a part of his special day too so there’s a small family dinner that I will be making for them and it tickles me that he really wanted me there for his birthday dinner.

I love the family I work for, they keep me busy, but that’s helpful too.

I’m very grateful for the joy of working for them.

Although, truth be told, I haven’t been my best at work this week, sometimes it just feels like I’m marking time until the end of day, until I can get back in my car and not have to pretend to feel sunny and upbeat.

I got teary at work, but didn’t actually cry in the house, which was the first time that happened this week.

I also made damn sure that I was in control of the music today that was playing.

The music yesterday just killed me.

Too many sad love songs.

Just too fucking many.

Of course.

Everything reminds me of what I am going through, the sky, the clouds, the avocado tree in the back yard.

Fucking wrote poetry about that avocado tree.

I’ve been super vague about all this heart ache and heart-break and loss and sadness and I apologize.

To a point.

Somethings are just so precious to me that I have not wanted to share them with you, I know, I know, you think I am a tell all, and I have told some super juicy things here in this blog space, but I just haven’t shared about this.

It’s too private.

Too tender

Too much.

Aw.

Fuck.

God damn it.

Hello tears.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I thought I had this.

I mean.

I thought, start the blog with something that piques your ire, misspelling my last name will do that, and you’ll be fine.

You won’t talk about wanting to cut your hair off or how you feel ripped apart inside.

“Don’t cut your hair off!” He said to me tonight, “I’m a hairdresser, you have such beautiful hair, don’t do it!”

He wasn’t the only person to approach me tonight and say that.

I won’t, it’s just a manner of expressing how much grief I am in.

How much loss I am feeling.

A hair geographic would just distract me from feeling the pain.

So no.

I won’t be cutting the hair off.

Although.

Yes.

I will be getting a tattoo.

So that will help mitigate the pain, just like the pain in my tooth, a distraction from the emotional pain.

My tummy hurts so bad, my body aches, but hey, at least I’m not dehydrated anymore.

I’ve really made sure to drink a lot of water the last few days.

Anyway.

I’m not dead yet.

And what doesn’t kill me will make me stronger.

Right?

Jesus fuck.

I thought I was strong before.

I’m going to be indestructable at this rate.

Sigh.

Everything Is Coming Up Pink

I mean everything.

Fuck me.

Ugh.

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

You know.

Tinder versus OkStupid.

And it was a great time.

It’s nice to let myself be pampered.

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

Seriously.

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

Give me a scalp massage?

Dude.

Yeah.

So.

Getting the hair done is always an extraordinary treat.

And not one I do all that often.

Although when I do.

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

Today’s was pink.

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

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

Because.

Please.

That is how I roll.

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

Because.

Again, I ain’t nothing but subtle.

Anyway.

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

Yes.

I said first.

I had two dates tonight.

Yeah, I’m a hussy, get over it.

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

They were both good.

But in very different ways.

Anyway.

I get a head of myself.

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

So.

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

But put me in a salon.

All bets off.

Blow it out.

Side bar.

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

So.

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

And what the fuck?

Oh.

No.

Oh.

Shit.

Oh.

Pink.

EVERYWHERE.

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

Ugh.

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

Nope.

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

And off I went to the first of my dates.

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

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

Yay for being tall.

I mean, hello, 6’5″.

I could have worn heels.

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

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

But, I was like, ok, whatever.

And moving on.

But.

Not exactly moving on.

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

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

We discussed some things.

Talked over some things.

And oh.

There.

Ha.

I wasn’t sure.

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

And that’s ok.

Some times quickly, sometimes slowly.

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

Well.

I should clarify.

I had a friends with benefits to meet.

Which was fantastic and fun and none of your business.

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

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

First.

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

Like bad.

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

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

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

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

Second.

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

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

More human.

Less put together.

And perhaps.

More approachable.

I sure hope so.

I like this new part of me emerging.

Oh.

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

But for right now.

Despite the ruination of my satchel.

I’m really sitting pretty.

And.

Very.

Very.

Very.

Pink.

 

Three Day Weekend!

Hello there sexy.

I had no idea.

I mean.

I sort of forgot what with all the excitement of getting my ticket to New Orleans and my special spot via Air BnB, I still feel like pinching myself a good one when I look at the pictures of it, that I have this Friday off!

In fact.

I will probably get out of work early on Thursday too.

I doubt very much that I will have a full day at work.

The family is flying out at 4:10 p.m. from SFO.

Granted.

I will have work to do.

I always do when they travel.

I’ll straighten out the house and clean out the fridge and make sure that everything is closed down and organized and set up for their return.

I will also go in early on Monday to open the house up for the housecleaner, but I will get out by 2p.m., so even though I’m working that day, the family doesn’t get back until Tuesday, I will have an easier work week then normal.

Of course.

I may still get called in for jury duty.

So far so good.

I don’t have to go in tomorrow and I did not get called in for today.

I’ll be checking again tomorrow after 4:30 p.m. for Wednesday.

Fingers crossed I don’t have to go in on Wednesday.

Yeah.

I know.

Civic duty and all that.

But.

Yes, I am hoping that my number doesn’t get called.

And if that happens.

I have a totally wide open Friday.

I will do the deal with my lady at 6:30p.m. and head over to the place to do that thing I do on Friday nights, but open during the day.

Maybe I get my butt over to the MOMA and see the new space.

A Friday afternoon when everybody is working would certainly be a good way to see the space versus trying to battle it out with the weekend crowds.

I should see if anyone is around to do a museum afternoon with me.

Especially since I plan on just getting the membership.

Hoping that I’ll get a student discount, but even if I don’t, the membership is worth it.

The cost is $100, but it’s $25 for a solo ticket into the museum and with the membership I get to take a friend with me.

Right there that’s $50.

Do that twice and I’ve paid for the membership and I can foreseeably see going to the MOMA more than twice in a year.

I’ve always had a membership, except through the last three years or so when I was in Paris and they had closed down the museum for the renovation.

It’s been re-opened long enough now that although it’s still special, I don’t think it will be packed.

Anyway.

That’s a thought.

I could do some yoga in the morning and then spend the afternoon there.

Or.

I don’t know.

But I do know.

I am grateful for the time off.

Sleeping in always sounds yummy and then I never do it.

Doubtful I will do that.

I could go on a date.

I had one on Saturday, not bad, someone I know from doing the deal and it was nice to catch up, but I think it felt like just hanging out with a friend.  It was good to catch up though and have coffee at Java Beach and sit out in the sun.

I haven’t had much success over the last few weeks with the Tinder.

I don’t really care either.

Life is good and rich and full and I don’t feel like I’m lacking anything.

I have been doing fun stuff for me and that feels really good.

Like.

I have a hair appointment for Saturday.

Yeah.

Like that.

It’s time for pink again.

“Why?!” My friend exclaimed at Philz yesterday as we were sitting up in the Castro waiting for loved ones to arrive and go to dinner with.

“You have such great hair right now,” she said.

“I have to, it’s either dye it pink or cut it the fuck off,” I said.

“NO!” She exclaimed.

It’s hard to explain but sometimes I just need a change and my hair is the easiest thing to change, like it gives me some modicum of control over the uncontrollable nature of living and being a live.

I know that I have no control.

And I’m pretty at chill with that.

But.

Once in a while.

Yeah.

I have to do a hair geographic.

It’s better than doing the other geographic, which is indicative of moving for me.

Not necessarily out of San Francisco, although I have, hello Paris, but to another neighborhood.

You know.

Rattle my box a little, get myself up-rooted.

Create some unnecessary drama.

“But you love living by the ocean,” he said to me, with a raised eyebrow.

Yup.

And I have lived here coming up on three years.

The longest I have lived anywhere in San Francisco.

Seriously.

I have moved a lot.

I landed a sublet in the Mission at 20th and York for a few months when I first moved here.

2002.

I was there about eight months?

If that.

Then the house sold and I found a room in a place at 22nd and Alabama.

I lived there for about a year and a half.

Then 25th and Potrero.

There about a year?

Not sure.

The end of that time was in 2005 and it was a bad, bad, bad, bad, REALLY bad, time.

Like.

BAD.

I remember being on the back steps smoking a cigarette, really chain smoking a box of Marlboro Light 100s and talking to my best friend back in Wisconsin about how it was so beautiful where I was living and I was so miserable.

So unhappy.

It hurts to even contemplate it.

Horrendous.

And then three months into 2005.

I moved.

Again.

30th and Kingston.

Then 26th and Kansas.

Then Palou and 3rd.

After that I was at 23rd and Capp Street.

Then Taylor and Washington.

Then I couched surfed for three months in 2008.

After that a tiny in-law in the Mission at 22nd and Folsom.

So tiny.

After that.

Paris by way of a housesitting gig in East Oakland.

Paris six months.

Back to East Oakland.

Fucking talk about culture shock.

Then.

Finally.

Here.

46th and Judah.

The Outer Sunset.

The ends of the earth.

Just about as far West as one can go, give or take three blocks.

Three years ago September.

Of course I want to move.

A moving target is harder to hit.

No wonder I’ve been single so long.

Actually.

I have never dated more then since I moved here.

Ha!

Fuck moving!

What was I thinking?

Yes.

Fuck moving.

I’ll dye my hair instead.

Bwahahaha.

Anyway.

I have some time this weekend.

Want to hang out?

Hit me the fuck up.

Seriously.

Coffee?

Museum?

Making out.

Heh.

Just kidding.

Sort of.

 

It’s Late

And I’m wide awake.

I drank coffee too late this evening.

I knew I was courting a disaster, but I could not help myself.

My ride pulled into a strip mall somewhere outside of San Francisco before the Golden Gate Bridge crossing to use the loo and I hit the Starfucks.

Yes, please, a tall cup of crazy.

But.

I needed it and I am ultimately not too bad off.

Yes, I am up late and I feel a touch wired, but I also would have been up late any how getting myself rearranged as I just got back to the city.

I’ve been gone since the 9th or 8th, I forget which, and it’s been a long time from my cozy home and my steady routine.

God damn.

It’s nice to be in my house.

And it’s also so nice to be playing music.

I did not have much music time while I was at the grad school retreat and I have not had much, none really, at work while being in Glen Ellen.

Wow.

I just looked up from the screen and wow, I’ll say it again, I love l my little house.

It is so sweet and clean and just me, just mine, just a little bungalow down by the sea.

The smell of the ocean as I crossed the bridge, ah, home, I rolled down the window and hung my head out and sucked in the cool fog and salt air and was grateful to once again be rolling over a bridge heading into San Francisco.

I am not here for very long, tonight, tomorrow, half the day on Sunday.

I am going to be cramming a lot of stuff in the next few days, although, yes, that’s right, no homework.

As I have gotten the two biggest papers out-of-the-way I can breathe a tiny bit and give myself the next day and a half to prep for the playa.

I am prepping now as I type.

Oh yeah.

It’s that time.

Going pink.

I whipped out the last jar of Manic Panic in the medicine cabinet that I have been saving for just such a moment and went to town.

I actually think I may have to get another jar, my hair is more blonde than the last time I did it, lots of swimming in the pool, lots of sunlight on my hair over the last few weeks, and although I have successfully dyed it pink before with a jar or less of Manic Panic, it sucked it up so much that I don’t know if the color is going to be true.

One of my errands to do tomorrow is to hit the nail salon and get the digits done and the face waxed.

I so need it.

Partially because I miss the pampering of it and partially since it’s been more than a few weeks since i have been anywhere close to a nail salon.

My nail and waxing spot also happens to carry Manic Panic, so if it doesn’t take tonight, I’ll pick up another jar and go at it again.

This will be the last time though for a while.

It’s a luxury and I am going to be keeping things to a tight budget for my spending while I am in school.

I don’t really have a lot of other Burning Man errands to run, although I have prep to do.

My Burning Man family will be coming over tomorrow in the morning to get my playa bike and anything that I have packed and ready to go.

Which right now is basically nothing.

But.

As I explained to my friend I don’t have to pack a bunch of costumes and I don’t have bins of stuff.

I just open my closet and put the clothes that I have in my closet in a container or three and that’s my costumes.

I don’t have a “Burniform” I just go as I am.

Granted, with pink hair.

Or purple.

Or blue.

Or rainbow-colored.

But I just go as me.

Sans a few layers of clothing so that you can see I am wearing frilly underwear, but that’s about it.

Although if I had the time I would be inclined to get something extra and fun for the playa.

I have been invited out to cotillion and also to a beauty pageant.

I have no gown.

I have no tiara.

Neither does my friend who told me of the pageant, so I’m not overly concerned.

But.

I am excited.

I haven’t made plans like this to do stuff at Burning Man in years and years and years.

I am always working and while I will be working this burn as well, it won’t be the same as it has been in the past and I’ll have a lot more free time to actually go to Burning Man.

I’m not sure what I’m going to do with myself, but I am excited to have the opportunity to go and play in a way I haven’t in the last 8 years.

Yup.

This will make burn number 9.

Kind of amazing.

I am one of “those” people.

And.

I fucking love it.

I love my pink hair and flowers and glitter and dressing up and makeup and smiling and being me times 150.

I love participating and seeing people who I only see at Burning Man–even when they and I live in the Bay Area–and having a big old dusty love reunion.

I love dancing and riding my bicycle and singing off-key and telling stories.

And I would love to be kissed.

REALLY KISSED.

I miss kissing.

I miss making out.

I feel like this is my last chance before graduate school swallows me whole.

I want romance and love and kissing and flirting and fanning about and silliness and sweetness and magic.

You know.

The usual.

Me and my pink hair and my great big open heart.

I can’t wait.

I am so excited and I am so grateful that I get to make this mad dash back to San Francisco, then back to Glen Ellen for work for three days, then back to San Francisco and then off to Black Rock City.

I am grateful I had a cup of coffee and that I  got to dye my hair.

I am grateful I get to do my nails tomorrow and buy a lip gloss or 18.

I am happy to get to see my Burning Man family and hug them and make sure the zip ties on my bike basket will hold.

I am grateful, over the moon, and utterly graced that I get to go.

Big deep breath.

All the things are falling into place.

The stars are aligning.

And every thing is coming up.

Well.

Ha.

Pink.

Clown Explosion

I jest.

Sort of.

This is what happens, I tell myself, this is always what happens and when you get used to it, it’s fabulous, but for the first day or so, you are uncomfortable.

I feel like a small car full of pink clowns exploded on my head.

I could only keep the hair straight for so long.

Once I hopped in the shower, I knew it was over and I prepared myself.

It’s actually really awesome.

In an over the top, oh my God, that’s pink, kind of way.

I’ve been messing with it for too long and finally just pulled it up in a big clip and now I have the bun of madness on my head.

I sort of want to stick a small rabbit in the mass of curls, just for fun.

I tried barrettes.

Too babyish.

I tired leaving it down.

Too much.

I am sure pig tails will do the trick, they usually do.

And give it a week and I won’t bat an eye and I’ll be yearning after the Manic Panic in the bathroom, sweet Cleo Rose, color me pink again please.

Because that’s how my brain works.

Always on to the next thing.

The next hair geographic.

I did feel stylish and sophisticated and pretty and polished for 24 hours.

That’s not bad.

And should I ever get it together to learn how to straighten out my hair on my own, I’m sure I could achieve that status again.

I even looked at curlers today when I popped into the SafeWay to grab some groceries.

I’ve spent enough on my hair, however, and I don’t feel like tossing anymore that way.  I have other things to spend my money on.

Graduate school tuition.

Student loans.

Groceries.

I don’t have graduate school tuition to worry about yet, but it is there, looming on the horizon.

I do know, however, that I have been given the green light on this so far and I don’t believe at all that I’m going to be dropped.

The money will be there, the tuition will get paid and if I’m paying off student loans for a while, so be it.  And stuff happens, miracles and magic and pink hair or no pink hair, curl explosion of glory, I’m always taken care of.

And in the mean time, I get to focus on the small tasks ahead of me.

Work.

Writing.

Blogging.

Living.

Reading.

I butted through about 190 pages of a book one of my cousins sent me a few months back.  He’s got quite the collection and he shipped me off a few of his favorites.

Although not what I would have chosen, story of my life, the books have been good and easy reading and I found myself lost in a book for a good long while today while I got used to the pink mania of my hair.

It is riotous.

It did inspire me to watch “Oh The Places You’ll Go at Burning Man” on YouTube, about well, duh, Dr. Seuss’s last book interpreted through the eyes of Burning Man attendees.

The first time I saw it, a co-worker of mine at Mission Bicycle Company showed it to me.

“Have you seen this?!” He asked me all excitedly.

I had not and it brought tears to my eyes.

“Damn it man,” I said, as I wiped my eyes, “we’re not even open yet and I’m smudging my eye makeup.”

“Gives you that smoky, sexy, just rolled out of bed look,” my friend assured me.

I don’t know about that.

I always just think it gives me the I’ve been crying look.

But.

I’m ok with that.

A few tears will not make or break me and it’s good to let them out, tears of happy or sad or joy or love.

The swell of salt in my body wishing to return back to the sea from whence they crawled.

The sea was beautiful today, but I did not take a walk down by the ocean.

It was too breezy.

And when it’s that breezy up around my neighborhood it means, it’s really blowing down by the beach and nothing says fun like getting sand stuck in your pink glitter lip gloss.

I suspect I’ll be wearing a lot of pink and black the next few weeks until the color dies down a little.

Today I shook it up and wore coral.

Oooh.

I also did ride my bike along the Great Highway and it was indeed windy.

In fact, the highway got closed down at the end of Lincoln and the gates were swung shut on the highway.

No through traffic was happening.

Which made a nice quick commute for me on my bicycle.

“I see you all the time on your bike, don’t stop riding ever,” the guy at the garage sale said to me today as I pursued the goods.

It was a good yard sale.

The group that rented was moving, back to Florida of all places.

I didn’t even ask why.

It’s hard making it in the big city and I am lucky that I am where I am at.

I hear so much about people unable to afford rent, getting squeezed out, or bought out, or any other egregious acts of rental roulette in the city.

Either that or no one is moving, even if they don’t like where they live, there’s not really anything to move to.

I suspect that things will change, they always do, but for this afternoon I was happy to walk around my neighborhood while dinner was simmering on the stove (Italian white beans with tomatoes and basil, sautéed ground turkey, onions, garlic, black olives and celery over brown rice) and relish my life here in San Francisco.

I make about half of what one is supposed to make to live here.

And I do alright.

But I work my ass off and when the fun needs a release valve.

Well.

I tend to go the route of hair geographic.

I’m ok with that too.

Even if it does look Insane Clown Posse has sprung full-blown from my brain.

Like Athena springing from he brain of Zeus.

Except.

Well.

REALLY.

Pink.

Pretty in Pink

It’s Not Burning Man Yet

It’s totally Burning Man.

The scheduling and the wrangling of the scheduling has begun.

I got the e-mail a few days ago from one of my families about pre-school and the close of a beautiful little relationship, but not end, of my nannying for my Thursday girl.

She got into preschool and will start in the fall.

Ie.

Right after Labor Day weekend.

Which is when Burning Man happens.

Now the family is well aware that I nanny at Burning Man, they have gone–they are Burners.  And they got my number and information from a family at the Burning Man Headquarters who they are friends with, they knew of me well before I knew of them.

The grandma is going to fly out to cover the time that I will be at Burning Man and cover for the mom who will be getting herself ready to teach for the fall semester at USF where she is a professor.

I actually don’t have specific dates when I will be at the event.

But, yes, I will be there, in case you were wondering.

And should things fall out the way they did last year, I will be there pre-event by a week, although I don’t believe I will be there post-event a week.  If I recall correctly the mom was thinking two weeks or so this year.  The mom and my charge, though are out-of-town for some family stuff and I don’t know what exact dates, I gave my Thursday family the best estimate I could and said, let’s tentatively have my last Thursday with their daughter be August 14th.

Then in other news, I found out that the littlest guy is losing his Thursday nanny, who pre-dated me before I was here and still living in Paris.  The family they were doing a share with, personal friends, are moving and the nanny gave notice.

So, starting in June, the 19th I believe, I will have a new”ish” share care with my Thursday girl and my little monkey in the Castro.

I like that.

The extra money.

I really do need to cultivate a share care situation that is five days a week, but I will gladly accept adding another day to the mix.

Every little bit helps.

I am set for the rest of the summer and sitting still on it.

I am not certain what will happen after Burning Man, but I am certain, at this point, that all things shall stay the way there are for the summer.

And no matter what, I know I am taken care of.

Really well.

Speaking of.

My friend who sold me the scooter will be coming out tomorrow to help me get her started or see what the issue is.  I tried again tonight, but was unsuccessful.  What I relayed to him is that I don’t actually think it’s the scooter, I think that I am the issue.

I feel like I am missing some small, but significant, thing when I am trying to get it started.  Granted, that doesn’t explain why it started fine for me all weekend and not at all yesterday or today.

Maybe God just wanted me to get a work out.

I certainly have been.

The extra riding and walking up and down the hills in the Castro.

I am getting my exercise for sure.

I will be sleeping like a baby tonight.

Even with a head full of Burning Man, which is what happened when I started to slip off towards the sleep last night.  The making of travel plans, the scheduling, the working it all out (really, the outfits for the event was what kept popping into my brain).

Which at this point, is really just showing up and asking for what I need.

This year I will be asking for a raise, since I have never raised my rates in six years of nannying on playa and for a little more time off.

I didn’t get enough last year.

I am also going to finally put together a book proposal about my time at Burning Man as a nanny.

Burning Man is a bit of a niche publishing thing and there are loads of books out there about the experience, the life changing things that happen, lots of photography books dedicated to the event, but none, at least none that I am aware of, about being a nanny at the event.

Going this year will be my eighth burn and my sixth time as a nanny.

I think that gives me some experience to draw from.

I have wanted to do this book for years and now suddenly, seems the time.

I like the idea of having an art goal in mind for myself too.

I don’t even know if I am concerned about it being picked up by a big press.

I think I will check with Chronicle, since they are local, and I may also see if McSweeney’s might pick it up or Soft Skull in Berkeley.  Maybe Manic Depress too, although, not sure that last one is the right fit, still worth investigating.

I have never put together a book proposal having never really written something like this, but I have enough material from my blogs and notebooks that I wrote in at the events, to photographs of my own and some awesome photos too from amazing professional photographers–John Curley, Keith Carlson–that I think it would be a really neat book.

It’s something I want to do creatively and I think this is the right time for it.

I shall explore.

Because Burning Man, it’s like tomorrow.

Not really, but the days can slip by faster than you think and the next thing you know you are out there having a psychic change and communing with the universe or just making out with a cute guy and then, it’s gone again another year.

Jesus.

I best get on some plans to get to the salon too.

I must have some Burning Man hair happening.

Deep breath.

One thing at a time.

Live today, not in tomorrow.

Besides, everyday is Burning Man for me.

If I let it be.

Another day to be my authentic self.

Although I do think it might be time for those pink highlights I have been fantasizing about.

Good thing my friend who’s helping me with the Vespa is my hair dresser as well.

I got two things to do tomorrow.

Get that scooter started and plan my next hair geographic.

Burning Man.

It’ll be here sooner than you know.