Posts Tagged ‘hand massage’

At 51:55 You’re Giving Me A Hand

October 22, 2015


Jesus, people, what do you think I was doing?


I got the cutest message today from a friend I made at Burning Man, on top of all things–the Mayan Warrior.

An enormous art car with the most furious sound system ever.

It really is mind-blowing how much this art car rocks.

The stacks of speakers defy description.

I remember the first year it came out, must have been 2013, and it turned on its sound system while still in the city proper and the little boy I was nannying woke up from sleep screaming.

The power of the bass rattled the entire trailer, I am uncertain if it was the bass shaking me that woke me up or the screaming child or a combo of the two.

The Mayan was wrangled quickly, it was fortunately also pre-event, so the city wasn’t too built up yet, and they were told firmly to lower the volume while they were in the city proper.

And they did.


When the car goes deep playa, it goes deep playa loud.

It also faces its stacks of speakers out toward the deeper desert, out past the trash fence where there is nothing but emptiness and black skies full of the swaths of starlight that you can only get that far out.

Swirls of brilliance on black velvet.

Not that I was looking at the stars that night.

I was deep into the music.

I wish I knew who was the dj prior that had been spinning, I loved Jennifer Cardini’s set, it was amazing, but the set before had absolutely blown my mind.


The circumstances too, now that I think about it, I recall Wednesday night the reason why I was on the Mayan Warrior in the first place–I had just come from a wedding at Dream Land.

A wedding that I randomly got caught in the ceremony and helped to literally sing the service to the bride and groom.

And yes.

I caught the bridal bouquet.

I wonder if that means I will get married at Burning Man next year.

It would be year number 10.

That would be something fun to do.

So many fun things to do.

So much life to live.

So much soup to make.

My God.

The soup I made today.

I have to say it.

I am a pro.

I made a soup I have never made before, pureed cream of broccoli soup, and I slayed it.

I am so grateful I can cook.

And I am grateful that I get to for the family, it’s fun, I feel a sense of accomplishment with it and there is nothing like having a five-year old ask for more broccoli, now please!

Fuck yeah kid, let me feed you some more broccoli.

I am grateful for the gifts and abilities I have.

“She cooks for you too?” The mom from yesterday’s play date said in a hushed voice while I was putting together another plate for her daughter.


I do.

Yesterday I made my home-made chili, ground chicken with black beans and red and yellow peppers, onions, garlic, mild chilis, I am cooking for kids, mind you.

I had a moment today when I was plating the boys dinner and I thought, I should take photos and do a nanny cook book.

All the ideas.

All the stuff.

All the things.




I could say I am a Renaissance woman.

If anyone knew what that meant any longer.

“I didn’t know that!” The mom exclaimed yesterday when I was being questioned by the playdates mom about my back ground and how I came to be a nanny.

I had been working as a legal secretary in a small criminal law firm.

All the jobs that I have done in this city.

Waitress–Hawthorne Lane


I also almost waited tables at Zuni, but the owner, the day I had my first day of training, put a hiring freeze on the restaurant and I was “let go” before I had really started.

Mortgage Broker associate.



I did that too.


I was not good at it.

But I sold myself so well in the interview that I got the job and yup, hit my rock bottom there.

“Where did you come from!?” My boss asked with surprise, literally jumping back startled as I slipped out of the conference room.

I had been taking a nap.

Underneath the conference table.

On the carpet.

In the dark.

All day.

I quick before I got fired.

But that was a few weeks later.

I left the office that day with carpet imprint on my face and I probably left a small pool of drool underneath the table.


The good old days.

I have also house sat, dog sat, baby sat.

I did event managing for the first, and the only Mission Bicycle Festival, there would have been more, but the residents on Lapidge really balked at having a street festival there.  I also helped manage an investor party for a restaurant that was trying to open in the Mission.

I did costumer service in the Bayview produce markets.

I was a customer service representative for a specialty veterinary hospital here in the city, in the Mission–SFVS–for two years.

I almost worked at the SPCA for a while, but after a few months of volunteering doing kitten socializing I realized that the majority of the staff needed to do some human socializing and didn’t take a job there.

I worked as an assistant to a sex educator film director.

I got him coffee and ran errands while he directed the actress who taught people how to properly do BDSM bondage.

That was an interesting shoot.

I never knew there was so much involved with making the sheets look good for the shot.

I have been an English tutor in Paris.

I have been a nanny in Paris.

I have been a nanny here in San Francisco.

And of course.

“She nannied at Burning Man too!” My boss told her friend over dinner conversation while I watched bemused by the three-year old shoveling roasted cauliflower in his mouth.


That’s right.

The three-year old likes roasted cauliflower.

I am that good.

I also think it’s like cauliflower chips, really, roasted cauliflower is stupid good, all crispy and crunchy and garlic salty.

“You nanny at Burning Man,” the second mom said incredulous.


I have.

And I danced a little to.


Just check me out here.

21:53 and yes again at 51:55.

I’m the girl with the giant smile.


The polka dot dress.



Of course.

The goggles on my head, it was a dusty year out there.



The flower in my hair.


It’s Burning Man people.

You can take the girl out of Burning Man.


You can’t take the Burning Man out of her hair.

Or the love.

I definitely got my love on that night.

Grateful that I don’t mind looking silly on video.

Because I do.

And grateful that I have such a big full life.

I am a very lucky girl.

I am.

Ants In My Pants

August 22, 2012

One more day.

One more day.

One more day.

I have one more day of work before I am officially out the door and headed to the playa.  Oh, man, was today long.  And slow.  I was actually grateful when the mail man dropped off a stack of bills from a number of vendors.

It gave me something to do.

I needed the distraction.  I needed to keep myself focused and put in the work.  My brain really wants to be out in the dust.

Oh, the dust.

I got a message from Megan today asking me to bring a dust pan and a little broom.  “It’s really dusty,” she said.

You may laugh, but I totally know what she means.  Some times a little dust pan and a small broom can be a helpful little tool.  I know I have liked having one around just to sweep off surfaces that accumulate the ever-present playa.

I got my hands ready, flexed so to speak.  I sat by my friend Matt and gave him a little hand massage.

I gift massage at the event.

I have all my supplies ready to go–one jar of virgin coconut oil, one tube of coconut and papaya hand cream, and my two very strong hands.  There is just something about connecting with another human and hand massage is so primal and to the point.

It’s not sexual.

Although it can be very sensual.

It creates a bond, a connection, a few minutes of relaxation and ease and suddenly some thing opens in me, something opens in the person whose hand is in my hand and a lovely connection is born.

It is one of my favorite things to do on playa.  It also, oddly enough, is a good stress release for me.  It centers me and calms me and gives me a purpose.

I expressed to Carolyn that I was grateful to not be working quite as much as my previous years on playa.  Yet, also quite grateful for the structure of the time I am working.  I like structure, I like balance, I like grounding.

I need it.

I need boundaries for myself.

Which, odd as this may sound, allows me to get outside myself, get crazy and be a little wild.

See blue hair.

I tried on my Hello Kitty Sleep wear last night, and why have I not worn a Hello Kitty pajama set before?

Damn they are comfy.

And dare I say, rather cute.

Sexy too, but who’s telling?

Not I.

Sex is on the brain.

Then again, when is it not?

I have no limitations to my experience this year.  Last year I was hell-bent on Calling in the One and I did not sleep with anyone or really flirt.  I had one innocuous date, which in hindsight was rather sweet, but to be honest, I never would have ridden in Critical Tits if I had not have been hanging out with the guy.

Not really my scene, Critical Tits.

I like them in a bra.

I was trying to express to some one that I don’t necessarily go out and source a bunch of sexy clothes.  I just wear a little less of what I normally wear.  And maybe  a little more make up.

Actually, that is not true, I wear about the same amount of make up.

It did not seem out of the ordinary with my candy bright hair today.  I was at Rainbow after work and the doing the deal and there was a little girl, about eight, in one of the aisles that I was hustling through, grabbing last-minute food for the next day–but not too much since I am moving out too.

“You look like Katy Perry!”  She said, with big round eyes, “are you Katy Perry?”

I said, “no, but thank you for the compliment,” and I smiled at her and went to get some more coconut lotion.

“Mama, I think that was Katy Perry,” I heard her say in a loud whisper as I rounded the corner.

Not Katy Perry, although she camped near me last year.

Not that I could have even told you it was her or if I saw her or not.  She could have been sitting next to me and I would not have known.  Other celebrities I have apparently been around and had absolutely no clue who they were.

Everybody’s the same when you are covered in dust.

God damn I am excited.

Of course, I am sure once I am wiping out dust from every nook and cranny I will have a moment of what the fuck am I doing, then it will pass.


I am almost home.

One more day of work.  One more day.

I have to admit, it feels really strange of late, going into work.   It feels so transient since I told the boss man I am leaving.  I still have not really said anything to my co-workers, except Carlos, but we have not had much of a chance to chat about it.

Yes, definitely distracted.  Too many things on the mind.

Thinking about the boy who reconnected with me last night and who I rather shamelessly flirted with.

What’s up with that?  I feel like this is a distinct pattern, right around a big move I suddenly have dates lining up or romantic interest expressing interest.

I am just shook up enough to let down the walls I suppose.

I would like to keep those walls down.  I would like to have some experiences.

Oh, who the hell am I kidding.

I just want to get laid.

That being said, I think I want snuggles too, sleep, falling into another’s arms.

Burning Man can actually be a lonely place.  A place of introspection.  A place where I will look outside myself to find something to be disappointed that there is nothing there to find, but striped down to the essential mess of me, I do find it–within.

The light with in shines brightly.

That may be what attracts the men folk.

Who knows.

I am just going to say yes to experiencing instead of saying no, instead of putting parameters on anything.  I think I have had to have both experiences out there.

I bet there’s a balance to it, I may find it.

I may not.

But I am one day closer to finding out.


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