Posts Tagged ‘hickies’

Is It A Little

September 14, 2016

Dusty in here?

Just a mite.

But not too bad.

I got all my Burning Man gear sorted, finally.

I still find it rather amusing that I was back almost a week before my stuff landed back in San Francisco and then it took another week for me to source a vehicle.

It happened last night though.

I got done with work and my friend picked me up from work and we headed over a few blocks to 19th and Valencia.

My friend gave me heaps of shit about the dust and my badge of pride.

I don’t know about that, but it’s amusing.

I always know my friends by the amount of shit I’m willing to take from them.

Some people.

I have absolutely no tolerance for, you want to give me shit, I might beat you.

Just kidding.

Sort of.

My friend gave me a lot of shit over the last day about my gear and that allowed me to gauge our burgeoning friendship pretty well.

He’s a good egg.

Nice to have more friends.

I wasn’t expecting to have this coalesce and it’s been a little bit of whirlwind here at Casa Carmen.


That looks right, but you know, not quite.

Maison Carmen.



Better that.


I ended hanging out a lot with this person the last few days.

Totally unexpected.

I had a date Sunday who cancelled in the weirdest way yet.

He, the guy who cancelled on me, texted that he’d had a date the night before and they hit it off so well that he wasn’t interested in going on a date with me.

The message I got was that he was super happy (don’t recall asking, but great) and that things had radically changed (I should have known when our date was rescheduled–he’d originally made it for Saturday) and the new set of circumstances being that he wasn’t available to date.


Hey, if you want to hang out as friends we can still meet up.



Not even going to waste my time doing that.

I don’t need to cultivate more male friends, I need to cultivate the female friends I already have.

Of course, I already mentioned my other male friend, who is a new friend.



Friend with benefits.




I, ah, get a head of myself.

The other title to this blog, fyi, was going to be “Hickies at the 7-11 in Sausalito,” but well, it didn’t quite have the same ring to it.


When Sunday’s date cancelled I decided that I would take my own damn self on a date.

I eye-balled the Mike Doughty poster my friends had gotten for me for getting the tickets to the show, the poster Mike signed for me, yes, and decided I would hie over to Cheap Pete’s and get it framed and then in the spirit of more art, go to the MOMA.

I did my Morning Pages, cleaned around the house a little and hopped on my scooter.


Small scooter update.

Total wash on the cost of getting the repairs.


It does turn out I have a deductible for collision, but it’s $500 and the cost to repair my scooter was $246, so no go.

All out-of-pocket.

Thanks hit and run, hope that karma bites you in the ass.

My insurance agent suggested though that I could probably right it off when I do my taxes this year.

I had no clue.

He told me the deal and I said thanks and got on with my day.

End of aside.

So I hit Cheap Pete’s dropped off the poster–I’m framing it in white with a black mat, it’s going to look hot.

Then I headed down town to the MOMA.

As I approached the museum, I realized that I was going to go right by the Nordie’s Rack on Market street and I had a twenty-dollar gift certificate that was going to expire if I didn’t use it.

I turned right on Mission street and hit the motorcycle parking by the old Mint.

Then a little shopping.

I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize.

I’m still not sure why I answered.

But I did.

New friend on the phone, and we’ve had some social media contact prior, so it wasn’t weird that he had my number, also we have a lot of friends in common, a lot.

He needed a favor and was calling for some help.

I explained that I wasn’t in the position to lend a hand, I was downtown shopping, and I’m not sure how it fell out my mouth, but that I had basically gotten stood up on a date so I was heading to the MOMA.

He thanked me, asked if I might change my mind and I said I might check back in later, depending on how my afternoon went.

I hung up and got to the shopping.

I was in the changing room when I got a series of texts.





The gist being this gentleman wanted to know if he could be my stand in date since I had gotten stood up.

I was flattered and thought for a minute, then a light bulb went off in my head.

He’s pursuing!


This has been a thing I have been writing about, being pursued rather than being the person that chases–I tend to chase guys who aren’t interested.


I said yes.

We made plans to meet up at my house.

He picked me up looking dapper as fuck.

He’s a handsome guy.

In a suit, thank you very much.

And we headed out over the bridge to Sausalito.

Dinner at a little Italian restaurant.


Parking his vehicle over by Fort Baker, we changed up into riding gear and went for a motorcycle ride.

To the 7-11.

It was with some chagrin that he realized that I don’t eat sugar.

He was taking me to get a Slurpee.


Now I don’t know about you, but it struck me as so adorable I almost couldn’t stand it.

Fast forward two days and being back at that same 7-11 at 11:30 p.m. at night getting snacks and water and giggling like I’m a sixteen year old.


Fuck me.

I have had a fucking blast over the last 48 hours and there’s something so 80’s movie perfect about being in a 7-11 with a paramour getting silly shit from the aisles and making out at the cash register.

I am not kidding.

I’m 43 but I was definitely channeling some teenager glee.

And today.


Back to reality.

I won’t say that I won’t be hanging out in the 7-11 again I probably will but the adult world is calling to both of us and we agreed at the beginning that whatever happened it was going to be light and fun.

It may have gone a bit deeper than that, I’m pretty sure it did, but it circumstances being what they are, he’s not really available.


I get to be super grateful that I let myself be pursued and for 48 hours I had a goofy, sweet, silly, sexy, fun, amazing time with a new person who surprised me in more ways than one.

Here’s to new experiences.

And being hella grateful that my date on Sunday cancelled.

I hear “rejection is God’s protection.”

It wasn’t meant to be, that date, but it was the impetus for the two dates that followed with this new paramour.

Thanks God.

Let me be sure to remember this experience the next time a date cancels.


Right Time

September 19, 2015

Wrong block.

Story of my life.

But it’s a funny story and there is no sad ending.

Just a lot of wry amusement on my end.

And a few hickies.


I know.

I’m 42.

Or fifteen.

Guess who wore her hair down at work.

I can’t even imagine the conversation that would have been with the five-year old.



“What are hickies?”

Cue not getting a raise, which I still have to ask for, yeah, just waiting until the very last-minute, like when I have a year on the 22nd on the nose; cue probably not coming back to work.

Nothing says professional like hickies.


I will admit, they did bring a smile to my face a few times and perhaps a giggle or two of dramatic exasperation, but really, hickies, it’s fun to say it.

Better than dildo.

Who likes saying that word?

Not that any of my collection, a small collection, please, get your mind out of the gutter (like I can even tell you that, here I am writing about sex toys, yeesh.) were brought into play last night.


There was playing.

“What did you guys do?”  My friend asked me after tossing my bike in the back of the car.

It is nice to have friends in the neighborhood!

I got a ping saying he was heading into the Mission and did I want a ride, or was my guest still there, wink, wink, nudge, nudge.

It’s like I’m 13 not 42.

“Go?” I asked.

I actually did not understand the question.

“My bed?”

As my friend was saying, “you know, on your date? Where did you go?”

I repeated, “my bed.”


“Yes, oh.” I laughed.

We didn’t go out at all.

Although my “date” asked me to meet him outside at 9p.m. sharp to look up at the silver sliver of a buttery biscuit of a moon in the sky.


When I went out, he wasn’t there.

He was on the wrong block.


But he figured it out.

And there was a lovely reunion of hugs on the sidewalk in front of my house a few minutes later.

“Listen, I just want to make something really clear,” he said looking at me with mossy green eyes after we had gotten comfortable on our “date.”

Uh oh.

I know this conversation.

I know this song and dance.

And yet here I am again having the conversation.

I like you, but.

I want to spend time with you, but.

I don’t have much time, but.

I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but.

But, but, but.

Sweet heart.

I know.

I knew the minute you told me what your circumstances were.

A pattern of being delicious to men who are not entirely available seems to be resurfacing and I acknowledge it and say, hello, I raise you five bits, because, I’m going to keep trying and I am going to keep having experiences, and one day.

Maybe one day sooner than later.

I will be with someone who wants me and is after me and goes for it despite or because of his circumstances.

“You are not responsible for my feelings,” I told my paramour.

No labels.

There are no labels.

When there’s a handsome naked man in my bed who I’m not dating or in a relationship with, in the conventional sense, since he’s not exactly available in the conventional sense, what do I call said person?

I am speaking lightly, perhaps glibly, but I am also finding my way with my words.

The experience at Burning Man was amazing, intense, awesome, and fun.

There was intimacy on the playa and there was intimacy last night.

There was much looking into the other persons eyes.

“I wasn’t going to say this, but i can’t help myself,” he paused and looked into my eyes as I was lying against him.

“You get more beautiful the more I look at you,” he stroked my hair and kissed me, “it’s like I can see what’s behind your eyes.”


Nicest compliment ever.

Now fuck me like a man.

I jest.

Sort of.

Thing is I knew, I know, I am possessed of the knowledge, that yes, the connection is special, but also that it is a complicated situation and I have the very simple part of the equation, my busy is nowhere near as busy as his busy and I’m busy.

“I’m not going to be around much the next six weeks,” he told me last night.

“I’m ok with that,” I said.

I’m not chasing, I am being the ball, you want me, court me, come after me.

I’m busy too.

Graduate school.


Doing the deal.



Tomorrow, yes, tomorrow, is my first “day off” in five weeks.

It’s been a busy ass time for me.

The school retreat, working out-of-town in Sonoma for my employers, Burning Man, working, starting school last weekend, working all this week.

I’m busy.

Do I want to be dating someone exclusively?


Do I want to be in a romantic relationship?


Do I allow myself to play when the time is right, do I let myself have a break from the tedium and stress of work and the grind of school, why the hell not?

“Girl!” A friend of mine said last Monday when I expressed the situation, how I met the guy at Burning Man, that we were going to see each other this week, that I didn’t have expectations, that I don’t have time for expectations.  “This is perfect for you, you don’t have time to pursue a real relationship right now, go have fun, blow off some steam, get it.”

It got got.

Thing is.

I don’t have to figure anything out.

I can just show up as my best self, in my best way, with my honesty written all over my face.

“I have never met anyone like you,” he said with a catch of wonder and awe in his voice, “you’re so transparent, you can’t hide your feelings, they are just all over your face.”

I was a little abashed, but not much, I know this about myself and have accepted it.

And I know this too.

I have an affect.

He has feelings.

He just has nowhere to go with them and I don’t have to wait for him to find a place either.

I am a free agent.

Not that I have anything big planned for this Friday night.

A cup of tea.

A video.

Catching up on my sleep.

There wasn’t much sleep last night.


But there were hickies.



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