Posts Tagged ‘hoodie’

Letting Myself Get Excited

May 3, 2017

I think today it finally sunk in that I am really going to go to Paris soon.

Like I fly out next Thursday.

It has a lot to do with the being done with my papers.

It also has to do with clearing up some housing issues and having all my places situated.

One of the spots I’ll be staying in is actually a place I have stayed in before.

Mama Shelter.

I stayed there when the hotel first opened in 2007.

I got a stellar deal on it since it was new and in a somewhat, not now, but at the time, dodgy neighborhood.

But it was perfect for me.

It reminded me a lot of the area of the Mission that I lived in, dodgy, but charming, easy to navigate and really not a tourist spot.

A bit off the beaten track.

But a very lovely part of off the beaten track.

109 Rue Bagnolet.

It’s in the 20th arrondissement, predominately still a very working class neighborhood.

Not really central, but two, three blocks, five-minute walk to the Metro line 2 and near Pere LaChaise and my very favorite books store Le Merle Moqueuer.

There’s also Le Chat Noir, where I have done open mics, and Rue Denoyez which has some fantastic graffiti and mural art.  I mean there’s some fantastic artists in the 20th, I have a lot of photographs of murals and graffiti from my many walks through the area.

I’m only there one night, though, then staying with a friend in a more central location.

So I’ll get my gritty “real” Paris feel for my first night and rendezvous with my old haunts and cafes and libriaries  before heading toward central Paris for the rest of the trip.

I am so excited.

I was talking about my trip today with my therapist and how it came about and challenges I have had in the past with female friendships and how excited it was to have planned this trip with my French friend in the cohort, how happy I am to have her as a friend and how I have a tough time saying what I need in relationships with women.

I didn’t exactly have the best modeling around female relationships.

We talked about how important my friendships are and how I often feel a bit lonely, so many of my friends have moved out of San Francisco and I have said goodbye to many precious ladies.

I will say good-bye to more as the school year wraps up this weekend and I won’t see some faces until next fall.

And.

Some faces I won’t see at all.

I am sad for that, I will be crushed when my dear friend moves back to Paris, but then again, what a fabulous excuse to get me to go back.

I assure you I will be visiting her a lot.

We have already tentatively talked about next May and I am sure there will be many other trips to Paris to see her sweet face.

And there will be this trip to Paris.

I decided to even let myself do the super uber touristy thing.

Something I have disdained from doing, but um, actually sort of want.

A Paris black zip hoodie.

My friend that I lived with in Paris had one and I secretly loved it but I couldn’t ever bring myself to buy one, somehow it just felt too hokey.

But I realize.

I want one.

So.

Heh.

Expect to see some photograph of me in the near future sporting a black, zip hoodie with Paris emblazoned across the chest.

Fuck it.

I’m only going to live once.

I have also gotten an idea of what I want for my Paris tattoo.

Anticonformiste. 

In script on my left forearm.

I definitely am not someone who conforms much.

Whether physically, emotionally, or spiritually.

I often find myself doing things differently.

I am also smitten with a monologue on the Bon Entendeur music app that I have on my phone which has actors speaking about moments in their lives, scripts, films, revealing moments, then it’s woven into the tracks, deep house, chill, electro, and one of my favorites that I have been listening to a lot is Astier, Anticonformisme.

The track list is so good.

Astier starts out talking, in French, about how his mother was always drawn to certain people, neither rich or poor, of a certain temperament, that tend to buck the system, to be artists, lovers, musicians, humans, and how he admired this trait in his mother and how she brought him up to appreciate the creative.

I love the monologue and the music is just so good, I’ve been listening to it a lot to have French in my head for the trip.

I will probably queue up Amelie as well as Je t’aime Paris, soon, they are sort of my go to movies to get my ears back into French.

I digress.

Back to my tattoo.

I just thought, what a fucking awesome idea for a tattoo, which is anti-conformist thing to do, getting a tattoo, and it speaks to me, speaks to me of my love for French house music and electro, of being an artist, of doing things outside the box.

I am pretty sure that’s what I am going to get, but I’ll leave it open.

I am going to get a tattoo though.

And yes.

Ha.

My sweatshirt.

Hey, I live in the Outer Sunset, often a land of heavy chilly fogs, I need another hoodie.

I only have three.

Heh.

Oh Paris.

All the things we shall do together.

I am counting down the days.

I am watching the weather forecast.

I am planning my outfits.

I am greedy for you, my love.

I shall be seeing you soon.

Oh.

So.

Soon.

Yes.

 

God Damn!

June 6, 2016

She shouted as she got onto the beach.

“It’s fucking freezing out here,” she squealed wrapping her bare arms around herself.

I chuckled inside.

I was wearing leggings, a long sleeve shirt dress, cardigan, and my hoodie, one of the four in my closet, yo.

Yeah.

I was rocking the flip flops, but I don’t like sand in my shoes, I get that enough at work with the boys when we go to the playground.

This is not, of course, the first time I have heard such an exclamation from some one getting off the N-Judah at the end of the line.

Welcome to the Sunset.

It’s fucking cold out here.

My heater is on.

Not on high, but it’s on.

I just got back in from my second, yes, second, bike ride of the day.

Neither one of them was real long, but they both got my heart rate up, and it was quite nice to come home to my cozy, good smelling, little home and turn up the heat a little to warm up the studio.

I was thinking today, why hasn’t some one started a sweatshirt stand out here?

I mean, seriously, I might make a mint.

Or you’d think San Fran Psycho would open a pop up or something at the end of the train line, just would hoodies and hats and probably some scarves.

They’d make bank.

I saw another gaggle of girls, who from the talk sounded like they were coming from the sacred inner city warmth of the Mission district, bleat like small lambs to the slaughter as the minced up the dunes toward the beach in bikinis and cut off shorts.

“It’s so cold!”

And repeat.

I had a nice little day in my neighborhood.

Despite waking up with dread on my chest like a weight of demise and ruin.

What the fuck?

I had a fantastic night last night, why the anxiety, the dread?

Well I know.

I have that thing upstairs that likes to ruin shit for me, my brain, that is.

So.

I just did what I do best.

The next thing in front of me.

And a lot of writing this morning.

I finished up my notebook that I bought in Paris at the Palais de Tokyo over Christmas when I was there visiting.

I opened up my Brooklyn notebook.

Or I suppose, I should say, my New York notebook.

Which I had bought when my friend and I hit the Strand.

A very dangerous place for me to be considering my fondness for the written word.

I did get sucked in, I did, until I realized that I could buy any and all of the books that I had in my hand in San Francisco, and that the weight of the books would not be fun in my suitcase on the way home.

I bought, rather, notebooks, some stickers, a magnet, and today I opened up one of those notebooks.

It was the one I had started when I was staying at the Air BnB in Clinton Hill.

The one that I slapped the Gorilla Coffee sticker on.

I also, happily, glue sticked my Paul Simon ticket from last night’s show in there too.

I have ticket stubs from the Brooklyn Museum, the MOMA, the New Whitney.

A postcard I got at the MOMA of a Warhol Marilyn with a pink background.

Stickers from the Brooklyn Museum.

The business card, which was really a clever word balloon cut from a book, from the art studio I got the private tour of, Doug Beube, as well as the business card from Mat Moreno [sic] which looks like a Metro card, who gave me the tattoo at Three Kings Tattoo in Green Pointe.

I also have their sticker.

There’s a few other things in there and I am always so grateful that I do that, scrap book a little, they are sweet, small tokens of my time.

So.

Yes.

Lots of writing.

Then some phone calls to my people.

It always helps to just drop a message and say, I know I’m being crazy, my brain wants me to have things to do, stuff to ruminate on, all I have to do today is show up to the 7:30 p.m. thing up at St. Gabe’s and just take the rest of the day as it comes.

One moment at at time.

And it all works out.

I think, no, I know, God damn it, I am getting old, that part of my unease was sleeping in as “late” as I did.

Gah.

I remember sleeping until 5p.m. before and rushing to get myself to the bar to work by 6p.m.

Not any more.

10 a.m. is sleeping in.

10:30 a.m.

Fuck.

That’s heresy.

I screwed my whole day.

That was the story, oh fuck off narrative, I was telling myself, I had wasted the day already, even before it had begun.

Might as well just make it a rotten one.

Wait.

Stop.

Pause.

Breathe.

Pray.

Try again.

Call another person.

Ask how they are doing.

Go buy some groceries up the street.

Then.

Oh.

Novel idea.

Cook the food.

Ha.

I actually made a really fucking delicious dish today, I haven’t made it in a long time and I must be craving something, because it was calling.

Basically I made a sort of stew.

Turmeric seasoned brown rice with a little olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper.

And.

Chicken, shrimp, and mussels sauteed in their own juices with a little garlic, chopped onion, Basil, Oregano, Parsley, lots of sea salt, I like things salty, ahem.

Then I threw in four green zucchinis chopped up with a can of black olives and some crushed tomatoes and let it simmer in the pot on the stove.

It was hella good.

I froze some and put up the rest for meals at work this week.

Love taking care of myself.

Although.

There, it snuck in, for just a moment, man I wish I was cooking for someone.

Ok now.

Stop it.

I hate this trope my disease likes to throw out.

It has not been working for me lately though, I’m like, over you, shut up, move on, been there, done that.

I recalled my conversation with my friend last night after the Paul Simon show and how sometimes the solution is just to do some fucking exercise.

Yes.

Hop on the bike.

I took a short bicycle ride and felt much better.

And.

Yes.

There is an afternoon yoga class.

Sign up for it.

Ok.

And fuck it.

So what if it’s grey, take a walk to the beach.

I was on the beach for an hour, talked with the moms for a half hour, did my daughterly duties, and then I collect sand dollars like pennies from heaven.

Seriously.

I have never found so many whole sand dollars on a walk on the beach.

I could set up a sand dollar and sweat shirt shop on the beach if I don’t make it through grad school.

She sells seashells by the seashore.

I found nine or ten and some pretty stones and sea glass.

I picked out the ones that pleased me the most and put the rest back for some one else to happily discover.

I got back here.

Hopped into my yoga clothes.

Got on the mat and got happy.

Then a hot shower, God, I swear, is a hot shower.

And.

Dinner was a repeat of the delicious.

Then, yeah, fuck it, ride the bike up to St. Gabe’s.

And like that.

My day.

Two bike rides, cooking, writing, long walk on the beach, ahem, collecting shells (yeah, I am a girl like that, shut up), yoga, and doing the deal.

Even when my head tells me, lies to me really, that my life is not enough.

It so obviously is.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

 

Warm and cozy.

Down by the sea.

Wrapped up in my music and the love of the day.

Nigh y’all.

Happy Sunday.

It was smashing.

Seriously.

Cozy

April 6, 2015

You know you’re a San Franciscan when you buy your fourth hoodie and it feels  like a necessary purchase.

Well and its stupid cute.

And cozy.

Oh my god, the coziness right now is off the hook.

I may never take it off.

I may get naked and do censorship worthy things in it.

Just me and my new hoodie.

It’s like I’m on a non stop date with myself today.

All wrapped out in my own person.

It helped that I had a really lovely and engaging morning, with yes, myself.

I had a lady cancel on me and an extra hour to spare before my second gal of the day made her way over to my place for tea, conversation, reading, experience, strength, hope, etc.

I decided to make a quick run to the grocery store, in my malaise yesterday I did not get all the things that I wanted.  Sometimes, though I am loath to admit it, grocery shopping is too much for me, too much information, too much interaction, too many choices (or not enough of what I really need and I have to hunt and peck) and I just need to get out.  That happened yesterday, so I thought, after doing my writing this morning, I’ll spend that extra unexpected hour doing some extra errands.

However, the weather, that fickle thing, had its say and I had no desire to hop on my bicycle to ride down to the SafeWay in the rain.

Nope.

New sponges can just wait until next week.

Yeah, I know, exciting.

I was going to go off and buy some sponges, a few other things too, mainly, looking back at the decision, it was to get out of my house so that I would not be in my head.

I love having my little Sundays by the sea, but sometimes, if I don’t catch myself, I can get maudlin about being alone.

Not lonely, I am great company.

Fabulous really.

But I can get a little sad in my pants and I really wasn’t feeling like being sad.

I wrote an extra long list of all the things that I am grateful for in my morning pages and felt like today, no matter what was happening, was a great day, a day of prospect, of treasure, of new adventure.

Perhaps those weren’t my exact thoughts as the day was unwinding, but the undertow of it was there, stated or not, I felt adventurous in my being, even if it just meant adventuring in my own neighborhood.

When I opened the garage door and stepped out with my trusty steed to find it raining, I gamely parked her back in her spot, went inside, grabbed a cloth sack (my favorite one from my favorite book store in Paris, which is not Shakespeare and Company, should you be wondering, but Le Merle Moqueur in the 20th arrondissement) for my groceries, and my umbrella and headed up towards Other Avenues.

I decided to walk about the hood instead of directly go to the co-op for my organic oatmeal and soy based kona coffee candle (shaddup you dirty hippy) and walked a little further up Judah to discover that Aqua was open and I poked my head inside.

I’m not sure how long the outpost has been open, I had heard about them losing their spot on Sloat and wondered where they would be going and as it turns out, just a couple blocks from me.

I was not there to buy anything, just to look.

But.

It was raining and cool and my light wind breaker was too light.

This is what I tell myself, this is how I justify, but really, it was just too cute and cozy to pass up.

I tried on a cream hoodie with a big fuzzy sherpa hood and fell in love.

Oh my the deliciousness of this hoodie.

I have three others.

A black one from the San Francisco Bicycle Coalition that they gave me for selling the most memberships when I worked at Mission Bicycle Company.

A grey one that I found, lucky for me, it really saved my ass a few times when it was cold, on my way to Paris in the airport.

I scooped it up and kept it.

I wasn’t sure why I didn’t turn it into lost and found, maybe because it was an Old Navy sweatshirt and not worth that much, or maybe because I was boarding and didn’t have time, but I took it.  I suppose I owe someone an amends, now that I think about it, but I still have that sweatshirt and I still wear it.

Then there’s the black one that is all sleek and sexy and trim and I love, it hugs every curve, but it’s not actually all that warm, it’s great to pair with my jean jacket though.

This new hoodie, dear darling thing, though,  feels like my ‘officially a local’ Outer Sunset sweatshirt.

I live here, I’m supporting a local business, it’s a surf shop, and it was needed, I really did need a cozy walk about the neighborhood hoodie.

I may never take it off.

Oh.

I suppose I won’t sleep in it.

Sleeping is naked time and will always be naked time.

No pjs for me.

But in between the waking hours, I shall be lounging in said article of clothing until it falls off my back.

Yes.

I did just write my entire blog about my hoodie.

What should I have done instead?

Written about the hour-long conversation I had with a guy I met on OkCupid.

I suppose.

But then, a girl likes to keep somethings to herself.

I’ll keep you posted however.

We have a date for next Saturday.

Picnic in the park.

It’s been years since someone has asked me to go on a picnic in the park.

Suffice to say I’m excited.

And we talked for an hour on the phone, we could have talked longer, smart man, cut the conversation off before it got out of hand.

Discretion is the better part of valor.

Or so they say.

At least I know what I’ll be wearing.

My new hoodie.

Please.

You think I’m going on a date in the Inner Sunset without one?

You obviously don’t live in San Francisco.

But that’s ok.

I do.

I’m officially a local.


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