Posts Tagged ‘housesitting’

Fun?

July 29, 2013

What the fuck is fun?

It was suggested to me yesterday that I get some more fun in my life.

Well, damn it, I was busy working on figuring it out, yeah, I know, figure it out is not a slogan, fuck off.

But really?

Fun?

What do I do for fun?

I was writing this morning and trying to not get too twisted in figuring out what I was going to do with my day.  I knew I had a commitment to attend to at 6:30 p.m. and that after that I was going to have dinner with a dear friend that just relocated back to San Francisco.

Welcome home!

So glad you are back.

That is fun, getting together with my friends, sharing memories, and stories, swapping tales over a meal.

But I digress, I am not to the fun yet.

First the litter boxes must be cleaned and the cats watered, fed, and let out to play in the back yard.  The bed needs to be stripped and the sheets tossed through the laundry and since I like to leave it better than I found it, take out  the recycling and tidy up the kitchen.

Done.

Fueled by a French press pot of Four Barrel, that was almost fun.

But not quite.

I could watch Netflix.

Damn you, who turned me onto the West WIng?

That is not fun, I mean, it sort of is, but it’s more like checking out than it is fun.

So I just continued on with my morning, tidying, straightening, doing laundry, et al.

Writing.

There is always the writing.

There is the blogging, the morning pages, and what ever comes next as far as the creative process goes (I have some ideas) and as I was scribbling away in my notebook I realized, hey, when was the last time I went on an artist date?

The DeYoung Museum is pretty close, just popped into my head.

I have no clue why, although when I poked my head into the cafeteria before I went through the museum I realized that hmm, I might have had some ulterior motives, the Mister works from the DeYoung on the occasion, I just went with it.

I finished up the clean up, made the bed, and scooted off on my bicycle for an afternoon of art amongst the tourists.

Lot of French people, of which I actually had a conversation with one in front of the museum as I was framing a shot of my bike.

DeYoung Musuem

My bike at the DeYoung

It reminded me of having taken a photograph of my bicycle in front of the Louvre and also at the Palais de Tokyo in Paris.

I like that, let me take photographs of my bike in front of all the museums I bicycle to.  Then I will post up a photo blog of them all.

In fact, I was thinking as I stood and got good and art high, why not go to all the museums I can over the next few weeks.

I have not been to the Legion of Honor in years, I have only gone once (I could have gotten in today with my ticket stub from the DeYoung, but I was too pooped after having made three rounds through the DeYoung to bike out to the Legion), I can ride my bike there for sure.

I have not been to the MOMA for a while, over nine months, almost ten.

I bet there’s a museum or two in Oakland I could go to.

I started getting ideas and liking them more and more.

Going to museums is fun.

For me.

I don’t think it is for everyone, I think it can be a bit of a chore.

But I go for the high and the high always happens.

I got it today in front of the Edward Hopper “Esso” painting which I had never seen before.  God damn I love his work.

I also got it when I walked into a gallery that was devoted to Chilully glass works, which were cool and distinctive and I found quite attractive, but they did not give the me high, rather the light and glass mobile installation hanging from the ceiling is what got me off.

Oh yes, that’s right, I got off.

I walked into the room, my eyes were drawn up and I said, out loud, “oh my god, that is amazing.”

I stood under the lights transfixed.

Segue–how glad am I to get to go to Burning Man?

Lights

Lights

This photograph does not do justice to the magic that is happening, the shadows, the luminosity of the glass, the way the light bends around the shape of the container and sprays a new shard of light off a round edge, the entire ceiling was amassed with bulbs off glass that looked like rain drops and then everything was over lit with white light.

The shadows on the walls were enough to transfix me for some time.

God damn I love art.

I also really love the observation deck at the DeYoung and as I stood on the looking out over the park and the neighborhoods I ruminated on getting one of the blow up posters of the aerial maps of San Francisco for my new studio.

Just something to think about.

I also debated getting a refrigerator magnet, but truth be told, the ones that they had were not appealing, I spent a bit of time raking through the gift stores too.

I can window shop like a motherfucker in a museum gift shop.

I saw one art book I was quite tempted to purchase and I think I shall go back for, but knowing that I have only so much room in my messenger bag and I was to be heading back to East Oakland this evening (fully ensconced back at Graceland as I type) I deigned to buy it.

I left the museum satisfied, satiated, filled up with light and colors and sculpture and hopped on my bicycle to enjoy the remainder of Sunday Streets in the Golden Gate Park.

A quick spin through the fog and back to my day.

That was fun.

Let’s see what I can come up with for tomorrow.

Oh, and, hey you!  Yes, you.

If you have any ideas, let me know, I’ve got two weeks of down time and I am up for seeing and doing more fun stuff.

Thanks!

I Can’t Believe I Said That

July 2, 2013

And oh, yeah, I said that.

My friend looked at me in the car, “what was that, I have never heard you talk like that before?”

I got flustered.

He was cute.

And then it hit me and I was embarrassed and I was also, OMG, more does get revealed!

When I am flustered I get big and loud and over the top.

“Oh yeah, I don’t do that anymore, bottle of Beam and blow jobs in the bathroom, and bags of coke, I’m all done with that,” I said rashly at the counter of Trouble while I was waiting for my Americano.

I couldn’t even blame the caffeine, I hadn’t gotten my coffee yet, unless you can pin it on the fumes and I was willing to try, but I hadn’t even realized what I was doing.

I have never, fyi, given someone a blow job in a bathroom or drank a bottle of Beam (I mean I have done the aforementioned, but not like I said it, not that way, not like it was Springbreakers gone wild or something).

It was only in hindsight that I saw what I did and why I said it.

The hindsight came really fast, like just maybe an hour later, after we had dinner at Judalicious, which was really good.

Raw vegan food.

And even though I am not currently practicing a vegan diet, I still like my veggies and it was scrumptious.

I am really going to like this neighborhood, I know it.

I got to see the progress on the studio, it’s coming along, I am excited, I am going to have my own little space, my own place to nest in.

“I so want to nest right now,” I told my friend, “I have absolutely nothing, but I also don’t want to have to move anything yet.”

“Slow down.” She said, “but if you do come across something you can put it in the garage.”

I had an offer on a love seat that friends of mine have let me use before when I was living up in Nob Hill, but the space was a little smaller than I remembered (still plenty big for me, just perfect actually) that I declined it tonight.

However, my friend, who will be my landlord, has a small chaise lounge in the garage that I can use and a little table with fold down leaves that I can use for my kitchen/writing-table.

Now all I need is a bed.

And bedding.

And towels.

And kitchen supplies.

And, oh, all of it, but that will come, I am not going to focus on that.

For the moment I am keeping tabs on the BART strike and whether or not I am going to be stuck in the city for the duration of the week.

My house sitting gig here in Cole Valley ends tomorrow.  I will nanny out of the space and at 5:30pm I will be free to go. I have some commitments to cover, after which I was planning to head to BART.

I was expecting to be in the East Bay tomorrow night and then to a nanny gig in North Oakland on Wednesday morning, then stay overnight at Graceland, regroup and head back in on Thursday for the holiday weekend and take care of some sweet kittens up in the Castro Hills.

I don’t think they’re going to allow me to bicycle across the Bridge.

So, if the strike is still on I may end up cancelling my gig on Wednesday and staying in the city tomorrow and Wednesday nights then heading over to the Castro house sit.

Or something like that.

I don’t really know.

I am certain, however, that I am not the only person affected by the strike and I am also certain that should I have to cancel my nanny gig in North Oakland they will understand why.

They had to cancel bringing the little girl into the city today.

I was supposed to have had one charge this afternoon.

Instead I was in charge of listening to a dear friend.

God it felt good to check in and chat and have coffee and tea and conversation and be real about life and who we are and writing.

We’re both writers.

Sexy.

I listened to him, he listened to me, we swapped tales, we hung out, it was great.

I love my friends.

“I know what that was about,” she said, “you were putting on an act, you’re big and tough and brave, but you know…”

“I am a fucking cream puff,” I said, and I blushed.

I literally blushed.

I was ashamed.

Not so much at what I said, I have said worse, but that it took me so long to figure out.

“Dating advice and writing advice,” I asked my guy friend.

“Which one first?” He replied, then paused, “dating first, because the writing thing will be easy and short.”

Which it was, bless him.

He gave me some insights, a lot of which I already knew and some that made sense, like getting out of my routine and doing something completely outside of my comfort zone, routine is good for me, the writing is really important, my recovery is tantamount, and I get stuck doing the same things all the time and not meeting new people.

“You wear your heart on a sleeve,” he once told me about my blog.

And it’s true, I do.

There are times I don’t want to be so vulnerable and I don’t want to talk about what is going on with me and there are things I do not write about here (that goes in my morning pages and nobody reads those, nobody.  Fuck, I don’t even read them.  I write the three pages and then shut the notebook and don’t look back, the act of doing is the relief, I shake all the crap out of my head onto the page and clear the decks for my day, I don’t need to go back and sift through the shit, I just need to clear the channel).

“Oh, my god, I see it,” I said, the blush fading off as the shame lifted and I saw, possibly for the first time, ever, what I do when I find some one attractive to me.

I get brash, I am brazen I say things loudly, overcompensation for myself, for that tender heart, and in essence I believe, it is an instinct that I have of protecting myself.

Because he thought I was cute too.

I puffed myself up, rolled into a fetal position like a little hedgehog and sent out verbal spiky prickles of don’t touch me.

I am a total softy and I don’t want people I just meet to see that.

I don’t want to get hurt, but I won’t get anywhere if I don’t let myself get past that.

I am going to have to if I expect to actually date men.

I need to be vulnerable.

Nobody wants to date a loud mouth, at least I don’t.

I want to be my authentic self and if that means I come across as shy, or soft, or vulnerable, then fine.

I am a cream puff.

So be it.

At least I didn’t eat any today.

 

This Is A Test

June 30, 2013

This is only a test.

This is a test to see how fast I can type, basically.

I just realized and am a little embarrassed to admit it, but I forgot my power cord for my laptop in the East Bay.

Damn it.

My juice is low.

I had not even realized and I did a quick hunt and peck through the house, the house of someone who happens to work for Apple and couldn’t find anything that would work.

Why?

Because it freaked me out to go snooping through their stuff.

Walking into the office almost gave me a heart attack.

I felt like I was in a different world, somewhere in the future, the not too far off future, but definitely the future.

I have never seen a lot of what these things are.

They are Apple products, they are computers, they are gorgeous,  and I was holding my breath looking for something and I realized I was going to have a panic attack.

Sorry, your nanny/housesitter/neophyte broke that gazzillion dollar thingamabob looking to charge up her old laptop.

You know, the one with the Burning Man stickers stuck too it and the House of Air (the trampoline park! God, I need to go back there, that was fun) sticker and the fan that sounds like a loud vibrator.

Yeah, that computer, the one I rely on daily.

Although as I get to know my Iphone more and more I don’t boot up quite as often, but I am on my laptop every night.

Every night.

“Wait, you write a blog every night,” he said to me at the juice bar on Fillmore.

“Yup, she’s a writer, she’s not just a nanny, and she’s a good writer, I’ll hook you up via FaceBook, you two should be friends anyhow,” my friend said to her guy.

Her guy who I happen to know but did not know how much I knew.

We know tons of the same people had overlapping stories about Burning Man and I made a new friend tonight, one who I will totally see on playa and one who told me that where I would be camping was going to be awesome.

For the first time in five years I will not be at Media Mecca.

I was a bit bummed about it.

I asked to be placed there and for a hot second it looked like it might pan out, then it did not.

So, I’ll be at the 9 o’clock key hole.

My address on playa will be 8:45 and C

“That’s a great place to camp!” He said slapping his leg.  “You’re right by Hokey Pokey!”

“Hokey Pokey!” I exclaimed, “awesome, I have always wanted to go hang out there and I have never gotten over to their camp.

Hokey Pokey is a sober camp.

Which means I will be next door to my people.

When I need to decompress I know where I can go.

Sigh, relief.

I am getting super excited about the burn, despite not having had the most comfortable of weekends, getting myself re-adjusted to another space, wanting to isolate, making myself go out tonight to meet with my friend and her guy.

I am so glad I did.

It always pleases me to make a new friend, especially someone who goes to Burning Man, speaks the same language I do, and hangs out with my girlfriend who I adore.

Who’s place I will be moving into soon.

I can feel my communities interconnections and it feels really good.

And I may not be in Oakland for the 4th!

I just got asked by another family, Burning Man folks, to house sit for them from Tuesday through Sunday.  Which would mean being in the city for the holiday, not having to do any commuting to East Oakland and staying out of the crazy for the fourth.

That would make me a very happy girl.

I just sent them an e-mail confirming my availability.

I wanted to make sure that I was ok with it.

I checked in with myself and I talked to my friend, who happened to point out to me that it would solve the being in East Oakland for the fun times show, and then I said yes after letting it deliberate for a few hours.

It felt right.

My battery is still alive!

Not for much longer, but I am actually quite impressed that I have gotten this much typed.

I will not have to go to the East Bay tomorrow to get a power cord, I happen to know that there is one in the design office on Valencia Street.  I will pop in there and borrow it for the week until I get back to Graceland.

This will also be a good time to go over to my friend’s house and get the specs on my bike, my playa bike.  I want to order a few things for it–a new seat being the main objective–I found a great seat called a “Fat Banana” which is a padded banana seat.

I almost ordered it, but then realized that I would be screwed if it didn’t fit the bike.

So I shall kill two birds with one stone tomorrow, pick up the power cord and check out the bike.

I also have a coffee date with a lady at Church and Market at 5pm.

And then, yes, folks, I am taking care of the I can’t stop eating sugar business at 6:30pm.

Thank God.

I am done with it.

It so does not serve.

Ugh.

At least I know where to go to get help.

And help I shall be getting.

Ok, that’s it, she’s about to die.

I am going to not even preview this, I’m just gonna post.

Hugs to my friends.

New ones as well as old.

XO


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