Posts Tagged ‘Java Beach Cafe’

I’m Not Going To Kiss

April 25, 2016

You.

I said, direct, emphatic, no holds bar.

He startled back.

Thank God.

I was a little unnerved when he just hopped up, uninvited, be sure there was no come hither flirtations coming from me, and sat right next to me, arms, shoulders, legs brushing.

I know it’s a Tinder date and I suppose there is sex implied in the app, that’s apparent, and there’s a whole lot of fantasy, but I’m pretty up front with what I am or am not looking for.

And making a coffee date for three in the afternoon speaks to me of interviewing, not jumping right off into bed.

I had some nerves about the date, and that’s a good thing to note, I have begun to discern when I am balking at meeting someone or going on a date, versus, nope, you’re guts telling you it’s not a good date.

I’ve had the feeling before and this was the same thing.

Just not an appropriate date.

A mismatch.

Although he was very happy to meet me, said I looked great, was cute, had great style, was definitely intrigued by my tattoos.

However.

The constant interruptions when I was speaking, the jumping around, the distractedness of him, was well distracting.

I sort of felt like I was on a date with someone who was very ADHD.

Or high.

I wondered later after I left if perhaps that was it.

I can only speculate, but I was uncomfortable and also not attracted to the man.

Although his photos were pretty true to person, there was just something not there for me.

Sometimes the chemistry is so obvious for me, I can feel it oozing out of every pore of my body.

There are some I have had such intense chemistry with, it does feel electric and that is some snazziness, let me tell you.

This guy was just super flat for me, there was no juice.

And he ordered a beer and yeah, we hadn’t, as he pointed out later, had the talk about me being sober, I know this is true and I realize that I put it out there pretty quick with most guys on the dating app, but I had not with him.

My bad.

And also, in it’s own way, my recovery gave me the perfect out when the date started to get pretty fresh with me and my space.

I’m still sort of in awe of someone who did not see how completely uninterested I was, how does one miss that?  I mean, I was not giving out a single signal of interest with my bound up body language and crossed arms and legs.

But.

I suppose folks just see what folks want to see.

We did swap a few tales and spent an hour talking.

We each told about some bad dates.

My homeless guy date came up.

His ex-girlfriend he met in rehab for an opiate pain killer addiction after a gnarly accident who was a crystal meth addict, they met in rehab.

All my hackles went up.

I looked at the beer in front of him, empty glass, the packet of cigarettes in his front pocket–um no thanks I don’t smoke, haven’t for nearly 11 years and ain’t about to kiss an ashtray mouth–a shit, this is not good.

So.

When he made a suggestion, implicit again with this idea that because I had been on Tinder I was ready and willing to drop trow and get it on.

Sure.

Maybe.

If there had been some heat or chemistry, that could have been on the menu, even though the menu that was on my mind had to do with all the time I was wasting on the date instead of on my school books.

Not to worry though, once I dropped the “I’m not going to kiss you,” bomb, the date rapidly dissolved.

I took the “easy” way out and said that I didn’t want to taste beer when I kissed someone.

Which is true.

But I have dated normal guys who drink occasionally, how do they do that? And I haven’t had an issue with it, it was just more that I really wasn’t attracted and the beer drinking on top of the story about the ex-girlfriend crazy just sealed the deal.

“You know, you should expect this kind of response if you’re going to keep using Tinder,” he told me as we were parting.

I stopped.

I looked at him.

I apologized.

“You’re right, I should have been upfront,” I said, making the quickest, fastest amends I could, he was right, I did waste his time, he was looking for a good time party girl to come into the city to play with and I wasn’t it.

I had wasted his time and mine.

I did add, though, “it hasn’t been my experience that it’s an issue, that’s why I usually ask to meet in a cafe for tea, but I hear you and you are right.”

“You can go,” he said to me.

Whoa.

“Ok, thanks for coming out, I wish you the best,” I got up, touched his shoulder and walked out.

Ouch.

Well.

Human, Carmen, little mistakes are better than big mistakes, you went you found out, you got to hear a little bit of what you don’t want and perhaps I can be less blunt, I was just getting worried about getting to a place where I could say, I don’t think this is working, I don’t have to blurt it out.

So.

Chalk it up to another dating experience.

Just out there trying to learn how to do this thing that I have no clue how to do very well, but at least I know a little bit more from today than I did yesterday.

It’s all good information.

Not a bat to beat myself up with.

I tried.

It didn’t work.

And.

Now.

I’m just moving on.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

Yes.

I have another date.

This time emphatically.

Just for tea.

 

 

Things You Don’t Want To Hear

February 21, 2016

On a first date.

And I’m not talking about impressions, because I was unimpressed when my date showed up looking ten years older than his profile.

Motherfucker.

You are so NOT 46.

56.

Sure.

46?

Come on.

And no fair using old photos.

I call foul.

I also deleted the damn app again.

I’m not really interested in meeting people that way.

I have better luck in the grocery store.

It didn’t help that it was the second attempt at the first failed date of the day.

I should have known better than to even give the guy a second chance.

Being late is one thing.

Texting me to tell me that he is going to be another fifteen minutes late because he is cleaning the cat box is something else entirely.

DUDE.

I should have called it quits at that point.

And in fact, when he did call, after delaying the date three times, when it was meet at two became meet at three became it’s 3:45p.m. and now he’s got a flat tire.

I was done with it.

And pissed.

I’d wasted a couple of hours in my day.

But truly.

I did not waste them.

I read.

I got a lot of reading done in one of my classes and so was productive and I also gave myself a little down time at the cafe, I did go down to Java Beach this afternoon and treat myself to an iced coffee and an hour of leisure time reading in the sunshine while it was still warm out.

It got super chilly this evening.

I bundled up to go back out to try and meet up with this guy again.

I decided when he texted me a photo of the flat tire on his motorcycle to give him the benefit of the doubt and since I had successfully powered through so much of my reading, I thought, what the heck, it’s Saturday night, I can go down to the cafe for a little while, have a cup of tea and try again.

Then the things got funny.

Mutual friends walk in and I am sitting there dishing to my girl friend about how this is not the date I thought and how there was someone else I was much more interested in and I shared a tid bit or two with her and we talked yoga and maybe she would come out to the studio and check out a class with me, and then, she and her beau went off and left me with the date that said all the wrong things.

Note to single male readers out there.

Just in case you didn’t know.

Things you don’t want to tell a date.

Things that are not sexy.

“I haven’t had a job in three years.”

“I am $100,000 in debt to credit cards.”

“If I don’t find work soon I’m going to be homeless.”

“I have ADHD.”

“I have sleep apnea.”

Dude.

STAWP.

Please.

My heart broke a little for the sad sack’ness of it all.

I don’t think he had a clue.

I stuck it out for an hour and a half and he wasn’t a bad person, just not my person, and just gah, no chemistry.

When you’ve had chemistry with someone and then this, well, it just made it such a stark contrast.  I know what I want and it was not mister dirty house full of dirty dishes, dirty laundry, credit card debt, dirty cat box, no job, snores a lot man.

I know what I want and that is good information to have.

I also know that I was just doing it for practice.

It’s good to put myself out there and as my girlfriend said, sometimes dates like these are to help us see what we want, because when it happens, you know it.

I know what it looks like and I know what it feels like when I connect with someone.

There was no connection tonight.

But it just didn’t help with all the other stuff on top of it.

Still.

I tried.

Speaking of trying.

I was back at the yoga studio today.

Day two, second class, go!

It was harder than yesterday, much harder, but the teacher was amazing.

I’m not sure I would have committed to the studio if I had gone through the physical work out that I went through today, it was far more challenging.

So it was good that I went yesterday and committed.

It could also be that my body was sore from yesterday too, but there were a lot of very challenging poses.

What was different though, was also the emphasis on breath work, setting an intention, the getting into my body felt more like a meditation, a deepening experiencing and spiritual grounding.

I was not expecting that.

In fact.

The teacher spoke about the culture of yoga in the U.S. and how it has become a kind of vanity about the body, how it looks, what it can do, and less of an emphasis on the spiritual, on the meditation, on the power of being grounded in the body and connected to the Earth.

She was speaking my language.

That was one of my big fears.

The mechanism of beauty and idealization of the culture for the body it provides.

I can’t be all about the body, I have to be grounded in the spiritual as well.

That’s just how I am.

I need the interconnection.

She had us meditate and do all sorts of breath work before moving into the poses.

I also got a lot more narrative about the poses, where to place my hands, how to align my body, and when it got to be too much, I just dropped into child’s pose or breathed through it.

I was always in the moment and that was special.

It was hard.

It was challenging.

But.

I left elated.

And I went and bought my own personal yoga mat and returned my housemates to her.

Tomorrow, new yoga work out clothes, I am committing to three times a week and suffice to say the one outfit I have is going to need some supplementation.

I don’t want to waste water running a load of laundry every day so that I can have fresh yoga clothes.

I just signed up for another class for tomorrow–same teacher, she’s only with them on the weekends–I’ll be getting my yoga on with her as much as possible.

Plus.

When I called attention to the fact that my monthly unlimited was charged to my card as well as the first time student class rate, she said, “let me take care of that,” and handed me ten dollars cash.

It feels right being at the studio.

And.

Well.

Ha.

It is awful handy, being that it’s just a half block away from home.

Tomorrow is my last day of freedom before returning to the work and normal school routine, I’ve got more reading planned, some grocery shopping, some doing the deal, some cooking for work, and now, yoga.

It’s not bad.

This sweet little life I have.

In fact.

It’s pretty fucking amazing.

I am.

The luckiest girl in the world.

No goof ball bad date is going to change that.

Not now.

Not.

Ever.

 

 

Hello Friday

October 17, 2015

Is it Monday already?

I have a lot to do this weekend.

And.

That is lovely and as it should be.

But.

Sometimes it already feels like Monday is here and I haven’t gotten to have any weekend because it is so jammed and packed and full.

I will give myself time tomorrow though.

I have it scheduled.

Sometimes that it what I have to do.

I also have lots of people I am scheduled to meet and be with.

Also as it should be.

People I haven’t seen in a while and some I have seen more recently.

One lady who cancelled tonight, though, gave me a modicum of movement in my schedule and I found myself getting out to a spot that is a familiar and safe place for me, where, like the anti-Cheers, everybody knows my name.

“You have a following,” he told me at Burning Man while we were sitting with another friend at First Camp chilling and gossiping and smack talking.

I was giving him a hand massage.

I was astonished to hear him say that.

I do not.

I protested.

But I have been around awhile and I know a lot of folks.

I run into people all the time and it’s really nice and it helps keep me sane.

Hell, I even ran into some one last night at the Franz Ferdinand show in Oakland.

I was sitting on a flight of stairs catching up with ma poulette from my school cohort.

Look ma!

I’m making friends at school.

Which is really nice.

I wish I had more time for friends at school, like hanging outside of school, but I don’t and making the time to go to the show last night in Oakland, a train ride, after work, a longer show than I was expecting, a long delay in the BART station, not having a ride waiting like I was expecting, Uber not navigating to me in a timely manner, the driver called three times to verify where I was.

Seriously?

I said the last time when he called, “I am in the exact same spot, exact same spot, and I am at Second and Market.  I am literally standing underneath the sign that says “SECOND” street.”

He found me.

But man it took awhile.

I got in late.

I had a cup of tea, I unwound, I posted up the blog from the day before yesterday that I wasn’t able to get to yesterday morning.

There was something wrong with the server and I couldn’t access the blog at all for a day.

It was frustrating.

I couldn’t tell if it was the website itself, WordPress, or if it was my network, because I couldn’t get on Facebook either.

Not that I needed to be on Facecrack, but that I always Twitter my post and my Twitter is linked to Facebook.

If I can’t access my blog sometimes I have actually gone into it the back door via the link on Facebook and made edits to posts there.  It’s a bit of a hassle, but it works.

No such luck the other night.

It happens more frequently than I would like and a few times I have been concerned about getting access to syllabi and my school e-mails, etc, but usually I can recognize that as needless anxiety.

“What if I can’t send my Dubitzky paper on Sunday!”  My brain roared at me when I was trying to get my blog online.

Hey brain.

CALM THE FUCK DOWN.

First off all, you have to write the paper.

That paper and a Therapeutic Communications paper and a lot of reading, but don’t worry, I’ll get it done.

Or I won’t.

But being in anxiety about whether or not the internet will be online before I have even written the paper to send it in is just useless masturbatory fear brain reminding me that I have a disease, it resides in my brain, and my thinking is not always so even keel.

Besides.

Should I ever really need to get online and it’s not working here at the house, I just stroll down the street a couple of blocks and use the internet at Java Beach Cafe.

It’s open late and I have done work there before.

So.

Nothing to be anxious about.

Oh.

I know.

There is always something that will try to take me out of the moment, like jumping ahead to it’s already Monday and where did the weekend go?

I, ironically, am actually getting up earlier on my day off than I did today for work.

Granted.

My job didn’t start until 1 p.m.

I worked until 8 p.m.

Actually I got done a tiny bit before that which was awesome, as I got to hop on my bike and make it to Our Lady of SafeWay right at 8pm.

I saw my peeps.

I got right with God.

And that is also why I’ll be up early tomorrow.

A shower.

My morning routine.

That thing at the place over there.

Then a meeting with my person at Tart To Tart.

And another meeting with another woman.

And maybe lunch and nails.

And then back here for a phone check in.

Then.

I am taking the night.

Some time down by the beach.

A nice meal.

Some reconnecting.

The lady I am supposed to see at noon on Sunday cancelled, so I could even sleep in on Sunday.

Though it’s doubtful I will.

I will get up.

Make coffee.

Smile in gratitude at my life.

Sit down at this very table.

Write.

Do the deal.

And meet with someone else.

There is always some one to meet with and another chapter to write and to read.

There is always another story to tell.

I like to tell stories.

You might have noticed that.

In fact.

Hmm.

I might just go work on a story now.

My ten sonnets.

(I am finished writing them, they now need to be polished like pretty little glowing moonstones)

I want to have them wrapped up and done before I launch into my Dubitzy Psychoanalytic paper on Freud.

I am feeling inspired.

Listening to The Orb–Moon Building 2703 has set the tone.

Time to get poetic up in here.

Excuse me.

I have to go get my sonnet on.

Yeah.

I know.

Whatevs.

Nuthin’ But Fun

May 24, 2015

I inadvertently just had a date with myself.

I was only going down to Java Beach to get out of my house and read a book over tea.

I had done the unexplainable.

I went to the library today and checked out books.

Look at the old lady go.

“Your principles today are fun and flexibility,” she said to me as I explained the trepidation that comes over me when I don’t have things planned out.

“I know you need to feel like you are doing something constructive, just let the day unfold, have fun,” she finished and smiled.

Who are you smiling at lady?

I put my head down on top of the book and sighed.

“Ok.”

I did alright.

Not the funnest day ever, but really, not a bad one at all, and there was some fun in there, inadvertent, as I said and tongue in cheek for sure, the name of the band that was playing at the cafe?

Nuthin’ But Fun.

Ha.

Ha.

God is funny.

I had fun too.

Sipping my tea, reading my book from the library, people watching.

I like to people watch.

I liked watching the inexplicable interaction between the counter girl and the man whose sandwhich, a big goopy ham and cheese, explain that it was not the vegetarian grilled cheese he had ordered and the girl responding by offering to pull the meat off the bread.

I almost fell out of my chair laughing.

The look of incredulity on the man’s face, the look of annoyance on the girl’s face for obviously having fucked up the order and now she had to take it back to the kitchen and it was probably a habit, this fucking up orders, and then, “or, I suppose, I could ask them to make it again,” came out of her mouth.

She hadn’t picked up the plate, she, I, the elderly vegetarian man who was flummoxed by the interaction, we all stared at the thick swath of ham on the plate with cheese congealing over it,  “um, yes, please, I”m a vegetarian…..”

Big long pause.

Sigh, almost audible, trying hard to not roll her eyes, the young woman picked up the plate, and turned it around, “I totally understand!  I”m a vegetarian too.”

I just about snorted hot tea out my nose.

I was at the cafe, Java Beach, for nearly two and a half hours.

I watched, the scene, the community of families and moms and dads and friends, kids, teenagers on dates, old codgers in knit caps, bicyclists fueling up on soup and coffee before getting back out on their fancy touring bicycles, the people come and go, little waves of neighborhood ebb and wane.

It was sweet.

And I got lost in my book.

Lost to the point that I found myself laughing out loud at a funny part of the book and completely tuning out the music coming from the band.

Which was louder than you would have thunk and the manager had to ask them to turn down the volume after a very boisterous rendition of “They Say It’s Your Birthday,” for a friend in the audience.

I was a fly on the wall.

But at least I wasn’t a fly on my wall.

I got out and I was out a lot of today.

After I left my person this afternoon at Tart to Tart to go off on pursuit of fun, I decided a mani/pedi/waxing session was needed.

Especially since I will be flying down to San Diego on Thursday and suspect that the weather there will be more conducive to sandals then the weather here has been.

At least the gloom lifted for a while.

The wind came in around 3 p.m. and pushed away the clouds, it was clear, sunny, bright.

Breezy as fuck and still a bit chill, but sunny.

I decided to treat myself to a lady’s lunch after my mani/pedi/wax session and went to Pacific Cajun on 9th and Lincoln Avenue for a Wasabi bowl with brown rice and Hawaiian Poke.

So freaking good.

I did some window shopping after and then strolled over to Green Apple to grab a book.

But.

I wasn’t feeling it.

Green Apple.

I don’t know if it was the loud conversations that I kept stumbling into, but I wasn’t comfortable browsing the stacks and decided that though it was not much fun, it was necessary, I was going go grocery shopping.

On my ride back to the Outer Sunset I saw the Sunset Branch of the Public Library.

It’s been a minute since I have checked out a library book.

And the nice thing.

Checking out books is cheaper than buying them.

And I still get that nice cracking open a book feeling.

I got there fifteen minutes before the branch was closing, grabbed a couple of books and hit it home.

Some shopping in the neighborhood, some cooking food for the weekend–vegetable stir fry and sautéed ground turkey with Bragg’s Amino’s and brown rice, and fresh ripe, organic, gorgeous, sweet red cherries.

Then I called my ex-boyfriend.

Bahahahahaha.

Oh.

The gift that keeps on giving.

I stopped and thought about it.

I’ll send a text.

I’ll not.

I want to get this over with.

I don’t have to do anything right now.

Pray.

Write it down and drop it in the God box.

“Why don’t you put the weekend in your God box and see what happens,” she suggested to me.

I wrote down my ex on a scrap of paper.

I said a prayer and dropped it through the coin slot of my hot pink bunny bank, aka, my God box.

Then I wrote “the weekend” down on another, said another prayer and did the same.

Then I ate my dinner.

Never call on an empty stomach.

Texting is childish, act like an adult, call.

So I called.

It went to voicemail.

I asked him out for coffee sometime over the weekend if he was free.

Then I decided to get the hell out of the house.

A friend text’ed me to say hello while I was packing my bag to get out of the house and I told him what I did and it felt fine.

And I feel fine.

I don’t feel bad at all.

What I have realized is that I want things to go my way, I want to control how I am seen and what happens next.

I keep expecting to bump into him, he lives in the freaking neighborhood for Pete’s sake, but our schedules were wildly divergent when we were dating, why would that have changed?

I haven’t, with the exception of once, seen him.

I have walked past his house twice since the breakup.

Really.

Not bad, when you consider it’s four blocks away.

I actually felt ok with the message and the call and when it’s all said and done, it’s said and done.

I walked to the cafe, the sunset spreading in spectacular manner over the ocean (I would have walked to the beach to catch it, but the wind was just too fierce) and into a jam space, the locals all gathering for the blues cover band and I got my tea.

I found a place in the back by the bar and sat with my book and let myself have fun getting lost in the book and the small world of community unfolding before me.

I even forgot about the phone call until I booted up my computer and the Facebook feed featured a photo I was not expecting to see.

“I’m not looking at his feed at all this weekend,” I told her over the coffee at Tart to Tart.

And I haven’t.

Then this photo popped into my news feed.

It was sort of like getting punched.

Grr.

Maybe I will take a break from ye old FaceCrack entirely for the rest of the weekend.

I have books to read.

And fun to be had.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring.

More fun.

I suspect.

I am wide open.

Available.

Let the fun begin.

Fear Of The Apple People

April 12, 2015

Part Deux (The original Fear of the Apple People was one of my first blogs on this site about five and a half years ago–maybe I should call this a “reprise” instead).

The fear is not as bad as it used to be, once upon a time, but the fear is still there.

God forbid I look stupid.

I can’t call a help desk.

What if they find out I am an idiot?

What are they going to do, Martines, take away your laptop?

REALLY?

Fear of not knowing what I am doing will stop me in my tracks all the time.

Every time.

But, what I have learned, and I have learned so much since I first became a proud owner of my first, slightly used, refurbished MacBook, is that I may be stopped momentarily with fear, it does not get the best of me.

“Men of faith have courage.”

Courage is walking through fear.

It is not the lack of fear, I’m always going to have fear.

Fear is a part of the human experience, it just is.

However, I have a disease of perception and of over blown fears.

My fears are irrational and unconstituted in fact.

They are baseless, groundless, little mindless animals, voles, shrews, grommets.

I know, a grommet is not an animal.

However, doesn’t that sound like what a little fear animal is–small brown tatty fur, sharp little teeth, scrappy claws, yellowish beady eyes, nocturnal–a grommet.

“Sorry honey, I didn’t mean to snap at you, too many grommets attacking my brain today.”

I have had my new laptop for about a week and I am thrilled.

Thrilled.

The battery last like forever and the receptivity from the key board really does make it feel like I am thinking the words and they are just popping up on the screen.

Lovely.

It’s light, easily a quarter of the weight my old laptop is, that old brick.

But, for what ever reason.

Well, I suspect the not so hot internet connection I have in my little studio by the sea has something to do with it.

The migration of my files on the old laptop to the new MacBook Air took over 24 hours and when it finally happened, something glitchy happened.

The MacBook Air and the old laptop both tell me the same thing–that the files have transferred, but I can’t seem to locate them.

I would like to locate them.

All my music files.

10,000 plus photographs.

Who knew I was so prolific?

Well, you might.

Considering I have been writing this blog on a fair daily basis for the last five years and each blog is on average 1,000 words.

Prolific is not an issue for me.

It has taken me a week, however, to acknowledge that I can’t figure it out.

“Figure it out is not a slogan,” he would say to me brusquely on the phone, and depending on where I was I would burst into tears.

But I want to figure it out!

Damn it man.

God forbid, I repeat, that you find out that I don’t know what I am doing.

I have no clue what I am doing, in case you had any thoughts to the contrary.

I’m following the fault line down the mountain, the path of least resistance, to my heart, to my knees, to my soul.

“If you’re falling down the hill, you’re in God’s will,” she told me at a cafe in Paris, it might have been the Lizard Lounge in the Marais when she first imparted this wisdom upon me.

She then told me about how a snow ball rolling down the mountain takes the path of least resistance, equating it to, if it’s simple it’s the choice, if it’s convoluted and means double back tracking and going around that tree and uprooting that other one, and moving the snow fences, then maybe it’s not meant to be.

I try to figure it out all the time.

Then I remember.

I can’t.

I don’t need to.

And.

Yes.

I can ask for help.

So, I finally got my butt on the Apple site and booked a phone call help session for tomorrow a half hour before my first lady bug of the day flits her way to my doorstep for tea and singleness of purpose.

I can’t imagine it will take more than a half hour to resolve the situation.

If not fifteen minutes.

Probably only five.

That’s the thing.

I often will be given the solution in a nice tidy compact package, but I have to fret for a while.

It’s not as bad as it used to be and I count that as progress.

And bravery.

I am a brave person.

I showed up for a blind date today and I have another tomorrow.

I’m not thrilled to be doing this.

“Geez you sound so excited,” she giggled at me last night when I described going on a date in Golden Gate Park for a picnic on the lawn somewhere.

Yeah.

Not excited.

Not because I didn’t have some rapport with the man, I obviously wouldn’t have accepted the date if there was nothing to talk about.

Which there was nothing to talk about with another guy that tried to contact me today.

Dude.

Did you even read the profile?

And please, I can’t promise I won’t break your heart, no one is responsible for breaking your heart, you break your own heart, so don’t even bother to ask me that.

There are no victims, only volunteers.

I did not volunteer myself to go on a date with said man.

Let some other woman break his heart, I’m too busy breaking my own.

“I’m so over internet dating I told my friend,” my date was running late and I was hungry and boohoo’ing in my coffee.

“Honey, have a snack, I’m sure there’s good reason and he’s making an effort and a MUNI is MUNI, and don’t delete your profile until after you have eaten,” she admonished me.

Yup.

So I’ll be off to try another tomorrow.

Coffee at Java Beach and a walk on said beach, Ocean Beach, with his dog.

I can be afraid of not being enough.

Pretty enough.

Young enough.

Smart enough.

Blah, blah, blah.

Or I can walk through these silly fears too and keep on going.

Every time I take a little leap forward the fear is dispelled a tiny bit and the faith grows larger and larger.

One day this will all be laughable and I won’t worry about calling the help desk and asking them to fax me over a ream of paper and I’ll be ok with looking silly and I’ll keep wearing flowers in my hair and glitter on my face, turning it toward the sun, the blue skies, and the birds flying over head in the park.

“Look, there,” I stopped him, the picnic in the park date, and the story he was telling, “red tail hawk.”

I watched it silently as it circled lazy on the wind and sun, the music of a guitar drifting from the bandshell by the DeYoung, a little boy on roller skates tumble bumbling by, the grass green under my bare feet, I breathed in and closed my eyes to the sun, soaking it up and relishing being exactly who I am in the exact place I am supposed to be.

I think that’s called acceptance.

Face it.

I live in San Francisco.

By the beach.

With a MacBook Air under my fingers, Cat Stevens on my stereo, and nice food in my fridge.

I have nothing to fear.

But yes.

Fear itself.

And even I know that there really is nothing behind that too.

Just another opportunity to grow.

Graceful.

Beautiful.

Loved.

All The Pretty Sunsets

January 26, 2015

In the Sunset.

I live in the Outer Sunset of San Francisco and today was the kind of day that everybody comes out to the beach for.

Clear skies.

Sunny.

Great waves breaking.

Warm.

Not hot.

But warm enough for flip-flops and grilling out and playing Ultimate frisbee in the sand, for tall cans and high jinks, to go cups of coffee from Trouble Coffee and Coconut Club, sandwiches wrapped up in white deli paper from Java Beach Cafe, and the ubiquitous joint or three from a kid on the MUNI who “lives” in the park.

It was as if the entire hipster nation came in from the Mission.

Not that I mind sharing the beach with the rest of the city, the Mission shares its burritos with me, but that I am not always used to it being so crowded.

I did want to be down at the beach, though, it was too pretty to stay at home for the sunset.

I had myself a really lovely, low-key, mellow day.

I had two ladies over, back to back, for tea and writing and reading.

I did my laundry and changed my sheets and took a nice shower and ate a good breakfast, wrote lots long hand, went grocery shopping on my bicycle.

It was the grocery shopping on my bicycle that both confirmed for me that the entire city was ocean side, and also sealed the deal that I would, despite the crowds, go down too.

It was just dreamy.

Riding my bicycle on the Great Highway and the sun warm on my face, the breeze, yes cool, I didn’t want to be in the shade today, which in San Francisco is its own mircro climate, but gorgeous, truly.

January 25th and the temperature was in the mid sixties.

I’ll take it.

Although my preference was to take it easy.

I haven’t had an easy Sunday for a while.

I have been coming and going and doing and being and breaking up and having feelings and you know, stuff.

Today.

Well.

It all fell away, like a dream, I woke up and there was the beach beckoning and my back yard beckoning and I could not but heed the call.

I had lunch on my patio and sat with my feet in a chair listening to Coleman Hawkins on the stereo and dining al fresco in the sun.

It is just protected enough by the houses surrounding it that it tends to be just a bit warmer than if I was outside in front of the house.

It soaks up the sunshine and reflects it back.

When it’s hot, it’s not too pleasant, but it is infrequently hot.

I read a magazine.

I closed my eyes and drifted in and out.

I read more of my Stephen King novel, Doctor Sleep.

I drank some tea.

I listened to the birds.

Ravens.

Finches.

Gulls.

I heard the scream of a hunting hawk.

I heard the faint shush of the sea.

During the day it’s a lot harder to hear, too much back ground noise, but in between the birdsong and the N-Judah train running, occasionally I would catch just the barest hint of surf crashing.

Muffled.

Yet joyful.

When I first moved out here and it was suggested that I take Sundays and allow myself to have some down time and to not make plans, I got really freaked out.

Spend time with myself?

No way man.

I might have feelings.

I have places to be, things to do.

I have to get ahead, man.

However, I am a suggestion monster, and so I did.

I sat.

I got still.

I listened to the sea.

I listened to my heart.

I did cry.

And then something happened.

The stillness sunk in and I started to need it.

I started to crave it.

And then I forgot, sort of, all about it, when I got into the relationship.

I do recall having thoughts about going down for a walk on the beach with the ex-boyfriend, but he wasn’t much for walking on the beach.

I don’t believe I ever asked either, I’m sure he would have been game, but we never did.

Add to ideal.

Ugh.

Yes.

I would like to go for walks by the sea.

I mean, yeah, it’s a stupid cliché.

But it’s also my back yard and I like walking and really, when I live so close, it seems silly to not enjoy it.

I mean.

Come on.

It’s gorgeous.

Sunset Ocean Beach

Sunset Ocean Beach

I had made a few resolutions about today.

Deal with my taxes, meaning, contact my families from 2014 and find out what they are claiming for child care, if they are claiming, and request that information by the 31st of the month.

Done and done.

I sent out the e-mail earlier.

Order a pair of jeans online.

I know my size, I know what kind I like to wear, so order them.

Thanks Ebay!

I found a pair of the normally $175 jeans for $19.99 plus shipping.

$25.88 and I have a new pair of jeans coming to me in the mail.

Next.

Walk to the beach and watch the sunset.

Allow myself to enjoy my neighborhood and not be wary of running into my ex.

Then it happened.

I realized I wasn’t afraid to run into my ex.

It wasn’t like I wanted to.

It was more that, as I was walking down Judah toward the beach, that I suddenly knew that whenever we saw each other next, it would be alright.

The thought of seeing him didn’t make me want to cross the street to avoid him.

Which is a good thing since he lives four and a half blocks away.

I didn’t run into him, in case you were wondering.

But I’m not afraid to.

And that felt nice.

Like.

Oh.

The world.

It has moved on.

And so have I.

I am back into my groove.

I have my jazz on the stereo, my face full of sunshine, my belly replete with tea and good food, the weekend was restful, I got to read, I accomplished the basic household stuff that needs to be done, grocery shopped, and did the deal.

And I got to go for a romantic walk on the beach with the best girl in the neighborhood.

Me.

 

“To love oneself is the begging of a life-long romance.”

-Oscar Wilde

 

 

Kiss And Tell?

September 22, 2013

I am not one to do that.

ER, um, well, maybe I will break my own little rule a teensy bit.

Sigh.

Yum.

Giggle.

Hehehehehe.

The braces are just fine.

And that’s all that I have to say.

I mean, I want to revel in it, but I don’t want to share it.

The more it means, the more it means I want to be circumspect.

Suffice to say I am not in a mood to do a lot of writing, but old habits, this habit, die-hard.

I had a nearly internet free day today and I was thinking it would be nice to go the entire day without having to  log onto my lap top that would be a nice thing.

Then I remembered, oh, yeah, that blog thing needs to happen.

Then I opened my blog and looked at the stats, I like to do that, and I was reading a blog a friend posted and then, it hit me, this is it.

This is my 1,000th post!

I had talked to my friends about doing a party.

I forgot.

And I got busy being busy moving in.

I showed the Mister my new place, which early in the day was described to me as looking like I have lived here forever.

“Look at you, all beachy and relaxed, and your place is perfect, you look like you have lived out here forever,” she finished poking her head out the back door and scanning the yard.

“It’s so peaceful!” She exclaimed.

It is.

I fell asleep last night with the door to the studio open, listening to the ocean.

Nothing else.

Just the ocean.

I am awed that I can open the door and hear the ocean.

It may become old hat, sometime further down the road, but it is still miraculous to me.

I may be a fiery Sagittarius woman, but there is something to the call of the sea that gets to me.

“You let me know when you are ready for that walk on the beach,” he said to me as we strolled up Judah back to the house.

We had made a quick pit stop for a late bite at Java Beach cafe.

It’s so nice that there is a late night spot in the neighborhood.

There was a thin skein of fog and smoke from a beach bonfire in the air, a group of guys in front of the cafe playing acoustic guitars and a couple out walking their dog.

It was such a California beach town scene, I just about clapped my hands out of pure enjoyment of witnessing it.

I do feel myself getting settled here.

I do feel the lure of the dunes and I walked around the neighborhood more today, taking 46th on foot to Noriega and discovering another little hamlet of cafes and surf shops and a little trendy boutique as well as another organic outpost of a market.

Loving this beach community that I have fallen so serendipitously into.

Then I walked down to the ocean and crossed the Great Highway and headed to the surf.

Standing in the dunes with my face to the wind and the sun, my head soothed by the balm of the noise of the surf, I felt so myself and perfect and there was not a worry to be had in a single part of my body.

I had plans to see the Mister in the evening.

I had my fix early in the afternoon with my ladybug at ye old Trouble Coffee Shop.

I had a scrumptious home-made lunch on the back patio in the sun.

I had a persimmon for dessert that made my whole body sing with pleasure (warm sliced persimmon with sea salt, cocoa, nutmeg, cinnamon) and a cup of Tahitian Vanilla Spice tea as well as a few chapters in a new book in the sunshine.

And then a long walk ending up on the high dune overlooking the sea and the clouds.

Dune

dune

I stood taking it in and decided, that yes, I did want to walk down to the surf.

I pulled off my flip-flops and meandered down the dunes, still damp from the rain that happened this morning, but had cleared off into the vision of the day before me.

I scanned the beach for sand dollars.

Finally locating not one, but three that were whole and unbroken.

Another small treasure to bring back to my home by the sea, of the sea, just for me.

I rinsed them off in the ocean tide and took just one of the three in my hand for my nightstand next to my bed.

A reminder that I am here, unbroken, loved, and taken gently in hand.

As I stood up from the tide I noticed the clouds and then, with an audible gasp, I noticed the reflection of the clouds on the thin skin of water that was the end result of the crashing waves on the shore, the last finger of water that stretched over the wet sand, making a mirror of the sky above it.

Mirror

Mirror

Reflections

Reflections

 

 

 

 

 

I fumbled for my camera and breathed in the fine salt mist as I squatted down to capture the shot.

I knew I looked like a tourist to the folks walking their dogs and I felt like a tourist for a moment until I realized that I had to go to the bathroom and I just had to walk back to the house.

Not many tourists can say that.

I laughed at my inside joke, gathered up my hem on my dress in my hand, pulling it up over my knees to climb back up the dune to the Great Highway.

I turned again and took in the vista, before closing my eyes and lifting my face back to the sun, searing the image of the water and the horizon on the inside of my heart.

Drifting back up the sidewalk I passed Java Beach and thought, I will have to have a cup of tea there soon.

I wasn’t expecting it to be tonight.

I was happy to have it.

The company as well.

The walk back to the house, the fog not so thick, but just there, the smell of wood smoke, the smell co-mingled with the wafer cookie vanilla musk of my companion, intoxicating.

The kiss more so.

The first kiss in my new home.

That is the party for my 1,000th blog.

I can think of no better.

A private party.

Just for me and a few thousand words.

And the flutter of butterfly wings in my chest.

 


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