Posts Tagged ‘La Ciccia’

That Uncomfortable Feeling

August 2, 2016

When a stranger walks into your house.

I was like what the fuck?

Is there actually someone coming into my room?


The housemate has a guest.

Apparently a nosey guest.

Not exactly how I wanted to find out.

None the less, pretty much the cap on a long strange day.

I got up early to go to work early to let in the housekeeper, the family is away, but there was still plenty on the list for me to do.


It’s a lot easier to get shit done when the family is away.

It’s just hella odd.

I realized as I was changing the bedding in the boys rooms, that I have never done house work for a family when they weren’t there.

Either they were there and I was nannying.

Or they were not there, as in vacationing or out of town and I was not there.

It’s a different dynamic and sometimes I find myself taking it for granted and sometimes, well, it’s just fucking weird.

Today it felt weird.

Then again.

Everything feels a little helter skelter right now.

There is a lot happening.

Mostly in my brain.

My brain is a hotbed of activity right now, it won’t turn off.

I also had odd pockets of time today, that did not help, then again, I suppose they did not hinder either.

I found myself having coffee “on the clock” at Ritual while the laundry was working there was not really anything for me to do until it was finished, so I grabbed a coffee at the cafe and worked on my spending plan for August.


I worked on not being in financial insecurity.

I mean.

There’s fear.

There’s always fear.

And I always walk through it.

Sometimes gracefully, sometimes haltingly and stumbling along like a fucking idiot.


I have never been dropped.

And I won’t now.

And I have the money to do that thing in the desert, even though it’s cost a lot more than I have ever spent on it.

I keep telling myself.

I get to go.

I get to go.

I get to go.

And I get to go a little early so I will actually have four and a half days on playa.

Things are falling together as well.

They are.

I have my tent, my camp chair, I got my old quilt from a girlfriend who had it for a while and whom I haven’t seen in so long, it’s rather stupid.

I have my tent.

I am going to give it a shot at getting set up either tomorrow or Wednesday.

Maybe Thursday.



I’m nattering on.

I’m nervous about a lunch date I have tomorrow.

I literally had the thought today that I don’t have the right shoes.

Who is this person?


This guy has seen me around.

For a long time.

Like eleven and a half fucking years, the man knows I wear Converse.


My brain, on fire.

Put it out.

I don’t have the right clothes either, fyi, that’s already been decided.

Thanks for sharing brain, really.

I have no idea where we’re going for lunch, but I live in the Outer Sunset, it’s not like we going to some fine dining gig on a Tuesday at noon.

Not that I think we’re going to Mickey D’s either.

I have been on a few dates with said gentleman, a few years ago, before I moved to Paris, and the odds are actually not that unusual that he would take me to a nice place.

He’s got good taste.

Chez Spencer before it burned down.

Flour and Water.

Which he was a little abashed to bring me to when he found out I don’t eat flour (or sugar).

I joked it wasn’t like he took me to Vodka and Cocaine.




Also, La Ciccia, which was fantastic.

Plum in Oakland.


So it may be a fancier place, but it doesn’t matter.

I mean.

My brain will try to make it like it does matter.

But really.

All I’m thinking about is.

What will go with the cute sandals I got in New Orleans?


Will he kiss me?

Or is this just a let’s catch up and see how the other person is doing?

But um, Facecrack says he’s single and I’m single and we’ve kissed before and.

Jesus fuck.

I am blushing.

That can stop.

I’ll probably get up and go to yoga so I can calm the fuck down.

Expectations lead to resentment.

I have no expectations.

Yes, some nerves, but really, that’s just that good old mind fuck that says I’m not enough and don’t have the right hair, I mean, um, it’s pink, heh, or the right shoes, I do love my Converse, or the right clothes, I have scads of cute dresses, I just have this idiotic idea that I have to look a certain way for a certain type of guy.

I have too many tattoos.

Actually I have just enough.


I could use another, who am I fooling?

Really in the end, there is nothing wrong.

I’m excited.

I want to look pretty.

And it will be good to catch up.

I am curious to see what his intentions are though.

I won’t lie.

But regardless, I can comport myself with some decorum.

Unless I’m laughing, then all decorum bets off.



I’m just not going to pursue that line of thought.

All the other dates I thought might coalesce this week have not confirmed.

I’m going where the water is warm.


At least interested.


Just letting me know there’s a date.

The date got confirmed.

That’s a start.

I’m going to have fun.

I am going to dress how I like to dress.

For me.

Wear my hair the way I like it.

Sing my song of myself.

It’s a good song.

Sexy like.

I get to go on a date.


This is fun!


I get to do this.

Nerves or not.

I’ll look cute and have an adventure.

Promise to tell  you all about it.




What’s The Address To Your Blog

October 15, 2012

Mumble, mumble, mumble,

mumble, mumble, hair falls into my face, put another bite of squid in mouth, mumble.

And gloss that one right over, why don’t you?

Because I do not want him to know my blog.  I do not.

Of course at this time I do not know what I want at all.

“Honey,” John Ater said to me, “are you marrying either one of them?”

Uh, no.

“And when are you leaving for Paris?”  He added, looking at his watch, or I imagined he was looking at his watch, I could hear the thrum of the Muni tracks in the back ground as he was taking the J-Church up into Noe Valley.

“Because, darling, you sound like that’s what you are planning,” he finished and I heard the beep of the door closing on the train.


Well fuck.

I had not even realized.

I had been off in one way or another marrying either one of them and what the fuck was I doing?

Oh, yeah, trying to obsess about anything other than the fact that I am moving to Paris is 18 days and I don’t know what the fuck I am doing.


But nothing, “it does not matter,” John finished for me.  “It does not matter, honey, you go whore yourself all around town for all that it matters, you are moving to Paris, none of this matters.”


But I want it too.

I want it to be something big and special.

I want drama.

Ah ha.

Something, anything, to distract me from the fact that all I have to do is this, keep showing up, keep doing whatever action is in front of me, keep being as honest as I possibly can.

And get laid.

I have a tentative date with the lover tomorrow night.

And can I just say that it is weird, weird, weird, that he reads these blogs.


There I said it.

And it is wonderful too.  I really respect his thoughts on my writing.

John’s too.

John and I met today at Boderlands Cafe.  Right after I did my amends with my boss.

Boy howdy.

It was a full day today and I did not even get to sleep in like I had planned as I got a text this morning informing me that the ex-lady of the house was coming by with a friend to weed the garden and she’d just ring the bell.


It’s my day off, I want to sleep in, I want to get up and shower and do laundry and not have to engage or interact or do anything in regards to you, go away.

Petulant teenager angst.

You would think I was turning 16 and not 40.

I called Ater before I was out of my Hello Kitty pajamas and had a full on rant before I had done anything else, in other words I threw a tantrum.

“Hold out your hand!”  He demanded over the phone.

“Fuck you.”  I said in exasperation, but I did it anyway.

“What is front of your hand is your business,” he said firmly, “what is on the other side is not your business.”

“Repeat, not your business.”


But I want it to be.

John talked me off the ledge and we made plans to meet after I was done with my amends to my boss–which, in case you were wondering, went really well.  And I actually do not believe I would have been able to show up for it quite so well if I had not had the blow out with him the day prior.

It somehow cleared the air and I was able to own up to my behavior.

He was surprised, he had no clue that I was going to make an amends, and he told me that I did not owe him one.  Then I told him and he saw what I was owning up to and he thanked me for it and then admitted he did the same thing.

I am not alone in my humanness.

Again, I see that the amends is not for the person I am making it to, but for me.

I am not alone in being human.



I am also not alone in wondering if I am some sort of loose hooligan of a woman for dating two men at the same time.

“Are you moving to Paris?”  John asked me as I started to get spun out again.


“Are you trying to sow drama where there is none?”  Joh astutely asked, a sheer billowing curtain fluttering over his head from the window above chuckles right along with him when I say, “fuck off!”

I mean, yes.

Will any of this matter in 18 days?


So go have fun, child, there is no shame here.


Well, in that case.

Yet, I still could not tell Mister Busy the address to my blog.

I mean, I did, but I hid in my hair when I said it and who the hell is going to remember while eating the most amazing squid ever, ever, ever at La Ciccia.

I had never been there before and it was amazing.

I get romantic dinners with one man and hot ridiculous sex with another the next night?

Is that right?

Should I care if it is?

Should I freak out if either one of them reads this?


Not according to the word of John Ater.

I have to trust that he is right and has more experience and it is ok to do this.  And it is ok to have feelings around both men.  Because I do.  And  I get confused and I like both of them for different reasons and they both do something for me.

And maybe, I for them.

But as I continue to move toward the leap across the world I have to continue showing up honestly for whatever is just right in front of me.

For whatever is right in front of my hand, me.

What I need for the rest of tonight?

A cup of tea and a snuggle with a stuffed rabbit.

That is about it.

Oh, yeah, not to keep anyone hanging, but I did get kissed tonight and the security light blinded us.


Apparently the motion sensors are more sensitive than I thought.

Although not nearly as sensitive as I.



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