Posts Tagged ‘laughing at myself’

I’m Willing To Do The Work

June 27, 2016

God.

God damn it.

I laughed at myself.

In the bathroom, peeing out the iced coffee from Java Beach and all my out and about in the neighborhood today.

I never left the three block radius of my house.

Wait.

Not true.

I did go grocery shopping at SafeWay down on Balboa and Great Highway.

But really.

I stayed put.

I had some ladies to meet today.

One who flaked.

One who didn’t.

I had a coffee date with an old friend.

I cooked for myself.

I got some groceries for a friend who is housebound with a foot surgery and can’t walk out the house yet.

I did the things that make me feel good.

Even when my friend brushed sand off my face and I thought for a minute, fuck, he’s going to kiss me.

But he didn’t.

I can’t date him and we talked it out in the dunes out at the beach and had a nice time just getting all the story out there and watching the waves roll in and out.

It was brisk but sunny.

And the Pride was still happening and the Parliament happening at Stern Grove, it was sort of perfect, no one was down at the beach.

Not that many folks in the neighborhood.

It was a soft, cottony, cold, foggy, swathed in morning and it took me a minute to get the yawns out of my head before I headed off to yoga.

It was warm in the studio and I drifted through the work out and it was great.

I got to the final resting pose and I think I actually experienced that illusive condition that the teacher is always alluding to.

My mind free and quiet.

My body at complete rest, totally supported by the mat and the earth beneath me.

I felt grounded and rooted and also, completely free and free floating.

It was utter bliss.

It didn’t hut that I was able to do some poses and sequences that I have not been successful with and I tried with one pose that is super challenging for me, Crow pose, and though I didn’t come anywhere near nailing it, I got to get closer to it and committed to trying to do it, and yeah, I fell.

But.

I also laughed.

Grateful that I can laugh at myself.

“That’s the great thing about you!” My friend exclaimed as I was talking about some dating disasters I have been through over the last six months or so.  “You can totally laugh at yourself, that is so refreshing, you have no idea.”

Perhaps I don’t.

Perhaps I don’t have an inkling at all.

I mean.

I am fucking grateful that I can take my shit with a grain of salt and also that I have experience and perspective and information to move forward with.

I was yelling, or talking loudly with God, praying from the toilet seat as I peed, “really, I’m willing to do the work, I am.”

My friend who I had dropped groceries off to had suggested, in regards to a disaster of a relationship that I was super quiet about going through, he was stunned that I hadn’t said anything before today, that he hadn’t known anything.

“Dude, you mean _____________?! You were hanging out with him?”

Yup.

“I had no fucking clue.”

Yeah.

Well.

Nobody did.

Then I ran down the story, sans the drama that I felt going through the experience, but I got the bones of the narrative out.

“Ok, so here’s the deal,” my friend broke it down, “you either think that you’re not enough, so you settled, or which is worse, that you knew you were better than this but you weren’t willing to do the work.”

Ouch.

Ouch.

Ouchity, ouch, ouch.

And yet.

There is truth here.

I wanted to deny it.

I wanted to say it was neither.

But the truth is that it was both, I felt both not enough and also that I was enough and more than enough, and I knew I wasn’t being treated well, but I sort of blinded myself to the information that I was being given and went tripping merrily down the rabbit hole.

I realize that I need sustenance more than flash.

Although.

Flash can be exciting.

It doesn’t last more than a week or two.

I like sexy, who doesn’t?

But.

Yes.

I want sustenance, I want substance, and yes, ha, I am wiling to do the work.

Which means what?

Fuck if I know.

And.

I am ok with that too.

I am ok with having fun.

But, yeah, I do want the more permanent thing, not just the glittery and the sparkle.

I suspect that there can be both substance and glitter.

It doesn’t have to be a lot, but there should be sparkle, truly what doesn’t do well with a little bit of lacquer?

Painted heart.

Painted hussy.

Painted face.

Masked behind the sexy and the glitter and the ribbons and gewgaws, the flowers sequined and spattered with light shine, the musicality of stars, the glitter box full of hearts sprayed metallic shimmer, is the plain of my soul.

Lighted and a fire.

“You are so beautiful,” he said looking into my eyes, “the more I look, the further into your heart I can see and you are so beautiful.”

I don’t believe it was a line.

But it was our last goodbye.

Beneath the sheets our limbs entangled, his hands in my hair, on my face, holding it just there, it was a goodbye, in hindsight, although in the basement of my heart I knew, I still let the moment spin out, basking in the moment and the reverence.

The sacred.

And.

The profane.

Floating gossamer like, a small spider web of hopeful desire sticky on my hands that brushed it away to go forward into the routine of my days and weeks.

Those days and weeks tumble into months now and though I can share the story with one friend on the beach and take the tale to another over coffee and catch up, I know now that they are just that, stories, narratives, tall tales from the neck of my life.

Floating out and above the skyline.

Like.

Heart shaped balloons.

Loosed at sunset.

Beautiful to look at.

But.

Illusory and fragile.

Shot through.

And.

Glowing in the sorbet sunset to melt into the sky, buttery indigo flamingo pink and puce punk back lit.

The change is this.

Instead of running across the dunes, stumbling, in fear, trying to catch something I can never touch or capturing something that cannot be caught, I stopped chasing.

I just sat back and watched them float away.

Still and silent.

Glowing inside and outside with the sunset.

And the few small grains of sand I just brushed from my face.

A soft smile.

The warm embrace of an arm around my waist.

The pause.

The goodbye.

And the hello again to knowledge.

It’s all just information.

How I use it.

That’s my choice.

I’m powerless over the rest.

Alone.

But.

Not.

Lonely.

And.

Most.

Certainly.

Not unloved.

Oh no.

So.

Loved.

Seriously.

All the time.

This vast.

Vast.

Ocean.

Of.

Love.

 

Another One Bites the Dust

February 10, 2015

Check.

I just scratched another name off the list of ten guys I would be interested in going out with.

This makes number three and boy howdy was he surprised when I dropped the bomb.

It was funny.

I hung out with friends tonight, you know, doing that fellowship thing, even when I’m not eating the pizza, I need to do it–fellowship, that is, not pizza.

And I am really glad I did, I got invited to go swimming at China Beach and try out some body surfing, which is something I have wanted to try for some time now.

Anywho.

Get to the point here.

I wrote my number down and my name, like he doesn’t know it, he’s known me for 10 years, and touched his arm, handed it off and said, something to the effect of:

“Now that you have a tattoo (tattoos being on my ideal list) I can ask you out.  Here’s my number, if you ever want to go out and grab a coffee let me know.  I’m practicing asking guys out and the whole dating thing.”

He fumbled, “Me?”

“Huh?”

“Uh, um, I don’t ah, usually date you know, in the….”

“Yeah, I gotcha, no worries, I’m just practicing,” I said.

And I didn’t even blush.

“Well, you know, maybe we could do a coffee sometime, um, I…”

“No pressure,” I laughed, “don’t feel weird, no weirdness here, heck I even asked out your friend at one point awhile back, don’t feel too special.”

I smiled, “night.”

I turned, unlocked my bicycle and hopped on it, rode off down the road and into the sunset.

Well, it was late, not the proverbial sunset, but the Sunset, where I live.

It was a giddy ride home.

I almost could make a habit of asking guys out, I certainly get a jolt of adrenalin from doing it.

I can tell the answer is no and he won’t be calling and I’m so cool with it, it’s not even funny, I’m just pleased as punch, to continue the lazy use of cliché, that I asked.

Another one-off the list.

Another fantasy squashed.

I really didn’t ever think he would, I never got that vibe from him, but I like him, he’s smart, and he’s very funny.

Two characteristics I am a big fan of.

So.

Next.

Oh.

And the gentleman I called yesterday and called an asshole on his voicemail sent me the no response response, which is basically a no, in a twee little text message this afternoon.

My response, “oh you’re fucking funny.”

And he is.

And the response he gave me was funny.

I can’t wait for the ribbing I’m going to get when I see him next.

Hopefully I’ll be dating someone so I don’t have to listen to his crap for too long.

I am getting to see some funny stuff here with the dating.

Oh.

What else is funny?

OkCupid picked up and re-Tweeted my blog from last night and I got a huge amount of reads off it, which was cool, but I wanted to ask the robot, “did a human read what I wrote, do you know I call your service OkStupid?”

Ha.

Oh.

Good times.

“Breaking up is good for you,” he said to me over a slice of pizza at Pasquale’s in the Inner Sunset, “your writing has been on fire.”

Thanks.

I appreciate that.

I do love to do the writing and if one of the consequences of my break up is better quality blogs, hey, bring it on.

I’m so grateful for this blog, for putting it out there, for not caring, too much, who reads what, for having a forum to dump my day into.

All the goofy stuff that goes through my brain, all the dreams and fantasy, all the angst and anxiety, and the silliness of myself that I get to let go of.

It’s the best and I’ve also become quite a fast typist.

Really, my words per minute is off the hook.

I have to say I am glad for the dating experience, and man it is an experience, a lot of work,  a lot of self-discovery, a lot of letting go of results.

And every time I get the surprised who me, or the tee hee response of someone who isn’t right for me, it makes it a little easier to go onto the next one.

I have complete faith that I am on the right track.

Oh.

I don’t know that I am taking the “right” actions.

I can sit here in my head and debate right and wrong all night long and not take any action whatsoever, because I want to make sure it’s the right one.

Rather.

I’m bumble fucking the hell around and providing myself with some ridiculous life experiences.

Ones I would not have if I was keeping myself to myself all the time.

I have to be willing to look like an ass if I’m going to get anywhere with this thing.

I’m not even feeling rejection from the last two guys, and you know, rejection is God’s protection, I’m just feeling ok, cool, moving on.

And not in a strident kind of way.

Just going with the flow.

Moving on.

Easy like.

I suspect too, that the more action I take, the more results I’m going to get.

I just have to continue to put it out there.

It’s going to be the thing that I don’t think will work, or the guy that I never would have asked out, except that I said I would take someone else’s suggestion.

It’s going to be right when I am left.

Or up when I am down.

Sideways and silly.

I just have to let it all out and do my thing.

Do your thang, do your thang, make my body sing

Let me see you do your thing now

And who knows, maybe some one will ask me out.

Now that would be something.

Just as long as it’s not on Tinder.

I am done with that.

Here’s to making a fool of myself and living through the experience.

To making an ass of myself.

In the best possible way.

For yet another day.


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