Posts Tagged ‘Le Merle Moqueur’

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.

 

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Sweet Heart

March 8, 2017

That’s what I was called today.

Not by a lover.

Nor a friend.

Not a cat call.

Not someone trying to get something from me.

Nope.

MY BOSS.

That was in response to a message I had sent.

For offereing to make dinner and sending the mom and dad fun pictures of the charges at the park on the slide.

“You’re such a sweetheart!”

I’ll take that.

It feels really quite nice to be in my job right now, it’s been just a touch over two months and I really feel a part of.

Sometimes that can be challenging as I am navigating waters I haven’t had much experience with, English as a second language for the kids, but I’m figuring it out and it’s been an adventure.

Most times I don’t have a problem when my family speaks in their mother tongue.

In fact, it’s kind of nice to not know what someone is saying.

Their language is not a romance language.

I know I’m being vague, but I have a signed confidentiality agreement and I feel like if I go into too many details it would not be cool.

I’ll leave it at I’m happy to be with them and I feel very appreciated.

Which just makes me want to do a better job.

I am grateful for them.

I have been grateful for every job that I have had, regardless of conflict or challenge, because they have led here and here is pretty fucking awesome.

I feel good.

I feel serene.

I feel easy in my skin.

I have my school work ready for this upcoming weekend of classes.

I was able to run some personal errands today at work, while running errands for the family, and I was able to grab some toiletries and household things I’ll need for over the weekend.

I was able to run to the grocery store after work before doing the deal and get some fruit and veggies and almond milk to have in the house to supplement the food I made over the weekend for class.

I even got to sneak in a visit with a friend who I have not seen in a little while who I have been trying to hang out with.

Totally serendipitous and partially because I had a cancellation tonight.

My person and I were supposed to meet, but he got the flu and I ended up having a tiny chunk of time that I wouldn’t have had otherwise.

I connected with my friend, got to get my “I’m going to Paris in May,” dork on, and then when the clock was getting late, scoot on out the door, hop on my scooter and zoom zip across town.

And now I’m home.

Cozy.

Sipping hot tea and blogging.

Listening to St. Germaine and dreaming about my trip.

I am so excited to get to go again.

I am remiss that my friend, with whom I had planned the trip won’t be able to go, but hey, she’s got a great reason, she’s close to term with twins and can’t fly.

So.

Yeah.

She’ll be staying here.

I’m sad that I won’t get to experience Paris with her, but I’m cool on my own in Paris, I get along just fine.

And I will have friends there.

Because I have friends that live there and folks I know in the fellowship.

And a friend of mine will be visiting there with his mom.

He was supposed to come and visit me when I was living there but we missed each other.

I’ll get to be his tour guide for him and his mom for a few days, I think they overlap and are either going to London or Rome part of the time I’m in Paris.

I will be there ten days.

Ten days.

Dreamy sigh.

In May.

Another big dreamy sigh.

I’m so happy I’ll be going in spring, especially since the last two times I was there was during winter and it was cold.

And dark.

And grey.

I remember a dear friend of mine saying to me when I moved back how happy she was that I was back in San Francisco, in California, in the sun, that all the pictures I had taken in Paris when I lived there were lovely, but so grey and dark and depressing.

Paris is dark, grey, cold and depressing in the winter.

It is true.

Romantic, gothic, gorgeous.

But.

Cold, dark, and depressing for sure.

So to get to go in May, when the nights are shorter, the days are longer, and the weather is warmer.

Yes.

And more yes please.

Walks along the Seine.

Trips to the Jeu de Paume–the modern art photography museum.

Walks through the Tuilleries.

Walks in the Luxembourg Gardens.

Walks in Bois de Bologne.

Walks in the Marais.

Walks, and walks, and more walks.

And then.

Sitting in cafes.

Drinking cafe creme and people watching.

Then.

More walking.

The marches, the markets, the brocantes, the flea markets, the book stalls, the vintage clothes and jewelry.

Oh yes, that too.

And.

I have friends who are musicians.

I need to go to some nightclubs.

I didn’t do that too much when I lived there, although I did go to one big underground show that blew my lid off.

I knew the dj who was spinning and had no clue the venue was going to be so big and so packed.

It was amazing.

I also know a jazz saxophonist, a blues singer and a jazz singer.

I could get some late night jazz on in Paris.

Yes.

Oh, yes, I could.

I will also get myself a couple of things that I didn’t get to when I was there last.

I need another hat.

I want a market basket purse from either Marche des Rouge Enfants in the Marais or another canvas sack from Le Merle Moquer, my favorite bookstore in Paris.

And something small and whimsical from Fleux, a store in the Marais that has amazing household items, reminds me a tiny bit of Ikea, but super cool, chic, fun, unusual things.

I got my hot pink bunny Pylon bank there when I was living in Paris.

And.

When I was last there I scored a pickle jar lamp that has a miniature Eiffel Tower on the bottom of it.

It is just so quaint and sweet and I adore it.

I turn it on and it always makes me smile.

Ah.

So much to smile about.

Life.

Well.

Life is fucking good.

That’s what.

Seriously.

Life.

Is.

So.

Damn.

Good.

Do It Anyway

September 29, 2016

Afraid?

Do it anyway.

Not sure how it’s going to play out?

Do it anyway.

Freaked out by the possibility of upsetting a boss you don’t even know?

Do it anyway.

Guess what?

I FUCKING DID IT!

I bought a ticket to Paris for May.

OMG.

I am going back to Paris, my heart is so full and so happy and yeah, all that stuff.

Happy! Happy!

Joy! Joy!

Oh wait, excuse me while I go put on some French music.

Giggles gleefully.

And I get to be there with my friend, my dear, darling, amazing, awesome French friend.

Who I will not actually spend every day with and every minute with, she has to study for her exams.

But when she needs a break, I’ll be there.

Walking through the streets of Paris in the May sunshine.

I adore Paris in Spring.

It is so pretty.

It’s a bit disgusting.

Heh.

When my friend approached me this past weekend at school about going over I knew to say yes, and here it is just a few days later and walking through some fear, and I booked the ticket.

I will be leaving here Thursday evening May 11th and flying back Sunday morning May 21st at 10:40am.  What with time change I will get into SFO in the early afternoon.

I will have all day Sunday to recuperate before going back to work.

Bahahaha.

I don’t have a job for May.

But.

I do have faith and when my faith is a little wobbly, I call my people and talk it out.

It wasn’t so much the money, but the thought of having to negotiate with an imaginary boss about the trip.

I called a friend who made plans to go to India when she was in the middle of a job hunt.

I remember how I encouraged her, I had absolutely no qualms about it, she should go, the job would happen, it would be just fine.  And it was, she got the ticket and got a job soon thereafter that had no problems with her scheduled trip.

I knew I could do the leap, I just had to have a little bolstering to get me to jump.

But jump I did.

Originally I was going to just go for a week, but my friend convinced me to do ten days, that way we could pop over to Provence if the weather in Paris wasn’t great–sometimes May can still be cold and a bit rainy.

Or to a spot on Ile de Rey.

Yeah.

That’s right.

Just an island off the West coast of France.

Oh my freaking God.

I’m going where?

Ok, yes please.

I was terrified though, for a bit of the day, anxious, overwrought, trying to figure out the work deal and I was just like, this is nuts.  

Also I had a found a super cheap ticket but the travel time there and back was crazy making, like 29 hours there and 33 the way back.

Huge lay overs in Istanbul.

Which could have been super cool, but I know myself well enough that even though I like to save a dollar or two, that kind of length is too much.

My friend said as much when I told her the ticket I had found.

She convinced me pretty quick to buy a different ticket.

I thought about it and said, let me sit on it today and I’ll probably buy when I get home.

I went and called around to my people and I got the much-needed perspective from my friend while I was sitting on a bench at Kid Power Park with the boys.

I realized a few things.

First, I could afford to pay a few extra dollars to get a flight that didn’t have a layover that was so long.

Second, that there will always be a job for me.

I don’t have to know what the job is, but there is a demand for someone with my skills and the right family is going to be just fine with me taking a vacation.

In fact.

I must have vacation time and sick time and paid holidays.

It’s part of the package and it’s to be expected with the level of skill I bring to a job.

I have a huge list of assets and I’m an asshole if I don’t or won’t acknowledge that.

I have a phone interview tomorrow with a potential family and I’m pretty sure they won’t want to pay my costs.

But.

I don’t know that for sure.

And.

Some one will.

I mean.

Hell, the family that I worked for Monday wants me a second day and the mom has people at her kid’s school reaching out to her and I have not even posted to Craigslist or contacted any of the agencies yet.

Suffice to say.

Even should a job say, nope can’t accommodate you.

I can find another job.

I’ve got options.

And.

I’m going to Paris again.

I repeat.

IN SPRING.

The last two times I was there it was winter.

I am so ready for warm weather in France.

I’m going back to France.

I am so over the moon.

And I get to do it with a Parisian.

With a chic, sexy, smart, stunning, big-hearted genuine amazing friend.

I mean.

I could have fun with my friend hanging out in a box.

But.

Oh.

The thought of walking through the Marais with her, going down Rue Temple, hanging out at cafes, walking through Marche des Enfants Rouge, eating out in the warm night air, maybe going to a show, just sitting and talking.

I want to go to Ile des Cygnes and just walk it back and forth.

Then hop up to the Metro and go.

Well.

Anywhere I want.

I want to walk the Left Bank and Rue des Ecoles.

Or.

My favorite books store-Le Merle Moqueur in the 20th arrondisement.

I want to see all the street art.

Oh.

Fuck me.

I will finally get to see the LVMH Foundation which had opened when I was last there, but I did not get to.

It’s the Frank Gehry building in the Bois de Bolougne that Louis Vuitton founded.

It is astounding.

I will make my traditional pilgrimage to The American Cathedral on George V and The American Church on Quai d’Orsay.

I will go to the Jeu de Paume again, I really liked it and would love another visit, loads of really good modern art photography.

And I cannot go to Paris without going to Centre Pompidou–very possibly my favorite museum in the world.

And ahem.

Probably popping into Abraxas for another tattoo.

I mean.

When in Paris.

Am I right?

Mwhaahahahaha.

I’m going back to France baby.

So excited.

Talk about having some incentive to get through the school year!

Luckiest fucking girl in the world.

Seriously.

 

 

 

New Dress

November 10, 2015

Finally.

I returned a dress weeks ago and finally just got the access to the return on Modcloth.

I have been itching to get a new frock, but what with the scooter purchase and the unexpected, “hey let’s go to Paris for Christmas!” I have been loath to lay out any money for a new dress.

I want a new dress.

For Paris.

For my birthday.

Because it’s Monday.

Because maybe I want to wear it somewhere.

Not that I have a date or plans, but you never know.

I am still debating popping into the ARTumnal event on the 21st.

We shall see.

If so, then this is definitely the dress for it.

Or just to have a dress.

It’s nice to have something coming in the mail.

I won’t be spending anything else this month on clothes.

I am trying to keep it all to a dull roar.

Technically I could drop up to $200 on clothes this month, that’s what I put into my spending plan, but that was before Christmas in Paris and frankly, well, I would rather buy things in Paris than buy new clothes here.

Notebooks.

I am getting myself a gang of Clarefontaine notebooks.  I see the occasionally here in the city, Flax will carry them, but they don’t tend to carry the collections or the special issued ones.  I suppose I could just order them online, but there is something special about buying notebooks in Paris.

I will definitely be purchasing a special notebook for the trip, me and my glue stick are ready.

“Whenever you go on a trip, grab a glue stick and paste in things to a little notebook, so you can see everything you did while you were there,” a very good friend of mine, who travels a lot, told me this years ago and I do exactly that.

Where ever I am, Paris, Burning Man, London, Rome, New York, I stick and paste little things from my travels in that notebook.

I discovered, in my great hunt for my passport, so many of my notebooks from Paris.

I was a gog at all the places i went, all the little tickets and postcards and strip photos from photo booths in Metro stations, with ribbons and match book covers, with the Metro tickets and airplane boarding passes, the reciepts from museums and the ocassional business card or note from someone I had met.

I was able to remember so much just by flipping through the journals.

So.

Yes.

Notebooks.

And stickers.

Yeah.

Whatever.

I like stickers and I always try to get some from where I travel to.

The museum stores normally have some fantastic ones that you just don’t see anywhere else.

My trip in 2007 I got some phenomenal stickers from the Pompidou, I was just astounded at the whimsy and artistry of them and I never saw them anywhere else again.

But they are in my notebook.

I want as well, a market bag.

I lost my Merle Moqueur tote bag, I think in a Uber one day coming home from school being totally exhausted and stupid I think I left it in the front seat, so I need to replace that.

I would love to go to that bookstore, it’s a great one and definitely my favorite in the city.

Even though all the kids go to Shakespeare and Company, which has its appeal, but it’s a definite tourist stop and Le Merle Moqueur was just a neighborhood bookstore with a great selection of books and paper goods and I got two strands of paper cut outs there that I still have hanging in my house–one of the Eiffel Tower and paper hearts in yellow and orange by my chaise lounge and the other of pale green birds hanging in my bathroom.

I may get another set of paper cut outs.

They are sweet and not a lot of money to buy.

I also will get a hat.

It’s Paris.

You have to get a hat in Paris.

Well.

I have to get a hat in Paris.

I always get great compliments on the cabbie hat I got in the city my visit in 2007.

I still have it and whenever I wear it I do feel just a kiss of Paris.

The last time I wore it to school my friend who gave me a ride said, “nice hat!  You look very French today.”

“I bought it in Paris,” I replied with a smile and adjusted the brim.

“Of course you did.”

I chuckle.

Oh!

I want some tea.

Definitely.

Tea.

From Mariage Freres.

The Earl Grey.

So yummy.

I remember the first time I had it, visiting my person up in Pacific Heights and she was someone who travelled frequently to Paris, being in fashion, how could she not, and she made me a cup and it was divine.

Just a kiss of milk and heaven in a cup.

Yeah, I take a tin home with me for sure.

Perhaps some perfume from duty-free on the way back out, another bottle of Chanel Egoiste.

I still have some from the Chanel Boutique down on Maiden Lane, but it will be gone soon enough and it’s always nice to have a bottle I bought in Paris, in the airport as the size of bottle I want won’t go through security.

Postcards are on the list.

I will send myself one.

I will send many to friends and family.

It’s what I do.

I love snail mail.

There’s something so lovely and deliberate about sitting down and writing a little note and thinking about the person I am writing to, then the placing of the stamp, sealed with a kiss, the dropping it in the post and letting her go.

The time it takes for mail to get from France to here will be longer than the time I am in Paris, so sending myself a postcard is like a lovely little reminder of the adventures I had while away.

Perhaps a small poster from the booksellers along the Seine.

I pair of earrings.

That is always something I do.

I still have the pair I bought at a brocante (flea market) at Square D’Anvers one of the last weekends I was in Paris.

I always think of walking around that market and the sunshine, it was a warm April day, last weekend in April and it was almost hot and the cafes were overflowing and the music of French being spoken all around me, soon.

Soon.

I will be there again.

I am looking forward to it.

And I will be well dressed for it!

I’ll Buy The Ticket

November 3, 2015

If you find us a place to stay.

Oh my fucking God.

I am now on a mission people.

I was chatting with a friend tonight who has not really been to Paris, except to fly through Charles De Gaulle on his way home to San Francisco, who has some vacation time he has to use before the end of the year.

Paris came up.

We looked at tickets.

I talked his ear off.

Art, art, art.

Museum, museum, museum.

I showed him photos of my bicycle in Paris, cafes I used to hang out at, places I walked around, the Rodin museum, the Louvre, the Palais de Tokyo, Musee D’Orsay.

Oh.

My.

God.

SERIOUSLY?

Seriously.

I could be leaving for Paris two days after my birthday and be there the week of Christmas.

My heart just is leaping about my chest.

The Eiffel Tower at night with glitter lights splashed all over it.

Sitting in Odette and Aime over a cafe creme.

Going to the market at Square D’Anvers.

Apples.

Rabbit sausages in a paper packet from the rotisserie.

The ferris wheel in Place de la Concorde.

The one I never got around to riding on, although I so wanted to on my 40th birthday, but I was taken out to a birthday dinner in the Belleville and wasn’t able to make it to the ferris wheel.

I would go this time.

Oh.

Walking through the Tuilleries at dusk.

Going to see old friends at the American Church and crossing over Point d’Alma to the American Cathedral and heading up Rue George V.

Sacre Couer, midnight mass on Christmas Eve.

The singing in Latin.

I would go to my favorite book store in the 20th, Le Merle Moqueur and buy a book or two and also lots of postcards and then promenade through Pere LaChaise cemetery.

I have posted on Facebook, texted a friend, and e-mailed another already before starting this post.

My friend was dead serious.

I find us a place to stay and he’ll buy the tickets.

Holy moly man.

Fuck.

I’m putting out the feelers.

Just to walk around again.

And play tour guide, since I know the city and my friend doesn’t.

It would be fun.

Also, since I was there last I was broke.

So broke and hungry and trying so, so, so hard to make it work and well, everyone here knows the story, it didn’t work, but damn I tried.

I’m grateful it didn’t work.

It wasn’t supposed to, but I leapt and I moved there and I tried it on for size and found it too tight, too constricting, too much effort to just get by, barely, scantily, scraping by.

“I was going to say it, I’m so glad you brought it up, I think it’s time you went home,” she said to me as we finished doing some reading in the book.

I had tears sliding down my face.

I knew she was right.

It was time to go home.

But.

Oh, the humble pie I had to eat.

When I thought I was going to be there so long.

Forever.

Years at least.

A decade probably.

Nope.

Six months.

But still.

How many people give themselves six months in Paris?

Even poor and scraping and just barely getting by, it was six months of walking the streets of one of the most beautiful cities int the world.

Just saying the museum names makes me giddy with delight and childish greed.

I want to eat it.

Let me lick the Kandinsky Accent En Rose in the Pompidou, let me saunter around the Warhol’s at the Musee Moderne.

Let me go to the Musee Marmottan Monet.

Or just let me walk the bridges.

Pont Neuf.

Pont D’Alma.

Walk over the Trocadero and up the stairs to the Passy Metro station.

Or down towards the Seine and out onto the island with the Statue Of Liberty on it.

The things that I would do that I didn’t do or allow myself to do because I was on such a tight budget.

The opera house.

I never did see the Chagall’s there.

Or the new LVMH Gehry museum.

Or eat oysters on the half shell at a cafe.

I could handle that on Christmas eve.

I would go to Cafe Rouge again in the Marais.

I would go to the little shop I found on a twisty, turning, winding bit of road and buy a hat from the millinery shop in the Marais, I believe it might have been on Rue de Victoire, and I felt like I fell down a little rabbit hole of hats and ostrich feathers and fedoras, felts and velvets, and ribbons, and I just touched with such reverence and looking with my eyes and heart.

I swoon thinking about it.

All the sweet treasured spots I have in my heart for the city.

The churches.

The smell of incense and the warmth.

I could always get warm in a church after much walking with cold toes through the streets.

I would go to Place Vosges and sit at the Victor Hugo cafe.

I would have many cafe cremes.

Many, many, many.

I would buy posters and postcards from the book stalls along the Seine.

I would walk through the Garden du Luxembourg at dusk just to hear the gendarmes walking through with their whistles clearing the park.

I would buy some the de Mariage Freres.

Tea.

That is.

I would eat some cheese.

Hello.

And tartar.

Oh.

I would have some tartar thank you very much.

Put it in my mouth.

Sushi face, try steak tartar face.

It’s fun just to sit here and think about the silliness I would get myself up to and sharing it with a friend who’s never been, tres cool.

Oh the delirious thoughts in my head.

The lights at night.

The Christmas lights too.

So beautiful, very different from the United States, but still so pretty.

It would be cold.

But I know what that’s like and I also know to dress warmer then I did when I was living there.

Mwahahahaha.

I just got pinged.

Message from a friend in Paris with a studio near the Eiffel Tower.

She’s looking for a rental, but I bet a good price could happen.

I don’t know that it’s a fit.

But, it’s a start.

And worth investigating.

The hunt is on.

And hey.

If you know of anyone who’s looking to do a San Francisco swap, my friend has a great big gorgeous room in an awesome house out by Ocean Beach, he’s open to a swap.

Hell.

If I could swap my place too I would, but my housemate isn’t into it.

Anyway.

Paris?

Christmas?

What do you say Universe?

I’ve been a really good girl this year.

Pretty, pretty please.

With the Eiffel Tower on top.

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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