Posts Tagged ‘mistletoe’


December 3, 2015

I’m not having any.

But thanks for looking.

Apparently my post yesterday about registering for second semester graduate school was not very scintillating to anyone.

Aside from my followers, love you, everyone I do–even those of you who I don’t know.

That always makes me want to have a tiny boastful moment.

“Yeah, well, I have followers on my blog who aren’t even friends of mine!”

So there.

Typically there are a few more hits than I got yesterday so I can only assume.

  1. My ex-boyfriend is not stalking me.
  2. Anyone interested in dating me is not checking up on what I’m writing.
  3. I’m just not that scintillating anymore.

Could be any number of things, but I do understand that sometimes a little spice is nice.

And I am spicy.

Just the right amount though.

Nice balance of sugar and spice.

If I do say so myself.

Last week when the grandparents were visiting my charges the grandmother whipped out an old book, it was hers when she was a little girl, off the book shelf and sat on the couch and read Mother Goose rhymes to the boys.

“Sugar and spice and everything nice, that’s what little girls are made of!” The grandmother said with ferocious inflection.

I remember thinking.

Oh no!

Don’t read the rest of the rhyme, don’t do it!

Too late.

“Snips and snails and puppy dog tails, that’s what little boys are made of!”


Not always.

Sometimes they are made of sweetness and sunshine and snuggles.

The youngest one confided in me today that the middle name of his favorite cat, his little transitional toy (thanks post-Freudian theory!) Meow Meow, was Carmen.

I asked what Meow Meow’s last name was.

“Manners!” He replied with a laugh and tossed the white (grey) cat at me.

I gave him a squeeze and smelled his soft, fusty little three and a half year old head and kissed the side of his neck.

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you too, Carmen, and Meow Meow Carmen.”




What a little pie.

No snails here.


None at all.

No snails or frogs or slugs or puppy dog tails.

That used to horrify me.


Little boys made up of puppy dog tails.

Not the mental image I am inclined towards, thank you very much.

If you haven’t figured it out yet.

This blog is not about sex.

Probably won’t be about sex for a while.

But I am ok with that.

Life right now feels right on track.

I got to see my friend from the neighborhood and hang out for a little while.

I had a good day at work.

I did some reading for school.

I confirmed a date for sushi and a movie on Saturday.



I am going to get a Christmas tree after all.

I really want one and there’s time for a little holiday cheer in my life.

I’ll have it up for two weeks and a so I miss having it while I’m in Paris.

My friend convinced me to go for it.

I think he’s right.



I know he’s right, because as soon as he said it I knew I wanted one and I said yes, I’d love a ride.

Hard to get a Christmas tree back to the house on my bike, or my scooter.

Although it would be funny to try it.


My friend is going to help me get one on Saturday.

I am thrilled.

Sure, it means a few less euro to spend in Paris, but, I’m ok with that since it will mean a great deal of happiness and joy for me in my home.

Maybe I’ll even get some mistletoe.

Just because there’s not sex doesn’t mean that there can’t be kissing.



A girl can dream.


By the light of a Christmas tree.

I think I may end up making a little pilgrimage over to Noe Valley on Saturday then too, maybe, I’ll see what I can make happen, but when I was there last weekend I went to this little shop on 24th between Noe and Castro called Past Perfect and they had the sweetest little Christmas ornaments.

I like to get myself an ornament every year.

Slowly replacing the ones an old ex-boyfriend tossed out the year the Isthmus flooded in Madison and they got trashed in the basement.

I carried that resentment around for awhile.

I had not put them in basement and I was aghast later that year, the flood happened in the summer, when I went to unpack my holiday ornaments (ones from when I was three) to that time (I think 24) and I couldn’t find the box.

That box?


That box?

My ex repeated, I um, I thought you knew, it was in the basement when it flooded and I threw it out.



God damn it.

I was mad.

So mad.

I could have saved a lot of them, many were porcelain or ceramic.


Oh well.


So maybe I’ll splurge a little more and get myself a little Christmas ornament or two.

It makes me truly happy to think that I will be getting a tree after all.

It’s the little things.

Seeing someone you love.

Holding hands.

Getting a Christmas tree.

Going to Paris.


Maybe that’s not such a little thing, but I am glad I am not making myself go through the holiday season without the smell of a fresh cut pine in my house.

Yay for Christmas!

Yay for love.

Yay because.

Why the fuck not?




New Holiday Experiences

December 4, 2014

Happening here.

I am going to holiday parties with my beau.

We have been messaging back and forth and he put it really simple and succinct, basically, if you want me to come ask and I will, I’m your boyfriend, that’s what I do.

Oh goody.

I am a little nervous about this specific holiday party, there’s a lot of my friends that will be there. ┬áThe invite already has over 50 RSVPs responding to it, plus I know that there are more folks that have been sent e-mail invites as well.

I received two separate invites to the event, and so I jokingly asked on the RSVP list to one of them if I could bring my beau?

Last year I went with a darling friend who was unexpectedly in town for the evening and we danced so hard.

I also remember having a teary moment with her in the hallway when I expressed to her a romantic disappointment–something that happens when you sleep with friends–they become a romantic disappointment.

Though truth be told, I don’t think my heart was ever really there, it was more the idea of having a boyfriend and wanting to have an escort, a partner, a lover with me.

And one year later, voila, “Boyfriend By Christmas” has happened.

I really never suspected it would happen the way that it has and I am extraordinarily grateful for all the work I have done to get here.

And here is just beginning.

I suspect that this is just the augur of a brighter future than I can possibly imagine.

Suffice to say, I am excited for the holiday party season.

Not a sentence that would have fallen out of my mouth the last few years, despite loving the holidays quite a bit more than I might admit to under normal circumstances.

I love the way things smell–all holly and evergreen, spicy and rich and sweet and chocolate, and oh cinnamon and nutmeg and egg nog goodness.

The perfume of the holidays and Christmas is so satisfying to my soul.

Wood fire smoke, popcorn balls, mistletoe.


I know who’s getting kissed under the mistletoe this year.


“You sound happy,” my mom said to me as she asked after my Thanksgiving and how it was.

I am happy.

And well dressed.


I found the jacket to go with my dress.

A vintage style cropped leopard print faux fur with a hot pink satin lining.

Uh, yeah.

It looks freaking smashing with the dress.

And I found the best clutch ever at Wonderland SF and for no apparent reason, other than perhaps she was feeling my vibe, the owner of the store took off 40% of the bag price–it had been $79.


Now I just need the shoes to come in the mail and I am set up.

I may even allow myself another Christmas frock for the holiday party I’m heading to on the 12th.

Although, I probably don’t have to, it’s fun to have a few pretty party dresses to wear out.


And New Years.

Lord have mercy.

I am going to have a date for New Years.

And my birthday.

“Dinner reservations at 8p.m. too late for you?” He asked me this past week when we were discussing it.

I think I can hold off until then.

“What’s your favorite food?” He asked.

I could almost see him rolling through the menus of a number of restaurants, he’s well aware that I don’t eat sugar and flour, so a pasta dinner is probably out.

“Steak,” I said, “rare, blue-black, I love a really good filet.”

Or porterhouse or some tartare, or an aged rib eye, I’m not particular, as long as it is raw or damn close to it.

I could actually see him relax a little, “ah, then, I know exactly where I am going to take you.”

Then he said something about dry aged Kobe beef and my eyes may have glazed over and some drool may have pooled in the corner of my mouth.


I might be having the most fun a girl can have and I was so not expecting this experience.

I am still avoiding writing about a lot of the relationship, it’s mine and I am enjoying finding all the eccentricities of it and the ups and downs and the flow and while I do so, I don’t want to be airing it all out here.

I am just giddy with the holiday cheer and actually having someone to share the experience with.

I won’t be house sitting for anyone this Christmas.

I won’t be nannying this New Years Eve.

I am actually going to be an adult woman on the town in San Francisco with my boyfriend.


What else is delicious?

Not having to go to work until 1:30 p.m. tomorrow afternoon.

It’s the mom’s birthday and the dad is surprising her with a spa day for her and her three best girlfriends.

Dad is going to surprise mom at school, show up to pick up the oldest boy from preschool and two of his school friends and then the mom of said friends, who is in cahoots, will spirit the mom away to the spa.

Afterwards dad is taking mom to Michael Minna’s for dinner.

Go dad.

I’ll be staying late, doing dinner for the boys and bed time and working a little over time.

Which I am more than fine with.

I won’t be able to see my man until Friday, we both have had a really busy week, although time was made Monday evening for some shared canoodling, and I will want the extra money on hand.

It looks like I need to get another party dress.

Or two.

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