Posts Tagged ‘Nob Hill’


July 4, 2012

Don’t worry, nervous system it’s just 4th of July eve here in the Mission, I’m sure it’s just a firecracker.

Or a gunshot.

Or a firecracker.

Or a gun shot.

The Mission gets crazy with fireworks this time of year.  Everyone lights them off, there are illegal bottle rockets and M16s going off on every corner and the streets are lashed in smoke.

It used to really freak me out.  I remember my first fourth of July in the Mission.  I was living at 22nd and Alabama.  Deep down in the Mission, just straddling a sort of neutral land between the Reds and the Blues and I was afraid to go out side.

It was cold, foggy, smokey, and every other second it seemed like there was artillery fire happening.  I wanted to get a six-pack from the corner store and I felt like I had to get psyched up to get myself out the door and to the Bodega.

The streets were smokey and at first I thought the fog was just really heavy coming in from over Twin Peaks.  But no, it was smoke.

And where there’s smoke there’s definitely fireworks.

The fact is I will probably be deep in Mission territory again this 4th of July.  I am working at the shop my normal hours then heading over to 2900 24th Street to meet with my fellows at 8p.m.

I suspect that by the time I get done there, 9 p.m. the melee will be beginning to get some action.  It will be dusk.  I am already contemplating getting done with work, riding the bike home, and just walking over to 2900.

I don’t know that I want to be riding home as the fireworks get going.

I have actually never gone down to the waterfront and watched the fireworks.  Last year was probably the best viewing I have ever had and that was something else.

I was still living in Nob Hill.  I took the stairs up to the roof.  I had a clear, unobstructed view of the Bay, stunning.  The night was clear and cold, but clear, which is not always the case, was a huge deal, it was my first 4th of July without fog.

I was just as fascinated by the fireworks as I was by the parties of people  (Jesus, that’s a load of fireworks that just went off, that sounded really too close and really too loud, fuck, I am already jumpy like a cat) if not more so, who were scattered all over the roof tops and balconies of the houses studding Nob Hill.

Truly some of the best seats in the house.

Side bar–favorite child hood fireworks–Snakes–something very oddly compelling about them and the smell of sulphur.

I am a bit of a firebug, but I have not lit up a firecracker or a sparkler in quite some time.  I loved sparklers when I was a kid.

Ok, dude, that one made me jump.

Eek.  It might be tough sleeping tonight.

I loved how they smelled, the sizzle they made when they were burning, the trails of colors left on the back of my eyelids.  I have this very fond memory of tall grass in the back yard of the house in Windsor, my feet buried in thick lush, soft grass, the smell of the summer night, the sparklers, a whole box just for myself, the falling indigo dusk and the fire flies wicking in and out of the deeper grass in the back orchard.

If I could be anywhere for 4th of July, it would be in Madison, at Warner park, camped out all day on a blanket in the park, waiting for the light to fail and it to get dark enough to watch the fireworks as they set them off from the lagoon.

There are probably better fire works displays.

There are probably.

But I can remember every Fourth of July that I lived on the North East side of Madison, going over to Warner Park for the fireworks, even going when I did not live on that side of town.

The time I sat so close that I got firework ash in my hair and had to be careful that the embers that fell down around me powdery and hot did not land on my head.

The boom and the sizzle of a loud cannon blast and the resulting blooms and showers of light.

Fireworks, I feel, and this is only my opinion, are the best in the Midwest on a warm July night, the smoke keeps the mosquito’s at bay, the air is lush, electric, and soft.  You wear a sun dress all day long and the heat bakes off your skin as the cooling breeze from the night falls around you.

A band plays a rendition of the star spangled banner and the whole crowd roars together in one loud momentous movement of patriotism.

The fourth of July happens to be one of the few days I do feel oddly patriotic.

Ironic as I prepare to become an ex-pat.

I won’t be watching the fireworks tomorrow and I am ok with that, I’ll still get plenty of experience with the noise and the smoke, the boom and the bang.

I loved the bright clear stunning display last year in Nob Hill.

But the dirty, gritty, pop of cheap, illegal fireworks booming between the alleyways in the Mission, is really the more authentic celebration for me at this time in my life.

Happy Fourth of July!

Now, go blow something up.

Letting Y’all In

June 24, 2012

I opened up a bit more tonight to a large group of friends that I am moving to Paris.

I am scared.

Not so much of moving to Paris.

Oh, that I am just terrified of, but I am doing it anyway, so that’s just old news.

Nope, scared to say good-bye and scared to let people in and scared to fall on my face, very, very, very publicly.

But hey, I’m going to do it anyway.  I fall on my face all the time anyhow, I mean, what the fuck else is new?

Becoming more and more myself means letting more and more people see that there’s nothing here but a slightly insecure woman living her life out to the best of her abilities.

Really, let me give me some credit.  I know what I am doing is courageous.  It takes something to up and more and leave behind those that you love to do something that your heart yearns for.

Until recently I was more than willing to just let that be something I yearned for–Paris.  A silly, somewhat romantic, dream, never really to be fulfilled.

But wait, I am silly, somewhat romantic and dreamy.  Why not combined the two?

I got vulnerable tonight.  I saw Grecia, who is such an important person in my life and who was so important to Shadrach, that I feel like I know him really well, even though I don’t know him that amazingly well.  I know him through Shadrach.

Shadrach who is proud of me, beaming for me, flapping his angel wings together for me.  I just know it.

I got emotional and cried and I could feel it coming.  I had this well up of feeling and I just let myself have it.  I just let it bloom out of my chest and engulf me.  I admitted to a large group of people I wa moving to Paris and the relief was huge and scary and it all became even more real.

Even more.

I also saw myself wanting to act out pretty badly.  I want to sow some San Francisco oats.  I have two weeks, no three?  Then, yes, I am admitting it here to the world, it will be one year with no sex.


How did this happen again?

And why didn’t I get laid left and right at Burning Man last year?  For fucks sake,  I was in my own trailer.  

Oh well.

A year.  A year to ripen into my own.

I am a peach ready for plucking.

I feel like I am going to drop into some one’s lap and just say, take me, just take me, have me, bite me.


Ah, well, the summer will bring what ever it brings.

I do not need to go courting anything, it will happen or it won’t.  The thing is, I’ll go on being me no matter what.  Sitting here in my cubby, blogging away, dancing in my chair while the music beats out of my stereo.

I got an invitation to go do some dancing tonight, but it’s gay kid club night everywhere, that high holy holiday, Gay Pride, which is cool, but I don’t want to be a part of the party, it’s too much.

Maybe tomorrow night.

That is actually not a bad idea.  Go get my dance on.  When ever I get a craving for being kissed, I can go dance it out.

I did get to cut it up a bit last Friday at the show, but not as much as I wanted, it’s a little hard to let loose behind the dj booth with its limited space.

Two days off.

Maybe I’ll get a hold of Calvin and his girlfriend Diane, they like to go dancing and they have Mondays off.

I do have plans for meeting with Joan tomorrow, she’s in the city.  Looks like we’ll be going to do a little shopping.

I split my pants yesterday riding on the back of the motorcycle.


I tell you, I have some strong thighs.

They just broke on out.

The jeans were also old and as anyone who ever rides a bicycle will tell you, you wear out the seat of your pants from riding and that’s pretty much what happened.  Although, I was not going to tell the guy.

Hey, check it out.

I am barely in control of myself and not about to flash a thigh full of flesh at some body, that might be a little unladylike, a touch unseemly.

I talk a big talk, but I’m not walking a big walk.  I don’t really know how.  I don’t know exactly how to put it out there.  And I am still in a nebulous area of either saying fuck it all, sort of literally, sort of figuratively, and then the other side of being a bit old school and trying my hand at the dating thing some more.

Ah, who the hell cares.

It’s stupid to even try–figuring it out is just a serious mind fuck.

I am just letting my head ramble on a bit.  I continued the living on the edge and had a late coffee this evening after work.  It was a long day, busy, shocking that, and I felt a little dragged out.  I got some caffeine up in Noe Valley along with a little sack of groceries.

I also got to be vulnerable.

I like how when I am in the middle of getting vulnerable, I go drift off into dating sexy sexy land.

How interesting.  Let’s ignore how I am feeling and think about getting laid.

I don’t want to start saying good byes yet.  But I have to put it out there.  It is going to happen.  I am going to leave.

So if you want to kiss me, you better do it now.

Um, I mean, I am going to miss each and every one of you, let’s have coffee soon.

Making out is optional.

The Count Down Has Begun

January 24, 2012

Less than a week.  Six days.  Six!

And I will be moving into my own room.  Ah, sweet apartment nectar.  The arrangements are beginning to fall, slowly, into place.

Tomorrow I will be contacting my landlady to set up a time on Saturday to go by the house and get the keys.  At which time I will be giving her the rent and the deposit in cash.  Cash is always nicer.

Yes, mom, I will get a receipt.

I will be hanging around the Mission pretty much all day Saturday, in case you want to do some hanging out with me, fyi.  I am going to be doing a nanny gig up in Potrero Hill with the Reno and the Junebug from 7p.m. until Midnight (Juni and Reno and a certain Miss Eve, are exempt from my no more nanny clause.  I don’t really count them as nanny gigs, it’s more like hanging out with some really awesome short people who like to cuddle with me and have tickle fights).

Then the next day, moving!  I have prepared for this, so far this week, the week only just beginning, but it must begin somewhere, by adding an account to my City Car Share membership.

I am officially a member at City Car Share because of work.  I am under the Mission Bicycle Company as a member so that should we need a car for work related things any one of us at the shop can go hop into one and do the necessary errand running.  The majority of the time all such errand running is done on bicycle or on foot, but occasionally something arises which demands a car.

In my first week of work I got on the plan.  And today I got my own individual account.  I had no idea it is as cheap as it is!  Screw ever renting a U-haul again.  The yearly fees  are less than what I paid for one use of a U-haul the last time I had it.  And then when I want to, I can reserve a car.

Good lord, I can drive places.  I could leave the city.  I could go out to Marin without bicycling there.  I have had a yearning to go to Fairfax and it’s environs for quite some time, go flea marketing and thrifting and wander around the little town squares.  It’s lovely to see on a bicycle, don’t get me wrong, but I have had the hankering to just have a leisurely day of being a tourist over there for some time now.

I can use my City Car Share!  I could drive along the coast.  I could go to Point Reyes and get oysters!  I, oh my gosh, the options are limitless.

Why, this feels, dare I say it, almost, well, grown up of me.

They have a small fleet of trucks, so I will be reserving one of them for Sunday’s move. I need to reserve soon, as I got the vibe that often times the end of the month is a time when lots of people reserve the trucks to do moving.  Makes sense.

So, the plan is to contact all my various people in the next 24 hours.  Confirm when I can get into their places and co-ordinate moving my things out of their kitchens, garages, and storage units.  I am so ready to have all my little things back in one place.

I don’t have a lot, but I like what I have.

I will also be able to pick up the shelving unit at Harrington’s and if time permits I may also get the metal filing cabinet from Community Thrift.

And I will need to of course, get my own small caravan of things from here in Nob Hill.  That will most likely be the first thing I do.  I want to get all of my things out of Clay and Leavenworth post-haste.  I am very ready to leave.  I will have only five more days left to ride my bicycle up this hill.

Then, I will be back to the flats.  Oh yeah.

The other thing I need to do is co-ordinate moving help.  I am really bad at asking for help.  REALLY BAD.  But I am going to suck it up and ask.

There is a very big part of me that wants to do it all on my own.  Technically I could.  I could carry every thing I have in storage without help.  But it will take me all day to do it.  All day.

Or I could get a little humility and admit that it’s nicer to get some help.  Besides, I am more than down for moving a friend.  I have happily done so before, I can allow myself to ask for and receive help, I won’t die.

And knowing that should all else fail, should not one single person be able to lend a hand,  I know that I can comfortably take on the task.

Wow.  A car.  A truck.  And one that I don’t have to be responsible for finding parking for or paying insurance on.  I have always flirted with the idea of doing City Car Share or Zip Car.  And I just realized that had I not taken the job at Mission Bicycle I would probably still not have done it.

My hand was forced.  I was told to sign up.

More often than not, I need to be told to do something.  I will just sit in a corner thinking and thinking and thinking and not doing.  But once some one gives me a directive and says, you must do this, I somehow summon up the ability to walk through it.

Fear of not pleasing my boss is still a defect that works for me.  I “force” myself to do things differently because that is how the job is done.  And now I have a membership that will allow me to do some small simple little dreams that I have kept on the back burner for too long.

This move is good for me.  These experiences couch surfing have been good for me too.  No, I have not liked the leveling of pride, but it has changed how I live and I am really beginning to like what I see.  And I am having such an enormous amount of gratitude for what I have been given.

I doubt, very much so, that I would have appreciated this little room in the Mission as much as I do without having gone through the experiences of the past few months.  I have been adequately prepped!

I can’t wait to put the key in the lock and turn the handle on the door.

Anticipation can be delicious.

Sunday Sunshine

January 23, 2012

Not that there was any actual sunshine happening today.  All the sunshine was within me.

Get your barf on now.  This is a happy post.  I had a happy day.  It was for not dramatic.  It rained.  It was quiet.  It was sweet.  It was full of gratitude and I got to be useful to myself and others.  That is a good day for me.

I also found a few things for my new room.  One of which I bought.  I found an old wooden shelving unit, sort of similar to a grocers shelf in the back section of Harringtons on Valencia.  It was buried under a bunch of stuff and just out of curiosity I moved things around and off of it to discover the perfect shelving unit for my new bathroom.

I spoke with Caesar yesterday and confirmed that I could move into my room at his parents house this next Sunday.  He told me that the bathroom remodel is almost done and it is very spacious, plenty of room for a shelves.  This unit I found at Harringtons is perfection.

And then I found the other item that I was looking for at Community Thrift–an old-fashioned metal filing cabinet, for $30! I am actually going to use it as a dresser.  It will be disguised as a filing cabinet, but instead of files it will house socks and underwear and shirts and jeans.  I don’t have a closet in my new room, although they have included a wardrobe with the room.  I will probably put the wardrobe in the bathroom and use it as an ancillary closet.  I want my bedroom space to be really sweet and simple.

I can’t recall the dimensions of the room very well, but I think it will just fit my bed, the two end tables, my rocking chair and my desk.  If the wardrobe is in the bedroom it will be really cramped.  Caesar also said they have freshly painted the room.  Awesome.  A clean slate.  A new space.

It has been pointed out  a lot to me how much I move.  Some people have said perhaps it is you attempting to lay to rest the habits of your child hood.  Others have said that it is because I am a Sagittarius and that like the Centaur who is also the archer, I am following the path of the arrow as it flies from the bow.

I actually have no idea why I keep moving.  Perhaps I am like a shark and need to move to stay a float.  I would like to be settled down for a bit, I can say that much. I would like to be in this room for a little while.  I would like to not move again and just be in a routine.  That would be lovely.

My meanderings around the Mission were not inclusive to furniture stores.  I also went to Therapy (the store not a therapist) and found a darling little striped navy and red dress for $39 bucks.  Not too often that I find a chic, simple, well-fitting dress there for that cheap.  And the store was empty, I guess there was some sort of sporting event today?


I also had coffee at two different places.  First at Four Barrel.  Then at Borderlands Cafe.  Four Barrel was doing the deal, Borderlands was doing my deal.  It was a part of my date with myself.  I like to walk around when it’s rainy out and smell the leaves and the whisk of smoke in the air and know that I am going to go to Dog Eared and get a new book–Goodbye to Berlin by Christopher Isherwood–and then go to a cafe and get cozy with it.

Which is exactly what I did.  I found my book then walked over to Borderlands Cafe and snagged the great big leather deep cushioned arm-chair in the corner of the window.  I order a latte sprinkled it with nutmeg and then nestled into the corner and read my book for about an hour on a rainy Sunday afternoon.


Then over to the nail salon for a manicure and there was no one there at all, everybody was in a pub or bar or restaurant or house glued to some television screen.  I got the royal pampering and a good look through the latest W magazine (which made me realize that none of my mail, specifically none of my magazines, have been forwarded from my old address.  Oh, I got my other bills, but my Vogue, my Nylon, and my W’s never caught up with me.  I have been tempted a few times to go over and buzz the apartment and say hand them over, but really, there’s no true need).

And speaking of which, I will need to forward my address this week.  I actually don’t believe I have gotten any mail here at Calvin’s.  One Christmas card from my Aunt Marybeth, but that’s it.

I also need to co-ordinate my move in next week.  But I did not want to focus too much on that today.  I wanted a nice cozy day.  A nice day of taking care of me.  And I got that.  It was sunny inside my heart.  I just drifted about the neighborhood.  I kept running into people I had not seen in a while as well, which was fun, I ran into Patty yesterday and she asked me where I’ve been–Nob Hill–seems like the other side of the world some times.

It’s good to be getting re-grounded with my fellows in the Mission.  Nice to be coming home.

And nice to know that this is my last week in Nob Hill.  I am ever so grateful for it, but it does not work very well for me.  And now that I can see that for what it is, I can let it go.

They say the Mission is the sunniest neighborhood in the city.  And even today when it was raining, I have to say, I agree.

Welcome Home!

January 8, 2012

Mama is moving back to the Mission.  I am so happy, I am beyond.  I am over the moon. And did you see the moon rise tonight?  Glorious.

I have a new place to live.  On one of my favorite streets in the Mission–Folsom.  My new residence as of February 1st will be on Folsom and 22nd.  I could not ask for a better location.  Eight blocks from Rainbow Grocery.  Three blocks down and four blocks over, Mission Bicycle aka work.

Can I just say boy am I glad that I found a place in the Mission to go with my new one speed bike.  I was responding to an ad last night on craigslist for a room at the top of Cortland in Bernal hill and I thought, wow is that going to be a ride.

Nope, I will be in the flats.  I will be in the sunshine.  I will be two scant blocks away from Philz.  I am going home.

I love the Mission.  I have always loved the Mission.  It was the first place I lived in the city, the first place I stayed.  And perhaps it is the familiarity of it, maybe the weather, that it is truly one of the sunniest places in the city does not hurt.

By the way, holy cats was it nice today.  I left the house over dressed.  I walked around in flip-flops!  Oh, oh, oh and I am just  few blocks away from my nail salon, Center Nails on 24th and Harrison.   Seriously.

After seeing the room I went to Philz and got a cup of coffee, ran into Rory, made plans to see him this next Friday, then went to Center Nails and got a manicure/pedicure and eye brow wax.  Heaven.

I love Folsom street because of the trees.  They are old growth trees and they are big and beautiful and also because you have some of the prettiest Victorian’s in the city between 21st and 25th on Folsom.  Plus a great view of Bernal Hill.  And I will be close to the BART and close to my fellowship.

I’m coming home.

Today was not the day I was expecting to find a place to live.  Which may be why it happened.  Serendipity, coincidence, god, faith, love, the Universe conspiring for me.  Call it what you will, I know in my heart how this all happened.

And it all happened because I slowed the fuck down.  Even this morning I got a little warning about going to fast.  I left my bike at work so I took the bus in to the Mission from Nob Hill.  It’s MUNI and I was on the 49, so of course, it’s going a lot slower than I want it to.

When I get to my stop at Mission and 15th I scurried out the door and the voice in my head said slow down.  But I’m about to be late, I said back to it all sassy like.

And then the pavement hit me on the ass.

Or I should say I hit the pavement and went sprawling on my ass.  Banged up my knees again and scraped my palms.  Jesus H. Christ on a raft.

I tripped on a crack in the side-walk.

You have got to be kidding.  I cannot apparently even ambulate about the city without fumbling all over myself.  I was helped up by a very sweet lady, I dusted my palms off, straightened my skirt and slowly walked the rest of the way to Valencia Gardens.


I sat quietly for an hour.  It was good.  I heard what I needed.  I went over my plans for the day–flirt with the young bookish man from Austin and fish for a date.  Then I would go off to the nail salon, maybe swing by Dog Ear on the way there and get a book.  All this would be done after lunch, however, as I was hungry.

After nails, ride the bus to Nordestrom’s Off the Rack and buy some essential clothing and then pop into Trader Joes for groceries.  Back on the 27 Bryant to Nob Hill and then haunt craigslist searching for a room.

That was the plan.

And it went according to plan really well.  Right down to the bookish boy saying hello to me and complimenting me on the flower in my hair.  And then expressing absolute awe that I was older than he.  He’s 29.  God, what is it with attracting these young ones?  And he thought I was younger than him!

Good way to start a conversation.

I made myself stand still and talk and not scurry away.  But man, he is shy and I did not get asked on the date, despite thinking I would.  I may want to, but I am not going to do the asking.  So, I left after a nice little chat as I was called away to converse with Clara about her bike, which had just gotten stolen.

By the time I finally got to Sunflower I was ravenous.  My waiter hurried over and in his sweet Vietnamese laughing voice said, “veggie salad and tea”!  Yes, I nodded.  Please.

I settled in and then realized that the bookish boy and a group of acquaintances were at the back of the restaurant and there was an open chair next to the boy.  No way!



The One?

Get over there right now!  Impose yourself, hurry!


Go slow.

There is no rush.

If he’s it, he’ll come to you and ask you out.  Oh, and duh, he has your number.

Breathe, sit down, and eat your salad.

Best fucking decision I made all day.  In walks Kevin and Caesar.  They holler a hello and say, hey come join us.  I know them both from around the neighborhood, but don’t know them ridiculously well, but yeah, sure, why not.

They ask how I’m doing and I tell them I am well despite having been without my own place for a while, I’m getting the swing of it.

What?  You’re looking for a place?  How much can you afford?

I say no more than $800.  I look at Caesar, you have a room available at your place?


But his parents do!

Turns out they are renovating a room at the back of their house and adding a bathroom on to it and will be looking for some one to move in, but not for a little while, about a month, maybe three weeks.

I smack Caesar on the arm, mine!  I want it.  Mine!  I will couch surf until it is available.

Where’s it located?

Folsom and 22nd.

I just about wept.

No way.

Yes way.

Caesar calls his parents, but there’s no answer.  What am I doing after lunch, well, I laugh, I was going to go get my nails done.  Why don’t you swing by with me says Caesar, I think my folks are home.

And they were, they were working on installing the tile in the bathroom.  In my new room.  It is not big, but it will fit my bed, my desk, and my rocking chair.  It does not have a closet, but it comes with a wardrobe.  I won’t really have access to the main house except for the kitchen, but who the fuck cares because….

I have my own entrance! Through the gate on the side of the house, around the back, where I have also have access to the back yard, and up the back steps to the room at the back of the house.  It is completely separated from the main house right off the kitchen.  I also am on the back deck.  Pretty much open up my door and step onto a huge wooden deck.

Can we say writing my morning pages on the deck with a cup of French pressed coffee or two while the warm Mission sunlight shines down on me?  I’m getting a hard on writing about it.

Oh. My. God.

And the bathroom is huge.  It is not finished, they are still working on it.  But it will be my own bathroom.  In a sense I will have a small studio, without a kitchen.  All utilities are included.  $700 a month.  Deposit?


Don’t hate.

I was stunned.  Then, the clincher.  I have two cats.  Can I have cats?


Caesars mom said no way, shaking her head negatively.  She indicated to Caesar in rapid Spanish that she did not want cats, they’ll claw up the walls.  I don’t speak Spanish, but I got what she was saying and I quickly indicated to Caesar that they would do no such thing and that I had pet references if she needed.  He relayed the information and how, I don’t know, or why, who the fuck cares, she changed her mind and said yes.

I have a room.  In the Mission.  With my cats.  And a teeny tiny deposit.  That I don’t even have to pay until I move in on February 1st.

I looked at Caesar when he said, “it’s yours”.  And said, “can I hug your mom?”

They all smiled and I hugged her.  I could have hugged her all day long.

I think I hugged Caesar about seven more times and then I went to Philz and got my celebratory coffee.

Life is good.

But I think you may have already gathered that.

No News Bears

January 6, 2012

Nothing new here.  No new epiphany.  No new place to live.  No new man in my life.  No book publishing contract coming down the pike.  Nothing of interest to report.

Rather makes for a boring blog.  I have absolutely no idea what I am going to write about.  I am just going to write.  Random thoughts from the archives.

Work is working itself out.  I am gradually taking on more responsibilities and getting to know the lay of the land better and better.  I feel more competent and I am liking my job more and more.  This is nice.  I was worried for a moment there that I would be stuck working a job I don’t like and making very little at it.

While still making small beans, I am at least enjoying being there and starting to stretch my wings a little and make myself not quite so small and take on a few projects here and there.  I am being useful and that is nice.  I like being useful.  I like be of service.

I did not sell a bike today, but I did get my picture taken with a customer.  They were on vacation from Chicago and just happened to pop into the store.  I gave them the low down on what we do and then we just struck up a conversation about the locals and the coffee houses and where would be a good place to walk around and they’re vegans did I have any recommendations for food.

There are vegans in Chicago?

We chatted about Gratitude and Herbivore and Ritual versus Four Barrel (Four Barrel hands down).  I gave them a little map of the area and it was a nice little friendly Midwestern style chatty chat.  They liked me so much the husband, Roger, asked me to take a picture with the wife, Beth.  So I did.

I felt like one of those ambassadors you see on Market street and Powell directing the ravaging packs of tourist on how to get to Macy’s in Union Square.  Except I was giving them the lowdown on the best stuff in the Mission.  As well as doing my level best to explain why the Tenderloin is what it is and why the city has not done something more with the situation.

I don’t know that I was the best ambassador to the Tenderloin, but I was pretty on the mark.  I was actually surprised that they were staying in a hotel in that neighborhood. They must be in the TenderNob.  I can’t imagine this couple being in the true ‘Loin.  They could probably hold their own, vegans are pretty tough, and if you’re making it as a vegan in the Midwest, you got some cajones.  But none the less, I would not want my vacation to San Francisco to be anywhere near the Tenderloin.

Although, I do like grit.  And I do like being in neighborhoods that are neighborhoods when I travel.  I like flavor.  The last time I was in Paris I was in a outerlying neighborhood.  And it reminded me often of the Mission.  Then again, Paris and San Francisco often seem like sister cities to me.  Something about the kind of light here and there, the quality of sunsets and the clarity of air.

Granted, right about now I would love to be in Paris.  Couch surfing in Paris sounds so much more glamorous then couch surfing in San Francisco.  Of course, let’s be really  up front, couch surfing in San Francisco is probably the best couch surfing there is in the US.  Although I did just get a picture of couch surfing in Hawaii.  That would be hot.

Maybe I’ll just couch surf the rest of my life.  Now wouldn’t that be interesting?

It was suggested to me last night that perhaps I write down everything that I want in my perfect space.  Visualize it.

My perfect space has hard wood floors, big bay windows with window seat or nook.  It is in a Victorian.  It is with people who don’t drink, smoke, or do drugs.  It is clean and sunny, sunny, sunny.  It is in the Mission, my favorite place in the city.  Sorry Nob Hill, you’ve been nice to me and I like you quite a bit, but now that I am working in the Mission, I want back pretty badly.

I would be able to have my cats.  There would be laundry on site.  I would have enough room for my bed and a desk and a cozy place to read a book.  I would be able to have guests over to the home and if I ever have a boyfriend again he would be welcome.  There would be good water pressure in the shower and hot water that did not run out.  There would be built in book cases and high ceilings.  It would cost me $450 a month.

That number is not arbitrary, by the way.  It was a suggestion to me made a long time ago that I not pay more than 1/4 of my salary to rent.

Have you figured out what I make yet?

I will sit and visualize this.

The question is also, what actions could be taken around this?  Oh, fuck, there I go, figuring it out again.  Sigh.  I seem incapable of not trying to figure it out.  I really do have some fucked thinking.  I am doing it wrong, I am not taking the right direction, I am stuck trying load the post-it note dispenser and I just want to throw the damn thing at the wall.


Hollering doesn’t seem to work either.

Things that do.  Staying present.  Being grateful for my friend whose couch I am sitting on right now.  Being honest with the fact that I am struggling.  Letting go of my ideas. Surrender.  Letting myself flounder.  Taking action, any action, even if it feels silly, see above visualization.  Letting go of the results and trying some thing, anything every day.  Staying positive.

Believe that the place is there.  The sunny room is there.  The one with big windows.  I can feel the sun on my shoulders as I sit with a book and breathe in deep.  I am rested. I am rejuvenated. I am in a good place.

I am in a good place right now.

“Nothing” may be happening right now, but that’s great.

Because nothing’s wrong.

I do not need to be fixed.

I am exactly who, what, and where I am supposed to be.

Comfy on the couch.


Shoes Are Nice

January 3, 2012

Hey there-

This blog was really written yesterday, but I could not get online.  So, you’re in luck, you’re gonna get two tonight.  Here’s yesterday’s blog and hang tight, there will be another to follow.

The question bears repeating.  What do you do when you don’t have the internet access?  Do you get sad, do you watch a lot of crap, do you get a little resigned and cry a wee tear or two?

Who the fuck took the jam out of your donut?

Well, that would be my day.

Action girl and Junebug came by this morning and took the cats.  Uni hid, Frankie fussed, I just about wanted to crawl under the bed myself and cry.  In fact, I was praying between clenched teeth as I swatted at Uni through the back of the couch.  Come the fuck on cat.  Get out.

She doesn’t like to get moved.  I can’t say i blame her.  I don’t like to move myself, and yet, here I am again, moving.  Moved, I have moved.  Although not very much in the last hour or two.  I have been watching Snatch courtesy of Calvin’s dvd collection and drinking tea.  I have tidied my small pile of possessions and put away my toiletries in the bathroom.  Tomorrow is a new day.

And, fucking thank God.  I am done with the holidays.

Of course, whenever I did want to get on my pity pot something would happen to change my perspective.  There was the woman wearing no shoes at the MUNI stop when I went by in my cab, that gave me something to think on.  Andie had dropped me and the rolling suitcase up in Nob HIll once I finally was able to get my cat out from, not underneath the couch, or behind it, but actually inside the god damn thing.  I had somewhere I needed to be at 12:15p.m. this afternoon.  So, I hauled my stuff up four flights of stairs, two trips, and put away my things, packed a little lunch, and headed out the door.

I flagged a cab and told him “Valencia and 15th”.

He did not move, he was putting it into the navigator.

Fuck my mother, you cannot tell me you are a cab driver and you don’t know how the fuck to get to Valencia and 15th.

I said as much, with perhaps not the profanity.

“How do you spell Valencia”?  He asked.

Oh my god.

I can just tell you how to get there, please, let me give you direction, it won’t hurt, I promise.

I was nice, spelled it out, and I got where I needed to go with time to spare and yes, a wee little bit of perspective change when I saw the woman without shoes.  I may not have a place to call my own, but my fucking god, I do have a pair of shoes on my feet and I had lunch in my purse, and I was in a cab.  A cab headed to meet my people.

I got some gratitude.

Even when the self-pity threatened to wallow over me in waves of amber, I managed to remember that woman and her bare feet.  I would look down at my shoes and remember that woman without shoes on her feet.  My shoes are new.  I walked into Shoe Biz yesterday and bought new shoes.  I needed a pair, my Converse had holes in them.  And there they were, brand new Vans on my toes, and that woman had nothing between the soles of her feet and the pavement.

I don’t think she could feel her feet from the look on her face, but still, I am sure it was not pleasant.

And then God had a little chuckle.  As I came out of the bathroom an hour later with tears in my eyes as I had admitted to some one that it had been a hard day.  It had been a disconcerting day, I had given my cats away.  I had scared them to death by poking them with mop handles and then scooped them up and forced them into a small box to be carried over the bridge and across the bay.  Granted, I know their new home is smashing, but I still did not enjoy the process.

With tears standing in my eyes and the self-pity party ready to get its party hat on and do a little dance, I happened to have a conversation about books with a gentleman with blue eyes who asked me to go out for coffee.  He’s quiet.  I have seen him before.  I thought perhaps, he’s gay.  But, as a friend once pointed out to me in regards to another man who I thought was gay, Carmen he’s beating you over the head with his penis, I think was the exact wording, I don’t always have good judgement or the ability to see when a man is attracted to me.  I should have realized it yesterday when I saw the bookish boy, I said hi and scampered away like a scared bunny.

That should be my first clue.  If I run away he’s probably not gay.

Anywho.  Yeah, vulnerable and sad, I stood on the corner of 15th and Valencia and talked Faulkner and Flannery O’Connor to a man who then suggested we have coffee some time.


What in the world was that?

I gave him my number and he headed off to City LIghts to go peruse the stacks and I headed up to the other side of Dolores Park to say hey to a friend who just got done having fibroids the size of softballs taken out from her uterus.

My problems again are what?  My “lack” of housing and my new shoes.  OR my clean womb?

There it was again, perspective.  Nothing’s wrong.

But I seriously had that thought, that first thought that came into my mind when I was crawling around on the floor trying to locate my cat to ship her off to the East Bay–just walk out the door, leave it open, let the cats go feral, and go kill yourself.

Come the fuck on.  That’s all you’ve got?

I made some phone calls on the walk over to my friends studio.  I talked with John Ater and I told him I just did not get it.  I feel like I am working really hard and not accomplishing anything.  I “feel” like I am doing it wrong.

Who, the fuck said there was a right way to do things?  And wasn’t I the one who said if I lose the cats if I lose the apartment that I would be ok with it because I wouldn’t be working at a job that I hated having the soul sucked out of me.

I think I was.  And guess what?  It happened.  I lost my cats, I lost my place to stay.  But I got to stop working a job that I really disliked, really, really, really (it also helped to have Shannon reiterate to me about how horrified she was by the thought of the family constipating the child so that she would not poop at night on their watch).  Yeah, I did not like working for them, did not matter how good the money was.

Fuck, though, it was good.  Oh well.  Pay cut, happiness increase.  Or so I keep telling myself.

I did a lot of walking today and I did some bike riding and I wore my new shoes and I ate good food and I got to be out in the sunshine.  I also got to be a little sad.

Nothing wrong with that.  I miss the cats, they were a comfort.

On the other hand I got to have the most beautiful little girl in the world sing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer to me and I have the knowledge that the cats are well taken care of.

They are not running about the street with no shoes on and neither am I.


Give Me Shelter

December 31, 2011

I had coffee with Shannon late this afternoon, which morphed into a sushi dinner with her and hubbie, Alex, down on Church St. at Miyabi Sushi.  Loveliness.

Shannon gave me a little bag of gifts to remind me that all was well in the world–included amongst them this adorable little frame with a sunny sky blue background and a small house with a heart which says: “Happy is a home that shelters a friend”.  Yes, I got teary eyed.  The gift of perspective.  It is sitting on Robyn’s night stand next to the bed, a soft, gentle reminder that I am allowing my friends to help me out and they are happy to do so.

I was offered another set of keys last night.  Not just the ones that Calvin placed in my hands, but from another source.  Pauli at the KooKoo Factory has told me a number of times that I could crash on the couch if I need to.  I cannot tell you how often I wanted to beat myself over the head the last few months in regards to Pauli’s offer.  He had offered me a room at the KooKoo Factory two years ago.

But at the time I was bound and determined that I wanted to live in my own place.  I said thank you, but no thank you.  I would like to eat those words.  Then again, I cannot go back and change what was done.  And I have absolutely no regrets about living for two years on my own in Nob Hill.  It was an awesome, albeit at times financially challenging, experience.  I am very glad I did it.

Even when Alex posted pictures today on Facecrackattack from the


Taken Care Of

house-warming part I threw a month into moving from the studio to the one bedroom.  Ouch.

But, again, the gift of perspective.  It was so fun to have friends over.  And I reconnected with people in my life that I had not seen in a while and I got to host a lovely party for my friends.  That was cool.  I was a hostess for a brief shining moment.  Alex referred to the pictures as bittersweet.  I find them humourous, or maybe the timing was humourous, regardless, I did not get upset about them, but I saw the humor inherent in the situation.

I spent today going slower than I wanted to go.  But I am glad that I did.  I warily recalled last Friday and my attempts to shove as much stuff into the day off as I could.  Thus leading me to get car doored.  Today was overcast, and misty and foggy and wet.  I did not want to be on my bike.  Bad idea.  So, despite having cancelled museum plans with Molly to go to the MOMA, I also ended up cancelling the DMV appointment I had made to renew my licence.  It did not feel right to bike over to Fell Street in the weather today.

My shoulder is still sore and I did not feel like have another car hit me to get me to slow down, I can take a hint, thank you very much.  I also got the call from the Apple Store that my MAC is ready for pick up.  I thought about it and decided, nope, not going to do it.  Not going to ride my bike down town on this mucky kind of day and run that gauntlet again.  No.

I’ll pick it up tomorrow.  I will take the BART down town.  I am not riding my bike on New Year’s Eve anywhere in this town.  I will be on foot or on public transportation.  I don’t like riding my bike at night in the city when it’s a weekend night.  And New Year’s Eve on a Saturday, forget it.  The bike is grounded.

So, today was quiet.  I did laundry, I had a meet up for tea prior to going out to see Shannon.  I sold some clothes to Buffalo Xchange and I donated another bag.  I realized after a month of living out of my suitcase that there were some things that I was just not wearing.  A few things that did not fit any longer and despite having paid a good deal of money for them, it made no sense for me to keep hauling the damn things around.  So, I cleaned house.  I got rid of the unnecessary.

Seems like I can’t get much more compact in my living, or more stream lined, but in actuality I am about to do just that.  Tomorrow I will be putting up a few more things in Robyn’s storage unit and then Sunday the cats are off to Berkeley to be Junebug side kicks for a while.

This year has been a year of loss for me.  But it has also been a year in which I have gained an enormous amount of perspective and I have done a lot, and I mean, a lot of character building.

Things I have lost:


-a home of my own

-my identity as a nanny

-my ideas about who I should date

Things I have gained:

-humility (galore!)


-computer skills

-self love

-renewed family connection

As the year slowly turns on its axis I see that less really is more.  The adage came to me today, how will having more make you feel better if you’re not already happy with what you have.

I am happy with what I have.  I have wonderful friends who buoy me up and shelter me from the cold air.  I have strength.  I am healthy.  I have a job.  I have gotten to travel this year.  I have cleaned up the wreckage of the past.  I have become replete with love of self.  Not always in a fantastically tidy way.  It’s often been messy and stupid and I have fumbled and cried, but I have kept fucking showing up.

I am being winnowed down to the essential Carmen.  I have been spiritually edited.  I used to be deathly afraid to let go of my ideas about who I am.  I have not had much choice recently, things just get taken out from underneath me, ideas, property, the detritus of life.

I am on a gypsy honey moon.

Where shall I go next?

I Have Some Good News….

December 14, 2011

And I have some bad news.

Oh, just give me the bad news first.  I already knew what the bad news was.  I already knew.

She’s not moving out.

You can’t have the room.

But we love you and want to help!

That’s nice.


Fuck fuck fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.


The thing is, I can’t be mad.  I really wanted to be toasted, but honestly, I am really glad my friend and his girl friend worked it out.  I really like her.  I really like the two of them together.  The sound of heartbreak when he told me she was leaving was just unbearable.  I was actually really happy to hear that they are staying together.

Go love!

Sucks ass for me, but what’s a girl going to do?  Especially a dyed in the wool romantic?  I would rather see love prevail then get a room in Nob Hill.  Besides, I knew in my heart that it was only going to be temporary.  I never felt like I would be there for very long, and hey, surprise!  You’re not going to be there for very long at all.

Actually, my friend and his girlfriend agreed to let me stay with them for the month of January, rent free, on a blow up bed in their living room.  They both feel pretty bad about not being able to help me out.  There’s only one small catch–she’s allergic to cats.

Ah, my cats, the little albatrosses of love around my neck.  Little pesky fuckers.  I’d be in a god damn place by now if I wasn’t always trying to make sure that they had a freaking place to live.

Heaving dramatic sigh.

Oh, look, here comes one of them now.  It’s Uni, she wants to snuggle, right on top of the computer, as per her usual M.O.  I love these little beasts, and not so little, Frankie is a big pushy monster.  Now there’s a craigslist ad that’s going to get lots of hits–desperate, aging single woman who works in bike shop needs room ASAP for her and her big, pushy cats.  Please have spacious accommodations, wood floors, a nice clean bathroom, be in the Mission, get lots of sun, and not have too high a rent, see part about working in a bike shop.

I can just see the inbox flooded with responses.

A very wise woman has said to me, “rejection is God’s protection”.

I know she is right, I know that there is a great reason why this is not the room for me.  I am also really grateful that my friend and his girlfriend are willing to let me crash in their living room for a month while I continue the hunt for a place to live.  I know I am being taken care of, but my fucking god, it looks like craziness to me from here.

I guess I can put to rest that nagging thought about how am I going to co-ordinate moving all my stuff.  My stuff ain’t going nowhere.  Me and my suitcase and my bicycle will be moving from Bernal back to Nob Hill for the month of January.  Maybe I should just go on a tour of the city.  One month in Potrero, one month in Bernal, one month in Nob Hill….I could couch surf all over the fucking city.  Anyone got a place in the Castro, I haven’t ever lived there.  Or maybe Hayes Valley, that looks pretty swank and cute.

But what about the cats?  That’s now the conundrum.  I am grateful to have a place to stay, rent free is nice, I can save some more money, I like that.  But what about the cats?  Do I board them?  Do I pay to have someone take care of them?  Or, do I look at my friend’s place as a fall back and try to hustle something up right now for January?

That thought actually makes me want to cry.  I really thought I was free from the craigslisting.  I went on for ten minutes prior to starting my blog.  Nothing that would work for my situation is out there.

I just can’t wait to tell John Ater.  Fuck my mother.  I won’t be wearing eye make up.

I mean, I took it so well this morning that I made myself laugh.  And I feel like I’m taking it pretty well right now.  It feels just on the verge of overwhelming.  It feels like something is going to pop.  I feel a little naked and a lot vulnerable and now that I am not at work filling online orders like a happy little Christmas elf, I can say I am having feelings around this situation.

But mostly, it’s that I don’t want to talk about it anymore.  I don’t want to think about it any more.  I don’t want to process with my friends any fucking more.  I just want to be done with it.  And the done with it is not to be had.

It’s Christmas.

It’s my birthday.

It’s the New Year.

It’s my anniversary.

What I want-a date with roses and dinner and make out.  A birthday present.  A dance partner.

What I don’t want but have been none the less given-a no call, no text, no response since date was cancelled on Saturday morning (I very gently reminded myself that no response is a response); no flowers, no make out, no birthday present, no dance partner, no room, no place to call my own, a job that pays very little, and a God with a wicked sense of humour.

Hey, Universe, what the flying fucking hell?  I did Calling In the One for this?


Pause for breath.

Ok, the way I see it is that God usually hands me a gift.  And I go, ewwwwww, looks gross I don’t want nothing to do with that.  Take it back.  Then its thrust upon me again, and I say, no really, this is NOT what I want.  Here, take it back.  Then, look, hey, the postman’s delivered it AGAIN!

Maybe I should just sign for the parcel, and unwrap the dirty, dog poop smeared paper and trust that underneath the wrapping paper is something wonderful and special, designed just for me.

Maybe there’s a reason I’m supposed to be in this place.  Maybe it’s ok to be vulnerable and once again have to admit defeat.  Maybe, I get to keep enjoying the delicious bounty of humility that is being heaped upon my plate.

I can stop “thinking” that the holiday advertisements on the television are really what I want.  And I can get into what is happening right now.  Let’s look at the facts–I have a job, I have a place to stay, I have food in my belly and clean clothes on my back, I have wonderful awesome friends who won’t charge me rent to live out of their home for a month (nor have I paid to stay in this home either, two months rent free in San Francisco totally makes up for the loss of income I have incurred, hmmm, how interesting is that!), I have friends who are going to go dancing with me the night before my birthday, I have two cats that love me and lavish me with attention.  That animals trust and adore me makes my heart warm.

Calvin’s giving me a free hair cut the afternoon before I go out dancing.  I have a new party dress and pretty heels to dance in.

And I bet you anything, there is an amazing gift that has just been handed to me.

I accept it, I accept it fully, humbly, and gratefully.  I accept it all.

I don’t have to like it, but I can love it with all my heart.


Body By Bicycle

December 8, 2011

I wore tights today.  I wasn’t thinking much about it, just put on what was available to wear, it’s laundry day (tonight’s my last night at Reno’s so I wanted to make sure I got a load of laundry in before my next move) and I did not have any clean jeans I wanted to wear into work.

Alas, I am down to two pairs of tights.  It’s time to get more, and some fleece lined ones at that.  I just discovered a big run in the two of the ones I have been wearing.  They have been good troopers–even made it back from not one, but two tours of Burning Man.

Suffice to say, it was a chilly day out there on my bicycle.  But my legs got a work out.  I ran an errand on my bike today for the store, I also got up early and went shopping at Rainbow for a few staples, so I used the leg muscles a little more than I do on an average day, but really, I blame the tights–

hot pink.  and the short black dress.  Not super short, but just short enough.  So, what I’m saying is that the legs were noticeable today and when I see my legs in mirror I myself ogle them a little.  They are pretty rocking legs.  I have hamstrings that are solid and defined, as are my calves, but it is always my thighs that I go to when I see my legs bare to the world–look at those muscles.


Body by bicycle.

I may not be riding up and down Nob Hill at the moment, but I am still bike commuting and I am riding up and down Potrero Hill.  Not to the top, thank god, but I’m getting in a decent little climb every night when I come back on 23rd street.  I remember when I was incapable of riding much past General on my old commuter bike.  It was a slow, heavy, fat tired hybrid.

I had walked into Pedal Revolution and said, “I don’t care about hip slick and cool.  I want something that will get me from point A to point B and is comfortable.”  I got the hybrid.  Which I regretted in about two weeks as it started to need constant repairs and tweaks as I rode pretty hard right from the get go.  By the time I had gotten rid of the bike, which is now rusting quietly on Reno’s back porch (this is where all hybrid’s go to die–the back porch of a family with a small child that wants a slow, heavy, stolid bicycle to put a child seat on to occasionally take their toddler to the park on or do Sunday Streets with), I could have bought four hybrids, or one really nice bicycle which would have lasted me indefinitely.

Lesson well learned.

I will end up paying more in the long run for a cheap bike.  Get the good one and just do maintenance, ends up being much cheaper and you have a nicer riding experience.  Problem with me is, you could not have told me that when I got that first bike. I really thought spending $450 on a bike was extraordinary.  Now I know much better.

I wouldn’t bat an eye at paying $1500 for a decent road bike.  Not at all.

Good thing I get a discount at work!

So, in tights, end of day, unlocking bicycle and getting ready to step into my clipless and ride off into the night to meet Maitreaya (!) at Muddy Waters on 24th and Valencia.  I had gotten a text from her about an hour and a half before the shop closed and she was in town and took a stab in the dark to see if I was around.  I hadn’t seen her in years, three?  Three and a half?  God, maybe even four, so I was absolutely down to have my plans changed up.  Although I do rue not seeing Joan as I was supposed to hook up with her this evening.

Nevertheless, I am ready to get the legs moving as it is cold out there, thank god I just realized there’s a space heater up here in the attic, it has been going full blast since I walked up to my chilly abode this evening.  I get into the bicycle lane on Valencia and am blown by a cloud of nasty exhaust coming from a tow truck.  I couldn’t decide whether or not to save the lungs and hang back a little or get closer and report the licence plate for smog, it was seriously bad.  BAD.

A fellow cyclist on a Specialized was debating the same thing, and as it turned out, not so discreetly checking out my hot pink clad legs.  And as I find out a block or two later, my bum.  He verbalized, not too inelegantly or I would have made a turn off early, the splendid nature of my gams.  And how were they so achieved?

Bicycle.  I ride a lot.  Every day, twice a day, just like thousands of other people in the city.  Probably not all of them wear fancy pants tights however.  Or short black dresses when they ride.  I ride in whatever strikes my fancy.  There was a time when I felt uncomfortable riding in dresses or short skirts, but after having done the AIDS LifeCycle ride and been in form-fitting bicycle shorts and jersey’s, nothing bothers me.

Andrew once said to me while on a training ride in Marin that it was like riding naked anyhow, and really, it kind of is.

I don’t know how much more of the commentary I would have put up with, it was getting to be a little too obvious, checking out my ass, can’t stop that, but dropping back more than once to do so, kind of pushing it there dude.  I appreciated the compliments, and didn’t flirt back and dropped over to the side of the road when my destination was in sight.

Only to be engaged in another “bicycling” conversation as I was locking up my bike to the post.  This time about my cycling shoes.

Really ladies, if you are interested in a certain kind of guy (slightly geeky, but cute, moderately shoe gazing, borderline hipster, mid twenties with beard and curly tousled hair or the hard-core bike messenger tattooed guy sporting a Chrome bag and an attitude) get yourself a pair of SiDi bicycle shoes and learn how to ride clipless, worth the investment.

Also helps sculpt legs.

But so does hill climbing.

And yup, he too was checking out the tights.

Which round about leads back to end of day at the shop.  Where I have been left alone with one mechanic to hold down the fort.  GM’s well deserved day off (thank god I am no longer a gm, the days of working six days a week are done for me!), and a relatively slow day, led to many people ducking out early.  I didn’t mind and as the last employee was leaving a gentleman I had not seen in years, probably four?  Walked into the shop.

We caught up, shot the shit, and related what the other was doing as far as doing the deal was concerned.  It was good to see him, and he re-iterated it was good to see me.

Then he dropped the “f-bomb” on me.

He stopped by the door turned around and looked me up and down, “I got to say it, you look really foxy”.

I chuckled, spouted off my tag line, shrugged a little, said something about a bike and what it will do for you, and smiled.

“Well, to repeat, you are lookin’ foxy and now that I know you’re working here, I’ll definitely be dropping by more often”.  Then he wandered off into the night.  Well, ok then.

Funny how my brain works, I had not thought I was looking all that hot today, my hair was not doing what I had discussed with it (there are some draw backs to bike commuting–funky hair apres helmet) and the “radio silence” from Mister West Oakland (am so proud of myself, I have not texted or called!  I will continue to be uncomfortable and let him make the next contact. We’re confirmed for Saturday, it may not be until Saturday that I hear from him.  Ugh.), who I know is busy, but–kind of led me down the not feeling so hot today.

Feelings, sing it with me.

I apparently was wrong.  I blame the hot pink tights and the body by bicycle.

I will be investing in some more pairs very soon, be on the look for me next laundry day.

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