Posts Tagged ‘pink’

Blossom Song

September 19, 2017

The way you look at me.

The way your eyes follow my face.

Leaving me melting on the floor.

A pool of desire, lapping warm at my ankles.

My face sweltering with love, a heat shined

Brighter than the moon in darkest skies.

You.

Are.

Exquisite.

Like plum trees

Blooming out of season.

The petals fresh surprised in autumnal air.

Magic that kisses me senseless.

I am without shame.

My need for you subsumes all doubt

With wild veracity.

And now, as I look out across the expanse of space ahead of me.

I sense you there.

On the horizon.

So near.

Like a taste that just alludes memory.

I sense your sweetness in the cinnamon tea I drink.

Reflected in the freckles on my face,

Planted there like promises of kisses on my cheeks.

Ghost leftovers of love smattering my skin.

There is music.

There too, your hands.

Navigating their way through my hair.

Oh.

Slippery time.

I wait for you to pass.

In colors midnight blue

And longing.

Wearing Elvis Presley shoes.

And.

Swagger.

March along.

Move along.

Take that road home to you.

My baby.

I’m waiting.

Just waiting.

Over there.

Beneath that canopy of

Soft purple pink

Blooming sweet fruit promises.

Ensorcelled.

I am so ready for you.

Sweep me up.

Again.

Baby.

Please, baby, please.

In the crooning cradle.

Of.

Your.

Temptuous.

Love.

Song.

 

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Sneaky Work

August 15, 2017

It’s Monday.

The alarm goes off at 6:30 a.m.

I bounce out of bed, turn on the lights, run to the loo.

Brush teeth, wash face, wander naked to the kitchen, I sleep in the nude, yes, indeed the first ten minutes of my morning are bare ass, drink a glass of water, take three vitamin supplements–iron, glucosamine chondrotin, Flax seed oil, then I go make my bed.

After that I get dressed, put on my shoes, watch, and pull out the layers I plan on wearing.

Hello.

It’s August in San Francisco.

Best to have at least three layers.

Cardigan, sweatshirt, scooter riding jacket.

I lay them out on the bed and then go do my morning reading and say some prayers and ask for some direction and then.

Breakfast!

Today was oatmeal with banana and figs, cinnamon, nutmeg, raw cocoa and unsweetened coconut/almond milk; 1 hard-boiled egg and an unsweetened almond milk latte.

While said food items are busy boiling, cooking, and frothing, I pack my lunch for work and whatever homework and internship paperwork, texts, and syllabi I need for the day.

Today it was solo supervision, so definitely needed my pink glitter notebook.

Who says grad school has to be all seriousness.

Glitter makes it better.

Trust me.

I also packed my Jungian dream book, even though my brain said, what’s the point?

There’s not a spare minute to do reading today.

But, from experience, this is not true.

Times when I think I am going to have hours of reading, I don’t and days when I think, I couldn’t possibly spare thirty seconds to look at a paragraph, I suddenly have unexpected time.

Life happens.

All the time.

That’s what life does.

But.

I find these weird, sweet, odd pockets of time and that’s when I use Stephen King’s advice.

And if you don’t think reading Stephen King is a highly psychological endeavor you’re not reading his works very well.

Anyway.

He wrote this awesome little book a while back, non-fiction, called “On Writing” and it gives his basic formula for what he does and his routine.

First.

He reads.

A lot.

And not his stuff, but everyone else.

His biggest suggestion and one that I took very much to heart, especially after starting grad school, is, carry a book with you at all times.

You never know when you may get stuck in a line or your appointment gets pushed back, or you’re riding the train or the bus or the subway.

I notice most folks these days are looking at their phones.

I read my homework for school if I have down time.

And like I said, I often have a snatch of it when I least expect it.

Today it happened at supervision.

My supervisor lost his keys and had to run home to get the replacement set.

So, my session was cut a little short but, hey!

I have my Jungian Dream Work class text-book.

Whip it out!

I knocked out another couple of pages.

And very glad for it.

I got another text-book in the mail today and I have it already packed in my travel bag for tomorrow, along with the Jungian book, I doubt very much I’ll actually have time to read the two chapters for the class I still need to kick through and have time to get into the next text I have assigned myself.

But.

Well.

You never know.

I just don’t anyway.

Another thing King recommends is that you write everyday.

Yup.

I do that too.

Before I head out.

And when I get home in the evening.

Sometimes I am still not sure how that all happens.

I do the morning writing in one of my Claire Fontaine notebooks from Paris, or whatever notebook I have handy.  I of course have a preference, but I will write on anything.

Although I hate recycled notebooks, the quality of the paper is ass.

I write three pages long hand.

I write about what I’m doing, the things that happened the day before that I don’t write about in my blog

Oh.

Haha.

There’s a few things that I do not write about here.

That all gets covered and rehashed and processed in the morning writing.

The evening, this, my blog, I am also pretty damn consistent.

I used to be super anal about it and I couldn’t not write every day.

That’s eased up a little in recent years.

Years, I say, I have been writing this blog for so long.

Seven, eight years.

I have over 2,200 blogs posted.

And that’s after two different scrubbing sessions where I probably deleted a couple hundred blogs just to make sure I wasn’t leaving a thumbprint or, yes, I had said something unkind about someone in my life.

Typically a boss.

Occasionally a bad date.

Ooh, man I had some bad date blogs.

Which I stopped doing when a blind date stumbled on a blog I wrote, I’m thinking he probably stalked me a bit, let’s be real, and sent me a text which said, “I read your blog.”

Ack.

I had to delete it and make an amends.

I swallowed that pride, deleted the blog, called him, he answered, and apologized.

That was an uncomfortable conversation.

But.

Better than the alternative.

It still was an awful date, but I had said some pretty not so nice things.

I learned my lesson, words can cut deep and it’s not my business to malign.

I stopped writing anything about other people and really tried from that point forward to keep the focus on myself.

I have plenty of flaws I can poke fun at, I don’t need to point out anyone else’s.

So.

That’s the writing routine for the day.

The rest of today looked like work, cooking for the family, doing the baby’s laundry, lots of bouncing around with the baby–he’s teething horribly–playing race cars with the oldest boy and letting the little lady watch Frozen, since she wasn’t feeling well.

I was supposed to go to my internship today and see a client.

But.

She cancelled.

So.

After work I zoomed to the grocery store and picked up some staples and then zipped over the hill to 7th and Irving and hit up the spot, got right with God and got home.

Garbage, recycling, compost out to the curb as a favor to the landlady who is traveling, check the mail, another text-book from school!

I know, it’s exciting, right?

Reviewed my calendar, personal, work, and internship, printed off some forms–I have a new client consult at the internship tomorrow, and ate some dinner.

Checked e-mails, popped over to my “Track My Hours” my BBS (Behavioral Board of Science) approved MFT hours tracker, and added in my hour of supervision from the morning.

And um.

That’s the day.

Not exactly exciting.

But really full.

Hell I even snuck in a trip to the bank and the post office to return a package in between supervision and work, and a run to Walgreens for some more school supplies–two packs of my favorite pens and a new pink folder.

Because.

Pink.

It’s a lot.

But.

It’s a gift.

This life, my life, getting to be this person who is busy and of service, getting to learn how to be a better therapist, advocating for my self-care, taking time to do my own writing, eating well, being kind, just living.

Life is going to happen and I can choose to look at it as a grind.

Or.

Fuck.

I can say, look at my amazing life!

I live in San Francisco for fuck sake.

I have such a bounty of gratitude for what I have.

It awes me every day.

I am.

Yes.

The luckiest girl in the world.

Really.

I am.

Solidarity In Solitude

January 22, 2017

No.

I did not march.

Although I was giving myself a complex about it, I did not go.

I did the deal.

I did the laundry.

I did the homework.

I did the writing.

I did the grocery shopping and the cooking and then, the more doing of the homework.

I’m a feminist for being in grad school, paying my own way, working as a self-employed woman, being sober, radical isn’t it, not smoking, being kind, using my voice and my experience to help others.

I could list lists of lists to convince you.

But the only person I really needed to convince was myself.

As I found myself feeling judged by friends for not going.

I think a lot of this had nothing to do with friends, I don’t think anyone gave my presence a second fucking thought, except that whenever I got asked if I was going, or it was assumed I was going, I bristled.

So I wrote some inventory.

First thing that came out is that I was afraid of being judged, that I was in judgement around myself, my experience, and god fucking forbid, whether or not my friends on social media saw pictures of me marching around with a pink cat hat on.

Sorry.

But no.

And I support Planned Parenthood.

Fuck.

They sure as shit supported me.

Years and years of service and sliding scale and birth control.

I went there in early recovery when I slept with a man and didn’t use a condom and found out he was an ex-heroin junkie who used to shoot dope with dirty rigs.

Oh my fucking god.

Get me to the doctor.

Planned Parenthood.

HIV test.

Negative, thank you.

And out the door.

I have donated plenty of money to them and I believe in them.

I believe in love, liberals, random acts of kindness, activism, resistance, raising your voice.

I mean.

I do live in San Francisco.

But I also believe in radical self-care.

And when I recalled, after doing some great work at beating myself up for waffling on whether I was going to go to the march, was that today was my first day off in two weeks.

Of course I didn’t want to go to the march!

I wanted to go back to bed.

I wanted to cancel on my yoga class.

I wanted to hide under the covers.

I did not.

I did get up.

I did go to yoga.

I did lots of breathing and I knew, even as I sat in solidarity with my sisters, mothers, friends, aunts, cousins, girl-friends, mentors, teachers, I need to do self-care today.

When I finished my inventory and realized, that yes, once again, I am just in abject terror or being unloved, abandoned, and alone, I felt a lot better, made a phone call, did a check in, got on the train, got a cafe au lait at Tart to Tart and went an anniversary celebration of a 70-year-old institution here in San Francisco.

It was amazing.

It was sweet.

Lots of old-time experience, strength, and hope.

And though I knew part of me might feel a little untoward for not going to the march I wasn’t horribly upset to be missing it, for I was making connection, radical spiritual connection with many people quietly doing something that has been consistently saving lives for decades.

I’m ok with that.

And I was also ok to go get a mani/pedi and sit in the window and watch the trains go by.

Trains so packed with people that it wouldn’t pick up more and the stop in front of the beauty parlour was overflowing with women and picket signs and pink hats and supportive spouses, boyfriends, kids.

It was a beautiful thing to watch and witness.

And yeah, there’s a part of me that wishes to be there, but the part of me that gets overwhelmed by big mob like crowds was more than happy to sit back and focus on doing reading for school.

That’s a pretty radical thing.

Working full-time and going to school full time.

I had no compunctions about coming home when the rains came in and curling up with my homework and doing a bunch of reading and roasting a chicken in the oven.

So many years.

So many decades of doing for others before doing for myself.

I felt immense gratitude for this expression of humanity, for allowing myself the quite reprieve of a day off and not trying to work hard to work harder.

I really needed a break and I am glad I got over the guilt of taking it.

If I had isolated, if I hadn’t made an effort to go out and see my fellows, to talk with a friend on the phone, to connect with the clerk at the grocery store, then I would feel bad.

If I had spent all day lolling about pleasure reading or watching Netflix, I would feel bad.

But I didn’t.

I did a lot of work.

Shit.

I am doing it again.

Rationalizing and justifying why I didn’t go.

I didn’t go because I didn’t want to.

There.

Done.

Moving the fuck on.

Tomorrow.

Yoga in the morning.

Meeting with a lady in the afternoon to read and share experience.

Getting a tattoo after that.

Meeting with a friend after that for dinner, catch up, and doing the deal.

It’s a nice weekend, this, especially when I don’t need to feel guilty, not enough, or bad, for making decisions that are ultimately mine to make.

Not to people please.

Just to show up the best way I know how to today.

Right here.

Right now.

This is ok.

Seriously.

It really is.

I Might Be Feeling It

December 31, 2016

My new hair, that is.

OMG.

I feel like Snow White.

I love, love, love it.

LOVE.

I’m back to my “natural” color.

I haven’t had this hair color in about four years and it was brief at that.

It feels good to be brunette again.

And.

Though I hate to say it, age appropriate, which equals sexy as fuck in my book.

44 you look pretty damn good.

fullsizeoutput_dacYes.

That is a lot of cleavage, Virginia.

But fuck it.

Once in a while a lady is going to feel her oats.

I almost.

But no, I did not, re-load the Tinder app to my phone.

I realize that I don’t really need it and the validation is nice, but it’s not real.

I want someone to see me in real life and go, yes, I want her.

And.

Then.

Ask me out.

That’s the feel of it.

I always feel a little sassy after I have a new hair do and this is no different.

Except that it is.

It feels the most me that I have felt in ages.

I’m not trying to be anyone different from who I am.

Granted I may feel differently when my hair gets curly.

Which it will do.

I got a blow out at the salon and it will last a day, max two, if I don’t go to yoga in the morning and I don’t shower.

Now.

I did shower today.

And.

I could possibly beg off yoga since I’m still sick.

Not as bad as yesterday, I woke up without the tightness in my chest, but I had to bail on dinner tonight with a friend after doing the deal as I could feel it settling back in and the last thing I wanted to do was be out longer and get chilled and have it come back with a vengeance.

Especially since tomorrow night is New Year’s Eve and for the first time in a long time I have plans to go out to a party.

I had been invited to one in the East Bay, and man it’s tempting, a lot of my favorite people will be there.

But.

East Bay.

And no car and I don’t want to BART, even though, yes, it runs until 3 a.m.

I decided to get tickets to a semi-private event at a friends gym here in town.

He’s doing a “Fight Club” themed party.

Which makes sense since he owns a gym.

There will be lots of people I know, some doing the deal, and good djs and dancing.

I’m psyched to go and I want to feel good and healthy for it.

And yes.

I do, um, perhaps want to sport my sexy as fuck new hair.

I’ve been contemplating going back to my natural color now for a little bit now.

I had at first thought about just chopping out the blonde and the pink, but I realized, no, I rather like my long hair and I like that the longer it gets the curlier my hair gets and when it’s short, it tends toward wavy, not curly.

Here’s for curls.

So when I went to the MOMA on Wednesday with my dearest friends, who both happen to be taste makers for a living, one in retail fashion and the other in interior design, I asked.

“What do you think if I went back to my natural hair color?”

And they both gave it a big, big, big thumbs up.

Ok then.

I got home, hopped on the phone and made a call.

I got in!

I was surprised that I was able to snag a spot so close to New Year’s Eve, but it happened and I got great color and an awesome cut.

Harper Paige Salon.

Love you guys!

It was a faster process than going blonde and I was grateful for that as I had some time left on my meter and I skipped over to Sephora.

New hair.

New lipstick.

Duh.

I got an Urban Decay.

Oil Slick.

And.

A new Kat Von D.

Motorhead.

I love how both are dark and sexy and a tiny bit sinister sounding.

I’m rather all sweetness and light at the moment.

But I’ll go with dark and sexy too.

I’m single.

Dark and sexy could catch me a few dates.

Fingers crossed.

And perhaps I am feeling my oats.

But.

This is my year.

I feel it.

I feel it in my bones.

I’m excited for it.

The new contract for work.

Moving forward in my school program.

New hair.

Which is just really, “old hair” but it’s been such a long time that it feels like a new me, just a slightly more polished, a tiny bit more refined (unruly will be on the scene soon when the blow out fades of, but I can say polished for at least the next twelve hours), fresh, and pretty.

It does also feel just that.

Pretty.

Which I’m also down for.

Dear God.

I have just written nearly my entire blog about my hair.

Hahahahaha.

I’m not-self centered, really, bahahahahaha.

Sorry.

So.

So.

So.

Stupidly self-centered.

But also.

God help me, quite happy.

I did something completely for me.

Going blonde, the last time I did it, was for someone else.

Granted I wanted to, but I wanted to even more when he wanted it too.

This was all about me.

How to make myself happy.

How to please myself.

Not about a man, a woman, a job, another person.

Just for me.

It turns out I like making myself happy.

I should remember this the next time I’m feeling remorse.

I deserve to feel happy and I have all the power and capabilities to make myself happy.

No one completes me.

I am complete.

With just a tiny bit.

More.

Um.

Sexy.

Yeah.

Like that.

 

The Pink Lady

September 24, 2016

Rides again!

Yes.

I got my new Corazzo jacket in the post today while I was at school.

So glad to have a nice motorcycle jacket again.

Of course I got the pink one.

Please people.

I love pink.

Not.

However, that it is my favorite color.

Nope.

It is not.

But.

I like being a cute girly girl on my scooter with my little applied star stickers and my star and sparkle helmet.

And.

My awesome new Corazzo pink riding jacket.

I was a little flummoxed when I got home, though.

For a minute, or five, it was not much fun, I thought the latch on my scooter seat was broken and that I couldn’t get my seat open.

Which meant.

I couldn’t get to my purse, my house keys, my phone.

Fuck me.

I stood outside the gate, I could see the package inside the door.

Irony.

God having a good chuckle at me.

I don’t know.

But.

I did manage to get my seat open, turns out the latch was never really quite latched, the strap to my purse was caught in the spot where it should have latched.

Instead it just reminded me to slow down.

I tend to go fast.

Zoom.

Zip.

Slow down.

Take it easy.

One moment at a time.

No where that I have to get to that fast.

I can be quick to the gas, pressing it forward, going quick.

I like speed.

Sometimes, most times, it’s a feeling of freedom, but it can also be a way to escape the situation, quick, get the fuck out of here, run before there’s a feeling, a connection, an intimacy.

Grateful I know this about myself.

And.

Grateful my friends are persistent with me.

I am thinking of my two best girl friends in my cohort and how wildly grateful I was for their presence today in school.

Especially after the unnecessary anxiety I felt yesterday.

The classes turned out to be just fine today.

And yes.

I do still have reading I need to do, but I handed in both my papers and there were folks who did not have the papers to hand in.

And I could tell there were plenty of folks who hadn’t done all the reading either.

But I had done enough, enough to stay in the flow of what was happening in each of the classes and to participate, which is huge in my schooling experience.

If I participate, the teacher remembers me, I get attention, positive for the most part, and I am a part of the experience.

That’s what I prayed for today, to be of service to my cohort, to show up without expectation, to be myself, to help where I could and to do good self-care.

I brought my lunch, my dinner, my homemade cold brewed coffee.

I had tea for the evening class that wasn’t caffeinated.

I had lunch with one of my darling friends.

I have a lunch date with the other tomorrow.

I was extended a Thanksgiving invitation that I am very seriously considering taking too.

So glad for these women in my life.

So glad that I just showed up.

Showing up is so much of the battle for me.

It’s a big deal.

Especially when I can run from things, or stick my head in the sand or not participate out of fear.

Actually.

I have gotten a lot better at walking through the fear and letting myself be emotionally vulnerable in class.

I mean.

Fuck.

I am going to school to become a therapist, I better be in touch with my feelings.

I volunteered to do a demo with one of my professors today and that was great.

The class got to practice assessing my presenting problem.

Was it PTSD?

Or.

Was it Major Depressive Order?

I’ll let you in on a secret.

It was probably both, but what I was presenting with was PTSD.

And it was the first time I actually understood what the hell was being shown when I was originally diagnosed with it.

I read it in the DSM 5.

I noted the presenting symptoms.

And voila!

I got to diagnose myself.

Not that I recommend that.

And frankly.

I did feel some tenderness around myself and a lack of wanting to engage with certain people and relationships in my life.

I needed a break from looking at all the child hood stuff.

I had to take it gentle and do some self-care.

There’s still stuff to work out and I could go into further detail, but really, why?

It’ll get worked out and it doesn’t need to quite be in this public of a forum.

Besides.

Read enough of my older blogs and you’ll make a damn good guess at some of the traumas I got to live through.

And come out stronger.

Not that I’m advocating trauma for growth.

It just happens to be a part of my journey.

That’s all.

No judgements around it other than I get to be really kind to myself.

Which meant coming home tonight instead of going out with friends from school.

Or.

Friends from life.

“What are you doing tonight?” A new friend text me as I was wrapping up my final class of the day.

I told her I was still at school.

Really my plans.

Go home.

Rub one out.

Take a shower.

Write my blog.

Drink some hot tea.

Watch a snippet of a video.

Go to bed.

Get up and do it all again tomorrow.

The only difference being.

I will be attired in pink.

So.

Very.

Pretty.

In pink.

Yes.

Please.

Adding Insult

September 8, 2016

To injury.

Gah.

I got up early this morning to deal with the scooter and was actually nicely assuaged by the fellow at San Francisco Scooter Centre when I chatted with him about my scooter getting knocked over and not starting, the busted brake, et al.

He told me to use the other brake, shouldn’t be a problem, ride it on down to the shop and they’d have it fixed up in a jiffy.

Well.

Fuck, that’s nice.

Awesome.

I took a Lyft to the scooter, which I had left parked over night on the street that I work on and pretty much knew that it was worse for when I had left it the minute I was exiting the car.

God damn it.

The back basket had been broken into.

Yes.

I left my fucking Corazzo $250 motorcycle jacket in the basket.

Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I had spaced it.

I know better, but I was just overwhelmed last night and had marched right on over to the Mission Police Station to file my report.

Also.

Motherfuckers.

The head lamp was stolen.

I mean, clean gone.

I didn’t even know that was something of value to steal.

Enjoy that tasty crack, yo.

Fuck me.

I called Scooter Centre, I told them what had happened and that the scooter would not start at all, I suspect that the wiring had gotten mucked with when the headlamp was ripped out.

The guys were quite kind and helped me with all the things.

I have a two year road side warranty so they sent over a tow truck, free of charge, and I handed off my scooter to Dave, really a sweet old guy, who loaded it up, took my keys, and dropped it off within twenty minutes of having arrived.

He sent me a text that it was delivered to the shop two minutes before I started work.

I made a second trip to the cop shop, as it turns out the theft of parts and the theft of my jacket were separate incidences to the scooter getting rammed into yesterday.

Police report number two did not get fully filed, I didn’t have enough time to do the paperwork and process it there, so I get to do that online tonight.

Or maybe tomorrow in the morning.

I called Scooter Centre this evening around 5:30 p.m. and they said my scooter would be ready by noon tomorrow.

Hopefully so.

I would like to put this all behind and move the fuck on.

I just spent some time on line looking at scooter jackets to replace mine and they are more expensive than I recalled, but I have to say, my jacket was so nice, it was wind proof and sturdy–reinforced elbows and back padding– and I really felt a lot better wearing it than not wearing it.

When I go to pick up the scooter I’m going to see if they have any jackets in my size at the shop.

They carry the brand and though I doubt they have a pink one on hand, I will see if they have something there.

I would rather walk out the shop wearing one than wait for one to come in the post.

Although if they’re too expensive I’ll just get one online.

I found one on sale for $199.

Here’s the jacket I had.

It was pink.

I felt all sorts of Pink Lady tough when I was wearing it.

Also noticeable on my scooter, it’s reflective as well.

I ran into a friend tonight and she asked after my scooter and when I told her that my jacket had been stolen too, she said, “oh no!  Not your pink jacket!”

Yeah.

Unfortunately so.

I thought about it though and realized that I am pretty lucky, even though I was none to happy, especially as I walked over to the Mission Police Station for the second time in twelve hours, I was going to the cop shop voluntarily.

I was not arrested for anything.

I had not hurt anyone.

Further.

I wasn’t hurt.

Yes.

My fucking pocket book is taking a beating, but so it goes.

The same police officer that I made the initial report to was there and we chatted, she was super kind and helpful and though I left still upset, I was soothed fairly quickly.

Things just don’t always go the exact way I want them to.

But.

They do happen for a reason and I’m willing to have surrendered to taking cars for the last two nights to get home.

I get to do that.

It’s a nice perk of urban living.

Granted.

The two young tech start up Millennials that were chatting about Body Rok and their tech start up dating app were obnoxious to listen too, (I wanted to smack both of them in their young, white, wealthy privilege, they weren’t racist, but man they were super ageist and the lilting over high voice of the young woman was so grating to listen to I wanted to shake her and ask her to speak with her real voice) I was still grateful to be in a car, heading home out by the beach, with the window rolled down, the feeling of the wind refreshing and brisk and summery.

For San Francisco.

Over heard in the park today.

“It’s just too fucking hot, I can’t do anything.”

haha.

It was 80 degrees.

That is not too hot, although it feels like a heat wave when just a few weeks ago it was foggy and about thirty degrees cooler.

The summer does seem to be here.

Which is nice since I have a date Sunday to go for a hike in Glen Canyon.

Heh.

That was unexpected.

And wouldn’t have come to fruition if I hadn’t been on my phone yesterday in the car on the way home from the scooter snafu.

So.

Even though it was not my plan, my idea, or my desire to have a night off from the scooter, it did precipitate some actions that led to me getting asked out on a date.

More about that later.

Or not.

I’m not too certain I want to share any details right now.

Suffice to say.

I’m excited and said date falls within the parameters of the type of men I want to be dating.

My scooter will be running by that point.

Heck.

It will be running tomorrow.

I’ll be skipping yoga to go get it, but hey, luxury problems, like I said.

My life is rich and full and surprising.

And.

Wonderful.

Even when I have things that were lost.

They’re just things.

The best things in life.

I remind myself often.

Aren’t.

Things.

All The Gifts

June 26, 2016

The constellations in the sky.

The love in my heart.

The ocean, the waves this twilight, late afternoon walk to the beach, perfect curls and peals and no one there.

No one.

The whole city, and a few extra thousand folks, were all at Pride.

I didn’t have FOMO.

Fear.

Of.

Missing.

Out.

I thought I would, but truth is, I’m in the Mission and the Castro a lot and it felt like it was going to be like going to work and all the traffic and the drinking and sloppy, I just didn’t have it in me.

Although I did get dressed up for it, just in case I happened to change my mind.

I did the yoga and that was great.

Felt nice to be in the studio and stretch and get strong.

I had a nice breakfast at home then scootered up to the Inner Sunset and met my person and did the deal and connected and got perspective.

And fuck.

The gratitude.

Just whelmed me.

That I get to do all the things that I do.

That I get to go to New Orleans next weekend.

Next weekend!

I mean, it feels like I just got back from New York.

Heh.

I sort of did.

I mean.

There was a moment, and it was so brief, that I just waved it off, swatted it like a little gnat, I don’t have a date for Saturday night, oh boo hoo.

Blah.

Blah.

Blah.

You know.

The thing is, I do.

Me.

And I am damn fine company and not that there’s not interest.

There is.

I just have some rules about dating that I am pretty unbendable on, even if he is hella cute.

No touching.

Hands off.

That’s the policy, always has been, always will be, but it was sweet to get his messages and catch up, we’ve known each other for years and always stayed in touch.

We reconnected and that was nice.

Although, also a tiny bit disappointing to hear that there was a misadventure and a return to day counting.

Le sigh.

Oh well.

So it goes.

Although, it was sweet to hear the incredulity he had that I was still single.

I’m saving myself for Mike Doughty.

Ha.

Anyway.

I took myself down to the beach and I had me a me date and it was fantastic and I sat in the dunes and let the wind rumple my crinoline and sat with my face in the sun and let God blow love into my heart.

It was a good time.

I’m such a lucky girl.

Pink hair and all.

I think that this is going to be it for a while on the hair color too.

Time to go back to brown.

I’ll spend the summer pretty in pink, but yeah, I have been thinking it could be time to go back to my natural color.

I also thought about hacking it all off at the end of summer.

Go short again, cut off all the colored bits.

That’s on the table though, I do love my long, curly hair, I do.

But.

Yeah.

Maybe back to natural.

Who cares?

I am rambling.

Oh.

Ha.

And I could have had a date tonight too, now that I am reflecting.

I must have been putting it out there on my way back from the beach, I don’t know how the guy didn’t hit me, but I literally had a guy whip across the MUNI tracks and pull his car in front of me while I was crossing the street at Judah and 46th and ask me what I was doing tonight.

I was like.

What the fuck?

Do I really look like a prostitute?

Were you just hoping I would say, well, dear, I wasn’t doing anything, but since you zipped up in your brand new bright orange SUV mini Cooper (which is so not mini and so ugly), I’ve totally changed my mind.

Let me get in your car and give you a blow job.

What you say?

Fuck off.

I just walked around the car and kept going.

I’m not sure if he thought I was a working girl, I mean, I am sure there’s lots of extracurricular action going on this weekend, but come on.

I was walking home in my flip flops.

Of course, I am tall, maybe he didn’t see the beach wear.

Just the bright, hot pink, hella big, curly hair waving around my pink glitter lips.

I get it, but seriously, fuck off.

Besides, like I said, Mikey, I’ll be waiting for you, nice and cozy, down here by the sea in my little love shack.

hahahaha.

Oh.

I fucking amuse myself.

I do have a thought though to message him when he gets to San Francisco.

Then.

I heard “Don’t You Forget About Me,” and I heard Shadrach in my heart.

“Be the ball, Martines, be the ball.”

Yeah.

Like that.

Go where the water is warm.

Let myself be pursued.

I’m not real good at that, but I’m willing to try.

Flowers yo, courting, pursue me, damn it.

Ah.

Fuck.

I feel like I’m trying all sorts of things.

Although I have yet, and really don’t plan on doing so, returned to OkStupid.

I can’t bring myself to do it, after having a profile on that site for like six, seven years, time to move on, it didn’t work.

And.

Yet.

I still feel like I am hurtling, inexorably toward the man I am supposed to be with.

So.

So.

So.

Not worried.

I’m in love with me.

Yeah.

I know what that sounds like, you can fuck off, but it’s true.

I really do feel that way.

It only took like a few decades or so.

Heh.

And it may change tomorrow.

But right now.

Life is so fucking good.

It really is.

I have so many astounding gifts.

I am so grateful.

If life were fair.

I would be dead.

I am alive.

I am a light.

I am loved.

I am.

I am.

I am.

So.

Very.

Loved.

 

Sweet, Soft, Surrender

June 20, 2016

I mean.

I could have struggled with it all today.

But.

I just gave up.

Got up.

Went the fuck to yoga.

My brain was jacked up this morning, sometimes I wonder if it ever really sleeps.

The constant plotting.

However.

I am grateful I got up.

I was thinking that I might not make it to yoga this morning or today at all, considering how late I was up last night and then, I might feel bad and bash myself for staying up late.

It didn’t happen that way at all.

Instead I just rolled over, got up, drank some iced coffee, made my bed, said the stuff, asked for the willingness to show up to the mat, the day, my noon get together and read with my lady person, and then to have a good day, to show up for my recovery, where ever and however that looked like.

And then I went to yoga.

Happy to be there, getting into it, letting my body be there, watching my thoughts drift in and out, the specious way some want to stick and have me obsess over them, and the ease with which I was able to let things go once I was in my body and in my breath.

It was a good class and some times, most times, I show up with expectations.

Today marked four months of showing up for the mat.

Not always real happy about it when I’m on my way there, but always happy when I leave.

Sometimes there is a hope for some sort of breakthrough with my body and how it moves.

But often times.

It is that I am seeking something else.

A drift in the senses and loosened in my body, the spirit enters and I am gone into this other place.

I can become a spiritual seeker of experience.

Yesterday it happened and it was during the final sitting meditation and it was mostly just being so awesomely in my body and in my person, I felt on fire, the heat in my body rising up through the palms of my hands and in my chest and heart, lifting out of me and burning bright, hot, incandescent.

Flash bombed into the present, rocketed forward, set afire and cast upon the sea to burn like a candle in a cup at low tide on a full mooned night.

Today I had a vision.

I swear I only had iced coffee before class.

Really.

Anyway.

I felt love and sensed that there was a shift, something moving in me, something changing, that I was moving forward towards this great ball of sun, this ineffable, unavoidable collision with someone.

I had the awareness of meteors streaking past.

Men and dating and relationships.

One of the comets had little black framed glasses and I remember turning in the vision for a moment, watching him streak away from me.

I realized it was here.

This thing, this love, this moment, hurtling through space and there was nothing to do, nowhere go, so big, so vast, so all encompassing this experience that I could not avoid it.

“Look up, look out, look right in front of you, it is there,” I heard this calm, centered, even and candid voice, I looked in and out and there again, the ball of sun, this gigantic star of light and fire and heat and I had nothing to do but take care of myself.

It will happen when you least expect it, when you’re not looking for it.

I realized.

I don’t have to look.

I don’t have to struggle.

It is there and all I have to do is keep doing the deal for myself and love myself and like the warm sun on my face I would arrive exactly where I was supposed to be with whomever I was supposed to be there with.

No need to worry.

No cause for anxiety.

A sweet, soft surrender, the smooth satiny nacre of the shell I found on the walk I had this afternoon at the beach, the touch of it so seductive I kept my thumb there where the rough shell had been chipped away to reveal the pearlescent core underneath, an utterance of joy on my mouth, the cold wash of the water over my feet, the wind in my curls and the sun on my face.

Nothing wrong.

All is good.

Contentment layered over me wrapped me up in downy soft feathers of light and I drifted down the beach like the curls of foam pushed by the waves.

I was bathed in light today.

Warmth.

Summer.

Sunshine.

I am brown and honey gold and slightly freckled.

And quite pink with my curly bouquet of new hair color, which would amuse me with it’s bright scintillating magenta out of the corner of my eye, stopping to wave a a little girl toddling down toward the sea with her shovel, her face a goggle with curiosity at the sight of my corona of pink curls splashing about my happy face.

I smiled.

She smiled back at me.

There was the soft goodbye, the meander down the beach, the couple holding hands and bent over gathering shells and rocks from the incoming tide.

There was the sweet missive, the opening of heart, the ending of silence, the negotiation of sunlight in my soul and letting go of a soft sorrow I had not even realized was lying on my heart.

My laughter in the back yard as I talked with my person and got some suggestions and then using them and they worked!

The remonstrances of my heart melted away and the day was new and bright.

I sat on the back porch and ate my lunch, bare feet up on the wrought iron patio chair, eyes closed, the great red fire rose of sun blossoming on the insides of my eyelids.

Just here.

Love.

Always here.

Love.

Just look up.

Look out.

Waiting for you.

Walking toward you.

Inescapable joy.

And.

Freedom.

Release from sorrow and the quiet, sure knowing that as I hurtle toward that unknown destiny, love carries me through everything I need to experience to get me to exactly where I am supposed to be.

I suppose some might call that Fate.

Or.

Superstition.

Some might argue that I have no free will.

I, rather will say.

It is just faith.

Love.

Grace.

Love.

It is just love.

Love.

Aways there.

Always that.

Always.

Love.

Everything Is Coming Up Pink

June 19, 2016

I mean everything.

Fuck me.

Ugh.

I got my hair done today and it’s awesome and fun and I had a really nice time at the salon reading trashy magazines and drinking coffee and discussing dating with my hair dresser.

You know.

Tinder versus OkStupid.

And it was a great time.

It’s nice to let myself be pampered.

I love, love, love, having my hair played with.

Seriously.

Offer to brush my hair, wash my hair, play with my hair, I’m yours.

Give me a scalp massage?

Dude.

Yeah.

So.

Getting the hair done is always an extraordinary treat.

And not one I do all that often.

Although when I do.

I do like to pull a bit of a hair geographic.

Today’s was pink.

Pastel and hot pink and it looks fantastic and my colorist was a doll and mixed up some extra color for me with some conditioner to put in my hair the next couple of times I wash it.

And away I went to Sephora on Cloud 9 to go match my hair color to my lipstick.

Because.

Please.

That is how I roll.

“Oh, I like the glitter,” my colorist said, referring to my nails which are painted sky blue, robin’s egg blue, and overlaid with, yes, pink glitter.

Because.

Again, I ain’t nothing but subtle.

Anyway.

I came back to grab my scooter and head off to my first date of the evening.

Yes.

I said first.

I had two dates tonight.

Yeah, I’m a hussy, get over it.

I’m also making up for lost time, the cancelled dates over the past few weekends, the one guy not available and the other that just never bothered to confirm, so I figured, fuck it, book two, one is bound to not be good.

They were both good.

But in very different ways.

Anyway.

I get a head of myself.

And yes, Virginia, I don’t normally do that, I have never actually done that before, but it just sort of happened and it just sort of worked.

So.

I head back to my scooter, replete with my pink hair and blow out, that’s the other thing, I got a blow out and that is so much fun, I have wild curly hair and not one iota of desire to blow out my hair, it would take me days, no thank you, not going to do it.

But put me in a salon.

All bets off.

Blow it out.

Side bar.

I can’t believe I’m blogging right now, I should be in bed, considering what time I got up this morning and that I did yoga as well, but I also had a late, as in way past my normal cut off time, Americano and I think that has just jazzed me up a bit.

So.

Blow out, new lip gloss, matches the hair like spot on and is glittery, natch, floating in the late afternoon, early evening golden light bathing the downtown and open my purse to get out my keys and check my phone.

And what the fuck?

Oh.

No.

Oh.

Shit.

Oh.

Pink.

EVERYWHERE.

The jar opened in my purse, I managed to finagle out my phone an wipe it down and my wallet, but all the stuff, all the lining of the purse, the canvas tote I got from the Jeu de Paume in Paris all of it, doused in hot pink hair dye.

Ugh.

What I am happy to report is that I did not lose my shit.

Nope.

Just took the jar wrapped it up in the bag, wiped off what I could and got on my scooter and said, well, I’ve been wanting to replace that purse anyhow.

And off I went to the first of my dates.

We met for sushi, I recognized him at the corner as he was crossing over to the restaurant, yay for looking like your profile, always a plus.

Yay, also for being on time, in fact, just a tiny bit early, which I totally appreciate as that’s how I tend to roll.

Yay for being tall.

I mean, hello, 6’5″.

I could have worn heels.

It was a slow to start date, but in the end, the dinner was nice, although I was slightly surprised to be asked to go dutch on the date, I was like, ok, whatever, not the first time, although, I had expected…

Oh, sneaky, expectations, I know where you lead.

But, I was like, ok, whatever.

And moving on.

But.

Not exactly moving on.

We walked down Valencia Street, which is odd for me to walk down when it’s the weekend and also when I’m not working, I ran into a lot of folks I know and that was amusing, always nice to be seen and to be seen on a date, I think too, is nice.

We went to Ritual, aforementioned late Americano, we sat outside.

We discussed some things.

Talked over some things.

And oh.

There.

Ha.

I wasn’t sure.

He was indeed attracted, just a slow burn sort of deal.

And that’s ok.

Some times quickly, sometimes slowly.

He had friends to meet and I had a friend to meet.

Well.

I should clarify.

I had a friends with benefits to meet.

Which was fantastic and fun and none of your business.

I can’t put it all out here, now can I?

I did find out some lovely things about myself in the whole process.

First.

Guys don’t notice, and/or care, that I had a huge, awful patch of pimples on my temples.

Like bad.

Like haven’t had a break out like this since high school.

Hello hormones, fuck you, I’m 43, enough already.

If they were noticed, which I noticed them, gah, get off my face, nothing was said.

Of course, said dates could have been blinded by the hot pink hair.

Second.

That despite getting thrown a curve ball, one in which I would have used previously as an excuse to cancel or delay, pink dye all over my purse and stuff and things, was just a small impediment to the evening and nothing to get worked up about.

What I found is that by not caring so much about how I look and presenting myself as I was, pink hair, purse, pimples, and all, I was just more me somehow.

More human.

Less put together.

And perhaps.

More approachable.

I sure hope so.

I like this new part of me emerging.

Oh.

I’m sure I’ll get wound up about something.

But for right now.

Despite the ruination of my satchel.

I’m really sitting pretty.

And.

Very.

Very.

Very.

Pink.

 

Darling Little Day

June 18, 2016

Even though it started rough.

Wow.

Sometimes it’s a wonder I get out of bed.

The head games that happen before I have even swung my legs out of the bed, they can be a little, well, crazy.

I got up though, and once I got moving I knew I was going to be fine.

Even not knowing what I was going to exactly do today.

It was going to be fine.

So I did the things that help me get to that place of being completely ok with what is happening, fresh sheets on the bed, laundry in the wash, kneeling down, taking some minutes, asking for guidance and direction, reading some stuff, saying some stuff, and a nice mellow, relaxed breakfast.

Since I had no where to be other than the noon yoga class I signed up for.

I did a lot of writing.

That always helps.

I don’t even recall exactly what I wrote of, not that I normally keep track of it.

It’s rather like empty a drawer of junk and being open for what God wants to put into my day rather than trying to organize any sort of relevant thoughts or plans.

Plans.

When I make them.

Foiled.

All the time.

What then usually happens, especially if I’m on the beam, is the reality of my day is much better than what I had planned.

Yoga was like pulling teeth.

To get me to.

However, when I was there, it was amaze balls.

Like the best class I have ever had.

I did ALL the poses, I was in my body, I could feel a shift that’s probably been building for a while, but I felt so on and in the groove and just there.

It’s been four months and I am so happy I have stuck it out and kept going.

It’s hard getting there, my head will start telling me stories about how I don’t need to go.

Funny that.

How my head likes to tell me to do things that don’t serve, even when I know, with some other mysterious part of my being, that doing the very things I don’t want to do will actually make me feel better.

Take the contrary action, Carmen, it really works.

All the fucking time.

There is a solution.

Thank God.

And it is almost always the opposite of what the brain says to do.

Don’t go, you don’t need to, you’re tired, there’s other stuff happening that’s more important, yada, yada, yada.

Ad fucking nauseam.

Anyway.

I went.

And it was spectacular and my teacher told me that she wished she had taken a photo of when I first started, “you are so much more flexible, it is amazing, it’s the best part of my practice, getting to see people when they first start and then, if they are consistent, how they change.”

I really did feel good.

So good that I don’t want to go tomorrow.

Ha.

I know.

Right?

Like.

I worked so hard today, I don’t have to do it tomorrow.

But I do.

Maybe not yoga, per se, but I have certain things that I just need to do and I’m cool with that, it let’s me do all the fun stuff.

Which today, was really chill stuff, the laundry, the balancing the checkbook, the yoga, some grocery shopping, a nice hot shower, some pleasure reading, cleaning out my closet a little, I sold some stuff to Crossroads–things that were nice, but just never brought me happiness when I wore them, and then took myself out to a little dinner at Red Jade in the Castro.

Went and hung out with my people and did the deal.

Then I actually hung out afterward.

I went and fucking fellowshipped.

I haven’t done that in a while.

It was good.

I mean.

Really good.

Just to get reconnected to some friends and catch up and been seen and see fellows.

So lovely.

We went to Chow.

And I haven’t been to Chow in awhile and I love Chow.

I didn’t eat as I had already had my dinner, but to sit with a pot of tea and laugh and tell jokes and swap stories and be fun and just alive.

God damn.

I am so lucky to be alive.

It is just astounding, all things considered.

And tomorrow?

More yoga, even though I don’t want to go.

Heh.

Then.

Yes.

The pink hair.

After that a date.

I’m actually rather tepid about the date and have come inches from canceling.

However, I remind myself it’s just an exploration, see if there’s chemistry, have a cup of coffee, meet another person, let go of the results.

Show up and see what happens.

Like I said, if I don’t want to do something, I probably should.

Even if the date doesn’t go well I’ll have done something outside of my comfort zone and that is always a good thing.

It’s a late afternoon/early evening date.

So coffee could roll over to dinner, but it doesn’t have to.

I may have the evening free.

I may not.

I will probably want to show off my hair like the hussy I am, but that’s normal.

And I’m quietly pleased that my hair will be pink for Pride.

I’m not even a pinch hitter for my team, I’m rather fond of the opposite sex, but I love, adore, respect and have great admiration for the men and women and all the in between shades of humanity, after all that’s happened, I will be with the city at Pride this year.

I haven’t gone in a few years, it can be overwhelming, but I feel like the joy of being unified will outweigh the negatives of being in a big old crowd.

Plus.

I’ll be on that side of town doing the podcast up in Noe Valley.

Anyway.

I get ahead of myself.

I usually do.

Right now.

Right here.

It’s all right.

It’s all good.

In fact.

It’s pretty fucking spectacular.

Seriously.


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