Posts Tagged ‘privacy’

Why, Yes, That Is Correct

February 21, 2017

I am making chicken and rice soup with vegetables right now.

Yes.

At 9 p.m. at night with terrible and gusty winds.

Chicken soup is super homey and I felt in need of throwing together a pot.

Plus.

I had the time.

And.

It doesn’t take too much time.

I have it down to a science and since I roasted a chicken yesterday I figured I would whip up some soup when I got home and had dinner.

The soup will be done in less than a half hour.

I’ll freeze some and can the rest.

Lunch and dinner for the week.

Easy to just grab a Mason jar of chicken soup with rice and head out the door.

I normally would make the soup on the same night I roast the chicken, but I hung out with a friend yesterday in the afternoon and had coffee.

I am practicing reaching out to people and connecting when I feel lonely.

It was a perfect afternoon jaunt over to the Richmond side of the park, up to Balboa and 38th.

We went to La Promenade Cafe across the street from the Balboa Theater.

It’s a great neighborhood cafe with lots of tables and nooks and crannies and couches.

It was surprisingly packed yesterday with students and laptops, but also with gamers.

I didn’t even recognize most of what people were playing, but I felt happy to be in the midst of the energy and to see people connect with one another face to face.

Rather than Facebook to Facebook.

Speaking of ye olde social media.

I had someone send me a friend request yesterday who I had unfriended a few months back for good reason and at the suggestion of my person and I also blocked his phone number and deleted his number in my phone.

Space was made and taken.

I was surprised to get the request.

Then.

Not so surprised.

And.

Then.

Surprised that I considered accepting it.

But.

In the end.

Yes.

I deleted it.

There was a reason, there is a reason, and no contact is still the best thing for me with said gentleman.

That being said.

I was happy to have made the decision to do something, even such a small thing, as deleting the request, instead of hemming, hawing re-accepting and going back into the crazy.

Sometimes I turn down crazy town road and I see that great big pothole (man-hole) that I have fallen into before and I am so tempted.

I won’t fall in this time, just watch!

Sure Lucy.

How about I just don’t try to kick that ball today?

It felt really good to take contrary action and to not engage.

Healthy like.

Sane.

Different.

I like it.

Then today when I logged into all things interwebs and was checking through I noticed that although I had deleted the friend request it showed up that said person was following my public posts.

Hmm.

I’m not so sure I want that.

I haven’t ever really thought about my privacy on Facebook.

I don’t publish political stuff on my page, in fact, any time I am tagged in a political post I remove that tag and delete it on my timeline.

Don’t post shit to my page.

Please.

And thank you.

I don’t give a fuck if our political leanings are the same, I don’t want to think about politics when I’m on social media.

Anyway.

I logged into privacy settings and holy shit.

I might as well have let the whole world know what was going on or not going on with me.

Everything was set to public.

I cannot fathom how or when I did that.

Unless I just wasn’t paying attention.

So.

I made it all private.

I figure this is good timing for me anyway.

I’ll be starting practicum soon and I should make sure my social media stuff isn’t accessible to people whom I’m not friends with.

I don’t post racy pictures of myself.

I find that kind of tacky.

That’s just my judgement.

But.

My personal stuff is my personal stuff.

And.

I have been “found” by a few guys on Tinder when I was on Tinder.

I am not on it.

Haven’t been on it for a bit now.

I took it off my phone but once in a while I would notice that I was getting hits on Instagram that seemed to be coming from Tinder.

So I got the app again on my phone and checked it out.

Sure enough.

I had to delete my account through the app before I could actually be off it.

It didn’t matter that I didn’t have it on my phone.

It was still “live” out there in the world.

Creepy.

So.

Deleted that.

Buh bye.

I’m so not opposed to sex.

I love sex.

But.

I am opposed to that particular app and I realize that yes, I prefer some intimacy, emotional, intellectual, yes, even spiritual, before I want to drop my knickers.

Like if someone from my friends group on Facebook did want to ask me out on a date, I would be down.

But.

For someone to find me on Tinder, photostalk me through Instagram, find me on Facebook and then message me, um.

NOT INTERESTED.

That particular scenario has happened three times.

I don’t expect it will again.

Boundaries.

I need to have them.

I have had nebulous, porous, wobbly boundaries, and it just ends up biting me on the ass.

Every time.

Better boundaries make for better relationships.

This is what I am learning.

Good skill to have.

I am sure I’ll waffle again, but I’m getting better and better and the change feels good and I am not watching the horror show of my own dramatic script writing.

Nope.

I’m changing the channel and getting right into the what is right in front of me, moment.

Reality is so much better than fantasy.

Fantasy feels safer.

But in the end.

For me.

It’s isolation.

And for me to isolate is to die.

I’ll pass, thanks.

Here’s to living in the present.

The gift I’m given every day.

Grateful for that.

Seriously.

 

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Pre-Emptive Blog

June 15, 2015

I am blogging early.

I have a dinner date.

And.

It’s freaking Sunday.

The Warriors are in the NBA finals and I have a dinner date.

Excellent.

I am a big pile of jello, however, I took the plunge, but not the cold plunge.

I went to Kabuki.

My employers surprised me with a gift card on Friday as I was leaving and I went to the spa today–I was treated to the “Radiance Spa.”

I do feel pretty radiant.

Although, truth be told, I’m not sure if it’s due to the spa time or the upcoming dinner time.

I’m happy.

I had a head and neck massage and hair oil treatment–seriously, the best thing ever is having my scalp rubbed, closely followed by hair brushing.  When people ask that question, what would buy with a million dollars or if you won the lottery, scalp massage, and lots of it.

I jest.

If I won the lottery.

I would pay off my student loan, and then your student loan and if you have any friends that have student loans, theirs too.

Then I would get some scalp massage.

It’s dreamy.

And she used a key lime oil.

Dude.

I smell like pie.

Hope my date likes that.

Then again, what man doesn’t want his date to smell like pie?

I’m not getting quite as gussied up as I did yesterday, it’s Sunday, I can’t stay out late, but I made sure I look cute and my hair, well, Christ on a stick, it looks fantastic.

All that scalp rubbing and hair oil.

Plus I got a short shiatsu and deep tissue massage–just 25 minutes–but enough to bliss out for a while.

Then a soak in the hot tub and a salt scrub followed by the steam room.

I tried to get into the cold plunge, I usually do hit it a couple of times, but I wasn’t feeling it today.  I decided to just take a nice long shower, shave the legs (not that I am expecting any kind of action tonight, the one thing I will let on about dating said gentleman is that he is a gentleman, we talked quite earnestly about going slow) and slather lotion all over myself.

Then a relaxing cup of tea on a lounge chair while I flipped awhile through a magazine.

Spa’d up and I took a car home.

I decided to splurge there too.

I wasn’t going to ride my bicycle to Kabuki and back.

I definitely feel that I have achieved celebration status for being awarded the scholarship.

An afternoon at the spa and a second date with a very handsome and.

Ugh.

Not writing about that.

I have a second date with someone whom I like very much.

There.

“You can write about me, just change my name,” he told me last night when I told him I was not going to write about him.

I explained that when it means something I don’t want to share.

So that’s it.

That’s all the share you get.

He means something.

This experience means something.

And I am excited.

Not nearly as anxious as I was yesterday before seeing him for our first date and hopefully the butterflies won’t come on too strong, but excited.

Not obsessed either.

That is nice.

My brain is not going 280 miles per hour.

It’s saying.

See what happens.

Let things unfold.

Let yourself be courted.

That’s really want I want.

I want to be courted and cherished.

I suppose everyone wants that.

I also want to provide that for the person I am with and this feels like a good fit.

Onto other news.

I checked out scooters yesterday at Scooter Centre and put down a deposit on a Buddy Italia in avocado with racing stripes.

Super cute.

Best scooter in the shop, 170, it can even go out not the highway.

I dropped five hundred for a deposit.

Filled out all the paperwork and then waited for the phone call back from the financing department.

And got my deposit refunded right back to my card.

I don’t have any credit history.

My credit score is high, but because there’s no record of me using a credit card for the last ten years I have no history of being a good or bad risk.

The company that Scooter Centre works with turned me down.

I had an inkling that may happen, so I was not upset when that turned out to be the case.

I can go to my bank and ask for a loan.

I can probably get a credit card, I get offers for them all the time.

I can not worry about getting a scooter right now and save my money.

I can keep riding my bicycle and use the money I do have towards paying for the fees and registration that I will have to cover for my school.  The scholarship I was awarded is solely tuition, but at $24,500 a year for two years, that’s nothing to sniff at.

However, a close inspection of the registration fees and the fee for the required week-long retreat at the beginning of the semester with my cohort in Petaluma at the Ions Institute, is going to cost about $2,500.

That’s nothing in comparison to the tuition, but it is something.

I am still assuming that I will have to take out some loans, just to cover cost of living, but the fewer I have to take out the better and the faster I can pay down my student loan debt, the easier it will be for me in the long run.

I mean, I’m still paying off my undergraduate degree.

Anyway.

I wasn’t upset and I believe something else will happen.

Maybe I don’t get a scooter.

Maybe I do.

I’m alright no matter what happens.

And I have a date in twenty minutes.

Gotta go!

See you tomorrow.

With bells on.

The Cat’s Out of the Bag

November 24, 2014

Well.

Maybe not.

However, I suppose, after I write this blog it will be.

So, yeah, um.

Remember that post I wrote a little while back about getting my dating on?

Which one?

Oh lord, I know, there are a lot of them, I have been trying, mostly half-heartedly, if the truth be told, for years it would seem to be in the dating game.

A few small victories, mostly of the inner personal, reflective type scenarios, a lover, a few dates with men who I grew to appreciate their company or perhaps a night or two of their passion, but nothing really concrete or real for some time.

Then.

Inventory.

Writing.

More writing.

More surrender.

More asking and listening and taking action.

Then I started trying different things.

And I won’t say that it was easy.

None of this has been easy.

Except.

Well.

Except when it was.

When it fell right into place, when I couldn’t fuck it up or manipulate it into happening, when it was simple and direct and obvious.

It wasn’t, hey I really think you’re hot and I want to get with you, but I’m not really available, or hey, let’s have sex, and maybe I’ll think about dating you, we’ve been friends for a while, maybe this could work.

It wasn’t the surprise booty call or a manipulated I would like to hang out with you in an ambiguous way that might be or might not be a date because I am too afraid to say what I want.

It was clear.

Clear cut.

Obvious.

And there he was.

He’s been there all along.

Doing his own thing, leaving me be, but noticing and when the time was right, and it was right, it all just fell like packaged dominoes in a green leather case onto the table.

All chips down.

All in.

Yup.

That’s right folks.

I have a boyfriend.

Eek a mouse.

I just got tingles all over my body.

So, should you have been wondering, where the blog has been, well, now you know.

I was getting further acquainted with the new man in my life.

“You have to ask  yourself,” my friend said to me on the phone as I took the N-Judah up to Duboce Triangle (a messy commute on the weekends since the city has been working on the tunnel for the N-Judah between Cole Valley and Duboce park–nothing says good times like weekend tourists trying to question everyone on the bus as to why it’s not stopping), “what is your reason for blogging every day.”

I had called him to get some clarity.

The truth is that although I have missed the writing (I’m still writing morning pages, although I will admit, they too have been a bit short and spotty and not as many pages I would normally do, I have been, um, busy you know), I have found that I want to invest in the relationship and be spending time with this man.

Especially now, in the beginning, when everything is fresh and bedazzled and sparkly and glowing.

When music means extra special things and the air seems to kiss your face and what are you doing kissing a man in the aisle at Safeway?

I mean, who does PDA in Safeway?

I do apparently.

I don’t hang out at Safeway, but we were grabbing groceries and there you go, smitten kitten is going in for a little canoodle in front of the fabric softener sheets.

There are boundaries though.

I have spent some time ruminating, not thinking, not obsessing, just feeling out what my feelings are regarding this blog, what I do, what the purpose is, has the exercise in posting a day run its course, where do I go now, what do I write about, how does this relationship impact what I write and how I am here in this forum?

“Did you write your blog,” the boyfriend asked with a raised eyebrow the other night.

I made a snappy, sassy retort about where does the time go, but no, I had not written it.

I have been sacrificing it to the time monster to eke out whatever spare minute I can with my man.

I remember writing a blog about what the exercise of trying to have a date every week would lead me to–a sort of romantic/comedy B list movie starring Drew Barrymore in a holiday inspired romp–“A Boyfriend By Christmas.”

You know, the misadventures of being a woman of a certain age in a city, say, oh San Francisco, which already has a unique set of dating challenges, while she tries to find her man by the holidays.

Well, you could knock me over with a feather.

I really did not believe it would culminate this fast.

Forget boyfriend by Christmas.

Mama got boyfriend by Thanksgiving.

We’re spending it together.

Not sure what we’re doing yet, neither of us have family in town and Honey had to revoke his invitation to do an orphan Thanksgiving at his house as he was tapped to help St. Anthony’s Food Kitchen make and serve the holiday meal to the homeless downtown.

But we will be spending it together as we both have it off.

Ditto other holiday events and parties.

I’m going to his work holiday party as his date and ordered a ridiculously cute dress off ModCloth for it.

I can’t remember the last time I bought a holiday dress for a holiday work party.

There aren’t usually work holiday parties for nannies.

Anyway, I digress.

Boundaries, that’s where I was and here’s where I am at.

This is it for blogging about him.

No naming, details, height or weight or color of his eyes (such lovely eyes), no feelings to discuss, no conversations to report back on, no, nope, and not anyone else business.

Just mine.

Just his.

The cat may be out of the bag but I have no desire to talk about said cats stripes or polka dots or whiskers, this is all for me.

To enjoy and let it open and grow and happen.

And that’s all.

That’s it.

What the blog is going to be about is just further self-reflection and my misadventures there of.

I am sure I will find things to write about.

It just won’t be this certain man.

Who though, the cat’s pajamas, will remain boxed up in a compartment in my heart tucked away for only me to see.

Which is how it is supposed to be.

Quiet.

Sweet.

Personal.

Intimate.

Discrete.

Not always attributes I have in spades.

But principles to strive for and towards.

Hand and hand with my new man.

Trudging this road of happy destiny.

 

 


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