Posts Tagged ‘Scooter Centre’

Sold!

July 11, 2018

And bye-bye scooter.

I am no longer the scooter queen.

I took my scooter down to Scooter Centre today and sold her.

I knew once I had found out that they would sell used scooters that it was what I wanted to do.

No more mucking around with craigslist.

Then only inquiry I received via craigslist was actually someone trying to sell me a service.

No thanks.

This was just so much easier and I knew I didn’t have time to mess around with showing it off, talking about it, dicking around, making extra time for people to test drive it.

Nope.

I just wanted to turn over the keys and let it go.

Which is what I did.

We negotiated a price and I signed off the paperwork, the owner of the shop cut me a check and I was out the door.

I celebrated by depositing the check and taking myself out for a poke bowl for lunch.

Love some nice ahi tuna.

Especially on a warm day.

I decided to enjoy said warm day and I had packed up a book and a magazine that I planned on enjoying reading in the park that is close to my internship rather than taking a car share home and picking up my car.

I walked from Mission and 10th to Folsom and 14th, swung into Rainbow Foods, picked up some cherries and a Rau raw chocolate drink and meandered to the park.

I sat in the sun.

I read for two hours.

It was brilliant.

So to the sunburn on my feet.

Ugh.

I mean.

I wore sunblock everywhere else today but I did not think about the tops of my exposed feet.

Oops.

Oh well.

It was worth it.

To sit quietly.

To reflect.

Today was a super big day.

A lot of emotions.

A lot of movement through them.

Acceptance.

Sadness.

Joy.

Love.

So many things washing over me.

With big transitions thrown in.

Like.

The supervisor I want to work with underneath the umbrella of Grateful Heart Therapy replied back.

With a resounding yes!

Yes!

Yes!

She was super happy to work with me regarding supervision and she’s got the full supervisory accreditation completed.

All she has to do is some paperwork with the non-profit and she can supervise me and they can pay me out and do all the taxes and book-keeping for her.

Win freaking win!

And!

Oh the best, the best, the best!

She does have office space available for rent.

And she will rent to me!

So I have an office.

And.

Yes.

I received back the second letter of recommendation for the internship.

So, office secured, supervisor secured, letters of recommendation secured, updated resume.

All I have to do is fill out the rest of the application and submit it by August 11th.

I plan on having it done before I leave for Paris.

I want to be free and clear to enjoy my trip and leave everything in San Francisco for a while and give it all some breathing room.

Space.

Like the new space I will be moving into.

It’s officially unofficial.

I am moving out.

I accepted the terms of the buyout negotiations that I have been in with my landlady.

The paperwork is being drawn up and I will be signing it before I leave for Paris.

I am not quite ready to splash it about social media yet.

Until the paperwork is signed and I have the buyout money in my account it seems foolish to plaster it all over the place.

Suffice to say.

I am actively looking.

I messaged about a place earlier today while I was waiting for my office to open up at my current internship.

The one I had previously applied to turned out to be a scam.

If the price seems too good there’s probably a reason.

Not going to wire money anywhere before I see the place.

Anyway.

I am looking.

You know of something you let me know.

I have some buffer time, I don’t have to leap at the first thing that lands in my lap.

I can take some time to make sure wherever I go next is a good fit.

But.

Yeah.

I will be out by November 1st.

That’s the end date of my being here in my little studio by the sea.

I came home tonight and thanked her, my little spot, for all the lovely time I have had here.

I really am grateful for the five years I have gotten to spend here.

I have a few more months.

I don’t think anything will happen before I leave for Paris, aside from signing the paperwork and closing up the deal, but should it happen I would be happy to move on out when I get back.

Having space to do so is big.

It means I can be flexible, if someone says something great is opening up but not for a couple of months, I’m ok.

I am ok.

I keep reminding myself that.

It’s been a super stressful experience and the amount of anxiety and fear I have walked through is tremendous.

I am proud of myself for doing the work.

It was hard.

And I am very grateful to all the friends who I went to with questions, concerns, fears.

The shoulders I literally cried on.

I cried a lot this last month and a half.

It’s no joke out there.

I am hopeful though that the right place will come now that the wheels are in motion.

I doubt very much that I will need until November.

But.

If I do.

It’s ok.

I’m covered.

Taken care of.

Held.

Carried.

I always have been.

Even when I refused to see it.

Luckiest girl in the world.

Advertisements

My Toes Are Hot

November 6, 2015

I was about to text my friend this message last night as I rolled around underneath the covers on my bed.

I had a fever yesterday.

I am rarely sick.

But I got smacked with it yesterday afternoon.

I had chalked it up to being up really early for work and not getting a lot of sleep the night before.

However.

By the time I was sitting in a cafe after work doing some writing before my next set of commitments, I knew something was wrong.

I felt flush.

Hot.

Light headed.

And.

I knew that I was sick.

Not so much because I am great at diagnosing myself.

I certainly am not.

But.

Because the boys I nanny for all week have had low-grade fevers and coughs.

I have no cough.

Thank God.

Nor the constant runny, drippy nose the boys had.

But I certainly was feverish.

I couldn’t also fathom how the hell I was going to get through the next two and a half hours before I had to be where I was going to next.

I couldn’t imagine hanging in there that long.

That is my clue that I am sick.

I have a big, imaginative, fully functioning brain.

I can keep a lot of stuff juggling about in my head and I am great at living in the future.

My thoughts proceed me.

Yes, yes, they do.

But when I am sick I have trouble seeing past the next five minutes.

All I could imagine was going home and having a bowl of oatmeal for dinner.

That too, is a tip-off.

I couldn’t imagine riding my bike home either, even though it’s a bike ride I do frequently.

I called a friend and asked for help.

Revolution is upon the land!

I asked for help.

Unusual for me.

But I knew I needed it.

My friend picked me up, tossed my bike in the back of his truck, gave me a hesitant hug and said, “you look yellow.”

Thanks man.

Now I feel really sexy.

Hot and yellow.

Blech.

He felt my forehead, “you have a fever.”

Yup.

I do.

I did.

He got me home and helped me get my bike in and said get into bed, sleep, don’t blog, rest.

I did just about that.

I made a bowl of oatmeal, my form of comfort food, and crawled under a comforter on my bed.

I watched a video for a minute.

I struggled with myself about sleeping.

And then just gave in as I was unable to focus on anything.

I curled up under the throw blanket on my bed wearing tights, long socks, and a flannel shirt.

That should be clue number 84 that I’m sick.

Way too much clothing.

I meandered in and out of sleep.

Having fever dreams about Paris and what I was going to do and where I was going to go and I drifted off.

I drifted back in when my housemate’s daughter came home and was singing in her room.

Then back out.

My friend texted me to see how I was and sad, “go to sleep.”

I did that.

The fever broke around midnight.

I got up did a few things.

I was wide awake.

I contemplated writing my blog, but knew the best thing was to get more rest.

I threw a load of laundry in the wash and puttered about then got back into bed.

I woke up this morning bright and alive and no fever.

Yay!

Especially yay since in about an hour I will be at the Scooter Centre down town to buy my new Buddy!

I confirmed the quote from my insurance agent this morning, coordinated with my friend who’s helping me out, and int a few minutes I will be leaving to hop on the train and take it down town to the shop.

I’ll be mobile shortly.

I am nervous.

I won’t say I’m not.

It’s been a minute since I have been on a scooter and the last few times it felt really harrowing as my former scooter was so unsafe, far more unsafe than I had any idea, but I also am grateful that I have had the time and space to prepare for this next adventure.

And.

The money.

It feels really good to know that I will be paying for the whole thing in cash, no financing, no monkeying around.

Straight up done deal.

I will own it outright and I won’t have to make payments.

The blessings of having a savings account and putting a little aside every paycheck.

It eventually adds up.

Sure.

I wanted the new scooter six, seven months ago when I took the knock off Vespa in to get repaired and had my heart-broken that I had been duped into buying a lemon.

But.

I didn’t like that I was going to have to finance it.

And when I got turned down for financing–I haven’t had or used a credit card in over ten years, so there was no history affiliated with me being a consumer despite my credit score being high, I was relieved.

I will save the money.

It will take a while.

That is ok.

Of course.

The $1,000 check for the poetry pushed me over the edge and now, a month sooner than I was predicting, I am getting my new ride.

Nervous.

Sure.

But excited.

Yes.

And soon.

I will be scooting around town again.

This time on a safe, new, fully warranted vehicle.

I am so pleased to be doing this like an adult.

Happy.

Joyous.

Free.

Vroom!

Vroom!

One Shot

October 20, 2015

It doesn’t happen very often.

And.

When it does.

It happens on the way home from work rather than on the way to work.

Every once in a while I make it the 6.5 miles from work to home without having to put my foot down on the pavement.

It is the most delicious and delirious thing and I realized as I was crossing Divisadero on Oak that I might actually have a unicorn of a ride happening.

I made the timed lights, I picked up my speed, I felt my left knee complain, I said, come on baby, we got this, and zoom zip, through the light and rolling down the Pan Handle and it’s all, almost, but not quite, downhill from there.

I have made it once to work from my house, 46th Avenue and Judah to Lexington and 20th, on my bicycle without putting down a foot.

It was a reckless ride and not something that I need to experience again.

I just wanted to see if I could do it, and I could, but it meant running lights, stop signs, riding down Lincoln all the way to the Wiggle and a lot of clever maneuverings on my bicycle that weren’t the safest.

I am really safe on my bicycle.

Some folks are nuts.

I want to live.

I have so much to live for.

Just the level of contentment I have for my little home right now, it knows no bounds.

I got the cutest message from a woman in my cohort about a photo I had put up on Instagram with my little nook in the corner of my studio that has a chaise lounge and a “new” reading lamp, that it looked like just the place to curl up and read all of Professor Dubitzky’s reading in.

Of course she didn’t say Professor Dubitzky.

Ha.

She said, “Milly D.”

Our inside, though, I am sure the professor does know and winks at it, name for the teacher.

What I love is that the class is all Freudian analysis and yes, that’s right, my corner seat is a chaise lounge.

The doctor is in.

Er.

The graduate school student is in.

I have started writing “I am a therapist” in my morning pages where I write my affirmations.

It follows right after the one that says, “I am an artist.”

And I added another today.

“I own a brand new Buddy Scooter.”

Yes.

I am back in the market.

I talked a lot about it with a friend of mine who is really good with money and negotiating and asked if he would help me go down to Scooter Centre and get a good deal on the scooter.

It does not look like they have the Buddy I want, I want the Buddy Italia in Avocado, in the shop.   Although, I bet they could get it in if they don’t have it in stock.

It’s a 170cc, goes up to 60 mph and gets 92 miles per gallon.

It also has a two-year parts and labor warranty which includes road side assistance.

It’s about $3200.

I could go buy it right now.

But.

That would mean using my prudent reserve and my student loan disbursement up.

I would feel uncomfortable not having a prudent reserve and I don’t like that feeling where there is nothing in the savings account.

So.

I talked to my friend tonight and told him about how I have been setting aside money and also that I expect I will get a bonus at work on my birthday again, which is a week before Christmas, so it was basically a holiday bonus, but whatever, I don’t have to label it anything other than a gift.

A gift that I am banking on using to buy the scooter.

In conjunction with the money I have been setting aside.

The plan, God is laughing, I hear you, my thought, is that I will go down on December 19th, which is the day after my birthday and hand my friend my money, I figure, go to the bank, withdraw the cash and walk in with cash and get a better deal, and let him do the negotiating.

Which means in 60 days I’ll have a new scooter!

This is the plan.

Who knows if it will happen, but that’s the thought process so far.

I won’t get burned buying a used “Vespa” again, although I wouldn’t mind a Vespa, new, they are a bit more expensive then the Buddy and I would have to wait a bit longer to save up the money, probably at least another six months.

I don’t want to wait that much longer.

My knees be aching again and maybe, yes, maybe, it’s time to stop commuting 15 miles a day on the thing.

It’s been 10 years of riding a bicycle in this city.

I would miss it.

And.

I would miss the exercise.

But.

I can do different things.

I can learn to surf, I got a wet suit.

I can scooter to a pool.

I can go to yoga.

The time that I would save from riding my bicycle would not be a great deal, but it would be significant enough that I think I would be able to take a yoga class or go swimming at a pool on the way to work.

Who knows.

I am not going to worry about the exercise part, it’s important to my life and I need it to keep the crazy brain at bay.

I thought all these things when I was riding through the park, the cool breath of October flowing over my body, ruffling my hair, there is nothing quite as sexy, to me, I don’t know that any one else who’s ever experienced it (not that I have asked), but, there is something so sensual about getting off my bike when I get home and after I lock up the garage I go inside my cozy, sweet studio, and sweep the hair up off my neck and it’s cold.

Cold.

From the wind and the air.

It is such a delicious feeling to lift the cool hair off my neck and swirl it up into a bun.

I shiver thinking about it.

I would miss that.

But then again.

I won’t miss the painful knees.

I did make sure to get to work early and do a lot of stretching, it’s the IT band in my knees that is too tight and I can do some things to strengthen the muscles around my hips, that’s why I was contemplating yoga a little while ago–although, really, in what time?  The stretching helps, but sometimes I think, maybe, just maybe, 10 years is a good run for bicycle commuting in San Francisco.

A decade of riding these mean streets.

I have seen a lot of change.

And more than one lost tourist with the Blazing Saddle logo on their bike stopped at Oak and Stanyan trying to figure out where they are on the map and where the hell the bike path goes and where is the fucking ocean anyway?  And the bridge, how do we get to the bridge?

I have even ridden folks through the Pan Handle and around the Wiggle to get them to go where they are going, I did that not too long ago, I was stopped, asked for directions and I noticed the glazed look coming over the woman’s face when I told her where to go and what streets to take, and just took pity.

“Follow me, just follow me for the next ten minutes, and I will get you to Market, at which point I will cross the intersection and you will turn left and be able to follow Market Street where you need to go.”

Just here to be of service.

I don’t have to think about it too much.

But it is exciting.

I like the idea of change and my life getting bigger and fuller and lovelier.

Not that more is needed.

I have everything I need.

And more than I ever expected to have.

So.

Much.

More.

So.

Much.

Love.

Done And Done

October 19, 2015

And done.

But.

Not done in.

So thankful to have had this day of working on all that is love and home and work and homework and heart work and everything that life entails and encapsulates.

I had a full day.

One that I wasn’t exactly sure how it was going to go off.

I insisted on letting myself sleep in an hour longer than I normally would.

Well.

I don’t know if insist is the right word, it felt almost like work, just lie here and let yourself go back to sleep.

The machine in my brain wanted me up and about and get on it girl, there are things to do, people to meet with, breakfast to cook, writing to be done, you have papers to write and so much reading, do you have any idea how much reading you have to do?

Not as much as I did this morning, but I get a head of myself.

I was able to combat the thoughts by acknowledging them and saying, might have been mumbled into my pillow as I turned over in my bed, my delicious, delightful, pinch me I’m so happy I get to sleep on it, bed, “thanks for sharing,” and go back to sleep.

It worked for a little while, I got another 45 minutes in.

Of course the next time I woke up, I was up and going.

And really.

I haven’t stopped since.

Although there have been reprieves and moments of down time today, moments when I look about me with such gratitude that I am overcome by what I have and the abundance, nay, the super abundance, of love in my life.

I have been all around the world and I have this home that has become such a home to me that I am in literal awe of what I have.

There is art and beauty everywhere.

The last piece finally coming together as a friend came over this morning to help me hang the Diebenkorn he gave me months ago.

When I look at that piece, the way it sings on the wall, the heralding of love, the colors replete and yes, matching, complimenting, extending around my room, I am reminded in subtle, and not so subtle ways, of the journey of the last few months.

Had someone said, you are going to cry this much, and feel this much pain, and yes, laugh this much, so much that you think you might pee your pants or vomit out sushi, or good forbid snort (all of which have happened in one degree or another) or that I might feel so much joy that I felt I was to burst, that I was going to see so much art, have access to it, get to bring it home and make my home even more my home, well, I would not have believed it.

Which is funny.

Since I have big feelings and the above sentence does not seem at all irrational to me when I re-read it.

Of course I changed.

My home becoming my unexpected crucible and I am replete with happiness, content in a way that I had not thought possible, though knew, really knew, was out there for me.

I have everything I need.

I have so much that I want, that the wanting is almost supplemental.

But I will tell you a secret.

Shhhh.

I am thinking again about a scooter.

I have been saving.

And I have not touched the financial aid disbursement that I have received for school.

I have gotten help, I won’t say that I haven’t, I have been gifted generously and taken care of and that has allowed me to throw a little more in my savings than I typically do.

I am feeling it out again, the scooter topic, as my knees also bugged me a bunch today and over the last week.

They buckled a little trying to help lift my bed out-of-the-way to hang the Diebenkorn and I found myself bursting into tears.

Although I valiantly tried to hide them, my friend looked at me in alarm and told me to sit down.

I was humbled.

My body, a token of constant humility.

I can dress her up, but sometimes I can’t get her to walk from here to there.

Anyway.

The scooter has been on my mind again and part of that, I won’t lie, is for efficiency as well.

How much more reading could I get in if I weren’t riding my bike to and from work and school?

What places I would be able to go to, doing the deal especially can be hard some days and I feel that a mode of transportation at night that is faster than my bicycle will be helpful.

I am hoping the little Buddy Italia in cream and avocado is still at Scooter Centre.

If it’s not.

It wasn’t meant to be.

If it is.

Heh.

Maybe I can get a better price on it than the one he offered me when I looked at it a few months ago.

Plus.

I am expecting a bonus at the holidays.

If I can hold off on spending the loan money and get a nice bonus, I maybe riding a scooter into the new year.

This is all speculation and pulls me away from the moment and the further acknowledgement that I need to give, to myself, really, I just want to acknowledge how much work I put into those sonnets–the ones from last nights blog.

I sent them off just before logging on here to write my blog.

I went through them three more times today and edited them, read them out loud, tightened them up, and then sat and dreamed on them while I wrote my Psychoanalytic Paper on Freud’s theories of Mourning and Melancholia.

Ayup.

And I used them in my paper.

Which was fantastic and outside the box and I was hesitant, but my friend said go for it, and when I consider how much work I did on them it didn’t feel like I was cheating to include them in my paper.  If anything, it felt like an acknowledgement to the professor of how much the Freudian work actually found its way into the sonnets as I was writing them against the back drop of analysis and dreamscapes.

I re-titled the work, tightened it up, and sent it out.

The collaborator poet has officially sent her poems out into the world for the photographer artist to use.

Part of me hopes he likes it.

The majority of me doesn’t give a flying rat’s ass.

I did a damn good job.

I love them.

They brought me joy.

I spent a lot more time with them then I thought I would, but I received so much in return, including a lot of insight that I extrapolated later in my paper when I wrote it.

That was my day: poetry, reading, writing, repeat.

Take small breaks, meet with ladybug, cook food for the week, do laundry, go with friends over the bridge to do the deal in Mill Valley, hang out, catch up with folks, then come home and finish all my Freud reading for class on Friday.

Thank God.

It’s done.

Oh.

Hahaha.

Don’t worry, I still have reading to do before Friday, but I don’t have any more papers due.

A reprieve.

I’m done for now.

Just now.

And with that.

Time to put up my feet.

Curl up in my bed.

Sip a cup of tea and look in astonishment at the prosperity and abundance in my life.

I am a very lucky girl.

I am.

So.

Very.

Very.

Lucky.

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.

Celebrate!

June 11, 2015

Damn it man.

I am just not good at celebrating, but as the news sinks in and I have been sharing with those about me, I feel the urge to take said suggestion and enjoy the moment.

I haven’t had many moments quite as momentous in my life.

I was writing this morning and I realized that there is a person to whom I owe a debt of gratitude for that has no idea about what has happened–I only connect with him when I see him at Burning Man–and that I can’t wait to tell him and give him a hug and say thank you for telling me to get my ass to graduate school.

“You’re a child psychologist being paid baby sitter wages, what are you going to do about it?  Do you have an undergrad degree?  Go to grad school.”

I was excited at the prospect of rolling up to his camp and hollering, “Daddy Don?!” and then telling him that I took his suggestion and I applied to graduate school and I got in!

Now.

Well, now I’m going to tell him and say, oh yeah, I also got a full ride for my first two years in school.

It is still boggling the mind.

I mean serious boggle action happening here.

I can’t fathom it really, it doesn’t make sense.

But then it does.

When I am honest and have humility, it makes sense.

Humility is being exactly who I am and accepting it, both the good and the bad.

I am awful good at knowing my faults and blowing them up to massive proportion and making myself feel rotten, the constant search for self-improvement over the sustainable and life supporting way of self-acceptance.

I am great at the flagellation necessary to be a perfectionist.

But I am not always good at receiving praise or gifts or nice things.

I have gotten better.

I really have.

I was just thinking about these two families I used to work for, I often think of them, especially since I’ll be on playa with one of them this burn, which is less than three months away!  And I remember reading the letters of recommendation that the mom’s wrote for me when I was looking for work with new families.

Those letters blew me away.

Who is this person they are writing about?

I knew it was me, but I had a hard time accepting the compliments and the honest appraisal of who I am and the job I do.

I grew up believing that I was not good enough, there was nothing I could do and that I would never be good enough, not for a man, no amount of academic success would sustain me, that the awards and trophy’s and the hard work, that it essentially meant nothing.

And yet.

I kept trying and doing and pushing.

I still keep pushing.

I expect to continue to keep pushing.

I am good at that.

But to rest.

To stop, smell the success, see it for what it is, a gift, but also one that I have worked very, very, very hard for, to recognize the accomplishment and to acknowledge that the people in charge, the ones awarding the scholarship know what they are doing and that I do deserve it.

So.

I have been told to celebrate.

I was given a few suggestions for one person who knows very well I won’t be celebrating by having my cake and eating it too.

“Spa, massage, trip to Harbin,” she suggested to me.

I immediately thought of Osento, oh how I miss you, then remembered, for the umpteenth time that it doesn’t exist any more.

Then I thought, Kabuki would be nice, it’s been awhile.

I always do the same thing though, I think, man Kabuki, that would be great, but then I don’t want to ride my bike there and back.

Maybe I take a car and splurge?

And a secret.

Despite having been given this large gift of money (not cash, not a check, there won’t be any money being deposited to my account, rather, my tuition bill will be paid at the beginning of each of my semesters for the first two years of school, it’s a three-year program, but I’ll cross the third year’s tuition when I get there) I am loathe, almost afraid, to spend any money on said celebration.

Which is silly.

Then again, I do know that I am saving my pennies for Atlanta and there’s also the distinct possibility that I may try to finance a scooter in my near future, so I want to continue being frugal.

But I can have some celebration.

I can kick up my heels a bit.

I can dance and holler and whoop.

I did a little of that this evening.

I was celebrating but I also felt capricious and silly and goofy and joyous and well, I had just gotten asked out on a date by someone I am attracted too, so, uh.

Yeah.

Celebrating by being taken out to dinner by cute guy in the neighborhood works for me too.

We had a moment when we saw each other tonight and he complimented my hair and my glasses and I thought, I should say something, but I was a little shy.

At same time, it turns out, he’s asking mutual friend if I’m single (to which he’s told, I’m dating someone!  Hello, really?  Despite sharing about break up with ex boyfriend to same group of people I appear to be in a long-term relationship?  Uh no!  But then, I thought, huh, that’s kind of compliment, I’m happy and people assume when a woman is happy she’s shacked up) about the same time as I am wondering if I should say something to him.

Serendipitous.

I actually do say something, I share a funny story and tell about the guy on Facebook who I thought was him, but turned out not to be and how I got stood up for the date.

And then, he tells me a funny story, how he’s just asked his friend if I’m available, only to be told that I’m dating someone.

We both burst out laughing.

He looks at me, “so, you’re single?”

“Yup,” I replied.

“Would you go on a date with me?” He asks.

“Yes,” I replied.

We’re both so giddy and laughing we hug, then high-five and that officially marks the first time I have high-five a guy for asking me out.

Numbers are exchanged and plans made and we’re having dinner at Thai Cottage Saturday at 7p.m.

Yes.

That sounds like celebrating to me.

I suspect I may need to do something else to fulfill the suggestion and I am wiling to do so.

I deserve to take a moment.

I show up.

I do the work.

I can show up for the rewards as well.

I can.

I promise.

I will.

Celebrate.

School’s Out For Summer!

June 9, 2015

Today was my first day, of the rest of my life, for the next three months, of having both the boys full-time.

I guess this is the Universe keeping me busy with regards to not having anytime to worry about school, financial aid, whether I will have enough, what’s going to happen next, why haven’t I heard back yet from financial aid, how come the IRS hasn’t gotten my federal refund back to me (I’m getting audited! No I’m not! Yes I am!) Ugh.

And so on.

I suppose that’s great too, I’m not obsessing about ex boyfriend, dating, or anything else either.

Note to Match.com.

The profile name of “BoozeyMike” is not a match for me, the non-boozy don’t drink anymore kind of gal, I don’t care if we have things in common (works out three to four times a week my ass, maybe lifting a pint to and from his mouth), I’m not interested.

So in a fit of pique I also re-opened the OkStupid profile.

Under a different name with updated photos, since the hair is now pink.

I decided I’d rather have options than not have options and I’m giving it the summer.

Hear that guys, especially guy who asked me out via Facebook, followed up the next day, but then never got back to me to close the deal–which I suspected after a quick Facebook snoop on said guys page–probably not my guy anyhow.

Not anyone who is checking into to Molotov’s and smokes cigarettes.

Pass.

But yeah.

Work is going to be busy.

All the way through the summer.

I’m ok with it though, having defined a time that works best for the family and myself so that I get a break that is restful and the boys have quiet time, though napping now appears out, the youngest is transitioning out of napping.

But I get an hour when the boys are on their own, in their rooms, either playing quietly or reading.

And the rest of the time, well, they are being boys, busy, loud, honking, whirring, siren imitating boys.

Also sweet, huggable, kissable, ran to meet me at the door and threw themselves at me this morning, boys.

The youngest one grabbed my hand and pulled me into the house, “do you like the Beegees?” He hollered at me.

FYI, a three-year old boy asking you if you like the Beegees may be one of the cutest things ever.

We danced around the dining room to Staying Alive, which then segued into a Paul Simon song, and after that, the Muppets, “The Rainbow Connection.”

Having a three-year old dancing on your toes first thing Monday morning may be the happiest way to start my week.

Closely followed by walking with the five-year old to BiRite and buying super yummy fruit for the house and holding his hand and talking about art and airplanes and rescue helicopters and firetrucks.

Work is good.

I am good.

Life is good.

I’m going to be ok with the two boys, in fact, I believe I will be more then ok.  Having two of them all the time can be a handful and it’s a lot of juggling, but they also entertain each other and play well together and the time passes really quickly.

My day flew by.

I barely had time to make a few check in phone calls and organize my schedule for the week.

I also had a slight change-up in my schedule, where I will be going in a half hour early to help out more in the morning and getting done a half hour earlier in the evening.

I will be at work 9a.m. to 6p.m on Mondays, my one long day, and then 10a.m. to 6p.m. Tuesday through Friday.

Not bad.

I will have a little more time, that half hour really can make quite the difference in my week, to run errands after work and before I do the deal, to sneak in a little grocery shopping so I don’t have to do it all on the weekends.

So that I can go out on dates and have fun.

I really want to emphasize that for myself, I’m having fun this summer, I’m going to dance and be silly with the boys and wear my hair full of flowers (four today) and put on sparkly makeup and go out on the weekends.

Even if I don’t have a date, I’m going to make plans to see friends and do things at least once a weekend.

I can have down days, like yesterday where I didn’t go much (laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning, doing the deal with two ladies back to back, cooking, yeah I didn’t do much) and took a nap during the latter part of the afternoon (no hell did not freeze over, but I thought it might) and read a book.

But Saturday’s I’m going to give it my best to be done with the chores and the deal and let myself do something fun.

A date with a guy.

An outing with a friend.

A trip to the Scooter Centre to get a new ride.

I thought about that a bit too this evening, as I rode home out towards the sunset, the smell of the sea washing over my face and the kiss of the sun leaving this part of the hemisphere, what it would be like to save a little time in my commute with a scooter and maybe for exercise I check out the new yoga studio down the street.

I don’t know if I’m going to buy a new scooter outright when I go to the Scooter Centre on Saturday, but I realized, I really am in the market.

I really do want to do it better this time.

I”m ready to have some real fun with a reliable ride.

Get out to more points and places and see more stuff.

And yes.

Have more fun.

That’s what you do when school’s out for summer.

You have more fun.

Bring it on!

The Day The Scooter Died

May 16, 2015

The day the music stopped.

The day I said goodbye.

The day I handed over the keys to a good friend who gave me a really big engulfing hug and said, “I’m so, so, so very sorry, I wish you hadn’t had this happened to you, and when you are ready, for a real Vespa, I will help you find the perfect one for you.”

I hugged him back and we signed over the papers.

No.

Not to do what you think.

Because, well, because further developments they developed.

I was going to give the scooter to my friend and let him and a mutual friend tinker with it, play with it, do what they would with it, maybe keep it, maybe fix her up, maybe sell her, but you know, just hand over the keys and say, have fun and I’m done and thanks for playing.

But.

As it stands that did not happen.

My friend went to Scooter Centre and talked with his mechanic and a bunch of other folks and listened for me where I was not able to listen–I was too busy crying last weekend in Scooter Centre to really get the gist of it all–and to ask the questions I do not have the knowledge base with Vespa’s to be able to ask.

What he ascertained, what I had gotten too, but he really got to hear, was that I was not the first person, or the second, or even the third person who had brought that same scooter into the shop and asked for help fixing it to be able to ride it again; nope.

I was the FIFTH fucking person to bring that self-same scooter into their shop.

The fifth person that they knew of and who knows how many others have had the scooter and tried to get something out of it aside from the feeling of having been duped.

“I paid $4,000 for it,” my friend said to me over coffee at Trouble on Sunday when I relayed to him what the issues seemed to be and how really, I took full responsibility for purchasing something that I did not know how to maintain.

But the facts are that it wouldn’t have matter if I did have the capabilities to deal with it.

There is nothing salvageable on the scooter.

Nada.

So.

I wasn’t handing over the title and the keys to my friend tonight who stepped in to assist me, who really wanted, as much as I, if not a bit more, for the damn thing to work, “it is such a beauty, I understand how you could not want to let it go,” he said patting my shoulder.

“But you really are doing the right thing, and ___________ should pay that $2650 back to you, he owes you, he knew.”

You know who also knew?

I did.

I knew it was too good to be true.

I knew when my friend hustled to the nearest Wells Fargo atm to deposit the check I wrote him for the down payment, I knew, something is off here.

But god damn.

That scooter was so damn sexy.

So cute.

I pushed aside those feelings.

I ignored my gut.

My bad.

Buyers remorse.

You fucking bet.

However.

I have compassion and sympathy and I can give my friend the benefit of the doubt.

Besides, he did so much for me at a certain point in my recovery, I hold no resentment, I hold no grudge.

Ultimately it was not that much, I didn’t really get hurt.

Much.

I mean I fucked my ankle up on it, but that turned out to be a blessing in disguise, so even there, I can’t harbor any hate.

Besides, self-righteous anger does not serve me, nor does moral indignation or being right versus happy.

I want happy.

And free.

And joyous.

Those are the principles.

My side of the street is clean, the title has been signed over, and the other paperwork signed and now it’s done.

The scooter will be junked.

Tomorrow it gets recycled.

I signed the paperwork to junk the title and they will cut the scooter in half and recycle it where ever they recycle scooters that go to die.

No one else is going to get duped, no one else has to go through it.

There does not have to be a sixth person that shows up on the doorsteps of the Scooter Centre who gets to find out they got fucked into buying a lemon.

And a vehicle that is and was unsafe to ride will not be ridden again.

I could have gotten really hurt riding it, when I reflect on some of the harrowing experiences I had riding it, the night in the fog coming home from Noe Valley when it died on my 12 times, nothing like trying to kick start something in the cold on Laguna Honda with no visibility.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” The driver asked from the car window of a Porsche.

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” I said.

And I am fine.

Free.

Done.

I have been released.

What is nearly as good as knowing that I did the “right” thing, not selling it, not being duplicitous, not taking money for something that I knew in my heart was not going to be a fun experience for anyone–unless they used it as a lawn ornament or hung it from the ceiling in an Italian restaurant–is the feeling of freedom I have from obsessing about it.

I don’t have to think about it anymore.

One week from dropping it off at Scooter Centre and it’s done.

Tomorrow she’ll be put down.

And it will be done.

They even offered to let me come in and shoot at it.

Literally.

The owner has a gun at the shop and he said I could come in and shoot it up to feel better before it gets sliced in half and recycled.

I laughed.

But I declined.

I don’t need to ever see it again.

I gave away the spare set of keys, signed the paper work and tomorrow I’ll call my insurance guy and cancel the policy on it.

Done and done.

Making room for the good stuff that God wants for me.

Not holding onto the stuff that doesn’t.

Whether that’s old ideas.

Or an old Vespa from Vietnam.

God’s got better for me.

I am ready to receive.

Space has been made.

That is the best feeling.

Really.

The best.

SEX!

May 13, 2015

Just kidding.

Got your attention though, didn’t it?

I haven’t had sex in months.

The again, considering the last date I went on, homeless dude, it’s probably a good thing.

Unfortunately, I also have not been on a date since said man without house took me on a picnic–it’s got to get better.

My ex and I recently re-established contact, via text, we have not seen each other in person, and re-friended on Facebook.

I think it has been a little unsettling for both of us and I suggested that we could unfriend should it be too uncomfortable.

He said no, although he may when he sees photos of me and my new bf posted on my timeline.

I’m glad he’s got faith in me.

There’s no new boyfriend.

See above sentence about homeless man date.

Who, to give him credit, was at least highly intelligent and interesting, just not having pot to piss in nor a couch to snuggle on, gets a girl down.

Plus he was a little older than I wanted to date.

It cut a little close to the bone, it was sort of like going on a date with my homeless dad.

No thank you.

I certainly have been getting a lot of really nice feedback though, that I look good, that I am sparkling.

“I’m wearing glitter eyeshadow,” I pointed out to the man giving me a compliment.

“Girl, I meant your eyes are sparkling, take a compliment,” he said, “you look beautiful.”

Thank you.

I can say thank you, I can.

I can appreciate a compliment.

I can accept abundance and love in my life.

I made some space for it today.

I let go the scooter.

I have been in communication with a friend of mine who is a big Vespa aficionado and a bit of a gear head and he’s into taking her apart and seeing if he can get it to run and letting it be a fun project that he’s going to enlist another friend in.

Great.

Leave me out of it.

I called Scooter Centre and said my friend, ______________ is coming in to pick up my scooter, you may feel free to hand over the keys to him.

“What’s your last name again?”

I spelled it out, “I was the girl crying in the shop that your dad was talking to and patting on the arm sympathetically.”

“Oh yeah, I remember you!”

Great kid.

Glad to help with your recall.

“Oh yeah, I remember you, you wear flowers in your hair and cry a lot when you share.”

Ah.

The crying.

So I lead with my heart.

So what?

I don’t believe that’s a bad thing.

Sure, my heart gets pummeled sometimes, but it’s worth it, I get to feel you know.

FEELINGS.

Anyway.

Today I felt free.

I told my friend I would sign the title over to him and bring the spare set of keys with me on Friday when I go cover my commitment at Our Lady of SafeWay.

I’ll get a hug.

He’ll get the title.

And then I’m done.

Free.

Free to make room for what ever God wants in my life.

Instead of holding onto something, that when I am honest, with myself and myself only, never really worked out well for me.

When I am honest, I had qualms all along about buying.

I need to remember to listen to that gut instinct and I will next time.

It was a mixture of too good to be true and also I felt like I was getting something that I couldn’t get anywhere else, financing.

My friend who sold it to me accepted $300 down and took $200 a month until I paid off the $2650.

Everyone I talked to said it sounded like a great deal and I went for it–paying over the monthly payment and paying even when I was having issues with it.

But I didn’t research it, I didn’t listen to my gut, and when I felt funny about it, I quashed the feelings.

And well.

Guess I learned.

So it goes.

I feel clean about it and feel like I moved through the stages of anger, grief, denial, depression (not so much, but there was plenty of anger and fear and a bit of grief, see crying in scooter shop) to acceptance.

I will hold onto something, an idea, a person, place, thing, scooter, you name it, far past its utility because I am often in fear that I won’t get what I deserve or that there is not better for me or whatever the reason, I hold on, then I get dragged.

I don’t have to be dragged any longer.

And when I open my hands to drop the keys into the palm of my friends hands and sign over the title I will open up my hands for whatever comes next, it tends to be much better for me and I am excited to see what happens next.

I hope there’s some sex involved.

Sorry, can’t help it.

I need to go on a date.

I am not desperate.

Yet.

And I don’t know how letting go of the Vespa correlates, but change is good and when I change I typically get a change of perspective too.

I see things or people in ways I did not see them before.

Is there someone out there waiting for me to see him?

I sure hope so.

My vision’s been cleared and I am ready to move on.

I’ll be riding my bicycle or walking, but I’m moving on.

Who knows.

There could be another vehicle out there for me too.

I have always had a lech for a Jeep Wrangle Sport manual in midnight blue.

Not to get too specific.

But you know.

Got to ask for what you want or you may never get it.

I want more than sex too.

Just to remind myself that I won’t foist myself off on the first person who takes an interest.

I want some courting this time around.

Flowers would be a great start.

Or just a date.

Cuppa coffee.

Walk around the block.

Some hand holding.

And a snuggle.

God damn.

I could use a good snuggling.

Got to have some ambitions around here.

And

Kissing!

Which, you know.

Leads to.

Sex.

Once in a while.

Ha.


%d bloggers like this: