Posts Tagged ‘sexiness’

Busy Girl

July 15, 2016

Getting into all the fun things.

Nice to know that I have opportunity and options and fun.

That there is fun in the air.

“I would like to take you out on a date,” he said in the message.

Yeah?

Nice.

I would like to go on a date.

Thanks for telling me I’m sexy.

I like that, I won’t lie.

I have a coffee date this weekend, Saturday afternoon.

A dancing date, although, truly, the dancing was not the real ask, I was invited, but he’ll have friends there and I’ll have friends there, tomorrow night.

But.

Maybe a little bump into the other person on the dance floor.

And who cares?

Because.

I got options.

I am also going dancing with three dear friends.

Which is awesome sauce.

And.

I got an invite to a bachelorette party that happens to coincide with my family that I nanny for being out of town.

The bachelorette party is also out of town.

I haven’t been to a bachelorette party in a hella long time.

Sober.

All the ladies be that way too so it’s going to be stupid fun.

Plus, I pretty much confirmed that I will have the camping gear and what not for the burn from my friend, who’s party I would be attending.

All the things.

I got lots of stuff to still work on and get organized.

But having gear and knowing the people I’m going to camp with and having a ticket make it a lot less strenuous in my brain.

The getting there and back will happen.

I have made a few more inquiries and nothing yet, but that doesn’t mean that there won’t be.

Just like when I stop being concerned about dating, what the heck, I’m dating, I’m going out, I’m having fun.

“I got you something,” I got a text today at the end of the work day.

Perfect timing.

You know you have a lover in San Francisco when you get gifted an adorable pink leather choker and  fresh produce from the farmer’s market.

Hello.

l love it.

I got to sneak in a little nooky and then scooter home happy as a clam with my goody pack and a song in my heart, happy too, to be this much closer to Friday.

And yup.

It’s going to be a big, fun, busy weekend.

It feels like it has already started.

It helped that I got up early and went to yoga and got all stretchy and zen before going into work.

It helps that tomorrow is Friday.

It helps that I got to see my fellows tonight and do the deal and see some ladies that mean the world to me.

It helps that I got friends that want to go dancing with me.

You want to come?

Come!

I’ll be at Public Works tomorrow for Desert Hearts, deep house and techno, around 9:30/10p.m.

It’ll be good times.

Saturday I have my person then a coffee date.

Depending on how the date goes I will either continue to lunch with him or head off to yoga.

That evening do some deal and see what there is to be seen.

Sunday a couple of ladies over and a trip to the MOMA with a friend to finally get into the new space and see it before the shows all change over.

We’re going to go in on a membership together.

God damn it’s good to have friends.

And fun.

Glad I’m letting myself have a fucking fun summer.

Oh.

I’ve still got the crazy in my head and I have to constantly do work around it, I’m like a bit like a shark, constantly having to swim or else they sink and drown, like that.

I’m not interested in sinking.

I’m having too much fun living.

It also helped that I got a big fat eight hours of sleep last night.

Grateful for all the richness and variety and spice of life.

The sexy juiciness of it all.

So much of it when I let myself see it.

Reflecting earlier on how much I have grown over this last year.

And, of course, that there is still so much more growth to go, which is good, when I stop thinking I have room to grow, that’s when I’m in trouble.

I’m also grateful for graduate school, for giving me this taste of summer vacation, for this desire, a grass fire drinking gasoline, to taste and have and live summer.

I haven’t had this powerful a desire to live as full as I can in a while, it seems.

Or perhaps.

It is just that I know there is a time limit on it.

I’ll have my “Mardi Gras” of fun at Burning Man.

Then return, one last kiss to the summer, one last night of song, Mike Doughty, September 1st, some dude’s living room in Burlingame, then the next day.

School.

And work.

And school work.

And that’s it.

And so it makes sense.

Pack it all in.

Get your sexy on.

Date the fuck out of the summer.

Get your dance on.

Get your play on.

Get your travel on.

Get your Burning Man on.

Get your friends together and hug them fiercely.

Fierce as fuck.

Make new friends.

Make out.

Dance.

Dance.

Dance.

Sing out of key, just a little, don’t take yourself so seriously.

Wear too many flowers in your hair.

No such thing.

Wear glitter.

Seriously.

And crinolines.

And red lipstick.

Go to the drive in.

Go to the beach.

Burn baby.

Burn it down.

Eat it like a fat juicy white nectarine.

Sweet and sultry and salted with desire.

And.

Cinnamon.

Drink a little coffee.

I mean.

A LOT.

And love.

Also.

A LOT.

Get your summer.

Get all the things.

They are there to be gotten.

Seriously.

So.

Many.

Many.

Many.

Amazing.

Things.

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God Damn

November 12, 2015

You are sexy.

Thanks.

I needed to hear that.

And now it is time to listen to some French music.

Frenchies are sexy.

I like being sexy.

I remember when I was in a little bistro up in Potrero Hill, I think it might have been Chez Papa, but I am not 100% sure and I had just had my hair done, colored so that it was as close to my natural color as possible.

No more hot pink.

No purples or magentas.

No blues.

Just a rich, lustrous, dark brown.

And it was blown out.

I remember having the hamburger with an egg on it and Gruyère cheese.

To die for.

No bun, thank you.

Just a little green salad.

And after my friends and I were paying the check and leaving out the front door, saying good night to the owner, he waved, got up and came to see us out.

I let my friends go ahead of me and as I was walking out.

The owner leaned in, just a tiny bit into my personal space, but not too much into my space, just enough to know it was deliberate.

“Bye bye, sexy,” he said with a smile, his heavy Paris accent a lyrical whisper in my ear, and opened the door for me.

“Oh!” My friend said and giggled, “I heard that!  Do you want to go back and get his number, he’s single.”

I laughed, “um, DIane, the reason I was at the salon today was to get my hair ready for Paris, since I’m leaving in four days, probably no the best time to set up a date with a guy, but I think the hair is a hands down success.”

Heh.

It was a sexy hair do.

And I am feeling sexy tonight.

Just.

Well.

Because.

Suffice to say I know I am, but sometimes when someone you like says it to you, it makes all the difference.

Especially after a full day of being a nanny, running around, doing errands, going to the market, stripping beds and doing laundry, cleaning up little boy messes, filling the dog bowl with water, putting away groceries, wiping little runny noses and re-filling milk cups.

Of course.

There are moments too.

Oh, when the littlest guy, says, “pick me! pick me!”

He means, “pick me up.”

And I do.

And we dance around the kitchen and he throws back his head and smiles like a Cheshire cat and we sway to the music and I feel so much love and his little stuffed kitten is squashed between his arms and I have the best job in the world.

“Don’t tell anyone,” I told him as I snuggled him on my lap, “you’re my favorite three-year old in the world.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, then said, “STAR WARS, Carmen, STAR WARS.”

So I put on the John Williams score and he does this crazy little interpretive dance and just melts my heart.

“He’s going to be a lady-killer,” a friend of mine said when I showed the video I took of him dancing.

It was just something else.

My job.

It is a good one.

I am grateful to have it.

Grateful to have not been priced out of the city and able to afford my rent.

Grateful for everything.

Hearing about a friend who is out there and can’t make it back really brought it home to me today and I was tender about it.

I remember the last time I saw him.

I have a picture of him, sitting in the sun on my back porch in the little tiny in-law I lived in on 23rd and Folsom Street.

He was all smiles and handsome and lit up by the sun.

We’d gone on a date or two, but never had anything come of it.

Just that we were friends.

And yes, there was some attraction there, but hey I was going to be traveling, leaving on a jet plane, jumping out of the country, getting the heck out of Dodge, and I was telling him about my decision to get up and go.

He reminded me of the time we had spent together with other friends, almost two years!  Doing the Artist Way, all the adventures we had, the group waxing and waning, but he, and five or six of the others of us, met weekly on Wednesdays for an hour, then we would all go up the hill and hang out in a church basement and drink crappy coffee and hang out after and fellowship some more.

We were tight.

We all were tight together and it was every day it seemed that I called one of those friends or saw them around the Mission.

Until I didn’t.

Until time passed.

And people change.

And not always for the better.

Sometimes for the worse.

I remember my friend leaning over and saying, “and I’ll bet you’re going to do it, too, you always do, you do what you say you are going to do, look at that first time you went to Paris, you just up and went and look at how many people you inspired in that group, you inspired me.”

“You’re going to love it, and you’ll be ok, you know you will,” he ended, leaned back, rocked back in the chair, the high Juniper trees of the next door neighbor waving behind him, “send postcards.”

I did send a lot of postcards.

I send them to lots of friends.

But.

I am not certain I sent him one.

He asked after me though, today, sent a hello out into the Universe via a mutual friend, and my heart broke reading the message and seeing how hard a time he was having of it.

Sexy is sad too.

Sexy is of the world.

I have experienced love and loss and sorrow and pain.

And that is what makes the living, the life I lead, the love I give so much more valuable.

it is tempered by that pain and explodes with sexiness.

“What’s up sexy?”

My friend said to me tonight as I sat down on a wobbly folding chair next to him in a dimly lit room.

We hugged.

“Nice hair cut!” I said and ruffled his hair.

“My girlfriend did it on the front step of my house with a set of fabric shears,” he replied, turning his head and giving me profile.

“That is hella hot,” I said.

“I know,” he said and we laughed.

Life.

A simple.

Full.

Graced life.

Sweet and round.

Limned in music.

Bursting with light from a glowing globe lantern.

The soft plink of piano keys.

The mystery of being on the top of the steps in the Montmartre.

Not knowing where I was going, just walking down those cold steps.

The stars so low in the velvet sky.

The air so cold.

It would snow the next day.

The silence of the city a soothing balm on my soul.

My little morose soul as it wandered the streets around Sacre Coeur.

Allowing one more experience to be impressed upon my soul.

The drift of wind, the muffler pulled tighter around my face.

A tear slipped down my face.

Then I thought.

There is no one else in the world at this time in this place.

Not another soul on this cold mid-week late evening stroll in the heart of Paris.

I am special.

And.

Just a little sexy.

Although I did not realize it at the time.

I am reminded of it now and I look forward to only growing.

Sexier.

With time.

My life.

It just gets bigger and grander.

The best.

Truly.

Is still to come.

And.Snow on Sacre Couer

That.

Is.

Sexy.

Steps of Sacre Couer

Stair way in the Montmartre

Full Moon Fever

November 7, 2014

Is it really the moon being full or is it an excuse to act like a loony?

Does it actually matter?

For instance, having been recently visited by the monthly due I pay for being a woman, I wondered, would I have had as much chemistry happening for me if my body hadn’t been screaming to be impregnated?

And, was it really God’s protection, the rejection?

Would I have gotten carried away?

I mean you don’t have to believe that prayer works, the efficacy is proven and written about and yes, I do, but no you don’t have to, and so it doesn’t really matter that last Saturday when I felt abandoned and went to the loo after ward to catch my breath it was no wonder that there was a small red dot floating in the water.

I believe in hormones, but I also believe in chemistry.

There’s something to be said for pheromones.

Moan.

And sexy seems to be oozing out of my pores at times, as it was so fondly related to me from an outside observer.

“You two are too much tall, dark, and sexy.”

It hit me today.

Whoa.

I mean, ok, it hits me more and more often, but shit, ma, I am sexy.

I know revelation.

What?

“Women would kill to look like you,” a past date said to me once over watermelon radish salad at Maverick’s in the Mission.

I was hoping he would just kiss me again.

I spend too much time wondering if he will just kiss me again.

All the he’s all over the place.

All the moon and the hormones and the chemistry and the pretty faces.

I can have it all.

I was sharing this evening and it really struck me, wait, I do attract god damn attractive people, so I needn’t be shy about asking attractive men out.

I know.

REVELATORY.

Not that I have spent a lot of time to fantasize about any one in particular, but I sacked up, I asked out a really attractive man.

He said yes.

Which means, I know, you are laughing at me, I am attractive to attractive men.

Which means, go for it.

I don’t know if it was the flirting I was doing with one of the vendors at the Bartlett Street Farmer’s Market in the Mission (totally harmless, but fun, I’m not about to date someone who lives in Watsonville.  I mean, where is that anyway?) or it was the late afternoon Americano I had before hitting the market.

Or perhaps that fateful, full, creamy moon rising over me.

It sang me out the door of work tonight and I noticed a lot of heady, giddy, crazy drivers, taxi cabs, bicyclists, happy hour folks being wooed by the great disk in the sky.

Did we all notice it at the same time?

Did it give permission to be sassy and sexy and wound up?

I don’t know.

But that self-same moon followed my home on my bicycle, singing in my blood, urging me on, pulling me forward, down, down, down to the sea.

I wanted someone to go barefoot walking on the beach with that moon bright as neon kisses over my head.

I don’t often want someone to go walking on the beach with me, it seems trite, clichéd, and over done, but tonight, I could almost feel the cool sand on my bare feet.

I could certainly feel the cool air from my bicycle ride in my hair when I got back to the house and pulled it up into a top knot.

I wanted someone’s hands in that coolness, until it wasn’t cool anymore.

And that’s when my little sexy epiphany struck, somewhere between pulling up my hair and folding my clothes (I was super sneaky and got in a load of laundry last night, so nice to squeeze that in early), I could ask out other really attractive, to me, men.

Guys that I might have previously, erroneously, thought, nah, he’s out of my league.

I tried to summon someone to mind and no one sprang fully formed like Athena from Zeus’s brow, but that was ok too.

Just the knowledge was enough.

“You are learning all sorts of things about you.”

That’s what dating is about.

Learning about myself.

As though I haven’t learned enough already, here again, more to learn, more things to sort through and grow around.

Awesome.

I mean annoying.

I mean awesome.

I am learning that I don’t want to date people, men, whom I am not attracted to.

So that dude that I met at Decompression who kissed me with stale Tecate mouth, NOT attracted to.  Don’t give out phone number, even if I said I would try to date and do one a week, there’s no point in going out with someone who leaves me cold.

What else am I learning?

Not to go on super big dates.

Start small.

No big theatrical stuff, start with a cup of coffee.

I sort of already knew this, but I have to stick to my guns.

First date is chill.

Sort of like an interview.

And if the guy interviews well, than second date can be decided upon.

Communication is super important and I have to say what I need.

So.

I am having a whole heap of learning.

Good stuff.

The moon is still full-out there and I am obviously full of myself, but that’s ok, if I don’t get a little full of myself occasionally, who the fuck will?

I might do something wrong, I might go fuck it up some more, but hey, I am living.

The trees in the park, the giant wide trunks, the breadth and circumference of them, the reach of limbs toward the yellow moon of buttery love, they were here before me, they will be here after me.

What care the trees for my foibles?

In the great, grand scheme of it all.

I am just a tiny drop in the bucket of life.

A sexy drop.

But a drop none the less.

 

 


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