Posts Tagged ‘Solid Gold Salon’

Color Me Happy

April 26, 2015

I got the best hugs today.

I caught up with some friends that I have not seen in a long time.

And.

I got my hair did.

So good.

Roller

Blow Out

Rollers

Rollers

Pink

Pink

Happy

Happy

Damn

Damn

Color me happy, joyous, and pink.

I was just going to go blonde.

But well, one thing, er, lead to another.

And I’m in the pink.

And I love it.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, my dear friends at Solid Gold Salon, Sutter Street at Jones (shameless plug, they are just awesome and amazing, I mean, come on) in the Tender Nob of San Francisco.

Check them out.

I mean they have been doing my hair for a long, long, long time.

Calvin did my cut and his partner Diane did my color.

I could not have been in better hands.

It was not always this way.

“You look like a space hooker!” Calvin hooted in the living room of his apartment in Nob Hill proper.

“Dude.” I said, as I looked in something like horrified awe at what he had done to me.

Note to former self, never let anyone dye your eyebrows.

Ever.

Especially not someone who is still in beauty school.

“You are not allowed to post those photos up,” I said, “and excuse me while I go scrub my face off.”

Calvin was not just in school for hair (Aveda and Vidal Sassoon), he also did the program at Blush School of Makeup down on Market Street.

I too was living in Nob Hill, Taylor at Washington, and I would often make the two block, very uphill walk, to his place and we would shoot the shit, drink too many lattes, and he would cut my hair, color it, razor blade it off, once, oh God, once, he gave me a faux hawk and a tail.

How do you know when you love someone?

You let them give you a tail.

I saw a little boy at the park the other day with a tail and all I could think was, that is so not cool, cut it off.

Off man.

I made him cut that off pretty quick.

I never really gave a damn about the color or the weird cuts, he always figured it out, and it was fun to be his hair model and let him go to town on my head.

“I remember when you were rocking all those crazy colors and cuts, you were doing wild color before any one else,” she said to me last night when I told my friend I was going in to the salon today and I was going to do blonde, pretty blonde highlights, beachy, you know, sexy.

Well.

There was some blonde involved.

And the pink will fade, eventually to blonde.

Which is perfect.

That’s actually what I want.

I also left with a container of Manic Panic Cleo Rose.

When it fades too much.

Or.

When it’s just about time for Burning Man.

I will use the Manic Panic and bring back the pink.

I love the way it fades out though, I may wait a while to douse it with more color.

I’m pretty happy with how it turned out and they gave me a blow out, using the great big curlers, and I just love the being fussed over.

Perchance we are to date, and you are a man, identifying as heterosexual, not gay, not homeless, and not in a poly possible relationship, you will win me over by 1. Kissing my neck and 2. Washing my hair.

Oh goodness.

It is the best thing to have a person wash your hair.

I could just lie in that wash station all day and let that happen.

It still amazes me that I go to the salon and get my hair done.

Or that I go to the nail salon and get my nails done.

Or that I wear makeup.

All the things.

All the things I never used to do.

It’s like having the adolescence that I never had.

“My dad says I should be careful, you’re high maintenance, he says,” my boyfriend in my twenties told me.

I’m high maintenance?

What?

What the fuck do you know about high maintenance old man?

He was right.

Perhaps why I reacted so strongly to it.

If you spot it, you got it.

I love this part of myself though and I am doing my best to allow myself to embrace it, within reason, I’m not so high maintenance as you might think.

“I’m going to shame you when I tell you when the last time you came in for a cut was,” Calvin said as he looked it up in the computer.

“I know, I know,” I said, cringing.

I knew it had been almost a year.

“Almost a year,” he said, giving me the look.

They say every six weeks.

I say every twelve months.

“I wish you would teach me how you do that cat’s eye,” she said to me, “I just can’t do it.”

It takes me five minutes to do my make up in the morning.

Maybe six if I don’t have a steady hand, but it’s just doing the same thing every day since Calvin taught me how to do my makeup.

I got to be his model a few times for make up and when I went to Blush one of his head instructors also used me to do a demonstration and I learned a lot.

I could learn a lot more.

I don’t know contouring or really how to use blush properly or apply false eyelashes.

But you know.

I’m willing to learn.

I may be high maintenance, but I’m not time-consuming high maintenance.

And I know how happy I feel when I have pretty hair and makeup.

And how sexy I feel.

“Don’t hide your sexy under a barrel,” she told me, “God did not give you all that to waste it hiding in a corner.”

Yes ma’am.

“Where are you going tonight,” Diane asked as she finished the hair and smoothed down the last pieces, coaxing the full soft curl forward in a long sashay of bang framing my face.

“I don’t have plans,” I said.

“You look great! Are you going on a date?” My housemates friend asked as she popped over to check the mail and feed the cat.

Nope.

I do not.

But you know.

Every time Calvin has done my hair.

I do end up getting asked out on a date.

Here I am.

Let’s do it.

My hair looks amaze balls.

And.

I’ll put my make up on quick.

Real quick.

Promise.

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Leap Of Faith

April 25, 2015

He leaned forward.

And jumped.

I was two steps below what I would have like to have been to make sure that it was not such a leap, but the boy was ready to not be napping and to get down stairs and be in the world.

His arms wrapped around me.

I caught him.

I always do.

His leaping lizard ways do cause my heart to lurch into my mouth at times, but the sweet and absolute trust in me he has, makes me feel always at the ready to catch him.

“I love you,” he said and buried his face in my shoulder.

“I love you too, bug,” I said and squished him close to my heart.

It never fails to amaze me.

This thing called love.

I felt love of all sorts tonight.

I met with a dear friend after work tonight and we hung out and had tea and talk all things girlfriend and life and the stuff of it.

I went where I always go on a Friday night, that bastion of crazy good and weird and wonky, Our Lady of Safeway.

I texted with a darling friend who just had a baby last week to check in on her and see how I could be of some service.

I’ll be heading over to her side of the bay next Saturday to spend time with her and the new little guy.

I rode home, slowly, in the thick of the night through shrouds of fog and wind and mist that slowly materialized into rain.

I did my stretches and strengthening exercise and though I did not want to do them, I did them anyway.

I have love of self too.

It doesn’t always manifest itself in the most logical of ways and that is why I also have a big community and fellowship that helps me discern when my feelings are having their way with me.

But love.

Well, love can have its way with me.

I may get hurt.

However, I will still have the experience.

I want to experience it all.

I have taken some leaps and leapt into some uncomfortable situations, painful, life affirming, and experiential all.

I don’t see myself sitting on the side lines with anything at the moment.

I am committed.

I sound like I am talking in circles and I am, but I know what I am talking about and as it winds itself out of my head and down into my heart I see where the wound is and how that it might sting, like, a lot.

Or not.

I don’t know.

So I took some action, reached out, and now, well, the results are not mine, the words, with a little help from my friend, thank god for friends, the timing so not mine, but the feelings, succinct and sure, are all mine.

I look forward to what ever happens next knowing that I have asked for what I need given the information I have been given.

And then life, well, it continues forward.

Through the rain and the gentle mist and the days and the nights, through the music and the poetry.

To the hair salon!

Yes.

Tomorrow I go in for a much-needed hair cut and color.

“I’m thinking of _____________,” I told a friend tonight as we were comparing schedules in regards to going out to Berkeley next Saturday.  “I don’t know that I want to do color, everybody is doing color now (meaning blue and green and purple and what have you), I was doing color before color was a thing, I think I’m going in a different direction.”

I will take photos.

Don’t worry.

It will be fun to have a ladies day at the salon too.

I’m going to do the deal and then meet with my person at Tart to Tart and do some reading and checking in and then some lunch and the salon.

I’ll be heading up to Solid Gold in the venerable Tender Nob.

That nice narrow strip of town nestled between the bourgeois in Nob Hill and the hoi poi in the Tenderloin.

It’s not quite the same as the tech smash-up of gentrification and the homeless drug addicts strolling around Mission Street, but it is a clash of worlds and I am grateful that I get to navigate it the way I do now instead of the way I used to.

I have come a long way, baby.

There’s a coffee shop that I used to score at just around the corner from where I get my hair done and it’s always a fond trip down memory lane for me to go past it and occasionally even go in for a fix before getting my hair done.

Caffeine, that is.

That’s a leap of faith too.

All the things I have done that I can forget about.

All the ways that love as aligned to get me where I am now and where I will go next.

As I sit and look around my home and everything that has happened here in the last year and a half and how much I have done and seen and grown since moving back from Paris with $10 in my pocket, I am truly amazed.

Awed really.

Look ma!

No hands.

I’m doing this life thing.

It’s not just fantasy in my head.

And I have been in some fantasy in my head over the last week.

I took some action and, well, I get to let go of those results too.

Surrender is an act of faith too.

“Shh, sweet darling,” I said as I gathered him up from the stroller, “Meow is right here.”

He hung his head down onto my chest, clutching his stuffed cat to his body and clung to me as we climbed the stairs into the house heading straight up into his room, where I tucked him in and turned on the sound machine and a little fan.

I brushed the hair of his face, tucked him in, and bent down to kiss his forehead.

“I love you,” I said and my heart grew a little more full.

“I love you too, Carmen Cat,” he said, finishing with a sleepy, “meow,” has he turned over onto his pillow and burrowed under the covers.

I almost fell over and tumbled down the stairs myself.

Love.

It will catch you unaware and bash into your heart.

And I find.

There is not protecting myself from it.

I am open to it all.

To know that.

Is to know.

Grace.

And.

I am graced.

Terrifying

June 1, 2014

Thrilling.

Scary.

Fog.

Welcome to summer.

It is foggy.

And it was a dark, intense ride home in the fog, so thick that in spots the moisture slid off overhanging trees and splat on my helmet like heavy rain.

I could barely see where I was going and to top it off I was taking a way home that I had not ever taken on my own before.

Coming home this evening from Noe Valley on my scooter I decided to avoid the traffic in the Mission and the Castro and instead head up and over Clipper to Portola and then down and around to the Inner Sunset.

I don’t know that I have ever been so glad as when I reached 7th and Irving.

Familiar territory.

A sigh of relief to know where I was and to recognize the lay of the land.

Granted I have ridden this way before on the back of some one’s cycle, as the passenger in a car, in the back seat of a taxi cab.

But on my own.

At night.

On my scooter.

In fog so dense that I was grateful to be behind a large slow-moving bus to guide me through it, never before tonight.

I actually pulled over and caught my breath, pulled the windshield up on my helmet and yes, I admit it, I took off my glasses and rode the rest of the way back without a face shield.

I know, it’s illegal.

I took the damn test.

However.

The fog was too thick.

I could not see a damn thing, it was collecting and condensing on the face shield and my glasses too much.

Once I pocket my glasses and lifted the shield I could see and I was a far less dangerous person on a vehicle on this lovely opening night of the fog season.

AKA

Summer in San Francisco.

I don’t mind the fog.

I like how it glides in over Twin Peaks, shrouding the sides of the Castro Hills and draping Noe Valley in a blanket of hush.

It’s just not particularly awesome to ride in.

That being said.

I rode my scooter all about town today!

I had an appointment to complete the color on my hair today at Solid Gold Salon.

It looks amazing.

I did not do the Brazilian blow out, however, we decided to just do the color, a dark violet/indigo that blends into a glaze of hot pink.

The color is quite a bit darker than I wanted, but with good reason, it’s going to fade to the color I want and I won’t have to worry about the color fading, we went intentionally darker.

It’s going to fade to the perfect shade in a wash or two.

And for the moment, it’s a fun shade to have that I don’t recall anyone I know currently having.

The indigo will fade to a frost lilac and the hot pink to a soft, dusky, pastel pink.

I get to have my cake and eat it too.

Because then, under all that, I still have the blonde highlights–which were necessary to pull in the rich, exuberant color–win, win, win.

I wasn’t thinking much about the hair color when I got up, my brain was rather pre-occupied with getting to the salon on my scooter and seeing if I could get it started without having to call in the Calvary.

And I did.

And it was awesome.

I still killed it at one point on a hill going to make a right turn as I was heading from the Tenderloin into Nob Hill.  I got nervous, I couldn’t remember the exact cross streets for the salon and I was on a one way.

But, I just calmly pulled it over, and started her right back up.

Then I remembered how to get to the salon and rode a few more blocks, pulling up to the salon as my friend was running a quick errand down the street.

That was satisfactory!

Seeing my friend as I arrived on the scooter he sold me.

I felt this great sense of accomplishment as I backed into the motorcycle parking at Sutter and Jones.

Said sense of accomplishment then further embellished by the joy of paying for the parking meter.

$1.25 for three hours of parking.

I was happy to pay.

I believe the cost of metered parking in downtown San Francisco for a car is $1.25 per fifteen minutes.  I may be exaggerating a little, but I know that metered parking for a car is really quite expensive.

After I got my awesome color at Solid Gold Salon I headed to that food mecca called Rainbow Grocery and got some staples that I am hard pressed to find elsewhere and revelled in the joy of bulk bin shopping.

I didn’t do as much shopping as I had thought I would do, I was too hungry to really be able to concentrate, so I took myself over to Herbivore on Valencia and 21st.

It’s a vegan restaurant that has one of my favorite dishes, I have simple tastes and it hits every thing for me, it’s a Mexican beans and rice dish with fake chicken.

I can’t tell you why I find it so tasty, but I do and I never order anything else.

I am not a vegan.

But I will play one on tv.

I have also been known to have sex with one.

Shh.

Speaking of, I didn’t get asked out on a date with my fabulous hair, but I wasn’t even thinking about it.

I was too busy being concerned with getting home tonight.

The fog was heaving in over Twin Peaks into Noe Valley hours before I was to be heading home and I knew that would be taking up all the head space I had to focus on getting home.

I had one tiny moment when I thought I might ask some one out, then it fled my mind and I returned to keeping my attention on the night, the scooter, the fog, the getting her started and running.

Which all happened.

And I got home safe and sound.

The neighbors across the street huddled on their front steps enjoying foggy summer time beers wrapped up in beach blankets and smoking joints; the bell of the fog horn blowing out over the ocean, the smell of salt and sea, the beat of my heart that for a moment I took to be the thrum of surf on the sand, but was coming from inside me.

Then, the scooter parked, secured, and I home.

Home with my sexy awesome hair.

Safe and secure in my little bungalow by the beach.

A successful day for sure.

Color me content.

 

Pampered

May 19, 2014

Spoiled.

Taken care of.

Two cappuccino’s later.

New highlights.

New color.

Love.

Not going to show the world yet though, there are still two more sessions of hair goodness coming down the pike from Solid Gold Salon.

Today, subtle and not so subtle.

The subtle?

The lowlights in my roots that completely masked the few grey hairs I have.  Blessed with some awesome genetic markers on my genome, at the age of 41 years, I have perhaps five grey hairs on my head.  But, I don’t need to see them and they got covered up today.

The not so subtle?

More blonde.

Lots of blonde.

In fact, the colorist and I discussed pulling it up even further the next time we meet.  It’s not a traditional ombre, it’s what is called a bilayage, which is a much more subtle, “natural” if you will, way to color the hair so that I won’t have weirdo roots when it grows out.

That’s the thing for me.

I love going to the salon, but I don’t care to spend a lot of time on my own hair in the mornings.

I have more important things to do, eat, pray, make bed, write.

Then muss about with my hair, aside from throwing a flower dipped in glitter into it, I have no desire to spend time styling it.

So, going into the salon is a super huge treat and I have not had this much goodness in my hair in a long time.

It’s not a splurge per se, as the new colorist is getting her chops on my head, but I happily accept.

I know my friend is not hiring hacks at his business, I am grateful to allow them practice on my hair, and if it doesn’t turn out, they will fix it.

But man, it turned out.

No photos yet though.

We have decided to wait to do the big reveal.

I still have two more services to go.

Another round of color–pink and violet in a pastel tones–and more blonde.

Then the Brazilian Blow out.

After that photos.

I was relaxing this afternoon in the back yard with a book after having made up my food for the week–homemade pinto beans with olive oil and diced carrots, onions, garlic, sea salt, black pepper, brown rice, chicken with roasted white corn and garlic sautéed kale–just relaxing in the sun, reading my library book, drinking some tea, listening to the smash of the waves on the shore and realizing, for the umpteenth time, how lucky I am.

I was also grateful to not be in the wild crush of Bay to Breakers, which I had a small taste of taking the N-Judah down town at 2:30p.m. this afternoon.

I had thought that it would be done and over, but even heading back this evening at 7:45p.m. I see a gaggle of girls crossing the street, tipsy, in knee-high red athletic socks and red panties.

It’s like Burning Man.

Except obnoxious.

And with no art.

And running shoes.

Girls, please, put some pants on, the event is long done.

Go home.

Tomorrow, it’s Monday, that hang over’s gonna suck a bag bad.

Oh well.

I stayed out of the fray.

I heard a lot of it, garbled shouts and noise and ruckus, but didn’t see much of it, I stayed at home, cleaning, cooking, doing laundry, then reading in the back.

Perfect Sunday for me.

Add to that going to the hair salon and I feel like a god damn princess.

I forget that I am allowed to do things like this.

There is still a large part of me that thinks I need to suffer to get ahead or I won’t get ahead.

Note to self.

There is nowhere to go.

Here is just fine.

In fact, it’s pretty god damn sweet.

Why wait until I am retired to sit in the sun and read a book?

Why not let myself get pampered and have my hair done and revel in a scalp massage.

Note to any future boyfriend out there, want my number, give me a cranial massage.

I swear, it’s the best, a washing of the hair and a face and scalp massage.

Sigh.

It’s near sexual.

It’s over the top sensual.

One of the loveliest things.

I need to allow myself lovely things.

I saw a pretty dress in a shop today and I thought, I should go back and get that.

And I actually believe I will.

Not this month though.

My spending plan allotment for clothes got eaten up by my hair.

I hadn’t even thought about doing all this stuff with my hair, but then when it all happened the way it did, I was all in and booked the time.

Plus, well, you know, Burning Man is like in less than 100 days and I, uh, like to have some fun hair for the event.

Shit.

I like fun hair any old-time.

My friend who owns the salon was telling one of his clients about a hair style he had done for me, hot pink, faux hawk, shaved up the back, like shaved to the skin, and the client could not picture it.

Sometimes I can’t either.

But I remember well sitting in the kitchen of his place while he mixed his dyes and compared notes and directions.

He’s come a damn long way and it’s been really fun to see that too.

From sitting in his kitchen to sitting in his salon.

Grateful for that perspective too.

He’s seen me through some rough transitions.

From taking me out to a steak dinner the night I said good-bye to Shadrach at the hospital and then driving me over the bridge to Treasure Island to see the city sparkle and shine in the black water of the bar and letting me cry on his shoulder with the loss.

To letting me crash on his couch for two months when I lost my place in Nob Hill and transitioned to working at the bike shop.

To now, 9 years later, still close friends, giving each other shit, talking smack, coloring my hair, teaching me how to ride a vintage Vespa scooter, and being my friend, through it all.

Pink hair to purple to magenta to blue and back again.

I have amazing friends.

You.

My friends.

Are AMAZING.

Just know that.

I love you.

I do.

Happy

May 16, 2014

I just said it out loud a lot today.

“Happy.”

And I was.

Nothing special.

Nothing new to report.

Unless you count the fact that I wore a sundress in San Francisco.

I was pushing my luck, two days of heat and the third usually means cooling off and heading into foglandia.  But I risked it and though I did have to don my sweatshirt for the evenings bike ride home, I was able to go through the entire day with a summer dress on.

Happy.

Happiness is a state of contentment for me.

I used to believe that happy meant excitement, expectation, exhalation, high highs, roller coaster emotions, drama.

Not so much anymore.

Happy.

Sitting on a fresh painted green picnic table in Alamo Park Square just below the tennis court surrounded by old trees, rose bushes growing profuse and decadent, with my little girl Thursday in my lap as we watched the butterflies flitting about the sun.

Happy.

Riding my bike to work in a sundress.

Make that really happy.

I did joke earlier that I was tempting fate, that it would probably snow since I had decided I could rock out a summer time frock.

Practice for the trip to Wisconsin.

Practice for the music festival I am going to over Memorial Day weekend.

Need to get my ducks in a row for that, camping equipment, arrangements, and details.

My friend is out-of-town in Canada on a family matter and I have not heard back from her yet as to when we will be leaving and what I need to do to prep for the festival, but having been to Burning Man a few times I am certain I will be able to piece together what I need.

Happy that I am allowing myself to go out-of-town on Memorial Day weekend for a girl road trip with one of my dear friends.

I get to listen to music outdoors for four days in a row.

That is really happy.

Very happy with my hair cut.

Calvin must have taken four inches off and I was a touch sad at the loss of length, but man, it looks so much better and prettier.

So much so that I ended up giving a Solid Gold business card to one of the mom’s after today’s music class.

We have similar hair and she loved my cut.

Happy to get a hug from the Music Together teacher.

It’s nice when your presence is acknowledged by the person running the class and it’s nice to have mom’s that treat me well and it’s so lovely to have little children crawl into my lap and share with me their joy too.

Happy.

Pushing the stroller in the sunshine through the Pan Handle park to and from the music class, walking through dappled shadows, smelling fresh-cut grass, which always reminds me of summer.

Happy to have brewed extra coffee this morning so that  I could bring some in a glass Mason jar, with my tea cozy wrapped around it, and make iced coffee at work, to sip on the way to music class.

Happy.

Today’s music destination?

France.

We sang lullabies in French and the free dance was to Edith Piaf.

Lovely.

Happy.

The smile of the barista at The Mill who took my order and made my iced coffee for the walk back to my charges house.

Happy.

To hold the door open for the disabled man coming up the stairs and to be patient.

With myself and grateful to wait, to know that there is nowhere to rush off to, nowhere that I needed to be except right there feeling fine.

Happy.

That I am not going to get up early tomorrow and try to start the scooter to take it to work and rush about if I can’t get it started to ride my bicycle to work in the Castro.

Nope.

I am going to wait until Saturday to deal with it.

I don’t have to get up and try to force a solution when I have all day Saturday.

I really mean all day.

My early afternoon commitment was cancelled, she’s off to New York for the weekend and I don’t have to be anywhere until 7p.m. on Saturday.

I will take the time to address the scooter when I am not feeling rushed.

Happy.

To hear the laughter in my life.

Happy.

To laugh at myself.

Please show me who I should be with, popped out of my mouth this morning in my meditation and prayer time.

You know what I heard, which caused me to burst out laughing.

“You’ll know when he asks you on a date.”

Oh Jesus.

Duh.

And moving on.

Happy.

To not care right now I am so relaxed and softened and pretty exactly where I am with who I am.

I don’t know when I have felt this free and easy in myself.

I suppose it’s the culmination of a lot of different things, a lot of work, a lot of surrender, a lot of following other folks suggestions and ideas and a lot of taking action and not living in fantasy.

Happy.

I don’t have to figure it out.

Happy.

I am getting myself to embrace my authentic self further and have some fun.

Yes.

I am getting my hair colored soon.

Hehe.

But I am not going to do the big reveal yet.

I did, however, share with a dear angel of mine what I was going to do.

“Oh my God, that is going to be amazing,” she exclaimed, eyes wide.

Yes.

I think so too.

Happy.

Butterflies, blue skies, begonias, bright eyes, big hearts, robin’s eggs in the grass, beauty all about me, love, beachy skies, overblown rose bushes, pig tails and sparkles in my hair, summer dress, and travel plans, Burning Man in three months, friends going to Burning Man for the first time, getting to live in San Francisco, faith, godliness, trees, the smell of cut grass in the hot sun.

Hot sun in San Francisco.

Happy.

Happy.

Joy.

Joy.

Repeat.

Who Does A Girl Need to Blow

May 15, 2014

To get a date around here?

Wait.

Uh.

That didn’t quite come out like I meant it.

When can a girl get her Brazilian blow out so she can get a date up in here?

Yeah.

That’s what I meant.

Kinda.

The first might be applicable too.

Heh.

Come on.

It’s spring!

And.

It’s hot up in here.  It hit 90 degrees today.  Although my phone refused to update the temperature until half the day was through.

Listen I am not stupid and it did not feel like 77 degrees, it was hotter than that, I know it was.

Then at the last-minute, there it was, 90.

It hit 90.

Whew.

I cannot remember the last time I was in San Francisco and it hit 90 degrees in May.

It was hotter than yesterday for sure, but I was more prepared for it, mentally, physically, who knows, wardrobe was about the same, but I was ready and I was also better prepared for my charge.

I had plans to.

Plans that had the old kabosh put right on them.

The scooter did not start again.

Sigh.

Double sigh.

I am still convinced that it is something small, some little thing I am over looking, but I was supposed to take it in to see the guy that’s done the majority of the work on it to fix the fender today–which I have been adequately informed is cosmetic and should be no problem.

The problem, again, I believe is me.

But, I was prepared for the possibility that the scooter wouldn’t start and had given myself a lot of leeway in case I had to hop on my bicycle, which is what happened.

The ride, though hot, was not too bad and I made it with five minutes to spare, enough time to stop sweating, mop my brow, park my bike in the garage and be ready to take on the day.

Which was made infinitely easier when I found out I had access to a better stroller than I have been using–one with a better canopy for my boy and also one with a rotating front wheel and a high bar–a City Bob.

God I love a good jogging stroller.

I have no desire to be one of those tight pants ladies in the park running furiously along the pathways in Golden Gate Park, stopping to jump up and down on the planters and do squat lunges in front of the carousel while their children look with longing at the hot dog vendor dispensing popcorn sacks and sodas.

Nope.

However, a good jogging stroller is fantastic for the out and about of a busy nanny.

Ie, me.

I like to get out with my boys and girl, tomorrow’s Thursday, I shall see my little girl pie, and go to the parks and walk and do adventures and have field trips, and man, it’s so much easier with a good stroller.

So, chalk one up for the day getting better even though the scooter didn’t start.

What did start today?

The water got turned on at the Mission Pool and Playground!

I was there minutes after the city DPW came in and turned on the water main that feeds the sprinkler park in the front playground that faces Valencia Street.

Heaven.

I got the bunny out of the stroller, took off his shoes, took off my shoes, pranced in and out of the mists and sprinklers, dipped his toes in the puddles, danced around, stomped our feet and basically had a giggle fest.

Seriously.

And I get paid for this.

Helps on the days when I don’t have a break for the whole day or the teething is bad or the babe is sick or something wonky happens and I can’t sit, days like today really help.

I remember the days like today as well, better than the bad days for sure, when I am being goofy, seeing my toenails a bright painted red, bare feet in the spray and the sun and the mist throwing little rainbows about my face and arms.

The news flash-fired through the neighborhood and within twenty minutes of the water main being turned on, the park was mobbed.

But I got mine.

And so did my little guy, he had a blast.

I couldn’t really take photos with my phone, but the giggles are impressed upon my heart.  I won’t forget those giggles ever.

Balm on my soul.

The walk back up the hill with the stroller was interrupted by a return phone call I had made while my charge had been napping earlier, it was Solid Gold, my hair people.

“When was the last time you were in,” my friend Calvin asked, “it’s been awhile hasn’t it?”

Um.

Yeah.

Five months, maybe six.

He looked up my file in the computer system, “nine months!”

Oops.

I knew I needed to come in, but I hadn’t expected to be in the chair tonight.

The plan had been I would be riding the scooter up there, the mechanic is next door to the salon, and then I would be making an appointment in person.

Cut and color.

I would give you a preview, but we decided to not show our hand too soon.

Gonna get a little crazy up in here.

Just saying.

So, when the scooter was not running today I had to make the call into the salon to set up the appointment.  The receptionist got me in this evening for stage one.

Yup.

First the cut.

The the color.

Then the next set of color.

Then the Brazilian Blow Out.

I am going full on.

It helps when I have been going to them for a while, they treat me special and I refer every single person to them I can, I love my friends and their small business, go friends!

Calvin’s partner, Diane, is my colorist.

We had us a little talk and the total time it’s going to take to do the color is six hours.

Six!

Mwahahahahaha.

I cannot wait.

It’s going to be crazy good.

She’s going to break it up into two segments.

Then to seal the color we are going to do a Brazilian Blow out.

“You know, you get laid when we do you hair,” Calvin joked with me.

“Shit, you’re right,” I smiled, it has been about nine months.

Fuck.

“It’s on!  You’ll be beating them back with sticks,” he added.

Good.

Been too damn long.

I am ready.

Let’s get this party started.

Maybe It’s the Sexy

August 9, 2013

Hair.

That is.

Calvin leaned in as he was pulling through another strand of hair and shaping it around my face, and said, “this is the ‘I’m gonna get laid’ hair cut, just so you know.”

Good.

It’s about time.

I have not photos for you of the new sexy hair cut.

It’s adult, sleek, and there are no sparkles.

There is also no more green.

Not that anyone has commented on that, but the blue from last year did leave just the greenish tint under the right light that though faded, has stuck it the fuck out.

Now my hair is dark, lustrous, and has just a spot of red in it, which counteracts the green and looks dark chestnut-brown.

I am as close to my natural color as I have been in years.

I also got a nice flattering cut, one that does look mature and refined, although cut in such a way that I don’t have to do maintenance.

Because although I am a girly girl, I don’t really spend that much time on my hair, I just let it go.  I don’t have the patience to muddle with it, I never have.  I will get jealous of a girl who has taken the time to figure out how to flat-iron their bangs, or how to do a blow out; but I have never had the wherewithal to do it.

If I had gotten a blow out today, there would have been photos.

But as it stands there was not the time and I don’t mind that.

I like a nice blow job, who doesn’t?

But, oh, I meant blow out, which had completely different connotations in my day job.

As a nanny.

Ahem.

Enough about the hair.

I just want to focus on the sex bit, the boyfriend bit, the romance me bit, and what does a girl got to do to get a date bit.

I suppose once I am back in the city proper it will be a little easier.

The pickin’s here in East Oakland are not really my flavor.

Not to say that Oakland is devoid of men, it’s not, I just have not found a platform upon which to meet them, unless it is the platform to the Fruitvale BART station.

Of course I will laugh if I meet some awesome person at Burning Man and they are from Oakland and then I will be in the Sunset.

But that is neither here nor there.

Just like me.

Sort of stuck in the in between.

Treading water, so to speak, until I land ashore in the Sunset, a land of fog, quiet, soft cat paws of mist, and the slap and bang of the ocean surf pounding the beach head.

It will be good for me to be muffled and swaddled and caught in the softness of the landscape.  Maybe a place for me that is not so tough, not so edgy, just a crash pad of comfort.

Ah.

Nesting.

Can’t really do it yet, can’t tell where the money to do it is going to come from.

Can’t tell if I am going to get back from the burn and have full-time nanny hours with the three families.  I know I’ll get three days, outside of that I don’t know.  I do know that I don’t want to commute to North Oakland/Emeryville to nanny although I am in love with my little girl charge there.

That sucks.

And does not all at the same time.

I mean, how many of us can say unequivocably that we love our employers?

Technically the mom and the dad pay me, but the little girl is my boss.

I love my boss.

But will I take an hour and a half to get there to work.

I don’t think I can do it.

It thought about asking them to pay for the commute.

But who is going to do that?

That’s like paying me for three hours a day that I am not working, I mean it will feel like work, but it’s just getting back and forth.

Fuck.

I am exhausted thinking about it.

Maybe a temp agency is the place to go to next.

Keep doing what I can with my friend at the design agency and then look into getting my chops at a few other places around town.

My crystal ball is clouded, foggy, you could say.

I cannot see into the future.

I just have the faith that it all works out.

Today what I have left, aside from trying to get a nice photograph of my new hair, yes I am vain, I have just a few nice little things of self-care to do.

I took care of the hair, I got the phone paid, went to a late lunch with my friend, got a little time in for the design firm, rode my bike over to the Castro for a little of that taking care of business, business, and got back over to Graceland to feed the out-door kitties they dinner.

I am going to miss my some kittens when I leave Graceland.

I will.

Standing on the precipice of a new decade of time in San Francisco with Burning Man to usher me in.

It is the sexy.

The hair.

The age.

The softening instead of toughening.

I am a cream puff and I am getting more and more ok with that.

“You are so hard on yourself, so tough, you need to ease back a little,” my friend said to me today as we caught up and I think I don’t even realize that, I feel so directionless and untethered and don’t know what I am doing most of the time that to even say I surrender to this idea that I am is surreal.

But if I hear it from one friend I hear it from ten.

So like the new hair, which is really just the old hair, I’m going to show that softer side and ease back a little.

Soft is the new sexy.

Is, you could say, the new black.

Early To Work

August 22, 2011

Early to rise.

Not totally stoked on that, even though it’s only a fifteen minute difference.  Tomorrow mom and dad will be taking K. into the feeding clinic to see what is wrong with her.

I still claim that there is nothing wrong.  But I am not a professional.

Well, maybe, I could be a professional know it all.  But frankly, who cares about work, when I just got a fabulous new hair style?  I ran into Calvin Friday night and he told me that I should come in for a session.  I thought, hmmm, yes, I will want something fantastical for the playa.

However, I went with something pretty.  We talked about it and although we could have gone in a totally wild direction, I wanted to go pretty.  I usually go edgy or extreme, but I was feeling the pretty.  Cass has been talking about me coming into my feminine wiles, who knows, perhaps so.  I do know I want to attract a certain kind of attention though, and it is not from the hip/slick/cool set.

Pretty.  I’m so pretty, hmm, don’t know the rest of the words to the song, but I can hear them in my head.  I am definitely feeling a mite more sassy as the days go on.  And I am so looking forward to Thursday.  Four days people, four days, then I am playa bound.

I got the rest of my storage bins out of my storage locker.  Little dusty, but not too bad.  I have packed one completely and have two to go.  I currently have two loads of laundry working as well, I am going to pack as much clothing as I can get away with into my bins in the next day or two.

I was also going to make soup tonight, but the hair session went a little longer.  And I just came home and went straight into make it happen mode.

It certainly does not hurt that Calvin also makes a mean cappuccino.  I only had three.

Oops.

I also had a very relaxing time at Solid Gold.  The music was perfect, the end of the afternoon hazy in the city, the people passing by, the warm air of the hair dryer, Calvin showing me old photos he found on his camera from four years ago.

My god, so much has happened in those four years.  It was like looking into another era.  The funniest ones, ones I had completely forgot about where from a play date we took to Ikea in the middle of the week.  We both ate off the children’s menu, so he’s got these photos of us eating child’s portions of swedish meatballs and fries, and little tiny plastic cups full of soda.  We went around to all the sets in the store and pretended we were cooking or cleaning.  I just about fell out of my chair looking at the pictures of Calvin in an apron taking a pan out of the oven with oven mitts on. He also had me in a few in a child’s bedroom display that were hilarious.

I had gotten into the bottom bunk bed in a kid’s room and crawled under the quilt and snuggled in with a stuffed panda bear.

I remember this Asian woman walking past and not even realizing that I was a real human being in the bed, not just a prop.  She looked around, patted the bed, looked at the price tag.  I tried desperately hard to keep quiet and still and not pee my pants from laughing and Calvin was dying.

The pictures were hysterical.  And I had really long hair.  My god my hair was long.

Some times I miss the length.  I do love that my curls are coming back in, that I have enough length to support curly hair again.  Actually it’s quite funny, at least to me anyway, I have styled my hair a lot like the girls recently.  We all have about the same length hair.  I can try little scenarios on them and if I like it, I do it for myself.

That is not to say that I go out in public wearing my hair like them.

Ok, I did once, I couldn’t help it, we all were in pig tails.  It was my first time sporting little miniature pig tails since I loped off all my hair two and a half years ago.

I am currently growing it out, I don’t know how long I will let it go.  I want to donate it one more time to Locks for Love.  I really got a lot of donating to them before and it feels like I have got at least one more good long set of hair in me, before I grow up and get adult hair.

Whatever that means.

It is ten pm on a Sunday and I am jazzed.  I could freak out about not being tired, or I could just accept that I am excited for this next adventure and if I need to, Burning Man!!! I can always take a little nap tomorrow, oops, no I can’t dad will be home early to get K.  for the feeding clinic.  Oh well.

I refuse to get upset.  I enjoyed my time at the salon too much today.  I actually fell asleep in the chair!  But once the color and style were done, I danced around the salon doing my happy dance, it helps that I was wearing pink argyle tights.

And, Calvin, we so need to have a dance party at the salon, because that would be hot.

It would in fact be, sexy as fuck.

Sunday Session at Solid Gold Salon

Calvin Strikes Again!


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