Posts Tagged ‘ticket’

Home Again

July 29, 2018

I got back from my travels last night.

I was in motion for 24 hours.

Although what with the time change it looked like I had just traveled 11 hours.

But no.

When I got in to my studio last night the clock said it was 6 a.m. Paris time and I had been up since 5:30 a.m. the previous morning.

It was a long day.

I am very, very, very grateful that I woke up before my alarm went off, it was too hot to sleep and I kept waking up and having difficulty falling back asleep, so when I woke up at 5 a.m. I never got fully back into sleep, just lay in bed sweating lightly and wondering if I should just get up and get going.

When the light began to grow bright enough I gave up the ghost, got up and started my getting ready to leave.

I gave myself time to have a light breakfast, which thank God I did, because there was no time at the airport to get food, I was super lucky to be able to snag a bottle of water for the flight, let alone have had anytime to forage for food.

I had done most of my packing the day before, even went a bought a cheap suitcase to haul back my goodies from my trip.

Notebooks, a stuffed hippo for one of my charges, a model car for another charge, stickers and rainbow unicorn rub on tattoos and a pretty notebook for the little girl.

Other gifts for folks.

And then the things that I had gotten for myself: a purse, a market basket from Aix-en-Provence, an art book from the Zao Wou-ki show I went to at the Musee Moderne, lots of notebooks, five or six I think, magnets from the Klimt show and one from Marseilles, some notecards, three dresses (three! I was so thrilled to have found a shop, with the help of my friend, that carried my size and had lovely clothes), a sweater coat, and a blouse.

I can’t believe I found such lovely clothes, it’s very rare for me to find clothing when I have gone to Paris before.

Partially because I just didn’t know really where to look, having a friend who lives in Paris show you the spots is a huge perk.

I also got a vintage candle holder/lantern from a shop on Ile St. Louis and some prints from the Klimt show.

I couldn’t have squeezed all of that into my little carry-on.

My carry on, which as it would turn out, was not so little anyway.

It got flagged at the airport.

I was not happy.

This was the first time that it’s been flagged.

I didn’t even get it through security.

A couple of times I have had to check it at the gate but never before did I have it flagged before even going through security.

I was not happy.

I was on the same airline I took to get to France, so I knew it would fit, in fact, it had slightly fewer items in it since I had bag checked the other suitcase and figured I would fill that one heavier and keep my carry on fairly light.

But nope.

It got flagged.


I had already had a bit of a rough start to my Charles de Gaulle experience.

I got to the airport with plenty of time, I splurged and took a cab.

Again, thank God, if I had done the train I would have likely missed my flight considering the amount of time it took to get to the gate.

When I arrived I did a check in on a kiosk, printed off my boarding pass and got a sticker for the checked bag.

Then I stood in line with my checked bag to get it to a counter to get loaded onto the plane.

I was in line about thirty minutes.

About twenty minutes into being online a little voice in my head said, “hey, did you get your card from the kiosk?”

I couldn’t remember.

I took a deep breath, got out my wallet, opened it up and looked.

No debit card.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

I had left it in the machine!

I flushed very hot then almost started to cry.

I took another deep breath.

What should I do?

Odds are it’s gone.

Somebody was right behind me to use the machine.

Either they took it and went wild at the Duty Free shop.

Or maybe they turned it in to lost and found.

I started to think about how to ask the next Air France agent I saw about where the lost and found was in French.

I resolved to stay in line and check my bag and then go look.

It was a long ten minutes.

I got my bag on the belt and dashed back to the machine.

Of course.

The card was gone.

I looked around, there was a desk next to the kiosk, but nothing on it.

I turned to go back to the line that had to Air France agents working it.

I should mention that there were three different areas to queue up to, each area having two agents, then agents roaming between and agents at the desk.

I don’t know how I decided to ask the woman I asked, but I made a snap decision and walked towards her.

I approached and asked if I could speak English with her, I really wasn’t sure I could get across in French what had happened, although I had been practicing it for the last ten minutes.

She said of course.

I told her what I did, I pointed to the machine, I was about to ask if there was a lost and found and she said, “you’re Carmen?”

I nodded, yes, yes, yes, as she pulled my debit card out of the front breast pocket of her jacket.

I nearly wept for joy and thanked her profusely.

What are the odds that the person I asked would have my card in her pocket?

I don’t know, but it felt like winning the lottery.

I was so happy about it that when I was told my carry on would cost me 80 Euro to process I didn’t give a fuck.

Who cares?

I had found my card.

And though the whole process set me back over an hour and a half of going to and fro, it was all worth while.

I made my plane with minutes to spare, enough to be able to dash to the nearest counter and buy a bottle of water and then get myself settled in for a very long flight.

There were a few other adventures.

Like the plane having to sit on the tamarack for another hour because a person had to be de-planed, which led to me literally sprinting through the Atlanta airport to make my connecting flight, but I did then too.

So even though it was a long trip getting back.

Get back I did.

And I am very grateful to be home, unpacked, all my laundry washed and put away and almost ready to get back to my regular routine.


I have one more delicious day off.


Summer vacation.

You did me good.


February 12, 2017

Sweet home.

I’m not there yet.

Even though I am home.

That’s not the home I am talking about.

“Welcome home,” he shouted into the dusty air, “ring the bell.”

I rang the bell.

I skipped the rolling around in the dust though.

Fuck that shit.

It’s dusty enough up in this mess.


I’m planning my return trip to the playa.

It’s a little early, I suppose, but I am going to get my little early ducks in a row.

I’ve decided that I am not working this year.

I am going to go and just have fun.

I am going to stay with a different camp than I have before, I’ve been a member of the camp since it’s inception and have spent time there, and have friends there, and one of them mentioned to me that it was time to come out and camp with them this year and not work and really enjoy the festival.

The art.

The joy.

The get about and the get around.

I found out my when my first weekend of classes will be for the fall semester.

Last year they fell on the same weekend of the event and I was not able to go for the full amount of time.

I went up early and left early.

I was only there four days.

It was lovely and I’m super glad I went, but it was not enough and I didn’t get to see any of the burns because I left Wednesday morning of the event.

By plane.

There is that.

It was one hell of an amazing experience to fly out of Burning Man.

I don’t know if that is necessarily happening, but I’m going to let it all fall together.

I decided in my heart to go last Sunday and then I did some research and discovered that the low-income ticket application will open in a few days.

I need to update my profile and the minute it opens, February 15th, I will be applying for it.

One of the big reasons that have always worked the event is to get into the event.


I don’t want to work it this year.

I want to actually go and not be tied down and when I researched a little I discovered I could definitely afford the low-income ticket and I will apply to it.

Then yesterday I discovered that the first weekend of the fall semester for my cohort will be the weekend before the event.

Thank God.

I can go!


I won’t quite say that yet.

I still have to clear it with work.

I will ask on Monday if it’s a possibility.

I already have a lot of my vacation time tied up to my trip to Paris in May, but I do have some days that are not accounted for and I want to use them for the event.

I may have to do some negotiation with the family in regards to it, but I think that they will be amenable to me going.

I sure do hope so.

It was me doing a happy dance today when I told my friend before class that I found out the weekend dates for the fall and that there was not a conflict with school, it set my day, I was super pumped.

Granted that feeling dissipated, class work was challenging and showing up for it and being present for the material made me completely forget about the event, about travel times and dates and plans and things and stuff and more things.


When I got home and said “hello house,” I smiled, my eyes drawn to the print on the wall, a photo shot from above, from an airplane above the event and I remembered quickly.


And it will be the ten-year anniversary of my best friends passing and me taking his ashes out to the Temple.

It will be my 11th burn in a row.

It is a part and parcel of me.

There are experiences that I have had there that I cannot rationalize or explain.

Love and light and dirt and dust and spiritual transmogrification.

So many times.

Not just once, but time and time and time again.

Dancing the tango with a beautiful 24-year-old man from Norway who was tall and blonde and yes, heh, Nordic, with a gorgeous sweet accent and the bliss of being kissed under the stars, bent backward and kissed as though every song of the stars above depended upon the breath in and out of our bodies as we melted into the dust.

Riding out to the trash fence at sunrise on the art car “A Horse With No Name” and seeing the shots of fire thrown out against the playa, piercing and bright and bathing the dust with golden smote, softening the blue smoke bathed mountains with flames of light.

Running into a friend unexpectedly in a church pew by an organ and telling him a fairy tale in the mid afternoon heat and swelter.

Reciting poetry underneath the upraised arms of the Man and the face of the man when I looked into his eyes.

“Do you know how easy it is to fall in love with you when you recite poetry,” he said.

Why do you think I recite poetry?

I want you to love me.

And somehow.

I don’t know how.

I don’t need to know how.

I find myself easier in my person, able to let that love in, to be scaffold with it, to allow myself to be exactly who I am, hair bedecked with flowers, standing tall in cowboy boots with polka dot socks and my crinoline blowing in the breeze, my umbrella of poesy flowers opened to shelter me from the sun, face bedecked with smiles.

I am somehow more me and entirely at peace with who I am and how I am and it’s not so weird, it’s just me, and I’m not that unique, I mean, did you see what she was wearing?

Or not wearing.

Of course I want to go home.

It’s home.

Anchored in between the Black Rock Mountains and the Calico’s, underneath the rising moon and the setting sun, the howl of love that whisper whips across the playa until we are all crying out of our aloneness a coming together, a community, an expression of magic, yes.



May I always be a part of that kind of love and mystery.



Fingers crossed.

I’ve cleared the first hurdle, school conflict, now to ask off from work for event.


I’ll get a ticket after that.



I’ll see you in the dust.

I’ll be there to welcome you home.

I promise.


All The Mother Fucking Things

August 22, 2016

I got it done.

I almost cannot believe it.

I finished the reading for my Gestalt class so I can write the paper tomorrow.

Brief aside, so early into the blog, but.

I know I’m on the right track when the last sentence of the book, involving an imaginary conversation that Fritz Perls is heaving with Freud (a dead Freud, seven years gone at that point) stirs me to tears.

I was moved.

And I am excited that I have found what I believe to be the therapy modality that I want to work with and also.


All things Burning Man.

Gestalt and Burning Man.


I have a desire to write my dissertation on a theory I have around Gestalt and the evolution of Burning Man, the here and nowness of things.  I am rather nascent in my explorations, but I do know that I am heading in the direction of what I want to do and I am so very happy to think about combining two different things into a project that could lead me to dissertation.


I get a head of myself.

Which is so not Gestalt, and so not Burning Man.

But is so easy for me to do.

In the moment, I am sitting in my pajamas, yes, before 8p.m. on a “school night” for me as I will be getting up early, early, early to drive to Sonoma for work in the morning.

I made the decision to stay here overnight and go up early so that I could wrap up any lose ends and take care of things for my imminent trip to the playa.

I cleaned the house, re-packed my clothes bin for the burn, I had a suspicion that I was not really well packed, that I may have over packed a little in fear and went through all my gear to make sure I really was going to use it or wear it.

I’ll only be out for four days and four nights.

Which means 8 outfits.

I paired down a little what I had and organized it better.

I was tempted to go back through all my bins, but when I did a mental inventory I knew that I was fine and really well set up for the event.

My camera has freshly charged batteries, I have my back up phone battery charger, I have all my tent, bedding, sleep, cook, cooler, and hair supplies.


You know this girl is going to get her big, pink, flowered hair on.


Then I took care of business.

I paid rent early.

I don’t like to have that hanging over my head before going out there, and it feels good to be accountable.

I won’t have to worry about paying any bills when I get back, I can just ease back into my life with little thought–paid my DMV renewal on my scooter, early, but hey, the bill came in the mail, I don’t want my dusty brain to forget it when I get back, and organized my ticket, vehicle pass, and yes, I printed off my Early Arrival pass.

I have them all right here, right at my elbow, just waiting for my return on Friday night.

I’ll be leaving work by 6p.m. at the latest and returning the rental car to SFO, grabbing a car from the rental drop off to home, then my ride share will come and get me, it’s looking like 8:30 p.m. for the pick up.

We load up and drive out.

I confirmed with him via e-mail, updated him in regards to groceries and water–suggested that we not get water in SF, but rather pick it up at the SafeWay in Reno which is open 24 hours.  Less weight in the car, less gas to get us up over the Sierra’s.

He totally agreed.

I also went shopping for a few things to have at the house for when I get back.

And I’ve packed my suitcase, so recently unpacked, again for this week’s work in Glen Ellen.

All that I have left to do is dry the load of laundry in the dryer and write this blog.


I even addressed all my Burning Man postcards and stamped them up.

I met with two ladies today and did the deal, too.

Which was super good and really grounding, they are such gifts, I am so lucky to get to work with them and share my experience, strength and hope.

My other lady did a phone check in and by the time all that was done I felt really ready for the next phase of my development.

An extraordinary thing that.

One which lead to me realizing that I had no real need to go out all willy nilly and secure further stuff and things for that thing in the desert.

That, I, in fact, had everything I needed and a little more (one white crinoline and one black crinoline), that there was no reason to stir my anxiety pot by driving around town in the VW Bug rental car.

Especially when I got the perfect parking spot in front of the house last night.

Why move it and cause myself stress to buy things I don’t really need, but think I might want.


I got it.

I really am ready.

The few things I have left to get are just a couple of food stuffs that I want to wait until Reno to procure–some apples, one more container of unsweetened vanilla almond milk, and some carrots.

As for the rest of it.

It’s done.

I am so glad I didn’t leave the neighborhood, I am so glad I took time to re-pack and re-organize and also to realize that I really am done.

It’s done.

I’m ready.

The rest of the week is to show up kind and compassionate with sweetness, tolerance, and love to work.

To write a six page Gestalt paper and to do some reading for another of my classes.

Thank you Sunday.

For being, well, easy like Sunday morning.


It’s been fruitful, restful, and far less stressful than I thought it would be.

Hella grateful.


It Took Me A Minute

August 3, 2016

I had to phrase it just so.

I am a little afraid of what is about to happen.

Excited too, though.

Hella excited.

I was given a ticket to the event.

You know, that thing in the desert.



And I am beyond over the moon, I was not expecting it, though it was inferred that it could be a possibility, I bought the ticket knowing that I may have to pay full price and hey, if that’s the price I need to pay to go to the event.


Fuck it.

I’ll pay.

Things though, they work out.

And I was gifted a ticket.

I can’t describe how I reacted to the e-mail I received other than I made a lot of little high pitched yelping laughs of joy and jumped around my room like a baby kangaroo let out of the pouch for the first time.

I can sell the ticket I have!

I can sell the vehicle pass too!

I was given a pass as well.

The interesting thing is that I didn’t ask, but I did offer, I offered to help where I could, without expectation because I dearly love the event and the people involved, especially in one little nook of the playa and the thought of getting to hang out with them in any capacity makes me glow.

I was texting with a friend from school who has not gone and she doesn’t quite get it.



Lots of folks don’t quite get it.


No worries.

I can describe it until I’m blue in the face, I can show pictures, I can express my feelings, I can talk about all the friends that I miss and only see on playa, I can talk about dust storms and white outs and double rainbows and the hot springs and the smash of stars at night and the howling at the sky when the sun sets, but nothing ever compares to the actual experience of going.

And it’s branded on my heart.

It’s imprinted on my soul.

I can’t get it out, that’s playa dust for you.

Once it’s in there it’s pervasive and never leaves.

So yeah, I’ll be at the offices this week helping out with a little project and I am so happy to get to go in and do grunt office work.

It’s sort of stupid.

I mean.

It’s a day off from work, yet, I am choosing, happily to go volunteer some of my time to help out my favorite team.

It just really makes me happy.

I was asked to come in, if I had any free time on Thursday, and the crazy thing is I do.

I don’t normally, I would be at work, but the family I nanny for is out of town and I have the day free.

I figure I’ll get up and do some yoga then go down to the offices in the Mission and hang out with friends all day and do office work.

The things I like to do on my day off.


I’m actually really happy to go.

And I am super happy to get to sell this ticket, hopefully make someone happy who wasn’t able to get one in the main sale.

I’m selling it for the same cost as I paid.

$540 gets you the whole shebang–ticket to the event, vehicle pass, taxes paid, etc.

I was nervous to post to social media for a while, I sort of don’t want to deal with it, but after offering it to a few friends I knew might be interested I decided it was time to put it out there.

I was also, heh, nervous about selling it until I had the other ticket in hand, but I’ve looked at the email I got earlier today while I was on my lunch date so many times that I know I’m getting the ticket.

I was going to wait until I had it in my hand but then thought, I could help someone out, maybe someone like me who wanted to go and couldn’t get it together.

I’m not going to price gauge, I’m just asking for exactly what I paid.

Which is basically going to cover the cost of renting a car, gassing said car, and detailing said car when I get back from the playa.

Plus, because I don’t have a credit card.

I have to put a deposit in cash on the car and they take almost a full month to refund that deposit.  It’s a big damn deposit too.

It’s a bit of a pain in the ass, so being able to sell the ticket is going to help me recoup the loss of money from transporting myself up.

And in other news.

I got some more gear in the mail.

Tomorrow I plan on doing a dry run and setting up my tent in the back yard, even though, I hate to admit it, I’m a little intimidated to take it out of it’s neat and tidy little sack and mess it up.

However, I want to make sure that I know how to put it together and I’m going to get rebar to reinforce the tent stakes, so I need to know how many pieces of rebar I need to purchase.

That and some work gloves and I’ll be set.

I’m pretty much ready.

I’ve got cold brewed organic coffee concentrate.

I got my tent.

I got my bed.

I got a car rental.

I got a spare ticket and vehicle pass.

Hit me up love.

Let’s get dusty together!


Post Script

The ticket and vehicle pass sold before I even finished the blog.


Well, That Was Fast

July 9, 2016


Not that I am excited or anything.

So fucking excited, piss my pants excited, burst into tears excited, over the moon excited, can’t believe I actually get to go excited.

“Well, of course you are,” a friend commented on my facecrack page, she never doubts that I will be there, of course I will be there.

“Work or play?” The next question asked.

Holy shit.


I haven’t played in years, almost a decade you could say, although that’s not quite true, since this will be my tenth burn.

I sort of played my first year, but got scooped up into working at the Center Camp Cafe and I worked some pretty gnarly shifts there, picking up extra hours when the man was lit up early and a bunch of people left Cafe to go work on building a new man for the event.

That was my first year.

“You need to set up a Burner Profile,” my friend told me, who’s helping me get the ticket and who’s just a freaking peach and I’m so glad I asked.

I mean.

So fucking glad.

Pride in reverse was something I recognized last night when I was doing some inventory, and also how when it was suggested by a friend that I go anyway, that I go early, that I skip the burn and be back for school early, I poo poo’ed the idea.


I realized that I was willing, capable, and had completely sabotaged myself around going.

The way I wanted to go was not happening, so I’m not going, and I’m going to feel all butt hurt and sad about it, but not say anything and take it like a trooper and be the big girl.

And fuck that shit.

I mean.


I want to go, I can ask and see about doing it differently.

And when I asked.

It all fell right into place.

Shockingly so.

I got a response on the ticket this morning.

I found a place to camp literally minutes later.

I almost couldn’t bring myself to open the e-mail when I saw my friend had responded, she’s going to say no, it’s not available, it’s not an option, I can’t go, why did I bother…



She’s got a ticket!!

I can go.


Now I have to ask off from work again.

My brain wanted to get all on fire about that.

And what about gear?

You don’t have any gear, it chimed in moments later.


And a ride!

How the fuck are you getting there and back, especially since you’re going to have to leave Wednesday of the event.

Shut up.

One freaking thing at a time lady.

One thing at a time.

So once I found out I had the ticket, and I’ll be paying and I make a tight scrunch face at having to put out the money, but fuck it, I’m going, so whatever, hello student loans, shh, don’t tell the government.

But seriously?

I’ll be a happier student if I get to roll into my first semester of my second year of grad school having had a few days previous on playa, I’m happy to use my financial aid.

I have a tiny scrap of it left in savings from after my New Orleans trip.

Prudent reserve be damned, get me to the playa.

The next thing I did once I stopped hyperventilating about having gotten a ticket, was to e-mail the family I nanny for and ask, with a bit of humble pie in my ask, but nonetheless, I did it, I asked.


I got a response before I walked into work.

I was locking up my scooter and checking my e-mails and there it was.

A message from the mom:

I don’t see a problem with this.  We will just have more food frozen before maybe so we don’t eat too crappy that week.  We can work this out.
Glad you’re gonna go after all.  Seemed a little wrong for you to miss it.
I cook for the family (holy Toledo I made a lot of food today! Broccoli soup, zucchini noodles, spaghetti and meatballs for the boys, prepped tons of raw veggies and fruit for the weekend, and even roasted up a cauliflower which was devoured upon being taken out of the oven) and if that’s all I got to do to go, cook some extra meals and freeze them up for them, no freaking problem.
My pleasure.
I got totally teary reading the message and had to take a moment to clean myself up and go into work.
Which was a big day and I was just whomped by the end of it and in tears later when I talked to a friend about the day.
I realized I was emotionally overwhelmed with the excitement of getting to go to the event and also a bit over come with the preparations and what and where and when and all the things.
And the end of the week and the boys are rambunctious and I’ve been doing double duty on the stove and I was just walloped.
But I got my groove back.
As evidenced by me sitting here writing this.
I also put up my Burner Profile–MF Poppins–and e-mailed my friend the information she needed to assist in getting the ticket.
I still need a tent.
I probably secured an air mattress tonight.
I have bedding, I just need to hie it over to the Mission and grab my old quilt from a friend who’s been baby sitting it since I moved to Paris, I suppose three years time is about right to recollect.
The other stuff and things will happen.
What I need is a ride there and back.
I’m hoping to get out of town the evening of the 26th and be able to land on playa early on the 27th.
I’ll be working that Friday but free to leave as soon as work ends.
I’ll need to be back the 31st, that Wednesday.
I’ve got tickets to Mike Doughty the evening of the 1st and I have school starting on the 2nd.
I can’t be later than the 1st mid morning/early afternoon.
But I think it’d be better if I got back the 31st or left playa that day, so that I have a chance to wash the dust off me before I go to the concert.
I got the ticket.
I got a place to camp.
I got the time off from work.
I am sure I’ll get a ride there and back.
I might have to go up with someone and come back with another someone.
I’m good company.
And so very happy.
Happy that I get to go.
Over the moon and back times infinity.
Luckiest girl in the world.
Burning Man 2016.
This is happening.

And God Laughs When I Make Plans

January 25, 2014

Damn it.

I had plans galore.

I did.

I was going to go here and go there and do this and do that and he is cute.

He sent me message that he was not going to be coming around.

Then the tattoo session ended and I abruptly decided to head to the Inner Sunset and do the deal there then where I was planning on going.

After which, slightly disgusted with myself, I annihilated a pair of blue jeans, making them into jean shorts, ripped the sleeves off a white button up shirt and pulled on some lace tights.

Fuck it.

I will go dancing.

But as I hemmed and hawed and checked my messages while waiting for the N-Judah I wound down.

What am I doing?


I know, I am running away from hanging out by myself on a Friday night, but I also did just sit for an hour having tattoo work done and I am stupid if I go get sweaty and dance with new ink.

I flipped down my phone, stepped off the platform and walked back to the house, past the neighborhood drunk with a twelve pack of Pabst, that’s where I am going, I thought, if I do stupid shit like fly off the handle because I can’t sit still and face up to some things that need to be done.

I need to do some work here at the house.

I was given a list of things to do today from a dear friend and I need to take these suggestions.

I did a little bit, just a moment ago, spending a few minutes looking online for some information.  I actually am going to keep this all under my hat for the time being.  I am not necessarily certain about writing about it until I have done the work suggested.

And I know that the work needs to be done because of the visceral response my body gave when she made the suggestions.


If my response is fuck off, or any variant thereof, it’s time to take that into consideration.

It used to be I had to get into a lot more pain than an uncomfortable conversation over a meal with a darling friend.

That was also not planned.

I began the day with an attitude of get it done and get on with it.

But I was stopped at 850 Bryant, my agenda blown in minutes.

There was no line.


I went right up to the clerk in Room 145 and showed her my ticket and my id.

The cop hadn’t even entered the ticket into the system yet, so the clerk had to do it, and she asked what it was for and was pissed, I mean, pissed that I was there.

“What a waste of time,” she said, and grabbed some paperwork, “hang on, I’ll be right back, I need to look up some things.”

She came back and showed me a schedule with some times and dates listed, “pick one and I’ll put you on the court calendar.”

“Wait, what,” I said, confused, “I have to go to court?  That’s why I came down here, so I wouldn’t have to go to court.”

“Honey, you are not paying that fine, it’s $197.  You are going to contest it,” the clerk said firmly, “now pick a date.”



So I did.

I have to return to 850 Bryant for another date, this time to go before a judge and see what happens.  I will tell the truth and I will show up and take whatever happens.

“It won’t be $197,” the clerk promised, “but don’t be late and don’t miss the date, otherwise the fine will go up.”


No thanks.

Which means that Friday, March 7th at 3p.m. I will be back at 850 Bryant to contest the ticket.


I got a copy of the paperwork, thanked the clerk and left the Hall of Justice twenty minutes after entering, and that includes a trip to the bathroom.

I hopped on the bicycle and headed to the Mission, going to my old nail salon and then messaging a friend in the neighborhood to see if she was available for lunch or coffee.

And she was!

We caught up and she inspired me to do some work and made some suggestions and she gave me some assignments to do.

“The measure of a person,” I heard tonight, “can be made by the people they surround themselves with.”



It made me think of my friend, who is my advocate and how she wants to help me help myself and better my life.

How lucky I am to have the friends I have.

I really am.

I knew everything she was saying was also on point and as I grow up I find that I can take these suggestions with more and more aplomb and ease, not that I find walking through the fear any less uncomfortable, I just know that I can since I have so much already.

I want a better life for myself as well and basically what she was suggesting is going to lead me to that.

And faster than my own timeline.

“Set a calendar and stick to it, e-mail me the things you find, and let’s meet for coffee on a weekly basis,” she concluded.

I wrote the list down that she suggested and stared at it tonight.

Which might have led to me wishing to flee into the night in my new hot pants, lace tights, and ripped up shirt–I ain’t gonna drink–to go clubbing.

And there’s nothing wrong with dancing or clubbing or me going out, except that I have new ink, feel punked out, and was avoiding looking at the work.

I do not feel upset now that I have written this out.

I am allowed to change my mind and plans did change today, but that is just the Universe making room for me to make room.

“I am supposed to be fellowshipping,” vomited out of my mouth without meaning to, “what the fuck is that, oh yeah, something I suggested to other women I work with, fuck,” I finished shaking my head.

I just wanted to come home and drink tea and hide.

I am sort of doing that and sort of not.

Therefor, since I have taken off said lace and hot pants and washed off my tattoo, took the flower out of my hair, and put on my Hello Kitty pajamas, I am just going to make a resolution to do some of the fellowshipping thing tomorrow.

I can only do so much in one day.

I had some plans, I did.

And none of them happened at all like I thought.

But I got beautiful new ink (two stars added to my neck and the colors gone over and bumped way up, plus some unexpected liner work done on an older tattoo since he had me on the table) and I had lunch with a dear friend who wants more for me than I have.

That’s a nice day anyway you slice it.

And I did not have to pay $197 out-of-pocket to have it.

But it did set the ball rolling.

Or should I say the bicycle.


Have A Safe Ride Home

January 22, 2014

He said somewhat sheepishly and stepped back toward the curb.

That’s right, you fucking shit bag, step the fuck back.

And why don’t you step the fuck up on the curb, you might see eye to eye with me at that point you short little douche bag ass hat.



Hey, and you know what, sign here is not an admission of guilt fuck face, I will see you in court you short dick little pussy man.

And I will wear platform heels just to tower over you a little more.

Did your little dick get all hard writing me that ticket?

What the fuck.

There are fifteen people who I just avoided getting doored by in the last block, not to mention the three, yes, three illegal u-turns in the middle of the intersection looking for parking and you give me a ticket.

Oh, I know, I have to obey the rules of traffic you shit fuck.

But come the fuck on.

I was at a full stop.

Speed of vehicle at time of incident?

0 mph.

At least you were honest about that you ass hat.

I was at a full stop, foot completely on the ground, looked both ways, why, because its god damn Irving Street and I was already jacked up from avoiding the usual idiots trying to make the light.

That’s what bugs me the most.

Really bugs me.

I could have made the light.

But the car ahead of me was signalling to turn and then whipped a bitch the opposite way.

Here I was patting myself on the back for not getting killed and you fucking give me a ticket for running a red light.

Fuck you.

I say a little louder.

What a complete and utter fail.

My bicycle sense has been poking at me all week, I have been riding my brake, stopping at intersections, see full foot down (I call this the Marin School of riding-in Marin if you don’t put a full foot down, not just tapping your toes, but actually come to a full stop with the entire foot down at a stop sign or intersection you can get a ticket) in previous paragraph peppered with expletives, really being careful.

I have just had bad bicycle feeling in my bones.

I was not expecting it to be a ticket.

In fact, as I was riding home, riding my brake, I was thinking that this maybe part of the ongoing soreness in my shoulder–this riding so defensively for upwards of an hour a day every day.

My brake is on my front side and my right shoulder is dying right now.

I actually tell myself to hold my handle bars lightly when I am riding, to not full on throttle them.

I don’t need the stress of riding in my arms that much, I want it to rest in my legs, which can take it, and not in my arms or shoulders, which already get a full on work out all day long pushing the stroller, picking up the boys, heaving, lifting, going up and down stairs, pushing swings, picking up the constant detritus of the boys and their day.


I feel a little better for having said all the fuck you’s.

I know the guy was right.

And I would not have taken that red if I knew a cop was behind me.

I couldn’t decide who I was more mad at, him or me.

I mean, I think it’s a total bullshit move.

I acknowledge I ran a red.

But I didn’t.

I sort of meandered after sitting for ten seconds of the twelve second walk sign countdown and I looked both ways, I mean, turned my head, I really don’t want to get hit by a car and it was not motivated by there might be a cop behind me checking to see that I look both ways before crossing.

I think the dude was a little chagrined.

He certainly looked flustered when he asked where I was riding to and I said 46th and Irving, “Geez, that’s a really scary commute.”

Yeah, I said, one I take every day, and you know I had my foot down.  I was at a complete stop.

I dug my little hole and now I am going to have to go take care of it.

I was so livid when I walked in the house.

I can feel it getting angry in here as I write it out, but I screamed.

Not as loud as I wanted to.

I really wanted to belt one out.

That’s what I do when I get horribly angry.

I scream.

Don’t fucking teach me a lesson you fuck face.

I am so fucking careful when I ride.

The other thing that was funny was thinking, again, as I was riding, up to 19th, that hellacious inter section of doom, that I might want to get a car soon.

That the stress of the daily ride was actually a stress.

I say this as I got startled a couple of times by car’s parking and pulling out.

The feeling of nearly getting hit or narrowly avoiding it is unpleasant and intense.

I had it three times tonight.

Once slipping on gravel at an intersection where there is a lot of construction happening, my wheel slid a little and the feeling of free fall over took me for a minute before I straightened out.

Then again when the two folks pulled the illegal u-turns at 9th and Irving and the third at 18th and Irving.

Three times of yuck.

Then the cherry of my yuck sunday, a nice little citation and an order to appear in court or be fined.

Ass hat didn’t tell me what the fine is for the infraction and my friend who drives a cab and has protested some tickets said, show up and protest it, the cop likely won’t even show.

I have never been to traffic court.

I have never had points taken off my drivers licence.

Ain’t about to let it happen over a bicycle riding ticket.

Kiss my grits.

I probably wouldn’t even show if I knew what the fine is.

But since I don’t I will show up.

Get ready short stack.

I am coming.

Unsubscribe me Please

July 24, 2013

I took myself off the Burning Man early arrival board.

A. I have a ride.

B. I have better things to do with my time than pursue the odd configurations of how people get their stuff from where they live to where they will live for a few weeks.

It is good reading.

However, I get exhausted when I see an inbox full of e-mail.

I want that inbox spic and span.

Tidy like.

And I have a ticket.


Got handed over the official “Cargo Cult” ticket today and my early arrival pass.

“Don’t lose that,” my employer said to me as I folded the two together and stuck them in a secret stash part of my wallet where I keep schedules on paper for places that can administer first aid to my aching head and all its attendant crazy.

“Also,” she said, half serious, half in jest, “please, don’t sell it.”

No way.

“What burn is this for you,” she asked me tonight as we headed from the Women’s Building on 17th and Valencia to the BART station on 16th and Mission.

Lucky number seven.

I still cannot believe that this will be seven.

Seven is spelled with style, yo.

I am going to be staying an Airstream.

I have food, water, transportation, ticket, early arrival.


The text read today.



My new saddle showed up at the shop.

“Honey, you have to see this thing, it’s huge,” my friend from the shop said.

“Brian 3 did not even know what a banana seat was, he’d never heard of one, fuck me I am old.”

Me too.

“It really is huge,” he added.

Good, I am a size queen.

I can’t wait to get my paws on it.

I figure that will happen Friday.

I have a dinner date with John Ater then a speaking engagement at Our Lady of SafeWay.

Yes that reads correctly.

No, I don’t care to explain.

I meet with John at 6:30 p.m.

Plenty of time to come into the city, go to my friend’s place on 19th, scoop up my bike, and bring it over to the shop to have them install my huge saddle.

My great, big, triple thick, banana seat, I’m going to be riding a lot at Burning Man.

I do, actually believe that I will be riding my bike more than I have in years past.

I won’t be fluffing or working for folks who are doing the golf-cart thing.

I will have access to some sort of vehicle to take my charge to breakfast, lunch, dinner, or whatever meals I end up working with him, I am sure I won’t be pedaling across the playa with him in my bicycle basket.

Although that would be really cute.

My schedule is also a little nebulous at the moment, but it will all work out.

The one thing that I do believe I will do, aside from jump up and down and clap my hands when that seat goes on my cruiser bike (did I mention it is white and it has glitter?) is stop thinking that I have an idea of what money I am going to make at the event.

I have a number in my head, but I don’t know for certain how much I am going to work.

I will be there three weeks.

In my head that equals, five days on, two days off, three weeks in a row–15 shifts.

But it’s not the normal world.

There may be days when I work longer or shorter hours.

It’s the playa, and weird, wonderful, wacky shit happens out there.

So for me to sit, miniature accountant in my head and try to figure out how much I am going to make, is nuts.

Plain, old crazy making.

I am going to work and I am sure I shall work plenty.

But I cannot count my eggs this early in.

Suffice to say, I will be going, it will be splendid (and awful, and dusty, and there will be tears, there always are, and I will wonder, what the fuck am I doing and why is this important?  And then the magic will happen and I will fall in love with it all again, and this will happen over and over and over until I come home and collapse in a dusty heap to get all excited for the experience months later) and I will be taken care of.

The rest of this week I have nanny gigs, one tomorrow, one Thursday.

Then that’s it until Tuesday, one charge only, in Cole Valley.

Then nothing, until the following Tuesday, two charges, one day, Cole Valley.

Again, however, holding out for the miraculous.

The something awesome that is going to happen that I cannot predict or see or plan for, I can just show up for.

I am practising by saying yes.

In fact, I just made a commitment to show up somewhere late next Wednesday in Oakland.

It’ll be one of the few times I can.

I don’t really want to, but that’s besides the point, I get to, and I get to say yes.

I subscribe to the belief that I have to move forward open arms to this experience, rather than saying, I am going to freak because I don’t have work.

I have plenty of work, it just doesn’t always pay back the kind of dividends that can be found in a checking and savings account.

Sometimes the payoff is a fat ride and early arrival to Burning Man.

That is some heady coin.

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