I Have A Question For You

Why are you single?

You’re gorgeous.

Wow.

Thanks darling.

That was super nice to hear, especially in my nanny regalia, which granted is cute, but not sexy.

I also got the sexy compliment.

Which coming from a FIREFIGHTER made my day.

Did I just turn down sex on a first date with a firefighter?

FIREFIGHTER!

Fuck.

I did.

Damn it.

First off.

I’m going to TMI y’all right now.

First day of a my period is not my sexy time.

It can be, I can and have had great fucking times on my period, but for my first time with someone, my first hang out, yikes, not so much.

And.

I didn’t shave today.

So.

No.

I’m not sleeping with the firefighter.

Right now.

Ooooheee.

God damn.

Smokin’.

And nice.

He was very nice.

We “met” on Tinder.

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, like last summer, I think, when I was still using the app, but we never quite connected.

We’re not friends on facecrack but he does follow me on Instagram and, yes, that’s right, I had my first time getting asked out on Instagram.

That was a new one for me.

Kind of fun.

The crazy thing is, we live in the same neighborhood.

Like.

A fucking block away from each other.

Shit.

If it weren’t my first day on my period I would throw myself in the shower, shave them stems and um, heh, go make a new friend.

Ahem.

FIREFIGHTER.

Ok.

I’ll stop now.

firefighter.

Heh.

I feel like Samantha in Sex in the City when she goes to the firehouse.

Of course, in the episode, I think she got stranded naked in the station when the alarm goes off and her date has to leave to go put out a fire.

Not really the outcome I want to have.

Anyway.

Said gentleman, liked one of my posts on Insta and sent me a message.

The timing was pretty spot on, I had just gotten in and I was registering for fall classes.

And I was messaging with some of my classmates about classes and things and I get the message let’s get a coffee.

And of course.

I’m intrigued.

He’s gorgeous.

And well.

I’m trying to be spontaneous.

And we live in the same neighborhood.

I asked, “let’s get coffee sometime or tonight?”

“Tonight.”

Well then.

I suggested tea since it was late and we met and hung out and marveled that we’d never run into each other before, I mean, he literally lives a block away on the same fucking street, but nope, never seen each other in the hood at all.

We flirted.

There was flirting.

There was a lot of flirting.

And I let it stay there.

I am actually rather amazed that I did.

Of course when I got home I got a few more messages.

This time on my phone, I figured we’d gotten to know each other enough that I could give him my number.

When he texted me and asked me why were texting and not making out I just about fell out of my chair.

I told him I had homework.

I told him I was writing.

I got flustered and broke and dropped the TMI bomb.

“That has nothing to do with us making out.”

Oh damn.

I’m not flustered at all, at all, at all.

Ok.

Well.

Maybe a little bit.

I did, before we parted, give him a little information, as he asked the why am I single question twice, I think he may have also been implying that he might want to try out for the position, or perhaps just positioning himself to be, I got to stop, I can’t even go there.

Um.

Where was I?

Oh yeah.

I did tell him I was seeing people, that I had, in fact a date on Thursday, but that I wasn’t exclusive with anyone, not that I would be, the date Thursday is a first date, but all in all, I have to say, um, super fucking validating and fun experience.

I liked his confidence and I liked that I felt confident too.

Even in my nanny togs.

If a man thinks I’m sexy in a long sleeve black dress with black leggings and Converse, well, that bodes well for when I am actually in a put together outfit.

I don’t look slovenly, there’s that, I won’t lie, if I thought I wasn’t looking pretty I wouldn’t have left the house in my work clothes.

But.

I also didn’t feel like trying really hard on a Tuesday night to get all made up and glammed up, especially to grab a cup of tea at Java Beach.

There will be time.

I told him that was very tempted by the make out, but, I decided, for me, that it would be better to go on another date, before leaping into the make out.

So.

I asked for a rain check.

Who is this person?

And.

He said, absolutely.

And we text flirted a little more and now I’m up past my bed time, but, so what, that was fun.

I haven’t had that kind of forward as fuck attention in a while, super fun, super validating, sexy as fuck flirting.

I think the Universe did that one up on purpose.

Thanks God.

I needed that.

And.

Um.

I’ll take hot make out with a firefighter for $200 once I get my get out of Jail free card from my body.

Anticipation is also not a bad thing.

Not a bad thing at all.

Giggles to self.

Ok.

Going to stop this silliness now.

Night.

Sweet dreams.

Or

Incindiary.

Same/same.

Heh.

 

Why, Yes, That Is Correct

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

Yes.

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

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

Plus.

I had the time.

And.

It doesn’t take too much time.

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

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

I’ll freeze some and can the rest.

Lunch and dinner for the week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rather than Facebook to Facebook.

Speaking of ye olde social media.

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

Space was made and taken.

I was surprised to get the request.

Then.

Not so surprised.

And.

Then.

Surprised that I considered accepting it.

But.

In the end.

Yes.

I deleted it.

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

That being said.

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

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

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

Sure Lucy.

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

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

Healthy like.

Sane.

Different.

I like it.

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

Hmm.

I’m not so sure I want that.

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

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

Don’t post shit to my page.

Please.

And thank you.

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

Anyway.

I logged into privacy settings and holy shit.

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

Everything was set to public.

I cannot fathom how or when I did that.

Unless I just wasn’t paying attention.

So.

I made it all private.

I figure this is good timing for me anyway.

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

I don’t post racy pictures of myself.

I find that kind of tacky.

That’s just my judgement.

But.

My personal stuff is my personal stuff.

And.

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

I am not on it.

Haven’t been on it for a bit now.

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

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

Sure enough.

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

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

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

Creepy.

So.

Deleted that.

Buh bye.

I’m so not opposed to sex.

I love sex.

But.

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

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

But.

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

NOT INTERESTED.

That particular scenario has happened three times.

I don’t expect it will again.

Boundaries.

I need to have them.

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

Every time.

Better boundaries make for better relationships.

This is what I am learning.

Good skill to have.

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

Nope.

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

Reality is so much better than fantasy.

Fantasy feels safer.

But in the end.

For me.

It’s isolation.

And for me to isolate is to die.

I’ll pass, thanks.

Here’s to living in the present.

The gift I’m given every day.

Grateful for that.

Seriously.

 

The Dying Of The Days

Tomorrow begins Day Light Savings.

Fall back.

Thank you for that.

One more hour of sleep in the morning.

I can always use another hour of sleep.

I don’t mourn the passing of the day, I don’t have sorrow for the shorter day.

In fact.

I found myself with a kind of sweet, smokey soft nostalgia for it today, as the day was blurring down around the edges as I rode my scooter home from the date, the errands, the living and doing, the what all I could cram into my afternoon.

I had a nice day.

I had a nice date.

Not a swoon, oh my God he’s it, date, but a nice date.

Will I see him again?

Probably not.

Menlo Park is a little ways away.

And he’s not quite the guy for me.

I was intellectually engaged however, and really had a nice time listening and talking and we did have a nice lunch in the cafe at the MOMA and enjoyed a couple of cups of coffee.

A friend messaged me and said, if he doesn’t get you at least two cups of coffee, it’s over.

I laughed.

Double fisting coffee.

I suppose it is better than double fisting vodka and IPA’s.

Heh.

The date was a nice guy and smart, but I wasn’t physically drawn to him.

There was no zing zip for me.

It felt like making a nice new acquaintance.

But that doesn’t spell chemistry for me and I don’t believe I will be pursuant of it.

Not that I am at this moment pursuing anyone.

I’m not on Tinder, yes, I have hopped on and off it enough times that who the hell knows where I am, but not on the app, not on a dating site, not on the prowl.

Open though.

To possibility.

Magic.

That’s what it felt like when I was on my way back out into the world this evening.

I got done with my date and ran to Buffalo Exchange with the rest of the clothes I hadn’t sold at Crossroads–my bosses toss outs.

All said.

$20.

A free manicure and a nice cup of coffee.

Thanks boss lady.

Then I went grocery shopping and came back to the house.

I roasted a chicken and did some homework and headed back out the door to see some fellows and sit and listen and share if it seemed appropriate and be in the world.

It was on my scooter ride into the NOPA neighborhood that I got that feeling of magic.

The feeling of surprise and possibility.

Back lit by the smell of wood fires and the misty foggy chilly air.

It was like the whole world was smudged with it.

It was very romantic.

I am a sucker for romance.

And sweetness and surprise.

On my date today I was completely caught off guard by this flirtatious older man, totally flirted with me, asked me my name, asked about my tattoos, told me I was a walking piece of art.

He must have been in his late 70s early 80s.

I imagine he was quite the man about town in his day.

I smiled and chatted a little with him when my date got up to refill our coffees.

And then returned to my date.

Who did have some really cool things to talk with me about and in a way did make me feel very special, he was quite enthralled with my recovery story.

Very edited version that I gave to him.

“You should write about that!” He exclaimed at one point, “that’s just, you are, well, you have an amazing story.”

Thank you.

I have written about it.

I write about it all the time.

Ha.

Just check out my blog.

No wait.

Don’t.

I get myself in trouble here sometimes.

I get hot-headed and I have become a lot more circumspect in my writing, but once in a while I have been known to go on a tear, but it never serves.

I get to keep the focus on me and my experience.

Anywho.

I digress.

I was talking to my date about a trip he had been on and the older gentleman leans over and hands me a folded menu from the MOMA’s cafe.

“It was a pleasure to meet you!” He said and smiled brightly.

I looked at the menu.

Oh!

It was the sweetest thing.

A note.

Written in calligraphy.

“Carmen is beautiful.”

I can feel my heart swelling as I write the sentence.

I felt beautiful today.

I wore my favorite dress.

My hair was cooperative.

It can be a little untidy and unruly.

But today it was pretty in its unruliness.

I felt in myself, of myself and complete settled in my skin.

I don’t always and though I did have some nerves before the date, they dissipated.

The note made my day.

I tucked it in my notebook that I carry in my purse and when I got home I put it up on a plate in my kitchen displayed with my other little things that are flotsam and jetsam, moments of magic that I collect like a little squirrel to nibble with thoughtful contemplativeness and private enjoyment.

A post it note from my best friend about a necklace she gave me years ago that is a bike, an old chopper with a banana seat like my playa bike, that says how she saw the necklace and thought of me riding my bike happy and free on the playa.

A map of the Metro in Paris.

A note from a good friend that was stuck in a bag of Stump Town coffee that, paraphrasing here, that he expressed how much he was grateful for me and knew I was having a hard time–I was in that horrid month when I was out of work with a severe ankle injury two years ago–and how he loved me and he knew I would be taken care of, and folded up in that note a $50 bill.

The wedding invitation to a dear friend that’s coming up.

God I wish I had a date for that, but nothing so far.

Magnets from the museums I have been to–The Louvre, The Pompidou, The Musee D’Orsay, the LACMA, The Metropolitan, The MOMA, and many others.

Multitudes of postcards.

A thank you card from a friend that I love, the colors on it are so rich and lush, all pumpkin and gold and burnt orange.

Love letters to myself.

Yes.

Yes, I know how hokey that sounds.

But yes, I do often send myself postcards with little sweet notes.

In the vein of buy your own damn flowers.

Cook your own damn meals.

Write your own fucking love letters.

As I was leaving the spot tonight to ride back home towards the crescent moon sailing a little fuller in the midnight blue skies, I saw a fellow I don’t always talk to, but have always appreciated seeing around.

He had said something that resonated.

I told him that I had a dream about him.

He chuckled and I looked at him, “not like that wise guy.”

I told him a little.

He shared a little.

We had a moment.

It was magic.

And in that moment I realized that I have softened a little further.

Melted a little more.

Allowed more mystery into my heart.

I don’t know where I’m going.

I only know where I’ve been.

But.

Today.

Tonight.

That is just perfect.

Just like me.

And beautiful.

Just like me.

Trust me.

I have a note to prove it.

Heh.

 

Bengal

Spice Girl.

He called me.

That is hella cute.

Especially as I am sitting here writing my blog with a cup of the aforementioned tea.

After a brief and totally pointless 24 hours, well, I suppose it’s not pointless as I have learned again what I had already known.

Tinder sucks.

The best thing about Tinder was matching with a lover I had already matched with and chatting.

Funny meeting you here.

You’re a hotty!

It was cute.

We chatted a little, discussed possible Halloween plans and that was that.

The rest of it was a fucking joke.

I had forgotten how many, oh so many, “nopes” there are.

I can’t do the swipe left, swipe right thing.

I tried.

I kept doing it backward.

Fucking dyslexia.

So.

I would just hit the “nope” button.

I hit it a lot.

And then the ones that I did say yes too pretty much sussed themselves out as useless as well.

Ah well.

I tried.

And then I just gave it to God.

This shit does not work.

I was off the app this morning, deleting it for the fifth time.

I think that won’t be happening again.

I did have a moment though, when I realized, I did meet a couple of decent guys on the app, one of whom I had a nice little tea date with prior to going to Burning Man.

Between his schedule and my schedule we just never seemed to reconnect.

I still had his number in my phone, I sent out a little questioning text.

And what do you know.

He’d been thinking about me.

Kismet.

We chatted a little, I made a suggestion for going out for a cup of tea and though he wasn’t available the time I mentioned, he did seem quite eager for a rain check.

He’ll be getting back to me when he gets back into town.

And until then.

I do it the old-fashioned way.

I ask them out in person.

I flirt.

I connect face to face.

It’s harder.

Oh how easy it is to get lost in the fantasy of connection that happens online, but that’s just what it is, fantasy.

Safe.

Reliable.

And oh so very, very, isolating.

I want to be of the world.

I want to be in reality land, even if it takes more effort.

In the end, the results will be worth it, I do believe.

I realized today too that I was going to give my number to a guy at Lucca Ravioli, he’s adorable and though I don’t see it going anywhere, it would be just a little tiny bit thrilling to flirt.

Besides.

I’m only in my current job until December and I can handle it if it goes south, I won’t be going to Lucca once or twice a week for the family.

I won’t be going to Lucca at all.

I almost did it today.

The shop was busy, however, and the boys were with me and I smiled and that was enough.

I got a “thank you beautiful,” from Juan though as I was paying for the cold cuts I had gotten for the family.

He always flirts.

But.

He’s sporting a wedding band.

Is it just easier to flirt with someone when you know they’re not available or you’re not available?

The safety net of the ring on the finger.

I did not, however, notice a ring on Adam’s finger and he’s always so flustered when he helps me out, over talkative and flirty, it’s very cute.

He’s a tiny bit younger than I normally go for, but whatever.

Take action.

Let go of the result.

I am not trying to figure it out.

Ha.

Just letting go and letting God.

I mean.

Serious.

I am on a runaway train toward the person I am supposed to be with.

Oh.

I’ve been derailed a little over the past few weeks, but I seem to be evening out and I’m super grateful for the experiences that I have had and now.

Well.

I feel primed.

And that’s exciting.

I’m not sure what’s going to happen.

That’s cool too.

I have plenty to keep me busy.

The never-ending stack of books that I need to be reading.

The papers I get to write.

The families I work for.

“Carmen, you’re going to be leaving us,” he said soft and sad and kissed my hand and leaned into me with all his sweet weight.

Oh goodness.

The goodbyes are already killing me with the boys I work for.

They have been very concerned about me, about where I’m going to live, even.

“Are you moving?” One of them asked me, I assured them that I was not.

Then.

I realized.

Well.

Yes.

At some point, I do want to move.

I live in a studio in-law with no windows.

Which technically is illegal.

But the back door is all glass and I get sunshine through that.

None the less, I do want more space and more light.

God more light would be fantastic.

Although I have tricked it out nicely and it’s cozy and warm and I do love it.

So.

I said, “well, eventually I will move, but just to a bigger place,” I assured him and ruffled his soft brown hair.

“I know!  You could move in with us!” He jumped up and down excited with the thought.

“You don’t have enough room sweetheart, where would I sleep?”

Not that I would actually ever, ever, ever, ever consider moving in with my employers, I like have my autonomy thank you very much.

“You could sleep in the Lego room!” His eyes got wide.

“Oh, honey, that is so sweet, thank you, but you want the space for your Legos and the new piano, well, I don’t think there’d be enough room,” I finished and gave him a huge hug.

“I’ll talk to mom and dad about it, you can stay in the Lego room, it’s perfect,” he concluded.

Oh my God.

And I have two more months of this.

I am grateful I have the time to wind it down with them and it is so nice to spend time with them, although I have to reset boundaries pretty consistently with them as I’m not as often in their lives, it’s worth it.

The love I get is so worth it.

It’s been a good week.

And it’s only Tuesday.

Can’t wait to see what happens next.

It’s going to be off the hook.

Just wait and see.

 

The Half Way Point

Has been met.

I wrapped up my third weekend of five here in the first semester of my second year of graduate school.

Graduate school is sexy.

In case you were wondering.

Sleep deprivation.

Overconsumption of caffeine.

Anxiety about keeping up on the reading.

Writing papers.

Cramming it all in between the nooks and crannies of living life.

And.

Hoping once in a while to get a little sunshine on my face or a hug from a friend.

Or.

God fucking forbid.

A date.

Dating is challenging.

Throw recovery into the mix, full-time work and grad school.

Fuck me.

I’ll see you when I graduate and oh, then I’ll be interning.

That will be entertaining.

I do have hopes though for some magic.

I do.

I might even hop back out into online dating and Tinder.

I might.

I say this as I’m downloading the app to my phone.

I might use it.

Fuck me.

I amuse myself.

I was chatting with a friend of mine after class today at Philz and I told her about how I was getting a little too hormonal for my own good.

I also have to say, thank God for girlfriends you can share all the things with.

I am so lucky.

I told her about how things have gone this week and got all flustered and wound up and how if I’m feeling like this, if I’m so flushed up and flustered, maybe I need to take action.

“I need a fucking boyfriend,” I said.

“Yes, you do, but get laid and maybe, don’t worry about the guy being sober, like, throw open the pool and just you know, have some fun, get you through for a little while,” she said and laughed with me.

I’m a touch frustrated.

And it’s ok.

It is what it is.

But walking around perpetually turned on, although, hey, my skin is glowing, is a lot to deal with on top of grad school, work, etc, ad nauseum, blah, blah, blah.

It’s just life.

I remind myself.

It’s just another thing to experience.

I’ll probably have it up, the Tinder profile, for a week and be like fuck this like I have previously.

But.

I do feel a need to take some action.

I was thinking about asking someone out.

Not that I have had the opportunity to do so recently.

Recently having been this weekend, in which I was in school classes for 29 hours, so yeah, maybe not the best time to go out on a date.

But.

I do feel like I need to keep trying.

Keep things moving.

Keep trying.

Keep living.

I’m going to be a fucking therapist.

I should have some more relationship experience.

And besides.

I feel ready.

Definitely ready and I’m adamant about the “no married men” thing and the being available to be with someone who is available.

No going back to the drawing board.

But maybe just a little roll around the hay.

Hmm.

I don’t know.

I definitely don’t have to figure it out right now.

Perhaps the frustration of not getting what I want can be harnessed.

Heh.

I could run the world.

Not like I’m not already busy enough.

I was able to express myself to my friend though, it was so helpful and I am so grateful for my friend and to get to have dinner with her and her husband and another beloved person tonight after school, after cups of Philz coffee in the Castro, I was really so very grateful for them.

We went and had dinner at Lark, up on 18th between Castro and Hartford.

Pretty much the heart of the Castro.

Lots of lovely men to look at.

Not that anyone of them were interested in me, aside to compliment my frock.

I have to say, nothing like having a load of gay men tell me I look divine in polka dots and red lipstick.

Thank you very much.

I wore my crinoline too, it was just too much, but just right all at the same time.

And we had such a lovely time.

My friend also suggested that I talk more with them in French.

I tried.

I get a little flustered with it, but it’s such good practice and considering how much I love my friend and she’s French and lives in Paris and I’ll be going to Paris to visit her.

I also suspect that it won’t be my last time to Paris.

When someone you love dearly is living in Paris, you go when you can.

I did rather well, with the French-speaking, actually.

I ended up describing my relationship to my person, my mentor so to speak (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) all in French and though I stumbled a bit, I got it all out and that felt rather good to explain about my person and how I am helped by working with him and the whys and whereof of getting support around my family of origin alcohol and drug addictions.

It was rather awesome.

I mean, there was still some things lost in translation, but really, I did ok.

And my friend said the same thing, she told me that I actually speak a lot better than I think I do and that what I should start doing with her is speak as much French as I can and when I can’t, then use English.

She’s totally right.

It helped immediately.

I went back and forth between English and French all dinner.

It was thrilling.

And when I thought about it.

My heart just beat so hard in my chest.

Who was this woman, in her red Chanel lipstick, speaking French at a fancy restaurant in San Francisco?

Surrounded by people who love me.

I mean.

I have absolutely no question that I am loved.

It was just amazing.

And I felt so, well, awed, really.

I felt validated too.

It’s been a good week for that.

I’m in a good place.

A happy place.

A secure place.

A place of love.

A place of polka dots and my heart on my sleeve.

A place full of music and joy.

I might be just a tiny bit relieved to be done with the school weekend too.

Heh.

Happy.

Joyous.

Sexy.

And.

Motherfucking.

Free.

 

Wow

That was a long day.

I mean.

Seriously.

First day at the new Monday gig and it went 10 hours.

Whew.

But I got through it.

And yes, the 20 month old did nap, but it was a challenge to get her down, it didn’t happen right away and there was a lot of stops and starts with it.

Harder than I had anticipated.

But.

Then again.

Oh, the baby sweetness and toes and feet, and the stroller and being outside and not being on a monitor all the time.

The freedom.

Not that I did anything different from what I really always do.

However.

I felt less restrained and more comfortable, although a bit awkward, new house, new things to figure out, new switches, sets of keys…

Fuck.

The keys I have on my key ring right now.

Nice to be trusted.

I literally have the keys to three different million dollar homes in San Francisco.

Crazy.

And grateful that I am so trusted.

“We really felt good leaving her with you, and she’s obviously so happy and you guys look like you had a great day,” the mom said when she came home.

“And oh my God, the house, it looks great,” she added.

Then paid me.

In cash.

Thank you.

Thank you very much.

Glad to be of service.

But man oh man.

I don’t think I could keep up these kinds of hours for very long.

It’s too much.

Even with the baby napping part of it.

I was up to go to the bathroom before the sunrise and as I was about to hop back in bed, gratefully thinking I had a few more hours of sleep, my alarm went off.

I actually cried out loud, “NOOOOOOO.”

6 a.m.

Oof.

I know some people are morning people, and that’s great, I’m much more of a morning person than I used to be, but 6 a.m. is an early start.

Especially after putting in 29 hours of classes over the weekend.

And a full rather hectic week of work prior to that.

It was a big week, weekend, and now the start of the next week, which began with a 10 hour shift with a new family, family dynamic, household, schedule, and children.

No biggie.

Falls in heap on floor.

I’ve got my alarm set for 8 a.m. for tomorrow.

I’m hoping on getting to the yoga studio.

It’s been too long since I went.

All the tumult last week, the weekend of school and this super long Monday has meant no yoga for a week and a half I think.

Too long.

I may change my mind and just wait until Wednesday.

It might be nice to get a full night’s rest and be prepared for whatever is going to be happening at my regular job the rest of the week.

And.

I have also been approached by another friend who has a friend who just had a baby and is beginning the nanny hunt.

I need to update my resume and forward that to her.

I was just too busy today with the new job to do it.

And I feel too tired right now to fully give it my attention.

Although I know I should get it to her as soon as I can.

I haven’t looked at my resume in a few years, it’s time to polish it.

It really doesn’t need a whole lot, just an update on what I have been doing for the last two years, my current job and graduate school.

Ooh.

I get to put my masters program on my resume, excellent.

That will be fun.

I had forgotten about that.

I actually brought school work with me today, but didn’t get the chance to address it what with the baby’s erratic sleeping.

Homework.

Oh.

All the homework.

A day off is probably not a bad idea.

I also went to see some folks at Our Lady of Safeway tonight and that was good.

A little reunion of sorts.

And.

Bumping into a guy I always have had a sort of crush on and not doing anything about it.

No chasing.

I have to say though, I’m getting tired of writing down the paragraph every day of what an adult man looks like and what qualities I am looking for in a romantic mate.

And waiting to be pursued.

But then again.

I see very clearly when it doesn’t work for me and how chasing is never the answer, so when the man tonight didn’t seem all that interested, I stopped thinking about the pursuit and just came home.

There is nothing to do.

No Tinder dance to tango.

No OkStupid.

No chasing boys.

No mothering men who need care taking.

Just sitting still and really letting it all go.

I don’t actually need to be in a relationship.

I have so very much.

Yes.

It’s a goal.

But I’m not going to wait on my life to do things and feel things and have experiences.

Fuck no.

And by letting go, surrendering to the moment, I usually am better off anyway.

They say surrender is going over to the winning side.

I like that.

I have not been successful at dating.

Although, I think that’s incorrect.

I have dated and learned a lot in this past year, starting around February, the day after Valentines Day, when I allowed myself to be approached at the grocery store and asked out on a date.

I have dated a lot since then.

Tried a lot of stuff.

Hooked up a few times.

Went dancing.

Had some meals.

Had some uncomfortable dates, some fun dates, some horrible dates.

I wouldn’t say I’m a failure at dating.

I’m actually a lot better at it then I was at the beginning of the year.

I can’t make magic happen though and I think that’s what is next.

Just letting the magic come to me instead of trying to figure it out.

Figure it out isn’t a slogan.

And until then.

Well.

Fuck.

I have a lot going on.

Full time work, full-time grad school, full time recovery, yoga, writing.

I have enough.

I am enough.

Life is great.

And this Monday is done.

Stick a fork in it and turn it over.

 

File Under

Make your own damn dinner.

And.

Buy your own damn flowers.

And.

Always.

ALWAYS.

Have a back up plan.

Especially when you realize, hmm, it’s 4:30 p.m. and nary a text regarding the dinner date I was supposed to be on tonight.

Especially since said date didn’t text me this morning like he said in his last message.

I sort of chalked that up to whatever and went about my day.

I did yoga.

God damn I like my Saturday teacher.

I wish he was teaching more often at the studio, but he’s committed to another studio.

He is hands down my favorite instructor and though Saturday 9a.m. is going to be a busy day for a yoga class anywhere in San Francisco, I feel like his class is often super packed because he’s just a great teacher.

I definitely got my yoga on this morning.

I left the studio floating, a glow, a beacon of light in the fog.

Fuck you fog.

Over it.

Done.

Give me back that precious San Francisco Indian Summer you so rudely appropriated.

Cold and chilly and foggy all day long.

Hopefully tomorrow that will lift a little.

I have another date, different guy, obviously, tomorrow to go on a hike around Glen Canyon.

I have never hiked around Glen Canyon.

I realized when I was mapping it out that I had been thinking McClaren Park, not Glen Canyon, so a brand new experience to have in the city.

Stoked for it.

I also just texted tomorrow’s date and asked for confirmation.

This lady has things to do and places to be if there’s not a date happening.

Which was exactly what happened today.

I had back up plans in case this evening’s date fell through.

I used to think that was weak, to doubt the date, to make other plans, then I just realized, no, it’s fucking practical and it leaves me not feeling stood up and left out.

I have a busy life and if this dude can’t even make the effort to text and at least say, thanks but no thanks, then fuck, I got things I can attend to.

Which I did.

I got my nails done and my eyebrows.

I met with my person and I did the deal.

I had coffee and checked in.

I went grocery shopping.

And when I got home at 4 p.m. on the nose and saw that tonight’s date hadn’t texted yet I began to set into motion the other things I was going to do today.

Homework.

So thanks dude for not getting back to me.

I got a fuck load of reading done.

The other thing that was nice about today’s date or lack there of, was that its location was advantageous to me.

It was going to be dinner in my hood.

Like a block and a half away.

I could be here at the house reading my homework with no qualms and if dude was tied up and forgot to text or get a hold of me I was fine doing my thing.

If I had been elsewhere or the date was elsewhere I would have texted to confirm.

But.

I had this voice, quiet and assured.

Don’t fucking chase.

He revealed himself.

And.

I didn’t need to send some passive aggressive text wondering about what was happening.

When the clock hit 4:30 p.m. and I was done unpacking my groceries and balancing my check book and had redone my hair, I knew.

It was going to be a solo dinner for this lady.

I just opened up my syllabus for my Family Therapy class and got down to the reading.

And for tomorrow.

If I don’t get a text back from date number two.

Fuck no, will I be scooting over to Glen Canyon.

I feel better about tomorrow’s date though, it’s not really a blind date.

Yes.

We did match on Tinder.

But.

We’ve known each other for years.

So it was a sort of fun surprise.

And no.

I’m not back on Tinder.

This guy just happened to sneak through before I had deleted the app on my phone.

In fact.

Ha.

I just realized that the one person I am planning on for sure seeing, one of the ladies I work with, hasn’t confirmed with me tomorrow.

I may have more time than I thought.

I usually meet with two ladies on Sunday, one already cancelled, for a really legit reason, and the other has not confirmed.

So I may have a little free time tomorrow before the afternoon date at three p.m.

Note to self.

Cook food for the week.

I got my groceries, now they just need the cooking.

I did hold off on cooking dinner tonight in the off-chance that dude came through, but I did make myself a nice dinner before I went out to see some fellows over at Divisadero and Turk Street.

The other thing I had planned in case tonight’s date fell through.

And it was hella good.

So nice to see my people.

So nice to be seen.

I was invited out to Brenda’s for some fellowshipping, but having already made myself a really nice meal, I decided to come back here, do some writing, call it an early night, watch a video and get up early and do a yoga class in the morning.

I signed up for the 9a.m. class again.

It’s with a teacher I have never had before.

Which always makes me a little nervous, but having been to three classes this week after the long absence, I feel pretty good about being able to hold my own in whatever class I end up in.

Plus.

I’m grateful to have time to take yoga.

I am still on the studio’s monthly plan and when I can it just makes sense to go.

Thank God, again, that the studio is on the block I live on.

Funny that.

I was just thinking.

Tonight’s date lives a block and a half away from me and in the three years I have lived here we have never once met.

Looks like we were never intended to.

Oh well.

Grateful for the information.

Now moving on.

But not chasing.

Oh no.

Never that.

Letting myself be pursued maybe the hardest thing about this whole dating thing.

But man.

It feels so much better than chasing.

Be the ball, Martines.

Be the motherfucking ball.

I am so worth being pursued.

Seriously.

I Have Been Having A

She’s too fat for me moment.

Fucking polka.

Fucking Essen Haus and the obnoxiousness of the cd player with a six carousel disc changer that had this album on repeat.

All the days and nights of listening to the oompa loompa music and the polka bands and the swing ladies with their ruffled panties and square dance crinolines.

The men, boys really, who hooted and hollered and goosed your ass and knew all the words to the She’s Too Fat For Me Polka.

I’m not shitting you.

It’s a fucking polka.

I don’t want her
You can have her
She’s too fat for me.
She’s too fat for me. She’s too fat for me
Oh
I don’t want her
You can have her
Please do that for me
She’s too fat
She’s too fat. She’s too fat for me.
I get dizzy
I get numbo.
When I’m dancing with my Jum-Jum-Jumbo.
She’s a twosome
She’s a foursomeIf she’d lose some I would like her moresome.

A polka that got stuck in my head today and I just wanted to shoot myself from it.

I have a date tomorrow.

It’s a bit of a blind date.

He hit me up on Tinder months ago and it turns out that he’s in my club, my secret, wink, wink, nudge, nudge club, and well, fuck you’re hot, but I don’t date guys with less than a year’s time.

Well.

Guess who got a year while I was at Burning Man?

Guess who texted me today and guess who has a date for tomorrow?

Um yeah.

And.

Ugh.

He might be at my yoga class in the morning.

I was like.

Noooooooooooooooo.

I mean, sure, that’d be fun, you’ll get to see me for the first time about a half hour after I wake up in the morning and my hairs in a bun on top of my head and no make up and I’m in crazy yoga pants and I’m not that good at yoga, and you’re like a fucking firefighter who surfs and is like cut and ding, ding, ding.

She’s Too Fat For Me Polka.

Bright and loud in my head.

I could slap myself.

THANKS BRAIN.

And the thing is.

Who the fuck cares?

I might not be this guys type.

But.

I am some guy’s type.

And.

I have another date on Sunday, with a guy I know who knows what I look like and so, whatever brain, I’m fine, this guy doesn’t like how I look in yoga pants, who gives a fuck?

Not I said the too fat for me polka.

“Excuse me, sir,” my manager said to my table, a big booth, B-7 I remember it well, at the Essen Haus, “I’m the manager and it appears that you’ve been harassing my employee.”

“AH, we’re just having a good time,” one of the guys laughed and snorted and guzzled some more beer.  I remember it running out the side of his mouth and getting stuck in his beard.

“That’s great, and I encourage a good time and I’m also going to encourage you to leave your waitress a 20% tip or you’ll get cut off and asked to leave my establishment,”  my manager looked the guy in the face who was turning a deep shade of brick red.

“And an apology,” she added.

My manager was a tough cookie, she couldn’t have been more than 23 or 24, fuck I ended up being the god damn GM at the place not soon after at the ripe old age of 22.  I look at 22 year olds today and I just can’t believe I was 22 and running a place that fucking big and busy.

Anyway.

I stood there just about as miserable as the table and wanted to sink into the floor.

I got a mumbled apology from the table and returned to my job.

“Don’t you ever let the fuckers grind you down with that “She’s Too Smart For Me” polka, fucker needs to be taken out who penned that shit,” my manager said fishing the pack of cigarettes out her cleavage.  “I’m gonna take a smoke break, they give you any more shit let me know and I’ll get rid of them.”

She flounced away in her pastel purple dirndl and I went to the bar to refill the boot of beer the table had ordered.

They did leave a good tip, a little over 20% and I kept on keeping on with the job until it was real obvious it was time to go.

It was a hard place to work.

My best friend asked me on the day she trained me, this was before she or I knew we were going to be friends, why I was working there.

“I mean, are you working here because there’s a cute pair of shoes you want to buy at East Towne Mall or are you working here because you need to pay rent?”  She asked me bluntly on the first day I was her service assistant.

“I owe my boyfriend two months back rent,” I said quietly.

“Fantastic!  You’re going to work out just fine,” and she got on with the training.

She was right.

She had a point.

No one works that kind of job for the good times and fun money, they work it because they need the money.

It was a hellish place to work.

Too hot in the summer, freezing in the winter, horrible management, myself included, I mean, come on, who the hell expects a 22 year old to properly be a General Manager of a top 500 company?

People were trashy, red necked, asshats, who tipped for shit and ate a lot of pretzels and wiener schnitzel and prime rib and fuck me, all the good damn Friday night fish fry you could eat, ALL YOU CAN EAT FOR  $8.95.

And boy howdy did they eat.

I cannot even begin to tell you how many times I burnt my arms on the pretzel trays taking them out of a convection oven that was over 500 degrees and walking them through the kitchen, around the expedite line, through the line of fire that was the kitchen door swinging open and shut, “coming through, HOT TRAY,” to finally dump the pan of pretzels in the warmer and then shove the hot tray off into the dish pile.

It was the job where my arches in my feet fell from being so constantly on my feet, running, literally running because it was so busy.

It was also a fantastic place to make friends.

And friends I made.

Friends I still have, twenty years later.

Pretty amazing.

Friends, I’m pretty sure who would say fuck you polka, fuck you too fat for me, she’s just fucking perfect.

And I am.

The date is just another experience and another step toward whomever I’m supposed to be with.

God’s got me.

I ain’t worried.

And I’m certainly not too fat for a mate.

Thanks for sharing head.

Now fuck off or I’ll sick my manager on you.

She’ll be back from her smoke break shortly.

Heh.

You Got Some ‘Splain’in

To do.

I have not told you guys something!

I’m off Tinder.

Yup.

It’s official.

I cancelled the app and deleted it off my phone.

Now comes the hard part.

The sit and wait part, the let it happen without looking for it part, the re-integration of lost things and places and experiences, the growing up part.

The.

Oh, dare I say it.

The adulting part.

I did some work at Burning Man and not all of it was fluffing, a lot of it was spiritual work, growth, therapeutic work, allowing myself to look at it like a dusty spa of spirituality and a sort of recovery conference in the desert.

I got my God on.

Heck, I even did a shaman journey.

Yeah, I know, shush.

I have been living in California for 14 years, please, it rubs off.

And I was ready for it.

Especially.

When I ran into my friend who was at the first camp I stayed with ten burns ago.  We hugged and reconnected and talked and I shared my experiences being in graduate school for therapy and psychology and that I want to pursue a doctorate now, I mean, really, it might be time for a new playa name, Dr. Carmen has a nice ring to it you know.

Anyway.

We chatted, he’s a therapist and he also does shaman work and I recalled a time when he had offered to take me on a spirit journey and how I sort of pooh poohed it.

Then.

I found myself wanting to ask when I saw him this past week at the burn.

And.

I found a great big lump of fear on my chest.

Oh.

How interesting.

When I feel that much resistance to something it is rather indicative to me that it’s time to do some work on something.

So.

I asked, and I admitted my fear and then we laughed and he said, of course and then asked me to ponder a question or to sit and be with what it was that I wanted to address.

What popped into my head?

Sober boyfriend.

Yeah, like that.

We met the next day in the heat of the afternoon, in the middle of a white out dust storm.

Things were said, deals were done, navigation of emotions, experiences, lots and lots of therapeutic theory.

He knows his stuff and I recognized a lot of the techniques he used and I wasn’t uncomfortable with the way it went, despite, yes, there being some fear there too, but mostly a curiosity to see what would arrive and an eagerness to address these baffling relationship issues that seem to crop up for me often when I am least expecting or most wanting to have a relationship.

It’s like a wall, glass, that I can feel, that I can see through, but can’t quite figure out how to get to the other side.

We talked and talked and got down to some root things, which when expressed from his perspective was obvious, so obvious, it made me feel a bit baffled then I realized how I am most often unable to see what others see so clearly, I have no perspective on my own life or abilities.

None.

Hearing all the things come out of my friends mouth, with a broader perspective of my history, trauma, and adult male patterning that I did when I was a little girl.

Well.

Fuck.

Of course I tend toward being single.

Hello safety.

I am either chasing after the unavailable boy or I am being the mother to said boy.

I don’t date adult men.

I don’t know how since I hadn’t seen healthy adult relationships growing up as a little girl.

I often tend toward two ways of being in relation to men I want to date.

I have been the mother–my longest lasting relationship was five years and I was definitely the care taker.

And then.

A long series of men, boys, that I chased, who were not often, or ever really interested in dating me romantically.

These paradigms made a lot of sense to me and I think I have been dancing around this knowledge for such a long time that when it was finally revealed it was less a great big aha moment, but more of a softening and relaxing into myself.

I had a lot of compassion for myself and a gentleness that I found so tender that I was in tears just from the relief of that.

So.

My friend made some suggestions.

Stop chasing.

Stop being the mother.

Write it out.

What does an adult man look like, what qualities do I want?

And lastly.

Be patient.

Don’t expect it overnight and stop looking for it.

It won’t be the impetuous passion of a sixteen year old in a romantic crush.

It will probably not be someone I’m crazy wild about at first glance, it will be softer, and I will be pursued and I will be seen and my power, who I am will be my calling card.

He will be strong.

He will not complete me.

I won’t have to mother, and I will not chase.

What a relief.

At first when I deleted Tinder I was pretty ok with it.

Then.

Yes.

I did re-install the app for a half day.

But.

I realized.

Nope.

It doesn’t serve, not after the experience in the dome, in the dust, in the heat, my heart opened, the little girl response to dating laid to rest in the resplendent gold dust light.

My friend said write about it, at least once a day, a paragraph, what my adult man looks like, what I want.

And.

Then.

Heh.

Text him when I start dating.

It won’t be long.

I’m ready.

I am happy, healthy, smart, employed, in graduate school, sober, loving, lovable, funny.

It’s on.

And I’m done with the dating apps and the chase.

I am here and available.

And I don’t need to chase.

I am fucking awesome.

I would date me in a heart beat.

I don’t need fireworks, although passion is lovely, I’m not going to try to make anything happen.

I don’t need to.

It already is.

 

 

Information

Good information to have.

No judgements on myself or others, it’s all just information.

Like.

Second swing through date with guy from Tinder and no, there’s not chemistry, but, nice guy, and I’m glad the he was in town with friends, he’s an Oakland guy, and at a club near the surprise birthday party that I was at and he came by for a little while.

We cut a rug.

But I was pretty tuckered out.

And that was a clear sign to me.

When the allure of coming home was more than the allure of staying on the dance floor shaking it to a good dj with a guy who wants to dance with me.

Fact is.

My knees were sore and my feet were in agony.

I have fallen arches.

I were arch supports in my shoes.

It sucks.

It is what it is.

However.

The party I was at, the hosts asked that we all remove our shoes, which is great, hey, sure, no problem, except, that I realized I was standing and talking and dancing and walking around and exploring the house, it was awesome and cool and made me have hope of there still being bastions of interesting things in the Mission versus the white washing of condos that seems to be in heavy proliferation there.

So.

My feet hurt.

Like awful.

I go to the party at 9:15p.m.

I left at 1:30 a.m.

That’s four hours of being on my bare feet.

Of course there wasn’t chemistry.

I was in pain.

I’m in pain right now, but it’s not as bad.

That being said, no yoga tomorrow.

At least not the early morning classes.

I am going to let myself get a few hours of sleep, get up shower, meet my person at noon, do the podcast at one thirty, have coffee with a friend in the Castro then run over to Scooter Centre and have them show me how to inflate my scooter tires.

They are low and I noticed it last night.

My scooter seems real bouncy on the road.

I am sure that I could figure it out, but there’s a weird little bit of fear in me the first time I go to do something and I have never done it before, I just want to be shown how to do it and I figure I should also make an appointment for a tune up.

I haven’t done so since I go it in November and I have already put on 1,900 miles on it.

That’s what happens when you live 6.5 miles from work.

No wonder my knees are crappy.

Ten years of riding a bicycle in and around the city and the last five of it on a once speed that I had in fixed gear for three years before I flipped over my hub and went to free.

My knees are shot.

Let me not think about the years and years of being in the service industry and all that wear and tear and just the general bad way I took care of myself for so long.

It takes time to heal from some of that and some of that damage may be too far gone.

I’m ok with that.

I am an old lady.

Yeah, I know, I don’t act like that, although I am very old school about certain things, I am wearing bifocals, call them progressives all you want, I’m wearing bifocals and bitching about my fallen arches and sore knees.

Old.

My brain’s wide awake though and here I sit, decompressing from the day, the night, the drive by date.

I do think I’ll be canceling our coffee date on Sunday.

He’s nice, but I was just not feeling it and my time is precious.

I’ll sleep on it, but yeah, I think there’s not much there.

Friend though, I can tell that, definitely a nice guy and we discovered that we do in fact have a few friends in common.

And.

That leads to an interesting conversation I had with a gentleman tonight at the party, the who do you know game, the six degrees of separation from the birthday girl, and we ended up having quite the fun chat before the date showed up.

I even confided that indeed, a date was on the way.

We had fun chit chatting and flirting, there was definitely flirting and though I separated myself off to meet with the other guy who came by, I did happen to bump back into the gentleman who I had conversed with more.

He was in line waiting for the bathroom, which I had just used.

I told him I was going and he asked about finding me on facecrack.

I said, yes, absolutely find me on all things social media.

However.

There is an easier way.

“Do you have your phone on you?” I asked.

He pulled it out.

He handed it to me.

I put my phone number in it, called my phone, and then plugged my name into the contact field.

“Now you’ll know how to find me,” I said.

FYI.

I have never done that before.

And it was real easy.

Good information to know.

I think there was a quick hug, then I was gathering up all my things and scooting out the door.

To scoot on down the road.

To get home to my sweet, humble, cozy little abode.

I am so lucky to have such a full life.

Even if I miss yoga in the morning and don’t have quite the amount of sleep I’d prefer.

Oh!

And I may have procured a ride up to Burning Man.

Not back, which is what I figured would happen, one person up and another back, but hey, that’s half the battle, we’re going to talk next week and iron out details.

And my bike has a ride up.

Things are starting to fall into place.

They always do.

“Have you figured out Burning Man yet?” A friend asked me this evening on the sidewalk outside of Our Lady of SafeWay.

“Nope, but it’ll all fall together, it usually does,” I said and smiled, completely in faith that what I was saying was true, because, well it is.

“That’s what I like about you Carmen, you buy a ticket and you just go!” He smiled in wonder.

That’s called faith.

And I do have that.

I do.

And that is probably why I am the luckiest girl in the world.

I don’t need to figure it out.

I just need to have faith.

And I have it in spades.

Seriously.