Posts Tagged ‘Union Square’

Not What I Wanted

December 23, 2017

And beyond generous.

I was disappointed, let me get it out-of-the-way, the sounding like an asshole, today when I got my Christmas present from my employers.

Gah.

I sound like such an ass.

I’m not disappointed any more, fyi, I got over it pretty fast, but for about an hour I was miffed and a little let down.

I had hoped for a bonus.

Ah.

Who the hell am I kidding?

I had expected a bonus.

I had expected a weeks pay.

That’s typically what I have gotten from my employers whom I have nannied for, with the exception of one set of families that gave me a half weeks salary.

I was rather counting on getting the money to make my first car payment on my car.

Not that I don’t have it to pay, my dear and sweet and generous friend who went with me to help me get the car told me don’t put too much down, rather, keep it in prudent reserve, a years worth of payments, just in case something happens.

That way I’m not screwed if something comes up and it felt really good to do that.

I still was hoping to get a nice bonus and throw a big payment on my first month of the car payment.

Not happening.

Of course, I’ll still make the payment, and it will be larger than what I need to, I have it, and I want to pay off a little extra every month.

I felt a bit chagrined to have gotten my hopes up so high.

I do know better, expectation leads to resentment and all that.

But I had gone ahead and had some expectation.

I think I surprised myself.

I think I thought I was maybe, just maybe going to get more than a week’s salary.

The huge gift of an Iphone 8 for my birthday.

Then, there’s that, the HUGE gift of the Iphone 8.

Which retails at $799.

And the family also did give me two other gifts tonight as I was wrapping up the week with them before the holiday–a set of AirPods, which retail at $159 and six paid sessions at my chiropractor, at $85 a pop that’s $510.

In toto this week the family has given me $1,468 worth of stuff.

I need to shut the fuck about not getting what I want.

Yes.

It’s true, I would not have spent the money on a new Iphone or the Airpods, not at all, last thing really I would have bought, nor would I have spent the money on the chiropractor, although, yes, eventually I would.

But I wonder, have been wondering for a few moments now, what if these are exactly the things that I need in my life.

My current phone is old and probably won’t last much longer.

I have been pondering buying a new one soon anyhow.

The Airpods will help with me taking client calls, I did a phone session tonight and I thought about half way through of the pods and, huh, they are going to come in handy.

Plus.

Going to the chiropractor is expensive and I know myself well enough that maybe I wouldn’t keep paying $85 a week to go to it.

Shit.

I pay $120 a week for therapy.

So maybe the gift certificate was exactly how I should be spending the money.

Really.

I got more than I was expecting.

It was just in a different form.

I also got to have some amazingly sweet time with the oldest boy today.

We had a solo day out.

We took the train downtown, went and visited the Christmas tree in Union Square, watched the ice skaters slipping all over the place on the temporary holiday ice rink that always goes up, went and looked at the Christmas windows in Macy’s and watched the kittens and puppies play, then off to the Metreon to watch Ferdinand the Bull, the new cartoon movie, quite sweet.

Afterward we went back to Macy’s as there was a food truck party happening and he and I got rotisserie chicken and brussels sprouts and sat on the astro turf and had a picnic lunch.

Then.

Yes, I can’t believe I let him talk me into it, we went into the Disney store, then to the Westfield Mall.

It was intense and probably not an experience I would enjoy on my own, but getting to see it through his eyes was super sweet and special.

I helped him pick out a Christmas present for his sister and I picked out a present for his sister to give to him.

So adorable.

He ate all sorts of the good junk food its super fun to have when you’re seven going on eight, popcorn and a slushy at the movie theater and Twizzlers, the chicken for lunch, eaten with his fingers, and, yes, unbelievable that he even had room for it, a pretzel hotdog from Annie’s Pretzels in the mall.

“What is that good smell!?” He asked as we came back from getting his toy.

Annie’s Pretzels.

He basically passed out in my lap on the MUNI train ride home.

Such a sugar pie.

When we got back to the house and settled in and all the parents and siblings were present I gave them the presents I had gotten them: the Dogman comic book for the oldest boy and another comic from the same author (he LOVED them); a rainbow unicorn pencil bag and unicorn dress pin for the little lady, and for the baby, one of my all time favorite children’s books, “I Am A Bunny.”

Too adorable.

It was good times.

And it was so nice to get all the appreciations from the family.

Even with not getting what I wanted.

I got so, so, so much.

The mom and dad and I also renewed my contract and did an evaluation.

The dad basically told me how they do it where he works and that they judge on three categories and each category is measured by: needs improvement, met expectations, exceeds expectations.

The dad said the I had exceed far away all of their expectations and as such they wanted to give me a bigger raise than the cost of living wage I was expecting.

See?

Hahahaha.

Expectations, bite me right in the ass, but this time in a really good way.

The cost of living raise is 3%.

The family gave me a 5% raise.

AND.

The father explained that I will receive as well, a 5% raise every year that I am with them.

It will be a 5% increase on each years salary, so each year the raise will be bigger.

I am down with that.

So fuck my expectations.

And Merry Christmas to me.

I’ve been given so very much this week.

I am so grateful for my life.

And all the love I get to have.

Luckiest girl in the world.

Seriously.

 

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What A Day

May 21, 2016

What a day.

A fucking awesome, amazing, meandering, sweet, full, very caffeinated day.

Yeah.

That’s sort of my go to when I’m on vacation.

Coffee.

And  a lot of it.

I may regret that come bed time, especially as a friend pointed out to me via text, “and you’re still on West Coast time.”

Fuck me.

I totally am.

But I was up super early this morning.

I mean.

Really early.

I had not planned that, it was just what happened, I got up to go to the bathroom, tiny bladder yo, and the animals were on me like the second coming of Christ.

“Feed me!” They were scampering about as I made my way to the loo.

I pet them both and went back to bed, actually shutting the door this time, last night I left it open and both the dog and the cat slept with me!

“You must be one of those people that give off that vibe,” my host said this morning as he served me my first cup of coffee today, “they always sleep with me.”

He’s got a lovely little Cuisinart espresso maker and he pulled me a fine shot and then topped it with some hot, steamed, unsweetened vanilla almond milk.

OH my goodness.

So delicious.

So.

Yeah.

Um.

Ha.

I had another.

Yeah.

I know.

Addict.

But better a hit off the caffeine then a hit off a pipe.

I got back into bed intending to sleep, but as I lay there thinking about all the things I just decided to get up and get the day started.

And I am so glad I did.

It was such a lovely meander of a day.

I decided to walk to the Brooklyn Museum.

Google mapped me out for a 38 minute walk, 1.76 miles from the place I’m staying at in Clinton Park, Brooklyn.

It took me nearly three hours to get there.

Bahahahaha.

I made a few stops on the way.

Ahem.

Ha.

I went to a wig shop.

I hella love wig shops.

I’m not in need of any hair, in case you are wondering, but I always can find a great fabric flower clip for my hair and I had recently broke one, and there it was in the store on Dekalb and I had to pop in.

Yeah.

My first stop in Brooklyn was not a museum, but the wig shop, I don’t even want to know what that means.

I will say, however, that all along the way, all day long, I was constantly being complimented for my look, my style, my hair.

From middle schoolers in the bathroom at the Brooklyn museum–three eighth grade girls on field trip hiding in the bathroom braiding each others hair–“you got great hair,” one girl said.

I thank them, smiled, played it forward, complimented their braids and walked out, as they were chatting to themselves–“she got style,” one girl said.  “It’s her hair,” another girl said.  The other girl replied, “it’s her dress,” the third chimed in, “no, it’s all of it, she got style,” she finished, “that’s right.”

Hella flattered.

Flattered to be stopped on the streets, literally, by gay men and black women and construction guys, and not creepy construction guys, and the security guard at the Brooklyn museum, Jules, oh my god, such a Brooklyn accent and the conversation about tattoos we had and the Marilyn Monroe bag I was carrying and whoa.

I mean from the minute I ambled down the ramp of the warehouse loft where I’m staying to the minute I got back, I was pretty much complimented on my look, hair, smile, tattoos.

Seriously, if I need a boyfriend bad like, I could consider moving here.

Nah.

I like where I’m at.

I also like not having a cold ass winter.

I don’t know that I could tough out a New York winter.

But today was lovely, 75, sunny, got lots of warmth on my skin.

Weather tomorrow calls for rain, but that’s ok, I felt like I got my summer moment in, in my polka dot dress with my crinoline on and daisies in my hair.

“Oh my God, I’m sorry, I just can’t stop staring, you, you’re outfit, the marguerite in your hair and they match the ones by your bunny tattoo!” This sweet young gay man at the table next to me at dinner tonight.

It turns out he’s from Denmark, and the queens name is Marguerite and they all love the Marguerite daisy, which is my favorite flower, and next thing you know we are having this great conversation and I meet his husband and their dog Dolly.

Is it me?

Or is New York just friendlier than San Francisco?

Or is it having grown up in the Midwest, where you smile and talk to people and wave?

Maybe all of it.

I did really talk to a lot of people today, 95% of them I did not know, baristas, yeah, like I said I drank some coffee–Gorilla Coffee was amaze, and I bought some coffee there and the girl gave me a very coveted sticker after we chatted a bunch, and a great recommendation for breakfast where I had the most amazing porridge I have ever had, although for the small amount in the bowl and the huge price tag, $11, it needed to be extraordinary–so maybe my tongue was just unhinged.

But.

You know.

I think I am just someone that people feel they can approach.

I was asked for directions early this afternoon.

And I was actually able to tell the young woman where to go, I had just passed the place two blocks prior.

I’m not a local.

But I’m not a tourist either.

Just another woman of the world.

Out and about.

So grateful for this trip.

And!

That I got to see my good friend and his girlfriend, we met up and did the deal in Williamsburg.

I’ll be seeing him again for round two of said deal tomorrow by Union Square tomorrow and then off to the book store.

“Have you done any pleasure reading yet?” He asked after I down loaded about graduate school.

So a date for the Strand and then he’ll go his way and I’ll go mine, the MOMA, the Guggenheim, the Whitney, depending on where I am at and how I feel.

And of course.

Yes.

More coffee.

I mean.

I am on vacation.

Seriously.

Oh yeah, and lest I forget.

I got a tattoo.

Heh.

It really was quite a day.

Lucky.

Lucky.

Lucky.

Yes.

Damn straight.

Luckiest girl in the world.

Black Friday?

November 28, 2015

Cold Friday.

Holy Jesus on a pogo stick.

It is cold out there.

Yeah.

Yeah.

I know.

But, you’re from Wisconsin.

Blah, blah, blah.

I left Wisconsin.

I haven’t lived there in 13 years.

I remember one night coming out from closing up the bar and it was way below zero and I was just wanting to get in my car and start it up and be on my merry way.

Except.

The doors were frozen shut.

There’s a trick to opening up a door when the doors are froze shut and that’s to bump against the door and break the ice down.

Except.

The asshat next to me had parked me in too close and was obviously not around as it was 3:30a.m. and freezing and he probably, or she, could’ve been a she, had taken a cab home.

My luck.

The only car in the parking lot except mine and it was parked so close to me that I couldn’t get much body slam technique going to break down the ice between the frame and the door.

I remember bouncing my body between the two cars and hollering out loud at one point, “this is why I am moving to California!”

Now.

I have adjusted.

I have also gotten older.

And.

I lost a lot of weight.

When you don’t have 80-90lbs of extra flesh on your body for insulation, well, you get cold faster.

Plus.

I hate to say it.

But there really is a difference between wet cold and dry cold.

San Francisco is wet cold.

At least it wasn’t raining or foggy today.

Now that would have been a nightmare.

I am just now getting warmed up and I may stop here and make another cup of tea to finish the defrosting of my body.

I rode my scooter around a lot today so that added to the cold ness, wind chill.

I felt so tight in my body riding home that I had to tell myself to breathe.

I am happy to be home.

It was a long, strange day.

Not a bad day.

Not by any stretch of the imagination.

Just different.

I got up and did the deal like I normally do and wrote a lot this morning, four pages, and showered, did laundry, put fresh sheets on the bed, did the compost and recycling, paid for December rent and utilities, balanced the check book, had breakfast, had coffee, dressed, did the make up and made a plan for the day.

I mean.

I had a plan.

Not that I stuck all that close to it.

But there were two things, people, that I was going to meet and I met them both.

One a new friend.

The other a lady to do some reading with.

The new friend is my artist/patron/architect extraordinaire.

We had plans to meet for lunch at Cafe de la Presse downtown today at 1p.m.

I was nervous.

Here’s a person I met once, at Burning Man, have a moment of playa magic, recite some poetry, he looks me up, I write some more poems for him, he sends check for $1,000.

Benefactor.

Patron.

Hero.

Helped me get over the hump to buy my new scooter and also enabled me to say yes to going to Paris.

Totally feel debt of gratitude and I am humbled that he wants to hear me recite the words to the poems.

And nervous.

I mean.

It’s a private poetry reading.

Plus.

It’s Black Friday and I am going to ride my scooter into the maw of the beast, downtown San Francisco Black Friday, ice rink opening in Union Square, tree lighting ceremony, Macy’s, Powell Street, everything.

But.

It was super easy and I intuitively rode there after looking at Google maps and saying, nah, there’s an easier way to do it than that.

I got from here to there in 30 minutes.

I had a lot of stuff with me.

In hindsight, that I did not need.

My laptop.

My Psychoanalytic reader and notebook.

I was planning on doing work on my Human Development final project after meeting and having lunch, but found out the SF Public Library was closed for the holiday, so I decided to bring my Psychoanalytic reader to get into some Post-Freudian theory instead.

Yeah.

That did not happen.

What did happen was a delightful lunch, great conversation, and a tiny peek into the creative genius of a great artist.

I was truly blown away to be talking with him.

We had a lovely two hour lunch then we walked over to his down town office and in the conference room I read the sonnets.

It was an amazing experience.

One that I won’t soon forget.

I remember my friend letting me in then excusing himself to use the facilities and when I looked around I was just struck.

Awe struck.

By how things work, by how things happen, by luck, and love, and chance, and art.

To be considered an artist by someone else is extraordinary.

To share my art with someone who is a visionary was something else and I can’t quite put my finger on all the feelings, but graced was certainly one of them.

I left with a gorgeous set of visual poems and architectural works that he has done gathered in a book of his work and my heart full of love and awe.

It was a pretty smashing afternoon.

Then a ride to the Castro, a trip to the hardware store, a couple of locks for the scooter, and yes, I got my ass to the nail salon, thank god, the hands were looking rough.

Then a quick bite of dinner and meeting with a ladybug to do some reading and discuss defects of character.

I have a few.

But I also have assets.

And I saw those today.

Willing to take risks.

Wearing my heart on my sleeve.

Taking on new adventures.

Being open and alive to the poetry of my life.

Allowing myself to have new experiences and meet new people.

Lovingness.

Perseverance.

Strength.

Positivity.

I don’t know how I got to be that woman in that conference room sharing my own personal poetry with a new influence in my life, but there I was.

Being seen for who I am and encouraged to continue engaging in my art.

I am an artist.

How lovely it is to name that, claim it, honor it.

I am humbled.

And awed.

And grateful.

So very grateful.

It really wasn’t a cold, black Friday at all.

No.

Rather light and loving and winning.

Warm and heartfelt.

Just as it should be this weekend of thanks.

For you I give thanks.

And for all that you give me.

I give thanks.

For this life.

This love.

This art.

For.

All.

Of.

This magnificent poetry.

Thank you.

 

I Raise Your Black Friday

November 27, 2013

And up you a Tuesday.

Today was my first day off in seven days, my first day of six days off, and my first day of not knowing what the fuck I was going to do.

I knew I needed to do some shopping.

I did not get it all done.

However, I did get more done than I would have suspected.

Even venturing downtown to pick up a bottle of my favorite perfume.

Egoiste pour Homme, by Chanel.

If you have any concept of French you may have sussed out that my perfume is actually a men’s scent.

And I like to think it funny, especially where I am at in my life and how far I have come, and all the work I do, that I still douse myself in something that directly translates to “selfish” in English.

Of course, I did not know this when I first saw the little bottle on the shelf at the half-price discount and over stock store in Newton, Iowa where I was living, working as a bartender at, wait for it.

Boots-N-Spurs.

Iowa’s Largest Country Western Nightclub.

That’s right.

It was sexy sexy times let me tell you.

Nothing says good times like underage bartending, teased hair, hot pink polo shirts (the staff’s uniform, a hot pink polo with Boots-N-Spurs crested over the breast and a picture of a bucking bronco tossing a cowboy in black ink over the back.  With this plucky little bon mot stitched into it: “and that’s no bull-shirt”), Budlight on tap, Budweiser in bottles, the “import” was Coors, ‘cuz it was from like the other side of the Rocky’s, pool tables, jukebox with loads of Alan Jackson, Patsy Cline, Billy Ray Cyrus (yes I knew how to Boot Scoot and Boogie and if you ever ask me how I will have to punch you in the face), and various other Country/Western/Country Pop singers and bands.

I had just gotten paid.

The rent was paid and there was a little left over.

I was living in this weird little two bedroom on the main strip with my sister, her husband, their baby daughter and we were just trying to make it all happen.

Two young girls, one baby, one ex-con shifty motherfucker and some pluck.

I wanted to get something pretty for myself and had succeeded in not finding a thing at the mall.

We were wandering through this little discount store when I saw the perfume.

I don’t know why I took it down and smelled it, but it blew me away.

It was the most amazing thing I had ever smelled in my life.

It was half off and though above my budget, I had to have it.

I sprayed myself down.

I probably hosed myself down with it.

It has a sharp citrus, grapefruit smell to it edged with a little deep rosewood.  Which is probably why it works well with men and me, I tend to have a strong chemistry that eats up perfume.  Then it mellows and develops into a smooth floral almost to my nose a tuber rose, but not as heavy, then it gets spicy and woodsy like wild geranium, and it finishes warm on the skin with a semi-sweet vanilla nose.

It is astounding.

I have had men and women stop me on the street and ask me what I am wearing.

Sometimes I like to spray a little on the base of my throat before I go to bed and just smell it wafting over me as I pull up the covers.

It is intoxicating and I have never had anything else work quite so well for me.

Oh, I have tried, Issey Miyake’s Feu D’Issey (Fire), came close–but it was discontinued within a few years of its release.

I wore it when I could not find the Egoiste any longer.

It was pulled from normal stores and became a boutique only scent in the United States.

Meaning, you can only buy it at Chanel boutiques.

In Paris, where I got my last bottle, you can get it in the Marionnaud’s which remind me of an upscale Walgreeens pharmacy, as well as the boutiques.

I sprayed my last little drops onto my neck this morning and after the teary bout I had upon awakening, yes, I cried this morning when confronted with free time.

Isn’t that just fucking ridiculous?

Most people are starving for free time, down time, relax time.

Me?

I can’t get enough of pack it in time, make more happen time, get it done time.

Rest?

Relax?

Who are you talking too?

Jesus H. Christ on a fucking raft.

I got a glimpse of the inside of the thought though and that was interesting.

I was unwilling to get out of bed, it was warm and soft and snuggly, but I was wide awake and knew I was only going to lie there and think and well, the thinking is not a good idea.

So I popped up out of bed and got my day started.

Shower.

Brush the teeth.

Strip down the bed and wash the sheets.

Kneel down beside the bed and say some words and read some stuff.

And then ask for direction, because I don’t have any and the idea of a whole day of free time is freaking me out and cue tears.

I realized as I got anxious and it threatened to swallow me up that I am always trying to make up for lost time, that if it doesn’t get done now it never will, I am always trying to make it happen, when most the time, “it” just needs me to get the fuck out the way.

Selfish.

Yup.

That’s me.

Selfish, what do I have or think I have that I am trying to hold onto?

I am trying to be perfect, not need your help, and keep it all together.

I am trying to hold onto doing it all on my own, all alone.

Of course to no avail.

And it isn’t what I really want anyhow.

But seeing that I was castigating myself for not getting more done made me laugh, out loud.

Oh, for fuck sake, I had already accomplished a load of things this morning.

I added to that list by making a really awesome breakfast, having a couple of mugs of fresh ground pour over Stumptown Coffee, then writing three pages long hand, paying my rent a week early, balancing my check book, cleaning my kitchen and bathroom, sweeping the floors, shaking out the rugs, taking out the trash, pulling in the garbage cans from the curb, doing another load of laundry and meditating.

All before lunch.

Yeah, I don’t do anything at all.

I said I am done being silly and I am allowed to splurge and buy myself a new bottle of perfume, I helped out this weekend at the Makers Mart and the money felt like it should spend joyously.

I eschewed my bicycle, rode the N-Judah downtown and went to Maiden Lane where the Chanel boutique is and bought my bottle of “selfish”.

I picked up a few other things on my way back to the Inner Sunset where I had a tea date with a friend and a manicure appointment.

And I had a really nice day being down in the shopping district before it was Black Friday.

I won’t go near that or any other shopping district this Friday.

This Friday I am hoping will be blue.

As in surfing the ocean blue.

That’s how I am going to celebrate the day after Thanksgiving.

Not trying to mash my way into an electronic store or shoe store or what ever other store the rest of the world is trying to mash into.

I think I will opt away from that.

Tomorrow, another long day with almost nothing planned.

Maybe I will cry.

But it will be ok.

Letting out the grief helps me let in the love.

And that’s the best smell of all.


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