Posts Tagged ‘Valentines Day’

The Best $29 I Never Spent

February 15, 2015

I didn’t go to the Basement Jaxx show.

I could go right now.

It’s still happening.

But I am danced out.

I went instead to American Steel in Oakland and went dancing with a group of ladies.

I admitted to them earlier today that I was having some serious doubts about rolling over to Public Works on my own when I had been feeling a little wonky about dating and Valentine’s Day and I don’t think I would have done anything stupid.


If I’m not in a good space spiritually, even after mediating and writing and doing good basic self-care, then I probably shouldn’t roll out to a club on my own.

Even if it’s a really good show.

And I was really looking forward to seeing them play.

Not worth it.

I knew I was isolating myself and I told on myself.

I am so grateful I let the ladies talk me into going with them.

I needed a ladies night out.

My plans also changed when I wasn’t able to use my scooter the way that I wanted to use it and it died on me two blocks from the house.

Over it.

I know that there’s a little something or other that needs adjusting and I just need to take it in to a mechanic, but it keeps alluding me, the taking it to a mechanic.

I have to get on the horn and just ask some friends to give me a hand, either ride with me and hang out when it dies or have some one tinker with it.

I don’t know.

I don’t have to know tonight, I won’t be going anywhere else this evening.

Certainly not out dancing more, I did dance hard and my ankle is sore and my knees hurt, but fuck it, it was worth it to get out of my head for a while and into my body.

And I ran into a good friend who I didn’t know was going to be dj’ing the party, Joel Landmine, and man, oh, man, he played what I needed to hear, and he played vinyl and it was mixed just right–from James Brown to Hall and Oates.

That was the best.

I broke a sweat dancing in the room he was playing.

When Joel played Hall and Oates “I Can’t Go for That,” the new acquaintance I met at the going away party I went to this afternoon, went from being an acquaintance to a great friend.

Just from the one song.

It was just right.

We pantomimed the entire song and sang our heads off and I smiled so hard my face hurt.

That’s good times.

You know you’re in the groove when you’re high five’ing a stranger and singing Hall and Oates at the top of your lungs.

I was with my people.

And I got to spend time with girlfriends and talk about dating and how that’s been going, the asking out, which is just wildly funny at this point.

I asked out another guy on the list today.

One who I had put on the list then taken off the list, and I told him that, then, at the going away party, I totally changed my mind.

I was all like, well, he’s cute and he’s taller than me.

Never mind the smoking, he wants to quit.


He was flattered that he had made my list and that was fun to acknowledge and actually really easy.

We’re not a match, I doubt we’ll be going on a date, but the relief I felt just for getting another one out-of-the-way was tremendous.

Not because I am stressed about it, but because it’s getting easier and easier and I am getting way past the point of caring.

I’m throwing it all at the wall.

I Facebook friended the guy I met at the party tonight and danced with.

I couldn’t tell if he was straight or gay.


It’s San Francisco.

And my picker’s broken.

I have been known to have crushes on gay men and then the complete opposite, been oblivious when a straight guy is making a play for me.

I really couldn’t tell.

Most straight guys wouldn’t know Hall and Oates by heart, but then again, who’s to say.

He was hella fun.

I suspect I’ll be asking him out too.

And fuck it, so what if he’s gay, I’m not saying that I want to date a gay man, rather, that I don’t need to know necessarily whether he is or not(it’s a way to save face and not take the action), the not knowing in the moment was a protective measure.

I’ve seen it crop up with me before where I will think the guy is gay because he actually might be interested in me and oh, dear, what it usually means is that the man is emotionally available.

And perhaps interested in me.

Regardless, he was fun and I danced like I haven’t in some time.

And I have now asked out six guys in seven days.

That’s pretty fucking awesome.

Each time I got to let go of the results a little more.

Each time I got to see the fantasy get shot in the foot and clear the path toward whom I am supposed to be with.

And yeah.

I got shot down, a lot.


I did get a yes from one of the six guys I asked out and if I hadn’t been trying to take some action, I wouldn’t have gotten that.

The guy I asked out was also interested enough to get a hold of me and ask when a good time to meet for coffee would be.

That’s a great sign.

He wouldn’t have asked for a specific time to see me if he didn’t want to spend time with me.

It’s also just coffee.

I’m dating.

I’m going to date a lot.

I am going to go out and cast wide the net.


I do have an agenda.

I want to be in a sober, monogamous, heterosexual, passionate, open, communicative, fun, spiritually engaged, loving, sweet, kind, romantic relationship.

He should have a job as well.

That’s always a good one to throw in there.

But I don’t expect that the first coffee date I go on will yield those results.

I have to do the work.

I am willing to do the work.

I’ll go right now and message Hall and Oates and see if he wants coffee.

Make it seven asks in seven days.

Why not.

It’s just practice after all.

It’s just dating.

It’s not going to kill me.

It might even get fun.

I have faith.


Valentine’s Day Eve

February 14, 2015

And I’m rocking out in my polka dot frock.

Sitting home on my Friday night with my hot cup of tea and some house music on the stereo.

Ready, I am, for the weekend.

I don’t mind so much that it’s Valentines Day tomorrow and all the ladies and lads in the land are traipsing about with flowers in hand.


I had a moment or two.

A girl likes Valentines Day.

Even the bittersweet of not having a Valentine.

I love the colors and sparkle and the people who are dashing about with flowers or balloons in their hands.

I love seeing the different folks, who on a regular day I wouldn’t think are coupled up, go about with bouquets in their hands.

I just like flowers.

I take that back, I love flowers.

I only got them once in the last relationship.

I would like more of those please, in the future, note to all future dates.

Pink gerber daisies were the flowers my ex left for me on the seat of my scooter when I was still at work.

They were sweet, but a trifle too little too late and a bit too obligatory.

I got the impression that he felt he had to.

It was a significant day for me, a day that I was celebrating 10 years of sobriety.

The funny thing was, I would have rather have had his company that day, instead of the flowers left like an anonymous ghost of a relationship that was already a bygone.

I felt it was a big deal, that day,  big date, and on the other hand, it’s just another day, but a girl wants her significant other around for those days.

I really knew it was over at that point and it was just going through the motions.

I threw the flowers out a few days later.

I haven’t had any since.

It’s been four weeks.

One month.

The relationship was a little over two months.

Some say, who, how the hell do I know, but they, the infamous they, say, it takes half as long to get over the relationship as it took being in it.

That seems the case.

I am done thinking about it and willing to move on.

It may sting the next few times I bump into my ex but that’s going to fade and I know that it will and really, let me tell you, I’m tired about writing about him.

I will say I should trust my gut better the next time I pre buy a gift when I have doubts about a relationship.

I bought my ex a Valentines day gift the week we broke up.

Maybe, in hindsight, I might have been trying to out juju the Gods, make some magic happen, rub a little gold duck, and poof, the arrow Cupid shot would stay put.

Not fall out the other side, broken shaft and bloody feathers.

I saw it, the golden duck, and knew it was the thing to get.

My ex had a thing for rubber ducks and had quite a few, including a rubber duck tattoo.

So when I saw bronze duck with gold gilding I knew I had to get it for him, but I also heard the whisper in my heart that said, you know, you might not make it to Valentines Day.

And sure enough.

The relationship did not last.

The night we broke up, four weeks ago, around this exact time, I packed up a paper bag and handed him the two disposable razors I had bought him to have in the house, the two bottles of hazelnut creamer he liked, some other toiletries, and the duck.

I pulled it out and jokling callled it the parting gift.

I didn’t tell him that I had planned on giving it to him on Valentines Day.

I walked past the shop today where I bought it and I didn’t think of him.

I thought how happy I was in the sunshine in my polka dot halter dress and my hair up off my neck, I looked at my reflection in the store window and smiled at myself.

I look pretty.

I walked on, pushing the stroller to the park.

I had a date with two little boys and a very large container of bubbles.

I laughed out loud with joy and incredularity at my life.

It’s February, I’m in a sundress blowing bubbles in the park and the sun is warm and everyone is rushing about carrying flowers and I live in San Francisco and how amazing is it?

Beauty and love everywhere.

I don’t have to be coupled up to appreciate people showing each other love.

It’s sort of like Christmas or any other holiday, I can appreciate love and gifts and joy all year round, I don’t need a specifiic holiday to sanctify my feelings.


That being said.

I still really enjoy witnessing the love around me.

The mason jars filled with sweetheart pink roses and the white spray of baby’s breath being sold on the corner, the accordian player at the cafe dressed in sailor’s strips and wearing red lipstick dancing with her beau while he played the harmonica, the men, old, young, everywhere, holding bouquets of tuber roses and carnations and lilies, the smiles on the women, the little girls with heart shaped red Valentines day balloons, the children at the playground with their paper bags decorated with pink and red and rose and white cut out hearts filled with candy hearts and valentines from school mates.

This may be the first time I felt so much love for a holiday that has been notoriously riotous and emotional for me.

I thought I might be sad and the truth is that I am not.

I am joyous.

Filled with love for myself.

Not that I need a holiday to celebrate my life either.

Not that I need to do the trite dance of being my own Valentine either, I just don’t have to try that hard.

I’ll be getting dressed up tomorrow, just like I do every other day of my life, for no particular reason other than it’s going to be a beautiful day to wear a dress and be pretty for me.

I may get myself flowers.

Or I may just wear flowers in my hair.

It is San Francisco after all.

And flowers are De rigueur.


Get Out With Your Girls

February 7, 2015

Ok then.

I did it.

I went and hung out with some ladies.

Jesus fuck.

I had no idea how much I needed to just hang out with some ladies and kick it at Burger Meister.

I didn’t even eat, I had gotten to do that already tonight at work, work, which was intense, long day, two sick boys, extra hours, thank god I made it through the week.

And let myself take a Uber into work this morning.

The gale winds did not speak well for traveling by bicycle and I knew the rain was close behind, I could smell it this morning when I opened the back door to my studio and heard the surf crashing on the beach.

I took a car.

That feels all luxurious and shit, which, let me tell you was not, despite it being Uber which I like a little more than Lyft, I tried the new Uber service, Pool, which was ok, although, the driver did the cardinal sin of waiting too long for the second passenger, they are only supposed to wait two minutes when picking up a shared ride, I came rather close to being late for work.

And I couldn’t tell if it was the passenger that was already in the car, or the driver, but the bad breath was foul.

Bad, bad, bad.

I got good and grateful though, to not be riding my bicycle in the weather and though it meant being trapped inside for the majority of the day, I got through.

And although I found myself meandering through the Mission in weird weather after work killing time, I took care of myself by doing a lot of contrary actions.

I had some thoughts about where I would go this evening after work, I had some choices, I could have flagged another car and headed toward the Inner Sunset, seen some folks over at 7th and Irving, but I had a feeling the ex would be there, and that was the allure to going there.


No reason to engage, you know, just cause myself, some unnecessary pain, feel uncomfortable, and rub some salt in a  wound that is rapidly healing.

Don’t pick at it.

It’s still a relatively new tattoo, but I have found my hand drifting toward it, stroking the edges where the skin is still rough and pulling, healing.

Leave it be.

I reprimand myself.

But a few times I have found myself doing it without even thinking.

And that was what was tonight.

Sneaky, slithery, slippery thoughts, sniping their way into my brain, little ear worms of irritation, I knew better than to entertain them and I knew to take the opposite action of what I wanted to do.

So I ended up wandering around the Mission for about an hour before I needed to be where I knew I needed to be.

I window shopped.

I grabbed a tea at Church St. Cafe.

I read my book for a little while.

The desire to pick at the scab left me.

I went where I was supposed to be.

I saw who I was supposed to see.

And I was invited to hang out with a trio of lovely ladies at ye olde Burger Meister.

I took my own suggestion and fellowshipped.

I also talked up dancing next Saturday.

It’s going to be a long week-end for me, I’ll have Monday off for the holiday, so I thought, to hell with it being Valentines Day, I am my own best date, let me take me dancing.

I’ll have an extra day of recuperation if I blow out my knees.

Or my ankle.

Let me not dance too hard, now that I am thinking about it, I don’t want to do either and I can.

I just want to have some fun and work  it out.

And there it is.

I just wrote that and realized, what the hell is holding me back, go buy a ticket.

Good thing I did, the event is about to sell out.

All the early bird tickets are gone, so I had to shell out another five, but it’s worth it, the Basement Jaxx are one of my favorites, I’ve never seen them live and David Harness is also playing–I’ve seen David plenty and like his stuff–I’m going to dance myself out.

Public Works, next Saturday, Valentine’s Day, I’ll be giving myself the gift that I always want a gentleman to give me, the gift of going dancing.

“I’ll learn to dance, I’ll take lessons, I swear, really, this time, I will,” my ex of five years pleading with me on bended knee in the house on Gilman Street in Madison, the late afternoon sunlight fading into the gloom of a grey dusk in January, the frost patterns on the window catching the last glints of light on his face.

I gave into being in that relationship another week, maybe ten days, I don’t remember, but he didn’t go out dancing with me.

I learned to do it on my own.

I’m not the worlds best dancer, but I like to cut a rug and though I sincerely wish my body was in better shape, my feet are flat, my knees are creaky, I apparently have weak ass ankles, I can still get out there and let the music wash over me and get carried away and dance like there’s no tomorrow.

The music is love for me and I intend to drown myself in it.

I’ll be my own best date.

Speaking of dating.

That was something discussed by the quartet of females in Burger Meister this evening.

And yes.

I have been convinced to hop back into the online dating weirdness.

Although I didn’t care for the slightly smug message from OkStupid, “welcoming me back.”

I uploaded a new photo, checked my stats, scrolled through the matches, looks about the same, and said, ok, here’s to taking an action and letting go the results.

I also was given the suggestion, which I have had before and think I did, but I honestly don’t remember, of making a list of ten guys I would ask out and then, well, actually going and asking them out.

I’m ready and willing to give it another go.

The break up is done.

Three weeks ago tonight.

The relationship was short, intense, but short, and three weeks feels right.

This lady is back on the market.

You can check out my profile, or just get back to me here, or facecrack.

Or maybe, you might see me, smiling my head off, next Saturday at Public Works.

Doing that thing that I do so well, getting lost in the music.

Being utterly in my body and present.


Come on, you know you want to.

Note To Self

February 15, 2014

Do not, ever again, answer the door before breakfast.


I was in the process of making breakfast this morning, flouncing about in my red Norma Kamali bubble dress (thank you again Wasteland, what an awesome score) having just dried my hair, the Universe giving me a good hair day, after getting out of a good hot shower, got the laundry going and I got a date with my friend to have lunch in the Mission, I was feeling pretty perky, damn perky, if I do say so myself.

Until I got sucker punched.

That’s what it felt like.

The landlord handed be a folded bill for the utilities.

I could feel myself getting a little tense, especially on the heels of the days stretching ahead of me with no work happening, and I retreated to my little kitchen nook to stir the oatmeal and pour the hot water over the coffee grounds.

I don’t even know what my landlord was saying, it was all a roar in my ears, something about taking some time to pay it off, I had opened it and sort of blanked out immediately, it was a lot, a lot more than I thought it was going to be and even without seeing a grand total I could tell it was a lot.

Tears welled up, my perfect hair a sheaf of shame in my face, I really don’t want to talk about this right now and don’t worry, I’ll pay it today, I don’t want it hanging over my head.

The timing, well, it was what it was.

But no, I was not given a sheaf of roses on Valentines Day, just a bill for $450.

Good fucking grief.

I went back to stirring the oatmeal, made some lame ass excuse to the landlord about not really being able to talk about anything at the moment and tried to not hyperventilate before I had my coffee, I prefer my coffee with almond milk, not a small paper bag to breathe heavy into.

Never, I repeat, open the door before you have had your morning coffee.

Just don’t do it.

There’s not going to be a sweet man there with a kiss, there is no Candy Gram, no, motherfuckers, it’s the PG&E bill and it has your name written all over it.

I finished the oatmeal, turned off the burner, stumbled around trying to breath and calm down.

How am I going to put the down payment down on the scooter?



There goes the money for the plane ticket to Wisconsin.

God damn it.



On Valentines Day?

The hurt teen age girl in me stomped her foot, every body else is getting flowers and I am getting a bill.


I hollered.

I mean I really hollered.

I was seeing red.

And it was not the red of my pretty dress.

I screamed so loud I sort of hurt my throat.

Nix that.

I did hurt my throat.


I knew what I needed to do and it was pause and reset.

I have a nice day a head of me, I have wonderful things to do, I am not going to let this ruin my day.  I am not.

I ate my breakfast.

I drank my coffee.

I made another cup.

I wrote.

A lot.

Oh I wrote.

I called some one and read what I wrote in between crying.

Then I called some one who I knew was having a hard time and left a sweet message.

I mean, I was amazed at the calmness in my voice and the clarity of thought, who’s this person, I sort of wondered inside my brain, with this calm, clear voice and gentle ways and can I have her?

I went back inside.

I sat down and wrote the check.

I stuck the bill in my receipt jar in my cupboard and looked at the check.

Go pay it.


You have enough.


I balanced my check book and stood up and went and paid the bill.

I still felt pretty wobbly and upset.

I am going to ask that I get the bill once a month so that I don’t vomit all over myself when I see the end result of three months of back utilities.  I am sure there won’t be a problem.

My friend I had lunch with said you could take the time to pay it off in installments.

But you know what?

I can’t.

I can’t bear having the debt and what is the point anyhow?

The utilities are going to continue to need to be paid.

I will have to go talk to my land lord and ask for what I need and leave it alone after that.


After I have had breakfast and coffee and have had my normal morning ritual of reading and writing and asking for guidance.




I dont’ know, funny, with a small amount of perspective, it was just the push I needed to be willing to take some actions in regards to my financial situation and how I earn my money.

I have things to do.

Grateful for that.

Pain, it really is such a motivator for me.

One day I wish to reach for the humility before it’s being passed to me like a hot gravy boat in an elderly man’s shaking hands, spilling hot into my outstretched hands.

I will reach for it before the pain comes.

One day.


Until then, well, even I can see how motivating today’s situation was, it lit a fire under my ass and I know what I need to do next to help further myself and my financial situation.

Then I enjoyed lunch.

Spending sweet time with my friend, getting to enjoy a rare lunch date on a Friday afternoon in the Mission.  After which I got my nails done and painted all sassy and red to match my dress.  Then off to the shop to pick up my Gatorskin.

No that’s not a sex shop I went to.

I dropped my bike off at the shop and got a new tire–Gatorskin–puncture resistant for the front wheel.  No more flat tires thank you.

Then off to the massage I had booked for the early evening.

Followed by a bike ride through the Pan Handle and into the Upper Haight where I got to see some of my favorite people and then go out to a nice meal with a big group of them.

I let the moon chase me home tonight, grateful to have a home to come home to.

I put away the groceries in my bag.

Grateful to have groceries to put away.

I turned on my music and made some tea.

I think you catch the drift of this.

There are no mistakes in God’s world.

I think to myself, it’s not really my money anyhow.

It’s my landlords.

And I am lucky to get to live here.

In San Francisco.

Down by the sea.

Where the drift wood smoke snatches at my heart.

And the air smells like sea salt and the wilding ways of mermaids.




February 8, 2014

Valentines Day is next Friday and I don’t have a boyfriend!

Like I care.

I have an appointment to get an hour and a half long massage.

I have not had a boyfriend to date that has ever given me an hour and a half long massage.

Now that I think of it I don’t think I have gotten a massage from a boyfriend in a really long time, I usually do the massaging.

I am good at it.

That doesn’t mean a lady doesn’t like some work done on her shoulders.

Oh, yes, I do.

I just was using the foam back roller to work out the kinks from the week and I realized that I finally have that massage coming up.

The one that I was given as a gift in December for my birthday.


The therapist is good and booked up pretty far in advance and she was out of the country in Paris with her husband, so when she said, I can get you in, but it’s Valentine’s Day at 4:30 p.m., I said, of course I will take it!

I mean, what a nice gift to give oneself for Valentines Day.

Or any other day, as the case may be.

I also will book her immediately again upon walking in the door to her office because I was given a gift certificate to her for Christmas as well.

Hopefully I won’t have to wait until next Valentines Day to get it.

My shoulder is noticeably better and I am super grateful for that, I also have been using the foam roller and trying to take it easy.

Take it easy was the theme for today.

I did not ride my bike into work, the weather was just yuck, I took the train, and I ended up staying inside all day long.

My charge was getting over a cold and I didn’t think  a great idea to go frolicking about in the yick.  We took it chill and hung out and read stories and snuggled and sang.

Not a bad way to end my work week.

I have a full day tomorrow meeting with four different folks, two at Tart to Tart, one up at Starbux in Noe and another whom I was supposed to meet with tonight, but due to a death in the community was called away.

I saw his memorial in the Castro and my heart swelled.

I did not know him well, but my friend Shadrach had introduced us and I knew him to be a sweet, kind, generous man, who was well-known in the community and advocated for a lot of people.

I count myself as graced to have known him and I will always remember having dinner with him at Grubstake in the Polk Gulch with Shadrach and how he bought both our dinners and listened to our “dramas”.

I am lucky to know many good people, and I was reminded that it’s good to know me too.

As I plopped myself down tonight next to a new acquaintance and we caught up, sharing about the week and the wet and the work.

Added to the work of just taking care of my meetings with four different folks tomorrow and my commitment in the evening up in Noe Valley, I am going to attempt to do some clothes shopping.

My jeans went kaput.

That’s what happens when you ride a bicycle a lot.


Another great advantage to riding that, soon to be mine all mine, scooter, I won’t be wearing out the crotch of my jeans from riding a bicycle saddle week in and week out.

There are commuter boy jeans but not commuter girl jeans.

And I am too much the woman to be able to squeeze my hips into a pair of guy commuter jeans, believe me, I have tried.

It’s almost as funny to see as to watch me try to get my bicycle calves into a pair of skinny jeans.

Some shopping on the morrow if I can squeeze it in.

I won’t be able to Sunday, assisting at the video shoot will take up the majority of my day, then off to Church and Market, then home again, home again to get ready for the week.

Sometimes my weekend is actually busier then my week.

Not always.

I do try to keep myself some spare time, I have been a lot more successful at that recently than I have ever before.

I know that’s the key to sustaining relationships, be they friendship, or other, is to have some wiggle room in my routine.

If I happen to not go shopping tomorrow because I get the opportunity to hang out with a friend or have an adventure, I will not be sorry for it.


I have plenty of leggings to get me through another week of work.

My concern, actually, is only that I will need to be wearing jeans for the Motorcycle Safety Course, that and boots that cover my ankles.

Neither of those items are currently in my wardrobe.


How can I even call myself a woman without a pair of jeans and some boots in my closet?

Just happens that way sometimes.

I don’t mind shopping, but it’s not high on my list of things I really want to do, it’s not a huge priority.

But if taking the course requires those two items, I will be going out and getting them.  I have the cash in my account and I know what I can afford to spend since I did my spending plan for February already.

I could also just hold off until next Friday.

I bet the stores will be dead and I will be a big bowl of jello after getting an hour and a half long massage, might be the best time ever to go shopping, when I am that relaxed and who goes shopping on Valentines Day anyhow?

Me that’s who.

I don’t have to be on a date to give myself some love.

I learned that a long time ago.


Rainy Valentine

February 14, 2013

My plans were effectively shot in the foot with the weather being cold, rainy, and generally blech.  I did not want to walk anywhere today.  Go anywhere today.  Or do anything today.

Frankly, I am astounded I got out of the house.

Yet, out I went.

I struggled a little this morning with my routine and I just gave up the idea that I had it all figured out, I obviously did not, I forgot to dry my hair after the shower–I came downstairs and was like, did I forget something?  Uh, yes, to dry your hair, I realized as the water dripped down my back as I was getting dressed.

I was discombobulated for no particular reason.

I let myself take it easy and instead of rushing about to get to a spot by noon, I switched gears and headed elsewhere.

And got just what I needed.

Plus coffee at a new cafe with new friends.

I shared about my move and marveled at the response I got from the women about what I was doing.  Much applause, much admiration, much, much, much.

It was astoundingly self-affirming.

The best kind of Valentines Day gift, acknowledging that I am doing a damn good job with my life and where I am at.  The weariness wore off and despite the chill of the day, I did indeed do a little walking.  I was going to go to a museum, taking a ferris wheel ride in this weather was absoulutely out, but I found myself drifting towards the warmth of a cafe.

I walked through an unknown neighborhood, which as it turns out had a vast amount of galleries with some absolutely amazing art.  I saw Chagall’s and Picasso’s and sculptures and gorgeous window displays.

Skull and Butterflies

Skull and Butterflies

I wandered onto Rue Faubourg St. Honore.

I did window shopping.

No other kind of shopping was going to be happening for me in this neighborhood, but it was fun to walk through it none the less.

I did not feel less than.

The coffee with the ladies had really helped.  I had thought, what do I have in common with these women?


Look at how they are dressed and look at the jewelry they are wearing and listen to the things they are….

Wait, they are saying the same things I am, it’s just outside stuff.  The stuff they have is just different from the stuff I have.  We are all equal.  I may not have a golden square-cut 3 carat diamond surrounded by pave diamonds on a platinum band.


However, I believe that the woman I was talking to would have given it over in a minute to have done some of the things I was talking about.

“I want so much to write a book,” she said over her 9.50 Euro teeny tiny salad, “it just terrifies me though, I cannot write.  I just cannot.”

I can no longer argue for my own limitations.

I can write.

I do write.

I get to read and write and walk and spin my umbrella in the rain and on the occasion when it’s a special day and I am living in faith and I believe that it is ok to treat myself to a little special bit of Paris, I can go to Odette & Aime for steak tartar.

Odette & Aime

Odette & Aime

I can have a seat on the cozy banquette and regard the rainy day from the warm of the cafe.

I can read a book.

I can daydream.

I can observe.

Lunch date

Lunch date








I ate a delicious ‘bouef de tartar’ and melted into the seat and enjoyed every bite and did not freak out that I did not have enough.  I haven’t bought myself a meal in Paris in over a month, I can afford to enjoy my life.  I am allowed.  I would have done it for anyone else.

Every time I balked at being nice to myself today, I thought back to about seven and a half years ago when I was told to take myself on a date.  I had no clue what to do and she said, if it was Valentines Day what would you do for the person you were dating.


Well, I would do this, and this, and this, and that, and then this.

She smiled, “excellent, now go do those things for yourself.”

What would I do if I was on a date with a romantic partner in Paris?

Well, I would go for a walk.  Paris is known for being a good walking city.


I would have a leisurely lunch, I would definitely have steak tartar as it is one of my favorites.  I would skip dessert, but I would, yes, please, I would have a hot latte.

Un cafe creme, s’il vous plait.

cafe creme

cafe creme

And I would get some flowers for the person.

I had walked past the flower shop and perversely did not go in and buy anything.  I had almost walked past the cafe too, if truth be told.

You don’t deserve it, an evil little voice whispered.

Fuck off.

I do too.

I got a message from a lady bug and that rather sealed the deal, what would I tell her?

Go buy the damn flowers.

I did.

I went back and picked out some very pretty white roses and some deep magenta and violet gerber daisies.

Les Fleurs

Les Fleurs

It was really sweet to be in the flower shop too, surrounded by people in love, or lust, or like, all gathered together getting flowers for those in their lives.  I stood happily in line holding my purchase and was mightily impressed with the care the woman took to make my bouquet pretty, sheathed in pink tissue, rearranged, shed of the plastic they had been bunched in, swaddled finally in brown paper and tied with a ribbon.

There would have been a time where I would have said, “don’t bother, they’re just for me.”

Please, bother, they are for me.

I loved walking back up the hill with my bouquet of flowers.  I felt loved and taken care of, full of good food and good humor.

Topping it off?

I got a card today.

On Valentines Day!

I got a card.



Granted it was a thank you card, but it still felt like I got a load of love right when I needed it.  That is what this day is about, letting the love in.

Thank You

Thank You


No, thank you.

A mille bisous from Paris with love.





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