Posts Tagged ‘warm weather’

You Look Like

June 30, 2016

Mint chocolate chip ice cream with cherries on top.

He said as I walked by.

“LOVE YOUR HAIR,” he added, giving me the nod for extra special emphasis.

Thanks dude.

Everybody likes to look like ice cream.

Well.

I do.

I did have to laugh a little at myself though for the outfit I was rolling down the street with, or up the street as the case may be, heading to the spot I spend my Wednesday evenings at getting right with God.

I had come home, started my laundry and rubbed one out.

Hey.

Look.

Sometimes a girl has to do what a girl has to do.

Although I could have taken up an offer I was made this afternoon.

“How about ten months?” He texted me.

“Um, hmm, I’ll think about that, let me get back to you,” I replied.

I got back to him a few minutes later, I already knew the answer, but it was fun for a moment to consider.

“Get your year and check back with me,” I replied.

Mother fucker.

REALLY?

Like the third one in a week.

What is up?

Did no one get their birthday last June?

What the fuck is in the air?

My hormones I suppose.

The blood is high, I can tell you what.

My cycle won’t hit until I get back from New Orleans.

Great, I thought tonight as I stripped down to hop in the shower, my breasts a good half size larger than yesterday, great, I’m ovulating or soon will be.

Meh.

I do not need to head of to New Orleans with plans of getting laid, I have other things to think about, do, go to, experience.

Was I heading to New Orleans with a partner, it would be the perfect place to wander romantic in the warm night rains and make out under a lamp post.

Just nibble my neck there and there and then we’ll stroll through the French Quarter and maybe a few cemeteries, because, well, death is sexy, no?

Anyway.

I took care of business, and then laundry and then the shower and in between packing for the trip and being on top of the clothes being in the wash, I had, um, a curious assortment of an outfit as I walked out the door.

And.

I have to say, I pulled it off.

I don’t know how, but sometimes more is better.

Leopard print leggings.

A mint colored nightshirt with candy skulls in pink and white piping, topped off with a sea green sweatshirt and of course a big mountain of cotton candy pink hair with some pink roses and a sequined star clip.

Because sequins.

Hello.

I probably look ridiculous.

But.

Fuck it.

It made me happy and I was cozy as fuck.

Because, bitches, it’s cold out there.

Freaking foggy, chilly, cold, etc, etc, etc.

It was 50 degrees this morning when I got up and socked in with fog, which never really lifted.

It got a tiny bit sunny in the Mission, but the fog that had burned off was rapidly being replaced by 3 p.m. with a fresh batch of cold as fuck rolling in over Twin Peaks.

Hello summer in San Francisco.

They are not kidding.

And the Outer Sunset?

Shut the fuck up.

It was never not foggy out here.

I don’t suppose it ever really burned off.

When I hopped off my scooter and came in and greeted my house, “hello house,” I immediately turned on the heat and lit up some candles.

Welcome to summer, break out your scarves.

I am so looking forward to being somewhere warm for a little while.

I’m sure the heat and the humidity will lose their luster pretty quick, but right now, it sounds fantastic.

A warm run of nights where I can walk outside bare skinned to the air and drift in the warm magnolia scent of summer.

Bring it the fuck on.

One more shift at work and then I’m ghost.

I’ll finish work at 6p.m.

Scooter home.

Grab my rolling suitcase, which is 95% packed, and head out the door to the airport.

I will probably call for a car.

I could try the MUNI and the BART, but I think I’ll also be hitting rush hour commute time and I don’t particularly care to risk being late on the flight.

I would rather get there a little early and blog from the waiting area at the gate.

Tomorrow!

I fly out tomorrow.

My flight is out of SFO at 10:41 p.m.

I’ll have a brief, less than an hour, layover in Las Vegas, then onto Houston, Texas, with another brief layover and transfer.

What with the time change I will arrive in New Orleans at 8:24 a.m.

I’m not excited about the indirect flight, the two change overs are going to wreck me for sleep, but it was worth it to get the discounted ticket, otherwise it was going to be another three to four hundred dollars to fly direct.

I figured that was money for the Air BnB.

Or for the experience of being there, restaurants, souvenirs, tickets to places, should I swing into the New Orleans Museum of Modern Art, it’s actually close to where I am staying, or just for riding around the French Quarter on a street car.

The disjointed travel was worth it.

I’m not upset and it worked out well for me timing wise too.

I’ll hang out and have a nice leisurely breakfast somewhere fabulous in the hood where I am staying and roll into my Air BnB at noon.

A swim in the pool?

A soak in the tub?

A fresh change of clothes, a sexy sundress.

And then off to explore a little and a late lunch before for going to the conference and hitting the registration and the big night get together.

I’m so ready.

Saturday I am really going to play by ear.

I know where I will be in the evening, at the conference, but I really do want to do a little exploring, walk, shop, dine, see what New Orleans has to offer, and also, what do I have to offer to the city, since I am such a taker.

How can I go and best be of service to the situation?

Make amends for the time previous I was there and my behavior, it was not so pretty.

I’m wild with excitement.

And I’ll keep you posted on all the adventures.

Promise.

See you next from the gate at United Airlines flight 455 SFO.

Happy.

Joyous.

Motherfucking.

Free.

Ten Years After

February 16, 2015

I was given the amazing perspective of being asked to reflect on the last ten years of my life and where I was and where I am now.

It was intense.

It has been an intense day.

“I love reading your blog, it’s so dramatic!” A friend of mine said yesterday at the going away party I attended.

“I bought a loaf of bread at the store, it was good bread, I have an insight, it’s a big one, wow, life, amazing, that was some tasty bread.”

I punched him in the arm.

“I know I’m dramatic, I can’t help it, it’s just how I am,” I said, blushing red-hot, I could indeed see myself waxing poetic about buying a loaf of bread.

I mean, have you ever walked past Tartine in the Mission and smelled the butter scented air?

The only corner in the city that never fails to remind me of Paris, as the bread and pastry there is very French informed.

I mean, I could really write a full on 1,000 word blog on the smell of baking bread and my insights there of.

My friend was spot on.

I punched him in the arm again.

“Fuck you.”

“No, I love it, it’s so you, it’s good, don’t stop,” he gave me a bear hug.

Sometimes the little things are the most dramatic, the flight of a pigeon startled up from a palm tree on Dolores Street as my old friend leaves the coffee shop, a friend I said goodbye to.

I surrendered a friendship.

I have surrendered a romantic relationship and didn’t write much about it, or him, as it wasn’t my place.

I will do the same here.

I am sad.

I watched the light shift, I listened to the incoming whistles from my phone and let the tears well in my eyes.

I felt my heart and breathed through the process.

Things end.

Things begin.

The light, buttery, soft, warm, awash in the rich scent of jasmine and of blooming magnolia, the sky clear, high, blue, swathed in light airy clouds, the palm trees against the robins egg blue and the rattle of ice in my coffee cup.

It was a comfort to be in that window space and sit there and look at those palms and remember so many times, over the last ten years, that I have sat in that same window seat watching those same trees.

Sometimes laughing.

Often times crying.

Always living.

Always walking through the next thing in front of me.

Speaking of which.

I did it.

I filled out and filed my FAFSA form before starting my blog tonight.

Federal student loan application for graduate school is now complete.

I have yet to hear back about what specific day I will be going in to do my interview for the program, but I do not doubt that I will get it.

It all feels right.

If I am supposed to go to this school and do this program and get the Masters in Integral Counseling Psychology, then the money will be there.

I have always been taken care of.

I don’t foresee being dropped now.

And if I’m not supposed to go, well, something else will happen.

I just take that little action, whatever it is, when my hands are cold and I am breaking out into a cold sweat and my flight or fight is high, I breath and take the next action in front of me.

Some times that is to pause and not respond.

I did some of that today.

The not responding.

That was a challenge.

Then there is the time to stand up and speak my experience and share what it’s been like and how I go forward from here.

Which is that I see and hear and rely on those that have gone before me, how they walk through, how I may do the same thing.

I am not the first person in the history of graduate school to be nervous about paying tuition.

Well, excepting those in European nations that pay for their citizens to attend school, but despite wanting to be French, I was not born there to take advantage of their school system.

Or Germany’s.

Someone suggested I move to Berlin for the free schooling they are now offering.

I don’t speak German though.

And I don’t want to move a way from San Francisco again.

This is home.

“I am so glad you moved back from Paris,” she said to me tonight before I stepped out into the hallway, “it’s really good having you here.”

It’s really good being here.

Home.

My little corner of the planet, which happens to exist in one of the most beautiful places on earth.

Not that I am biased or anything.

But San Francisco, she sure is pretty.

Especially when there are days like today when the entire city is outside enjoying 70 degree weather and sunshine.

The beach was packed.

The Mission was packed.

Dolores Park looked like a movie set.

I don’t know that there could have been one more person shoved into the green space on the hill, it was a carpet of people.

I laughed when I saw the park.

I was in the car with a friend whose surf board I had returned.

It was suggested to me I get it back to him.

I was on my way to say goodbye to a friend at Maxfield’s Cafe.

It was suggested I give him some space to have his process.

I amend my life the best way I know how, take the suggestions I am given, and try to live my life in a spiritually principled way.

How that comes across is none of my business.

I looked out over the faces in the room, full of light, full of unspeakable radiance and shine and perhaps that was because my eyes were full of tears with the gratitude I hold for them, or perhaps it was the face of God I was looking into.

All I know is that I am in the heart of love and that these ten years have been a gift I never expected or thought I was good enough to receive.

I hope I was a mirror to the people in front of me.

Love.

I love you.

Love.

Thank you for all you have given me.


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