Posts Tagged ‘woman of the world’

Doing All The Things

May 23, 2016

I mean.

Seriously.

I broke it off today.

And I don’t feel broken, albeit tired, albeit a little keyed up from the day, but so in love with myself and the gift I gave to myself of doing this trip.

Now.

Don’t get me wrong.

I have had some moments of dis-ease (disease) and had to quietly pull myself back and get real and be grateful for all the things I have been given and all the experiences I have gotten to do.

Twice over the last two days or so I had moments of wishing I was not alone having a meal or walking through Brooklyn.

I wanted to be with someone.

I wanted to be holding a hand.

I wanted to be sharing conversation.

I wanted to be coupled up.

And those things are not wrong, that’s just human nature.

I just have to tread carefully in those areas because I can fall into the self-pity pot all to easily and frankly I’m all for avoiding potholes at this time in my life.

I’m being a good girl.

I mean I am being a very, very, very good girl.

I did no Tinder’ing while I was here, frankly the idea of trying to figure out how to hook up with someone out here was just too much to even fucking contemplate.

And yeah.

I like sex.

A LOT.

However, I don’t need it that bad.

I’m not desperate.

And I’m not an addict.

Although I play one on tv.

Just kidding.

Oh.

And I had the opportunity.

Believe me.

It was on the table.

However.

I turned down the offer after finding out said offer was not in my best interest–really too complicated and stupid to even write about here.

And.

I also ran into someone I met at Burning Man in 2013.

“I’m sorry, I know it seems I’ve been staring at you for the last hour,” he said to me sidling into my space yesterday afternoon after we had closed up and said the prayers and did the deal.  “I mean,” he eyed me up and down (I can’t remember the last time I was that blatantly, to my face, scoped out), “I really like your look.”

“Thanks I said,” and I his, let me be honest.

“And I remember where I know you from,” he added, “you go to Burning Man, you’re hair’s different, but I recognized your tattoos.”  He paused, “you’ve gotten a few more I see, and you’re hair was blue the last time I saw you.”

He handed me his card and asked what I was doing the rest of the day.

My friend swooped in, “Hey, _______, I see you met Carmen, she’s one of my oldest friends, I’m stealing her back now,” he said and took my elbow.

I mean, tall, dark and handsome was tempting, but my friend, my old friend, my friend from the early days of the crazy, he was who I wanted to spend time with.

And there was a time when I would have ditched a friend in a heart beat for a piece of action.

Not so much now.

My friends are treasures and I don’t get out here often, twice in the eight years my old friend has lived here–we caught up at the deal in Atlanta last July and I usually see him for a minute if he gets out to SF, but he’s busy, I’m busy, so no getting busy for me.

And I’m grateful for that.

Then.

Another gentleman who had reached out to me this trip.

I texted him back.

“Hey, when you get a chance, give me a call,” I wrote earlier this afternoon.

I was surprised to not get a call for awhile then just a few minutes back, he finally did.

“Ah, I knew it was coming,” he said to me on the phone, his voice thick with the chagrin and the knowing of what I had decided I was going to tell him.

“You’re first year is a gift I don’t want to intrude on,” I summed it up, “I don’t date guys when they’ve got less than a year.”

It’s not my place, I don’t want to mess up anyone’s shit, and yeah, I know my pussy’s not that powerful, I’m not the reason some one relapses or stays sober, but I see a lot of folks that get focused on the dating deal and not doing the deal and I respect and like this guy.

So after consulting with the powers that be, “I need to tell on myself,” I told my person as I walked around Chelsea today after an amazing afternoon at The New Whitney Museum.

“It’s just really nice to be told how beautiful you are, that someone who is attractive finds me so compelling, I mean, it’s super ego feeding and I know that I can’t see this guy, I know it’s not right, it’s just, well, yeah, tempting.”

“Good on you for telling on yourself, and now you won’t do that, because that’s not the woman you are,”  I was told.

Yup.

“Get your year,” I said, “don’t let me interfere with it.”

He knew, he told me that was what he thought I was going to say.

He was sweet.

And I hung up the phone feeling like.

Well.

An adult.

Perhaps an adult with the hormones of a horny sixteen year old girl, but an adult.

I wear my heart on my sleeve, but I don’t want to hurt anyone.

Sometimes it’s inevitable and someone gets hurt and I can be sorry for that and still not engage, and that’s what an adult does too.

And sometimes God blows magic fairy dust all over me and I am suddenly Alice in the looking glass.

“OH, I was just about to bring that in,” he said as I was snapping pictures of this spectacular piece of sculpture art in the front area of one of the historic brownstones in Fort Greene Brooklyn.

“I love it,” I said, “It just, well, it’s amazing.”

We started to talk.

He was the artist, Doug Beube.

He told me a few things, we chatted about me and my travels and being a nanny and a grad school student and then somehow onto Burning Man and I asked, I don’t know why, serendipity, God, what have you.

I told him about my favorite piece from last year-Storied Haven.

And then.

He cocked his head at me and said, “I don’t suppose you want to see my studio?”

OH my God.

I was so floored.

“I know, trying to get a beautiful woman into my house, and all, but,” he paused, “I think you’ll like it.”

I joked, “as long as your studio isn’t in your bedroom, I’d be honored.”

I was not only honored.

I was blown the fuck away.

The man’s work is amazing.

AMAZING.

I was in tears a number of time, over awed by the depth and breadth and beauty of his work.

I took a lot of photos-they’re up on my facecrack page and on twitter and intstagram, and I’d put them here, but they just do not do them justice, my photos, so check out his website.

www.dougbeube.com

So good.

He works with old books and cuts them up and remakes them and he does photography and organic art and found art and these cunning little sculptures and so much political art that was poignant and beautiful, so insightful, so thoughtful, it was just such an over the moon experience.

I mean I got to go to the Brooklyn Museum, the MOMA, and The New Whitney and then, to top it off I get a private tour of this amazing artist out of nowhere?

Who is the luckiest girl in the world?

Me.

Hands down.

And perhaps I should change that up as I realize I have been a woman.

A proud woman, a respectful woman, a woman who looks the world in the face and who above all is not afraid to smile and thank someone for their contributions.

We all want to be seen.

And when I am allowed to see someone and the things that they do that make them artists, I am so very grateful.

I am blessed.

I am graced.

I am loved.

Thanks New York, thanks Brooklyn, thanks to my friends who drank coffee with me and the ones I called and said, hey where should I eat today, and all the friends who said, hey check this place out and to all those people who smiled at me in the city and said, “nice outfit!”

I like being seen too.

It’s been special New York.

Thank you.

From the bottom of my heart.

Which I left in San Francisco.

Time for me to go back home.

But you will not soon be forgot.

I promise.

Kisses.

And.

Big.

Big.

Big.

Love.

 

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Today’s Password Is

October 16, 2015

Love.

Yesterday’s was “tool.”

But that was yesterday.

“Password!  Password!” My little guy shouted from the steps.

I was laden down with grocery bags and diaper bags and my own bag, his younger brother, and it was time to get inside for dinner.

“Tool!” I shouted.

“That was yesterday’s!” He replied and grinned.

“Big guy, I need your help, I have too much stuff, you have to give me a hint today,” I said juggling all the things on the steps and reaching for my keys while balancing his three year old brother and his brothers hat and stuffed cat on his head, that is the cat was on his head, not his hat, which was falling into the bushes and the dog was inside snuffling with joy to come out and greet us and it was 5:15p.m. and I had to pee.

“Guess!”

Oh my God kid you’re killing me.

“Spaghetti, apple, banana, milk, market, JP, Dave Hale (the two favorite vendors at the Farmer’s Market that we go to on Thursdays, ie tomorrow, note to self get out the market bags), pumpkin patch!”

“No, no, no, no, no, no…”

“Kiddo, I…..

I was getting angry and took a deep breath.

“Love,” he said soft, sweet, his big brown eyes luminous in his face, my little angel, my sweet boy pie, then he kissed my hand and swung open the gate.

I do live in a fairy tale.

Love.

FYI.

Was my spiritual principle to practice today.

I have no idea where the kid came up with it, just that it was all around me.

Has been all day.

All night.

I just got back from a kick assery shopping extravagance at SafeWay.

My friend gave me a ride over after doing the deal.

Grocery shopping.

Not that much of a big deal.

But.

A.

HUGE deal.

I am a bike rider.

I don’t have a car.

I have to grocery shop all the time to keep a pace with the fact that I make almost 95% of my food.

I rarely eat out, unless treated, and my restaurant budget for the month is typically $50.

Lunch out once a week is my MO.

My grocery shopping spending plan, though, is close to $500 or for this month $550, since it has an extra week in it.

That may feel like a lot for a single lady.

But.

I am a single lady in the city and when you compare that to eating out, even one meal a day, I save a lot of money on cooking my own food.

Plus.

I am a person who abstains from sugar and flour.

Aside.

You should have seen my friend and I shopping.

Hilarious.

He eats like a growing high school boy.

I couldn’t tell you what exactly was all in the cart but the highlights were an uncountable number of 2 liters of soda, Chili Cheese Fritos, raw cookie dough, and um, other stuff.

My stuff was fruit and organic veggies, edamame, organic free range chicken breasts, unsweetened vanilla almond milk, turkey bacon (my secret ingredient in my brown “fried” rice that I make big batches of and have for dinners and lunches all throughout the week), apples, persimmons, organic avocados.

I think my friend got some Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal too.

I can’t be sure though.

It may have been buried under a pile of 2 Liter sodas.

Not to say I am better than.

Just different.

If I could eat like he does and get a way with it.

Well fuck yes, hello, I so would.

SERIOUSLY.

I can’t however and that’s cool.

I love that I have such a kind and generous friend.

I am lucky.

Blessed.

Graced.

If you will.

By the amazing people in my life.

Love indeed.

I was feeling the love this morning as I put on my safety orange cord pants.

What?

You don’t have any?

You so need a pair.

I matched them up with, yes, this actually worked, a pink tank top, layered with a grey tank top that I got from Lightening in a Bottle two years ago with a white rabbit on it with colored swirls of pink, turquoise and safety orange.

I also wore a big glittery flower concoction in my hair and glitter on my eyelids.

And.

Yes.

A sparkly blue heart glitter necklace.

It sounds fucking atrocious.

Like a raver candy tripping on molly and LSD with a side of cocaine to take make it all some how disco sexy.

But.

If you do it right, and I did, I promise, it can be pulled off.

“That’s right, Wednesday, get your sparkle on,” I laughed as I looked in the mirror.

Sometimes I forget that one of the ways I have fun is to let myself dress up.

Speaking of.

I’m trying to figure out what to wear for tomorrow nights show.

I will be going straight from work.

But I am getting a ride into work, so I could wear a cute dress, something that I don’t wear too often.

Certainly not for work.

But.

Why not?

It may be time to break out a crinoline.

I dare say my principle tomorrow will be “happy” if I wear a crinoline.

I mean.

How could it not?

Life is good and full of love.

You know what else is lovely.

Aside from the idea of getting my dancing shoes on.

Poetry.

Oh that’s right.

I finished the sonnets!

I am over the moon.

I haven’t written the artist with whom I am collaborating on yet as I have not yet gotten them cleaned up and into my computer, but they are done.

I have the rough drafts of ten sonnets.

Ten.

In fact, I actually have thirteen, but I fucked up the rhyme scheme badly in one and had to toss the whole thing when I realized I had done the embedded poem wrong for that specific piece, and the other two pieces were written before I had the inspiration that led to the ten that I have written.

I used my poem “While You Were Sleeping” as a frame work to work the all the sonnets around.

I also embedded a principle, this time one of the Ten Principles, from Burning Man, into each poem.

Love is not one of them.

Decommodification is though.

Let me just say, I am going to give myself some props here, the fact that I worked decommodification into a sonnet should be noted as some sort of literary achievement, I mean, not like the Pen Faulkner award, or anything, but maybe the Nemerov, the Howard Nemerov Sonnet prize (which I have secretly coveted for over two decades).

Just sayin’.

Anywho.

I will let him know that I have the roughs and I figure I will have them all typed up in my computer by Saturday or Sunday.

Then e-mail them out and I’m way ahead of schedule and if he doesn’t like them.

Well.

He still has time to collaborate with another artist for his project.

And.

I don’t care.

I love them.

I love that I am a writer, a poet, a blogger.

A.

As a darling friend likes to tease me.

“A woman of the world.”

Indeed.

A very loved.

Woman of the world.

What’s Next?

September 9, 2015

Today it was getting up an hour before my alarm went off and getting myself sorted out.

I didn’t have to go into work until 1p.m.

Which was nice and also a touch annoying.

It was a later start than I was anticipating and I am going to probably have to dial it back at least a half hour with the family to work with my schedule.

Suffice to say I still got my deal in tonight, zipping up 18th Street to get right with God and hang out at the Castro Country Club for an hour.

Not a place I get too much, but a space I am grateful for.

All the rooms.

All the recovery.

All the change that is about to happen in my life as my school semester starts officially on Friday.

That’s three days from today.

Eeep.

I don’t even know what I am supposed to have read for this weekend.

I am not behind on my writing, having done it all before heading out to that thing in the desert, but I haven’t looked at the reading that I need to do in preparation for the first weekend in school.

I already feel behind.

However, since I didn’t have to be at work until 1p.m. today I did get my ass down to Copy Central on Mission and 2nd and pick up my last reader for the semester.  I also sorted out my student loan deferment paperwork and got that all summarily taken care of.

My ducks are sort of in a row.

I have an idea of what needs doing, but I have yet to crack open the syllabus on three of my classes to be completely clear.

I suppose I will do that after I finish doing this blog.

I am grateful I got the reader, and even more grateful that when I did look at the syllabus for the class there was the delightful notation for the first class that said, “no reading necessary for first class.”

Hallelujah.

Ack.

The more I think about it, the less time I have.

I was supposed to get back to San Francisco on Saturday, that was the original plans.

You know what God does when you plan?

Laughs.

And I will chuckle right along with God as I was given a pretty awesome playa experience, loads of magic, lots of all the things and I have nary a regret.

Although, despite what some thought upon reading my last blog post, I am NOT dating anyone.

I had a playa romance, I suppose you could call it, but I didn’t marry the man.

I am still a free and single lady.

A busy as fuck lady.

A lady who would happily date the gentleman who I spent time with, there is no question there, but a lady who is not pursuing.

“Be the ball, Martines,” he said to me.

I am doing just that.

I am done pursuing.

I get to be pursued.

I am fucking well worth it.

And in the spirit of said worth and in the spirit of having taken the events of the weekend in stride, with sweetness and kindness, with all the deep sexual connection and the magic of the moment, I have changed the header on my blog.

It no longer reads “Girl On The Go.”

I have changed it to.

“Woman Of The World.”

My partner in crime during the last days of the burn mentioned on more than one occasion how I was so obviously a woman, and, a wise woman at that.

It didn’t make me feel old or wizened.

Rather, experienced and grateful.

I am a woman.

Sometimes, most times, more often than I would like, I have to ask for help–but that is a mature thing to do and acknowledge.

That I cannot do it all alone, that I cannot be entirely self-sufficient.

For not only is it impossible for me to figure it all out, I just fucking can’t, it takes away the service of allowing someone else to share with me their experience and in turn allow them the sacred expression of sharing their experience with me.

Nothing I have been through is wasted.

Every pain.

Every sorrow.

Every trial, tribulation, and challenge.

Has given me an experience through which I can objectively view with compassion and gentleness, to be given so many experiences so that I may help another may truly be the greatest gift I have been given.

In that vein.

Then.

I continue forward.

As soft and sweet and open as I can be.

There is something luscious in the acknowledgement, finally, of being fully alive to myself as a woman.

“Before you travel and do something momentous, take a photo of yourself, then take another when you have gotten back and compare the two,” he told me as I prepared to launch out on my first solo trip to Paris in 2007.

“You will see that you have changed.”

I looked at myself in the rest stop bathroom at Donner Pass and I smiled in awe.

I had changed.

There it was.

This new openness and sincerity on my face.

I was not hiding behind any mask.

Of course, it may have been the lack of makeup, the surfeit of hormones from having been bathed in sexual attention for days, or the tan skin from being out in the desert for over a week.

I cannot say with any certainty.

But the change was evident and it made me happy to see and acknowledge it.

I was comfortable in my skin and delighted in my life and grateful.

Oh.

So grateful.

For the man, for the moment, for the movement of my heart, the ticking hands on the face of the world, this life, this ability to see through another lens of self and self-discovery and beauty.

The beauty of connection.

With myself.

With another person.

With the Universe and the world that I walk about in.

I don’t need to know what’s next.

I just need to show up for it.

I show up to the page.

I write my blog.

I show up to work.

I am of service.

I do the deal.

I help my ladies.

I ask for help from my people.

I go to class and do the best I can.

I let go of all the results.

I can’t do it.

Maybe God can.

I think I’ll let him.

In short hand.

I am powerless over outcomes.

I am only capable of taking action.

I don’t need to know what’s next.

Except that I have faith in becoming more me.

And hope that I will not wall up behind the fear of everyday life and the expectations therein.

Woman of the world indeed.

Officially a grown up.

Who knew it would be so.

Well.

Nice.


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