Tag Archives: boots

35th birthday

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Part 1  (Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves)

Friday the 13th, I took the day off of work.  And I got my hair did.  Then E and I drove into San Francisco to have a fantastic dinner, see a show and spend the evening at a lovely hotel.  We checked in and got settled in the room.  E needed to get some new jeans and so we left the hotel to go shopping.  We were near the wharf and headed toward it so  we could catch a cab.  I wanted to go to the Levi’s in the Castro.  As we walked near th wharf an old lady grabbed my hand.  She said that she wanted to read my palm for free and I said ok.  A younger woman grabbed E’s palm and proceeded too.  She said a few things and asked if I wanted to proceed.  I said sure, and I guess that was the secret code for “it’s not free anymore”.  She said mind shattering things like, “I need to follow my heart”.  A few minutes later she demanded $80 from us.  I told her I thought it was free.  We argued back and forth and said this was how she made her living.  I said that she should be clear and upfront about her charges.  I gave her everything in my wallet which was $16.  It was the best I can do.  I can’t believe that we totally got touristed 10 miles from our house.

We caught a cab.  I asked him to take us to the Levi’s in the castro.  He took us to the Levi corporate headquarters.  They don’t sell pants there.  I was irritated and so we got out of the cab because that was easier than communicating with the driver.  We walked from Levi’s corporate to Union Square Levis.  Shopping there was awesome and we were running late.

A quick triple shot at Starbucks and then we have the best cab ride ever back to the hotel.  We shower and dress and call the front desk to hail us a cab.  When we run down the front desk says we’ve got a half hour late.  We had already moved our reservation back a half an hour.  A towncar stops and we get in.  And that 4 miles cost us $30.  Damn it (again)  We go off to Yoshi’s for dinner and Alice Russell was performing.  The food was fantastic and she was even better.  It was a profound experience because this was my first sober birthday.  E doesn’t generally drink.  And I didn’t, and it was a great experience to be on the same chemical level.  It was wonderfully connecting.  During the show we shared a pot of tea and it was divine.

This was not recorded at the show we attended but thanks youtube…

We cab back to the hotel without incident.  And turned off the lights and chastely bid each other good night.  We chastely bid each other good morning after a nice sleep in.  (there were a few lies in this paragraph).  After a breakfast we got back to Oakland for…

Part 2  (Gondolas, Hummus and Trees)

coming soon…

A day in the life of a piece of bread

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I am waiting for someone to arrive.  I have a latte and a cookie.  I don’t mind waiting in San Francisco.  There are just so many gorgeous, weird, interesting, lovely, terrifying people to look at.  I sipped and stared.

A woman comes out of the bakery with a San Francisco treat.  Clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl.  She eats some of it and leaves.  I am still sipping and waiting.  She doesn’t bus her table and just walks away.  The outdoor patio is lovely.

Pigeons descend and fight over her left overs.  I watch the battle.

Some kids stop and take pictures of the pigeon covered bread with their phones, they laugh and walk away.

A homeless man takes it from the birds, but leaves one-third tossed to the ground for the birds.  I am touched by his generosity.

An old man in a cowboy hat steps on the bird’s bread and looks down and curses it.

The homeless man tries to sell the old cowboy a diamond ring.

Birds reclaim their cursed squished bread.

Two photography students pull out elaborate cameras and document the pigeons’ assault.

Another old man, this one with a baseball cap, kicks it away from the birds into the street.

The homeless man finishes his portion.

The pigeons dive en masse after the bread in the street.

A tourist screams in her car and dodges the flock.

A blogger in tall boots sips a latte and scribbles something in her notebook.

The bread is gone.

A woman comes out of the bakery with  chowder in a sourdough bread bowl.

Jesus Christ, I’m not a whore

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I am not taking anyone’s Lord’s name in vain.  Believe me.  This is a memo to the heavens.  I am not a whore.  I am frustrated about this name that so many Christian men call me.

So, on Friday my sweet E and I went out.  I had a very hard day.  I wasn’t right in the head.  I got really triggered and was having a bad day PTSD wise.  Someone was talking about stalkers in a weird way and as someone who has been stalked multiple times, it was hard to chill my overtapped adrenal system.  Welcome to PTSD, it blows.

This van says hell sucks, and I'm going there

This van says I am going to hell. I am making a very serious face.

We are walking in Walnut Creek where we live and there is a very colorful van, covered in angry condemning words.  Telling the queers, the fornicators, the drunkards, the idolators, etc etc that they are going to hell.  I mean, that we are going to hell.  Because, well, I’m a queer fornicator who imbibes on occasion.  Actually, I’m a drunk, queer fornicator with chronic PTSD from spiritual abuse from people who espouse beliefs such as this.  And, dear readers, I am one of the nicest drunk, queer fornicators you may ever meet.

We find the people with the signs, and they are yelling at kids.  Yup, apparently the way to introduce Jesus’s gospel of love, grace and forgiveness is to scream at kids and froth at the mouth.  Didn’t Jesus say “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.”?  He did, it’s Matthew 11:28.

Which brings me to a problem I have.

I don’t think Jesus wants people who only believe because they are terrified of the post death mystery.  When I renounced my faith, I was 15.  Christianity didn’t mesh out for me.  And I still don’t believe.  This is one of the reasons things got very hard in the cult for me at that time.  Because they really didn’t like people who thought outside of their dogma.  It can get threatening.  I told my mom that I quit.  I didn’t believe.  I have compassion, empathy and a moral compass.  I think to say you believe something is true when you don’t is hypocritical.  And I am not a hypocrite.  To call myself Christian would be a lie.  And I don’t think Jesus wants people lying on his behalf.  I also think claiming a faith that you don’t actively practice is treating your faith as death insurance.  I am betting eternity on this belief of mine.  I also give myself permission to take up my Christianity again, should I believe.  But if I do it will be real and sincere.  It won’t be because of the guilty shadows of my upbringing or social expectations.  So there.

Security was video taping the show.  The preacher folk were video taping. (Is it still called video taping?)  I went into the throng and asked who was preaching and a bunch of kids pointed me at one of the guys.  This guy was frothing at the mouth.  I went up to him and asked him where the love was.  He screamed at me.  “ARE YOU A CHRISTIAN?”

“Um no” says I.

“Do you have sex out of wedlock?”

“I totally do.”

“HE’S USING YOU!  HE’S LYING AND GOING TO LEAVE YOU!!”

“Oh crap!  E, are you lying to me and going to leave me?”

E smiles and rolls his eyes and says, “No, sweetie.”

“Oh thank god.”

“YOU WANT TO BE THE MAN!  LOOK HOW HE’S IN THE BACKGROUND!”

“What do you mean I want to be the man?  How do gender expectations play into this?”

“MY WIFE IS A GOOD WOMAN, SHE DOES MY LAUNDRY AND BAKES ME COOKIES AND SUBMITS.  YOU’RE A WHORE AND HE’S A WHOREMONGER.”

I swear that is what he said.  That’s when I got pissed off.  Don’t assume what kind of woman I am or man I want to be.  We are all precious unique frickin snowflakes.  And some of us are drunken, queer, fornicating snowflakes with hearts of gold.  I started to yell. Lots of stuff was said that I don’t remember.  We are toe to toe, screaming at each other.

“YOU’RE NOT A WOMAN, YOU’RE A DEMON!”

“THAT SOUNDS FAMILIAR!  MY CHURCH PERFORMED SEVEN EXORCISMS ON ME!”

“WELL, THEY DIDN’T DO A GOOD ENOUGH JOB!!!”

Lots more words are exchanged that I don’t remember.  He turns his back away from me.  E is watching them tell a 12 year old Jewish girl that she’s going to hell for not believing in Jesus as the messiah.  I leave the throng and we look at each other.  He in his calm sensibleness says, “it’s cold, the security guard is shivering.  Let’s go buy her a hot chocolate.”  “ok”.  As we walk to Starbucks, E says… “I know what a cheesemonger does.  I know what a fishmonger does.  Dude, did he call me a pimp?  I should put on my green suit.” (adorable)

After cocoa, I grabbed a quick pose. (Knee high purple socks and tall black boots)

As we leave, several people identifying themselves to the preachers as Christian are pleading with them to stop screaming hate.  Telling them that Jesus is love.  And they are told they are going to hell for their permissiveness.

When we get back from our hot chocolate mission. The security lady can’t accept the cocoa because of terrorism.  I keep it, it was delicious.   A 16 year old girl comes up to me and remembers me from before when I was yelling at him.  She says, “He told me I’m going to hell cause I’m bisexual.  And he says I need to go to church and bake cookies.”  E asks her if she likes to bake cookies.  She says yeah, but doesn’t think anyone should force her to.  And she’s right.  She doesn’t have to bake cookies or go to hell if she doesn’t want to.

I am still pissed.  People use the expectation of shame about sex and sexuality to harm and control each other.  I am not ashamed about the fact that I am a lovely, hot sexual being.  And sex is a creative force.  Sex does not diminish you.  I walk back up to him and he’s screaming the old if you’ve thought of the sin, you’ve done it and you are going to hell spiel.  And I yelled, “NO!  THAT IS BULLSHIT!  THAT IS NOT RIGHT!  I have been abused and suffered because of that!  When I was accused at 16 years old for masturbating I never had!  One of the elders in my church had a dream that I was masturbating.  I had never touched myself.  Because of that non-sin all of my hair was cut off.  I was beaten and ignored for weeks.  I had to tell anyone who asked me about my hair cut that it was cut because I was a sinner.  You are spinning legalistic mind-control. But don’t worry, I got out of that church and I have since learned to masturbate and it’s been very healing.  I mean, if god didn’t want women to have sexual pleasure, he wouldn’t have given them clits.”

For the first time he was quiet.  I don’t think anyone won.  He wasn’t there to talk or debate.  There are probably now videos online with me screaming like a banshee about my clitoris.  It was cathartic, but not productive.  A lot of people came up to me afterwards and hugged me and said I was inspiring.  I didn’t feel that way.

I want to close this post by saying no matter what you believe, be groovy about it.

There are other thoughts and opinions in the world.

Talk about yours.

Listen to other people.

But let respectful dialog prevail.  I will endeavor to do better next time.  I think the heroes of the day were the Christians, who peacefully asked them to stop their assault.  The Jewish girl for holding her ground.  And E for putting up with an angry Leo and buying nice people hot chocolate.

Oh, and I think the preacher guy has a baking fetish or something.

these are the people in my neighborhood

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I am so inspired by the magical people in the magical world of 24th and Mission in San Francisco.

Johnny Cash Guy:  Amazing voice, he sings in the BART stations and plays guitar.  He’s tall, tattooed and made out of pure 100% rockabilly badass.  I know my friends A&L would melt in the knees.  He gets on the escalator and lights a cigarette, he rises out of the station, turns around and walks down the stairs.  You can’t smoke in the station, so he takes a lap and keeps an eye on his gear the whole time.

Tropical Girl:  You walk past her coconut stand and she catches you in her stare.  Then she screams, “WOULD YOU LIKE TO GO TO HAWAII WITH ME?  TO GO ON A TROPICAL VACATION RIGHT NOW BUY A COCONUT AND DRINK THE JUICE!  HAWAII IS IN THE MISSION!  BUY MY COCONUTS!”  I’m terrified of all 5’3 of her.

Life Story Coffee Guy: “OK that’s a triple soy latte, no problem.  You know I got here early for work today and I forgot the keys.  So I had to go back home, but it’s cool cause I don’t live far.  You said soy, right?  Cool.  But I couldn’t find my keys and then they were in the kitchen.  So I got on my bike and raced back and was only a little late.  Do you know how hard it is to open a coffee shop by yourself?  Oh, you do?  Cool.  You’re lattes almost ready.  Then the pastries weren’t here so I had to call……………….”

Creepy Restaurant Guy: I’ve never been in this restaurant, but every time I walk by it’s before hours and there’s a guy there.  He knocks on the windows, pacing me as I walk by.  He hits the windows and yells.  I don’t make eye contact.  And I don’t know what to do about it.

The Smokers: Sit on the front porch sharing joints as I walk away from the office after work.

Ironic 70’s Porn Moustache Coffee Guy: Makes one hell of a latte, and he rocks the porn stache.  Total sweety and even his skinny jeans and ironic tshirts don’t bother me.  Maybe that’s the real irony?

Mango Guy: He stands by his fruit stand holding a mango out, but never says a word.

Screaming Preacher:  A couple times a week he holds up a bible and screams in Spanish at everyone walking by.  I don’t know what he’s saying but I feel like I’ve probably done something wrong.  He’s accompanied by a small, old, toothless woman who hands out fliers that I also can’t read.

The Activist:  This is a different person with a different cause every day.  They are always thin and they stand in about the same spot.

Floras y Rosas: This beautiful old woman sells flowers and tamales at the BART station every afternoon.

The Old Guys:  A flock (a pride, a murder?) of older men at the donut shop day and night joking around with each other and everyone that passes by.

Screaming Zombie Parade:  People walking alone and yelling into their Bluetooth phone devices not really watching where they are going.  Everyone knows their business, they don’t know they look like douches.  They frequently trip over curbs and make every happy.

Baby Girl Guy:  I see him once every two weeks or so as I am walking.  He looks me up and down and says, “damn baby girl, let me buy you a drink”  I keep walking.  I wonder if he knows it’s me every time because I’m sure he says that to all the girls in tall boots.  I don’t stop to ask.

Crazy Guy: He’s one guy who is in either the streets or alleys, he likes to jump out at people.  He begs for money.  Once he approached me and touched my shoulder.  I faced him and said, “I don’t know you, never touch me again”, in my scary voice.  He hasn’t touched or approached me again.  I’ve seen him since in an alley talking to his wife on his cell phone.

bootstraps

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So as I stumble through this world I generally do it heart first.  My friend J says he loves how I wear my heart on my sleeve.  I show what I feel and I can’t help it.  But sometimes my heart bites me in the ass (there’s a visual…).  There is a time and a place for everything.  The problem with caring is that it can hurt.

A job and contract that I loved very much is ending.  I’ve learned so much.  I am so glad that I was there and it was a once in a lifetime opportunity.  So, as I go into my next opportunity I feel very bittersweet.  This contract is ending, but so much of it is continuing in me.  And the relationship is solid, strong and wonderful.

The entrepreneurial world is an amazing place to live.  You get up and suit up everyday.  You sit at your desk.  You spin hay into gold.  You take a grey nothing and turn it into a sparkly something.  You are brave all of the time, except for when you aren’t.  You get in your way and then you figure it out.  You relax.  You freak out.  You trust the process.  You doubt.  You succeed, except for when you don’t.

And in each step there is something you learn about yourself.  And each time you get up and dust off and move toward the great whatever you are wiser.   Owning a business and being self employed is the greatest spiritual and emotional journey I’ve been on.

This contract took me places I’ve never been before emotionally and I am better for it and grateful for it.  This one will leave a mark, a good one.  And I know so much more than I did when I started.  I know more about business, the world and me.

So thank you.

Check the resolution

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My 2010 resolutions, presented to you in alphabetical order of importance.

I will be a kind, thoughtful and hot girlfriend.

I will blog.

I will buy less purple, unless it’s sparkly.

I will buy more crazy shoes.

I will call my friends more.

I will connect.

I will continue to randomly burst into song and dance.

I will dance more.

I will do more self breast exams, but not on the train during my commute.

I will find a sexy cabin in the woods with a hot tub in the snow for a sexy weekend for two.

I will finish resolving my marriage respectfully.

I will get angry if appropriate.

I will go camping.

I will go to Chicago to see MH.

I will go to Dallas to see the ladies.

I will grow my hair.

I will honor, protect and respect the bubble.

I will keep not smoking.

I will lead people to believe that my hair color is natural.

I will learn to make a better roulade.

I will love fearlessly.

I will make a collage as big as a wall and it will have less than 15% naked people on it.

I will make fewer “your mom” jokes.

I will make out a lot.

I will not buy a green dress until September.

I will not buy a house.

I will not go to Burning Man.

I will not harbor resentments or fugitives, not again.

I will not kill the Whole Foods employee who took 20 minutes to make a goddamn Panini today.

I will only buy clothes that I adore and that make me feel amazing.

I will or will not sell my car.

I will pay off debt.

I will play board games more, but not the ones that SP plays cause they’re too hard.  Maybe they won’t be anymore cause I quit drinking.

I will practice kindness.

I will present myself honestly in the hopes of promoting healing.

I will pretend to be less stubborn.

I will quit drinking (I already have for a few days)

I will rock my gig.

I will save more money for my future.

I will say yes when I mean it and no when I mean it.

I will travel more.

I will travel out of the country.

I will try to learn to yodel.

I won’t floss more than I currently do, seriously, I floss too much as it is.

It won’t be mine, unless it is.

going dancing

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I have been going through a lot of emotional processing.  And now the mental and emotional needs to come out through the physical.

Meaning, I gotta go dancing!

Dance has always been there.  And I hope will always be there for me.  Dance is healing, and energy.  Where I get to interact with others and see what stories their bodies have to tell.  Where I can be alone in a crowd or work a whole room. It doesn’t matter.  I can channel aggression, flirtation, or eras gone by.

Because this is my expression.

This is my church.

Only question is, what boots am I gonna wear?

Hope to see you on the dance floor on Saturday.  I’ll be the red head in the middle.

dancin

A love letter

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To the pair of Anne Klein, hound’s-tooth with black patent-leather trim heels I left behind:

I’ve loved shoes before, but I’ve never tried on a pair that made me feel like you did. You want me to succeed, you know I can go anywhere and make them love me. You want me to be brilliant and beautiful. You want wealthy potential customers to notice me. I was afraid I’d let you down. I tried on your 8.5 sister and she told me about you, my beautiful size 8. When I think about your sweet buckles I want to weep.

I hope you understand why I left you behind, you begged me to take you. You put yourself on sale for me, believe me I noticed. I stepped into you and felt your immediate embrace, it shocked me. So familiar, but new and intense. I walked around in you, fantasizing that you were mine already. You did that alignment thing that perfect heels do. You’ve got skills and I don’t think I’ll truly ever forget you.

Trust me, it’s not you… it’s me. I couldn’t have you. You don’t come alone. I would have wanted you to feel at home. A pair like you needs to be taken care of, and I didn’t want to do this half-assed. I want you to wait for me. If I had you now, I’d be buying new suits and probably a new car to match you. I know you’re ready for me, I’m just not ready for the kind of commitment something as perfect as you really needs.

Wait for me, my sweet. You were too perfect I’ll come for you when I’m ready and I’ll be waxed and pedicured and prepared.

Anxiously,

Feisty

My first pair of GoGo boots!

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I had wanted a pair for so long, but they didn’t make them in my size.  I was devastated, I would try the boots on and they wouldn’t zip up.  I had been losing weight for a while, and was averaging about 5 pounds a month for 18 months straight.  It was about to be my 30th birthday.  I was having a huge birthday party at my house.  We had rented a pool table for the kitchen, a foosball table for the living room, a stand up galaga, our swimming pool was ready to go, the barbeque was gassed up and the piñata was full and ready to have the crap beaten out of it.

 

A few days before my birthday, my BFF A and her husband M had purchased me a birthday present.  I couldn’t wait, and we opened it together. 

HOT

PINK

VINYL

GOGO

BOOTS

squish

It was like slipping my legs into shiny sexy candy.  I was so excited, I had been losing so much weight and hadn’t tried a pair on in a while.  They zipped almost all of the way up.  I was so sad, but they WERE SO CLOSE, I had to keep them.  A said that I was losing weight so fast lets just hold on to them for a while.  I loved them…

 

The day of my birthday I was nervous to put them on.  A came over early and helped me and my partner (now ex) get ready for the party.  We tried on the boots again, and I couldn’t believe it. On my 30th birthday, they zipped up, all the way up.  And I strutted around for hours, so excited!  I called up her husband M, and said… “THEY FIT, THEY FIT!  Thank you it’s a birthday miracle”.  And my dear friend M, said in a way that only he can….  “It’s like the baby jesus killed your fatted calves for your birthday.”  I laughed so hard that I cried.

 

I have had many pairs of boots since then, but these my first will always be my favorites.  I laid them to rest this year because they had seen about 10 parties too many.  But they are immortalized in my heart and on the web.

 RIP Pink Boots. 

 

boots

Awkward First Post

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I know a thing or two about a thing or two.  And this blog is the start of a vision, the continuance of a journey, and the closing of a book.  I, like every other human on this planet, have been on a journey and I want to write it out.  I am starting to braid together all the pieces of my fragmented self.  Because I have suffered from fragmenting my world.  How do I explain?

I felt like I had to separate all of the parts of me… How can I be an award winning business owner and a sexual being?  How can I be a public speaker who has the ability to lift up and inspire when I was denying core parts of my heart?  How can I be a survivor of horrific physical, psychological and emotional abuse and try to connect and be a healthy functioning member of society?  How can I have gone from an award winning dancer and dance teacher to 265+ pounds and down again?  How can I have an eating disorder and throw large fund raisers around chocolate?  How can I be a spiritual being and a party girl?  I don’t know, but I am.

There are so many parts of me that contradict.  And trying to segment them all led me to the second largest breakdown and reincarnation in my life: the first happened at 17 when I was disowned, and the second happened right before I turned 34.  Now, at 34 I am willing to look at my past, present and future and to braid together and accept all of the parts of me that I have tried to protect myself from.

The more I talk, the more I connect and the less I feel alone in my path.  Because I have realized, that there are so many others that are fighting for their paths, step by step.  Others who are surviving and making beautiful, abundant lives out of their exuberant, confusing and painful paths as well.

So this is my story, I am still writing it because I’m not dead yet.  Oh, and I really like boots and shoes, but more about that later, we’ve got time.

medusa