Chicken soup for the hot, not-so-young, single, menstrual, crampy, writer-chick (who-doesn't-write-as-much-as-she-should)'s soul

Yesterday I took the ferry from Jack London Square to the SF Ferry Building then ended up walking 5 million miles to Zeitgeist (Duboce and Valencia) which I got confused with Toronado (lower Haight) which is where I was actually supposed to meet Elan who was at the time rear-ending a brand new Mercedes. In the process I got serious burns on my shoulders, neck and (big surprise) cleavage and am now in supreme discomfort which was complemented not so nicely by the severe cramps which led to today's major activity, as shown above: red table wine, stinky cheese, dark chocolate, fresh pear and one of my favorite books.

In bed.

Oh, my blooming passionflower...

(Continued, from previous "blue" blog..)

Once I got outside my front door, I said hello to the orange tabby cat who often lounges on the stoop, and I was likewise inspired to do the same.

Although it had been a chilly, fog-ridden morning, as I sat on the first step and leaned my head against the wall next to my door, I noticed the sun had broken through and was now warming my cheeks. I closed my eyes and sighed, listening to the sounds of the 'hood...

Surprisingly, there were birds--loudly but sweetly singing on the telephone lines overhead. The faint sounds of laughter in the house next-door. And the distant train-squeal of BART, and a car alarm going off on the next street over. Still, blissful, for Oakland...

I opened one eye and noticed the huge lavender bush in front of me, how a bee drunkenly made its rounds from bloom to bloom. I pinched the top of one of the lavender blossoms and breathed in its soft, sultry fragrance...

The cat seemed to notice my floral appreciation, and took the moment to stretch out even more langorously, under the shade of two cactus plants in terra cotta planters. I swear he was smiling, Cheshire-like...

Suddenly, it dawned on me what I had been thinking about, a year ago on Maui, when I was contemplating the big move here. I remember thinking that I was becoming more and more interested in going someplace where I could discover the hidden beauty in the cracks of ugliness surrounding me, rather than what I perceived Maui to be, at the time the complete opposite.

And then I also remembered a quote, cheesy but true, that "Life's greatest journey is the one you take within yourself."

So yeah... while I sat there on my porch, with the sun warming my face, the lavender sprouting beside the concrete of my driveway, and the cat teaching me something about really relaxing, I guess I realized that I had not only found some of that beauty right outside my front door, but it also reminded me to keep looking for those places within myself, too.

Crazy for feeling so blue...

I had one of those days today, where I had every intention of chilling at home, quiet-like, so that I could meditate and reflect and be at peace with myself...

Also, I wanted to serenely watch a series of Indie Sex docs I got off Netflix, eat all the veggies I scored from Berkeley Farmers Market (pictured, top) and Pagan Festival (pictured, below) yesterday, and maybe even indulge in a midday glass of Two-Buck Chuck.

But all that was thwarted--not by my pretty little neighbor's loud stereo playing, as I was so quickly wont to blame. No, rather my desire to enjoy a relaxing day at home was completely derailed by moi, and my incessant proclivity to overthink and spin myself into a frenzy about absolutely nothing.

I have been conflicted lately--about my position in the world, yes, and about how quickly (or not, as my hyper-self-critical voice often says) I'm achieving the goals I've set out for myself by coming back to California--but mostly about the current relationship (or not, as is the non-question with which I'm torturing myself) with Thespian.

And the fucked-up thing is, there's really no real conflict here: we have a terrific time together, with great sex and conversation and fun cultural activities, and while we each obviously have our own personal dysfunctions, we don't seem to employ games or bouts of jealousy or meanness or anything unhealthy with each other. It's a very adult-like, easy-going, lovely... uh, thing.

Which, I guess, is why I like to murk things up a bit, on my free-to-be-me day off.

So more specifically what's been sort of on my conscience is the fact that a dear friend of mine is soon coming to visit. He's the kind of friend with whom I've cultivated a crush on for a very long time, but had never the appropriate non-relationship status to investigate at length. And so, I believe, we both naturally assumed that this particular visit would be the time and place for this long-repressed consummation--which should be a good thing. Right?

But then there's Thespian. And I mean, look... we don't have any mutual exclusivity agreements yet. In fact, I'm fairly certain Thespian would be less than enthusiastic about defining parameters at the moment, which really isn't as bad as it sounds and I completely understand where he'd be coming from. I'm sort of there myself.

Oh, I know, I know... you're thinking one of those "talks" is in order, right? So that we're both clear about where we stand with each other and wouldn't that be the solution to end my hypothetical torments and such? Yeah, but uh, no. You see, we've really only been dating this round (read: obstacles related to various relocations and legalities we've both been dealing with on our own) for about six weeks. I hardly think now's the time to do all that "what are we doing" bullshit.

Ah, but the fact remains that I'm getting attached. This is an okay thing, really--I've already gotten over the fact that I am not a modern day Anais Nin, as much as I might like to think that sounds so very glamorous... I suppose it's okay that I don't care to complicate this thing with Thespian by having a week-long acrobatic-sexathon with my visiting friend. But do I really want to give that option up, this early in the game and knowing what Thespian's feelings on monogamy have been in the past, even despite what I feel is happening between us?

Elan, of course, thinks I should have the talk. And he has his points. But then he put that bug in my ear: "How do you know he's not seeing other people RIGHT NOW?"

And that's exactly what I was trying to avoid thinking about; it's really just what I don't what to know or have to imagine or wonder when he says come at 8, not 7, or look at the rumpled sheets on his bed and try to recall if they looked that way when I left this morning. Six weeks is not enough time for that, says my inner psycho.

So there I am, mentally working up my greedy-duplicitous-ambiguous-sensitive-loving Piscean frenzy with myself.

I made the girl-mergency call to Krista, who instructed me to take a walk. I made it as far as the front door...

(To be continued, in next blog "Oh, my blooming passionflower...")

Somethin' fishy this way comes...

Went to see this fantastic gypsy-jazz-punk band, called Fishtank Ensemble, at this gorgeous little theatre in Mill Valley (a very affluent town in Marin that's chock full of white folk and feels a little Stepford Wives-ish). The band was killer, made up of all these young, hot musicians who play stand-up bass, accordian, Flamenco guitar, this tall crazy red-headed boy who rocked the Japanese Shamisen, this freaking mindblowing violinist dude, and a little chick who played the saw and sang her heart out in Romanian and English. She was rad.

So I will most likely be following them around for awhile, as they are (of course) a Bay Area band. Check out their MySpace page here.