Thursday, August 23, 2012

Blog 89: I am Beautifully Broken (Love Tales Part VI)

Blog 89: I am Beautifully Broken (Love Tales Part VI)

Love Tales Parts I-V are blogs 10, 17, 35, 47 & 60

“Mysterious, blown in with the night, all this beauty captured in a frame, visibly shaken but never stirred, drives them insane, I see the way she plays her men, and I know I've got to know her name…she's so beautifully broken, shaped by the wind, dangerously twisted, here I go again” (you know I be quoting Mr. Warren motherfucking Haynes when it comes to matters of my heart…come on now…you should know that’s how I roll.)

Oh my love tales…these are some of my hardest blogs…my heart is something I like to keep very private and hold close, clenching it in comfort…it is beat and torn, shattered and tossed and worn…

I often find myself wondering if I will ever be able to love again…and on the rare occurrence that I do open the doors to my soul…well let us just say, not many men remember to wipe their feet upon entering.

It always seems to be the wrong ones that I let in, the one I become addicted to, the ones that are as damaged as I am.

The other day I received the most beautiful kindhearted note, from a man that is truly a good man. We had gone out on a lovely date awhile back but the truth of the matter is that I was not over my ex (I’m still not)…and while I was turned on by his pure nature, his drive and his strong hands…high five big hands!…he did something normal like touch me in public and I freaked the fuck out…(cause I am a crazy chick…duhhhhhhh)

The note went on to say how he was there if I was ever ready…

And it made me cry…especially considering I read it five minutes after having my heart broken again by a man who is damm fucking good at crumbling my heart over and over again.

It seems I ain’t never going to get it right.

Cause I am simply Beautifully Broken… “You can barely see the flaw, especially from a distance, which is always how I fall…”

All this heartache is beginning to turn me into stone (if you look close enough you may see it)…I try so hard to fight this feeling of granite penetrating my being, I try to put up my shields of love, sparkles and awesomeness in its path..I try.

But I am weak.

I am human…which totally sucks sometimes!

I try to let the right people in…I yearn to make the right choices…I pray that the softness may take over my heart once again…I get down on my knees at night and wail to a God begging for the supple illumination of my soul…for the beauty to take over the broken.

Sometimes it is just easier to turn myself off.

I was walking from one job to another today and a very nice man paid me a compliment and asked me out, I responded with, “Don’t even bother, I am a wasted effort…” pulled my hood over my head and simply walked away.

Sometimes I feel like I am just to fucked up to ever let the right person in…

I have never had a man just be good to me…WAIT, let me put that right…I mis-wrote…I have never had the man I desired be good to me the way I needed them to be.

And at this point in my life, I don’t know if I can actually let someone in…all the shit has pilled up pretty high…and my heart feels over burdened with grief and pain…

And more importantly…I don’t think I can take my heart breaking again…

It is a risk, that I desperately want to take, but am scared that this risk might just lead to more pain…more tears…I am petrified of becoming brittle.

Why does my heart want things that it knows are erroneous?

What makes us want what we shouldn’t have?

What is wrong with me? (please don’t answer that, we don’t have that much time)

The note the man had written also mentioned that he knew there was too much competition over my affection so he wanted to leave the ball in my court…funny…I always feel like I get the wrong kind of attention.

Awhile back I had a conversation with a man who was giving me the “low down” on men, and I wondered, “Why do all the wrong guys hit on me?”

He retorted, “Cause you are the type of woman that men want to fuck, not take home.”

There is an honest answer for you.

Did I want to punch him in the face…HELL YES…did I feel he was spot on…unfortunetly yeah…after the incidences that happen to me the other night…I can’t help but agree with him.

To be quite honest, I feel that it is a shame that I am somewhat screwed in the head and that a lot of men just see as a person to fuck…cause I am so much much more.

I know deep down that the sorrow that encompasses my heart also creates a pure eloquence…the trials that men have put me through during my time has created a woman of soul, shine and depth…

Maybe I just don’t give myself enough credit.

Maybe I just need time.

Maybe one day I will simply be beautiful.


(I would like to take a moment to wish a Happy Birthday to the most awesomeness boss ever…without you I would not have the strength and the hope that I have…cheers to many more years and getting through the tough times together and celebrating the good…I love you Pam!)

So this is a team dance people…start by crowding around one person and start talking, use some hand gestures, that totally sells the “talking” part…oh…part the sea, here comes another person with “the cake” in their hands, everybody clap and sing…the designated “birthday” person gets a big smile on their face, kissing the cheeks of the peeps on the right and the left, arms in the air, one final cheer and MAKE A WISH…fill your cheeks up with some air, and blow that candle out…Happy Birthday!

Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Blog 88: To Be San Franciscan (Part I)

Blog 88: To Be San Franciscan (Part I)

On my mother’s side, I am third generation Californian. I never drank kool-aid till I was 29 and was living in my friend’s house (they are southern.) My one friend was so shocked, he had me ask my mom what the hell was up with me never having kool-aid, and my mother responded with, “We are Californian, we drink juice!”

When people ask if I am Irish or Scottish, I give them a funny look and say, “I am San Franciscan.” They counter the odd gaze and ask where my family originates from and I hold their glare and raise my eyebrows a little higher and go, “I originate from San Francisco!” Sometimes they get it, sometimes they don’t…but come peeps, let’s be honest…

I reek San Francisco! (in the “smells good” kinda way.)

From the glitter to the year round flip-flops, the fact that I think it is normal to be able to smoke pot anywhere and everywhere or that when I dress I can adjust for major weather changes with articles of clothes I can fit in my purse…this is my kingdom.

And you know what the funniest part of this story is…I hated San Francisco for so long. When I was 18, I could not wait to get the fuck out of the city. The next twelve years of my life I spent in the small-college-herb friendly towns of Arcata and then Eugene.

Through those years I lived a decent life and thought that the quiet pace was more for me.

But I am a Gemini, and I get bored easily, and there is not a whole lot to do in small towns…as I realized the path I had chosen with owning a restaurant was not one I wished to continue…I pondered where I really wanted to be.

I talked to my ex-husband about selling the restaurant and moving to San Francisco, his response was a resounding “No!” followed by, “Besides, we won’t be able to grow pot in San Francisco!” (I totally understand if anyone who lives in San Francisco at this point has to take a time-out or a knee to contain your laughter…if only he knew…I don’t grow pot anymore…but if I did…I could freaking grow it on the roof of my apartment building and no one would give a flying fuck…this is San Francisco people…where can’t you smoke/ grow pot?)

As my husband and I parted ways, and my life began to crumble, I had no choice but to head home…thank god my life fell apart…because home really is where the heart lies…and San Francisco…is my home.

It is quite apparent once you get to know me.

The house I grew up in, where my parents still live today was built in the late 1800’s by a German sailor, it is a three story Victorian that has sweeping views of the Pacific which my parent purchased in 1979, a year before I was born.

My parents met in the late 60’s at the University of San Francisco, my mother went into teaching and has worked at the same school a half block away from our house for over 40 years, my father studied Rolfing from Ida Rolf herself (he is one of two people still alive to have learned from her) and has had a thriving practice for almost 40 years. They have been married for almost 40 years.

I am a true San Franciscan…ask me where I went to high school!
(Please note: as a native, I feel like this is the most pertinent question to ask someone who says they grew up in the city…I went to Sacred Heart and transferred to Drew….boom…It highly disturbs me when a chicken fucker claims to have grown up here and then they say that they went to high school in Walnut Creek…bitches…that is East Bay…that is Walnut Creek…it has absolutely nothing to do with San Francisco…I have not been since I was 12…you are from the East Bay…stop pissing me off.)

My blood lies in this city.

I never felt like a princess until I moved back.

I never believed my dreams might come true until I came back here.

Opportunity is lavish in this city…and culture emulates through every pore…you just have to look up.

I feel since being back here my mind has been opened and by sense of space and dimensions have changed.

To be San Franciscan is to truly be yourself.

To embrace you for you and not give a fuck what anyone thinks.

San Francisco encourages its people to be awesomeness…cause we got to keep up with our beautiful city.

I have watched my amazing city change through my life…from the 49ers being on top, to the 1989 earthquake that shattered our city with the collapse of the freeway and the bridge to the fires in the Marina, my teacher at the time lost her apartment in the earthquake, my dad was at work and a piece of his window shattered and went into the neck of a lady who was jogging…they were using the Muni busses as ambulances and he had to wait to make sure she was safe…to the bleakness that took over Haight Street when Jerry died, to the boom of the economy and the popping up of neighborhoods that never existed…where the fuck did the Dogpatch come from?...As Twitter moves into my hood now I ponder what is brewing on the horizon…I am eager to watch how my city morphs into the next generation…

Cause here in Frisco, we know how to do…

(A perfect example of how awesome San Francisco is: We all have HEALTH CARE…I pay $150 every 3 months for Kaiser Health Care…thank you Gavin Newsom…you rock! Everyone all over the country is fighting about how to give everyone health care…hey chicken fuckers, just look at San Francisco, add a small tax to people’s restaurant bills…and heal a people.)

San Franciscans know how to rebuild our economy, our lives and our city…each time making it fucking better than it was before (like putting glitter in the sidewalks!)

And as I start in this new chapter in my life I can think of no place I’d rather be.

Cause…there is no place like home…and no place like San Francisco!



Every time I cross the Golden Gate Bridge I always get this sense of warmth…
Start by driving your car, hands at two and ten…point ahead, you can see the bridge…first we got to go through this tunnel so hold your breath…make a wish (please do NOT pass out while driving)…we made it through the tunnel, you can start to breath again…time to merge over to the right (whoever is in charge of lanes on the Golden Gate Bridge…you suck! Always have…booooooo traffic!) Traffic blows, take this time to change the radio station and make sure you don’t have stuff in your teeth…ohhh got to merge over one more lane…cause the other side really needs four to our two…wave thank you to the dude that just let you in…grab your cash to pay the toll (does anyone else remember when it was $2.00 and not $7.00)…pay the toll lady, wave hi…and get ready for some city driving!

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Blog 87: Come and Join the Magnificent Sanctuary Band (Music is My Church, Part IV)

Blog 87: Come and Join the Magnificent Sanctuary Band (Music is My Church, Part IV)

Parts I, II & III of “Music is my Church” are blogs 25, 44, and 78 (and if you haven’t read them, why the hell not people!)

Listening to Donny Hathaway always makes me think….

"There are multitudes of people dying cause they just won't see and try to understand, from the book I read, not one but all must follow, come and join the magnificent sanctuary band."

In recent weeks I have been making more of an effort to be good person.

Not that I didn't try before, or wasn't...But as of late I have been striving to bring a smile to people’s faces as much as possible and to be able to look in the mirror and be at peace with all my actions...and it has been ever so self-satisfying and self-exploring.

And yet I am human, and still faultier…and to be honest…I need a support system…a band as one might say.

After all, “It always seemed to me that my heart was in perfect timing with the big bass drum…remember how you got the code of glory feeling.” (The one that made your heart swell.)

What if we came together, not as just people, but as family...what if instead of bringing each other down, we held on to one another and stepped up?

What if we forgave others, and in turn were able to atone for our own sins?

What if we all made an effort to really make the world a better place?

I don't think I can attach myself to one religion...I kinda feel like I get parts of them all...

Who doesn't want to have faith?

Who doesn't need to believe in something...even if it is simply the power of one's self?

Who doesn't desire someone to wail to in the middle of the night?

Who hasn't gotten down on their knees and begged for mercy?

"There are multitudes of people dying, their temptation hangs over the land, in fact those people should just remember his command, come and join the magnificent sanctuary band."

There are times when I am selfish, and let myself be taken over by desire and want. It is in these hours that I feel a part of me has died. Whittled with guilt or self-despise I torment myself with thoughts that swirl in the sepulcher that can be my mind.

Part of me wonders if I am the only one that feels this?

Not only the pain of letting someone else down, but the failed potential of bringing myself up.

I see a common thread in many religions...BE KIND TO ONE ANOTHER...or in Sunny terms, "Don't screw anyone over!"

I know that I myself can get so blinded by things I have no control over...of other people, of life, of actuality...the truth is I need to do the best that I can and let destiny forge the path that I shall walk.

“The Son of Man speaks of Revelations and he's reaching, reaching out his hand, with his promise of salvation, come and join the magnificent sanctuary band.”

I don’t know what tomorrow is going to bring…I don’t really remember everything that happened yesterday…

I am simply acutely aware that Together We Can…and that is all.

I apologize if this blog comes off as “preachy” that is not what I am trying to accomplish.

I feel that “Being Good to One Another” is the root of all happiness…and for me personally, is an ideal that brings me salvation.

And I cannot Walk my Walk alone...I don't want to.

Now come and join the Magnificent Sanctuary Band.



Start by hopping on your horse, this might take someone else giving you a nice footing with their hands and a boost. Now swing that leg over the horse and grab hold of the reigns. Holding the reigns tight, give that horse a little kick and start to hop up and down as the horse starts to gallop…ohhhh, look…a cow that has gone astray (or a hottie, which ever) time to lasso them on in. Holding the reigns with your left hand, grab your rope with the right and twirl it over your head…now let that action fly…wow, that totally went in the wrong direction…but you all get the drift...totally.