Friday, June 30, 2006 

Meme madness

Holy crap, this is a long meme. But it saves me from actually writing an entry, right? Shamelessly swiped from Vivi en France.

1. How old do you wish you were? I had a lot of fun when I was 22 and 23, but I think probably 26.

2. Where were you when 9/11 happened? In bed asleep. I live on the West Coast, three hours behind New York and D.C. I was still in bed when I heard about it. I turned on the radio when I woke up and heard them talking about it. I assumed they had the facts wrong - this particular station is known for their idiocy.

3. What do you do when vending machines steal your money? I try banging on it. If that doesn't work, I get annoyed and pouty.

4. Do you consider yourself kind? I try to be.

5. If you had to get a tattoo, where and what would it be? I have two. One is on my shoulder. The other you'd have to know me pretty well to see! I'd get another one (or more.) The design would just need to have special meaning to me. There's nothing I'm particularly jonesing for at the moment.

6. If you could be fluent in any other language what would it be? French (duh), but also Spanish. I also love Italian.

7. Do you know your neighbors? I used to, but there's been a lot of turnover in the past few years. I think I'd recognize most of them.

8. What do you consider a vacation? Not having to get up in the morning, being in a city, state or country other than the one I live in.

9. Do you follow your horoscope? Not really, no.

10. Would you move for the person you loved? Yes.

11. Are you touchy feely? Only with romantic partners, otherwise, not really.

12. Do you believe that opposites attract? Oh, yeah.

13. Dream job? Broadway, baby!

14. Favorite channels? Food Network, Travel Channel, A&E, PBS.

15. Favorite place to go on a weekend? I almost never leave the City and County of San Francisco. How sad is that?

16. Showers or Bath? Shower.

17. Do you paint your nails? Almost never. I only get clear polish when I have manicures.

18. Do you trust people easily? Not anymore.

19. What are your phobias? Spiders. Heights. Enclosed spaces.

20. Do you want kids? Have one. I'm down for one or two more.

21. Do you keep a handwritten journal? Nope.

22. Where would you rather be right now? Paris. I could be more specific...

23. What makes you feel warm and safe? Nothing, really. How sad is that?

24. Heavy or light sleep? When I (finally) get to sleep, I'm a terribly light sleeper.

25. Are you paranoid? Why? What have you heard?

26. Are you impatient? Hell yes.

27. Who can you relate to? No one in my real life. Mostly fictional characters.

28. How do you feel about interracial couples? Ha ha ha...!

29. Have you been burned by love? Hell yes.

30. Whats your life motto? I don't think I have one...I'll think about it and update this if I come up with something.

31. What's your main ringtone on your mobile? It's the sound of an old fashioned phone "riiiinnngg."

32. What were you doing at midnight last night? I was probably online.

33. Who was your last text message from? Catrina.

34. Who's bed did you sleep in last night? Mine. Unfortunately (see number 22 above.)

35. What color shirt are you wearing? Reddish, maroonish. Burgundy? I don't know what the hell color this is.

36. Most recent movie you watched? I saw Wordplay. I loved it, but then again I'm a puzzle and word geek.

37. Name five things you have on you at all times? My glasses, my phone, my ATM card, my ID and lip balm.

38. What color are your bed sheets? Ha ha! The same indescribable color as my current shirt.

39. How much cash do you have on you right now? About ten dollars.

40. What is your favorite part of a chicken? Thighs.

41. What's your favorite town/city? New York City (surprise!) But Paris is up there, too.

42. I can't wait 'til... I own a home.

43. Who got you to join MySpace? Leah, though I'm not actually on MySpace as myself. I joined as my dog. He has nearly 200 friends – only three or four of them human.

44. What did you have for dinner last night? A carne asada burrito from Taqueria Cancun.

45. How tall are you barefoot? 5 feet 4 inches.

46. Have you ever smoked crack? Of course not! I've never even seen it in real life. Cripes, Whitney Houston'll tell ya: "Crack is Whack!"

47. Do you own a gun? No. I've never even touched one (what kind of American am I?)

48. What do you prefer to drink in the morning? Seltzer. I drink it all day long.

49. What is your secret weapon to lure in the opposite sex? My rapier wit? My stunning smile? Helloooooo?? If I had one, I wouldn't be sleeping alone.

50. Do you have A.D.D.? I don't think so, technically. But I do tend to go off on tangents...

51. What time did you wake up today? 8:00-ish.

52. Current worry? I have several...

53. Current hate? Iraq war, Karl Rove, Dick Cheney, Donald Rumsfeld, George W. Bush, apathetic, ignorant American electorate.

54. Favorite place to be? My mom's house. In small doses. When I've rented a car...

55. Where would you like to travel? Sheesh. Too may places to name, but the African continent, and Southeast Asia come to mind.

56. Where do you think you'll be in 10 yrs? I don't know. My kid will be in college (!) I'll be living in either New York or Europe - not alone, I hope.

57. Last thing you ate? Um, I got another burrito. They're cheap - and it's at the end of the block!

58. What songs do you sing in the shower? It varies.

59. Last person that made you laugh? Catrina.

60. Worst injury you've ever had? I broke my ankle walking across the street in Manhattan. I stepped in a pothole.

61. Does someone have a crush on you? If so, they're doing a mighty good job of keeping it a secret.

62. What is your favorite candy? Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. See, peanut butter. I am American, after all!

Thursday, June 29, 2006 

San Francisco Days

Today was one of those days that made remember that I loved living in San Francisco. I've been here for so long, that now it's just "where I live," but today was a good reminder of what it can be like, sometimes.

It started early. The girl and I left the house at 6:30 so that I could drive her to Oakland to catch the Girl Scout bus headed for Calaveras County where she's spending the next week at horseback riding camp. That's right. I'm on my own for a week.

Then, at 1:00 this afternoon, I walked over to Café du Nord where Catrina and I went to a "private" concert (there were about 50 people there) with British chanteuse Corinne Bailey Rae.

She is adorable. I was so close to her that I could have reached out and pinched her cheeks. But I didn't. I had a couple of whiskey sours, though. I asked for extra cherries, so it would count as lunch.

The weather was fantastic, about 75 degrees (around 23 Celsius.) When we walked down to Church St. we saw KT, Catrina's girlfriend in her car. We flagged her down. We parted ways.

I decided to go to Chow. I took a seat on the back patio, where I ordered a glass of Champagne, and a piece of their famous ginger cake with pumpkin ice cream and caramel. Yum.

Afterwards, I made my way home - and back to bed. The drinks and lack of sleep hit me hard.

Just like the old days, living a life of leisure and poverty.

Wednesday, June 28, 2006 

Hope springs eternal

That's all I have to say, really.

I've been in a good, hopeful mood all day - even though I spent the day in Marin (yech!)

Monday, June 26, 2006 

Catrina & Me at the Dyke March

Yeah, we're dorks.

Sunday, June 25, 2006 

Pride weekend

This weekend was the culmination of Gay Pride month here in San Francisco.

Saturday, I went to Dolores Park to meet some friends for the pre-Dyke March festivities. When the march began, we marched for the first four or so blocks until we got to the Casanova bar...and went in for drinks and to watch the ladies march by. You go, girls!

The march ended at Castro and Market streets, where there was a huge street party and celebration. I walked up there and met some other friends, Monica and Jeannie to go to a party at a friend of Monica's house.

We got to the party - in this amazing house. We walked in and I saw the hostess...a woman I had worked with years ago in a women's clinic. After we caught up, and I toured the house, I had a drink. It was clearly a lesbian party, and I was there. I felt like I was undercover - a complete poser. I was talking to my friends when two women came over to introduce themselves. We talked for a while and when one of them mentioned that she was from Quebec, Monica told her that I speak French. By the end of the evening, I had been invited to join their monthly social gathering, Francophone Dykes. I was torn. Should I disclose my non-dyke status? In the end, I didn't. Of course if they ask, I'll tell. But I don't think they'd mind - they said they often have gay men there too, so what's the harm of one straight girl?

By the way, if I was gay, I would never have to go home alone. Let's just say, the ladies love me. How much easier would that be?

Sunday was spent at the Pride Parade and at the Celebration at Civic Center. Here are a couple of photos of the parade:

Some good advice

The Gay Men's Chorus doing their thing

This is funny. City Car Share is a timeshare service for people without cars. This sign is a play on the old joke "What does a lesbian bring on the second date? A U-Haul!"

It was a great day. Large margaritas, cosmos and cape cods were enjoyed, and I got to meet my Friendster, Peaches Christ. Fierce!

Happy Pride, bitches!!

Friday, June 23, 2006 

Sometimes I hate people

Sometimes, out of nowhere, someone will do or say the stupidist thing.

I've been thinking about this since last Saturday when Tomate Farcie and I met for a couple of drinks.

We were sitting at the bar when a perfectly normal looking 50-ish guy sat next to me. I'm not even sure why we started talking, but we did. He mentioned that he was a lawyer. When I asked him what type of law he practiced, he said he defended corporations from consumers that wanted to sue. I probably should have stopped talking to him at this point. He moved here from Nebraska. He talked about how he had first visited San Francisco when he was in law school, and had fallen so in love with the City that he never even took the Nebraska bar exam, but moved here immediately and sat for the California bar.

All seemed okay, until he found out that Tomate is originally from Paris. He shared with us a story about how he had gone to Paris some years ago with a 70 year old guy. The guy got sick, so he was left to roam Paris alone.

He said he didn't speak or understand French, but people were helpful - he didn't know why people say the French hate Americans. I mentioned that unlike a lot of Americans, the French can differentiate between policy makers (Bush) and the American people in general. He had voted for Bush the first time, not even remembering who had run against him (Gore.) Again, I probably should have stopped talking to him at this point. But no.

I said "Moi, je parle un petit peu du Français, mais apparemment j'ai un mauvais accent." Tomate (politely) said that my accent wasn't too bad. This dude, however said, "It's hard for black people to speak French. To speak French you have to have sort of a "smooth" sounding voice. That's hard for black people."*

What the fuckity fuck??!!

Maybe it was the cocktails, or maybe the beautiful day, but I was apparently in a very diplomatic mood. I didn't tell him how retarded he was. I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt, and even a way out of his asinine statement by mentioning that I'm from the West coast, and have only ever lived on this coast, so I really have no discernable accent (here in the US.) But he just repeated it. So I turned to Tomate and said (finally!) "I'm done talking to this guy."

It was weird. Weird that he'd say that to me, weird that I didn't smack him upside his head.

Stuff like that happens all the time. Things seem perfectly normal and then -BAM- out of nowhere, people come up with something completely out of left field.

Tomate reminded me that it was not unlike getting a certain text message from a certain person...I was happily going along thinking "La, la, la, he's so sweet, he likes me, yada, yada..." But no.

I fucking hate people sometimes.

*I'll assume he's unaware of the millions of black francophones. In fact, now that I think of it, aren't the majority of French speakers in the world black? That would make sense to me considering Francophone Africa.

Thursday, June 22, 2006 

Today was hot

Record-breakingly, free public transportation hot. It was so hot that when I had a meeting today with a pretty high-ranking person at UCSF, she told me, conspiratorially, that she had taken off her hose, her bra, her shoes, and her blazer before I had gotten there, and only bothered to put her blazer back on for our meeting.

It's a day that just cried out for more 2-for-1 frozen Margaritas at Moby Dick with Tomate Farcie, but when I went by earlier, they were closed. Damn.

Wednesday, June 21, 2006 

I am good

How evil are you?

Monday, June 19, 2006 

The marrying kind

When I went out with that Irish guy, he said to me that he thought that if he were really interested in the "wife and kids thing," he probably would have done it by now.

I'd never really thought of it that way before. Maybe that's true for me too. My life certainly hasn't gone as I thought it might have. I never envisioned myself as a single parent, but here I am.

It's sometimes difficult dating with a kid. Often the problems are logistical, but usually the guys don't want to be "burdened" with someone else's kid. But see, here's the thing. I've been a single parent since conception. I went through the pregnancy/delivery alone, I've raised her alone, put her through school alone. As in all by myself. It hasn't always been easy, but I worked pretty hard, had some good (and some not so good) jobs, and have paid for everything and taken full responsibility for my decision. I don't need some guy to take care of us. I really resent the idea that some men seem to think single moms are out to get their hooks into them. Not the case.

Therein lies the problem, I think. I may be too independent. I don't know if I'd have the ability at this point to make any of the compromises I assume are necessary to make a marriage work. It bums me out, because sometimes I think I would like to be married.

I see it everyday. This is going to sound more egomaniacal that I mean it to, but...I see people who seem less intelligent, less attractive, less financially secure, have more kids, or who are older than me getting married. What the fuck am I doing wrong? I think I really may be destined to be alone. Which kind of sucks.

I might add that a large part of the suckiness of being single stems from the fact that you never know when you're going to have sex. I think that maybe the reason He-Who-Shall-No-Longer-Be-Named-In-This-Blog and I had so much sex is because we both realized we never knew when we were going to have the opportunity again. Of course, for all I know, he could be sleeping with a different woman every night. Alas, I will never know.

Sunday, June 18, 2006 

He left without incident

And by "without incident" I mean uninjured.

Thank you everyone for your virtual support. It has meant a lot to me this past week.

Warning: this entry is full of bad mouthing, shit-talking and insults. Please don't feel obligated to read this post - I'm just venting, and will return to (hopefully) more pleasant discourse soon.

It was awful. I just don't like him. He's just not very...I don't want to say bright. It's not that he's stupid, per se, but, he is not someone I would prefer to spend a lot of time with at this point in my life. He's kind of a hick. I've known him since I was 15 years old. I'd like to think I've grown as a person since then. Learned new things, travelled to different countries, met new people - that kind of thing. Or at least taken an interest in such endeavors. Not so with him.

He was born in Tacoma. Will never leave Tacoma. Left the country once when we were 16 to go on the French exchange trip (though he didn't really speak any French, and had no interest in doing so, his best friend was going, so...) He refers to this trip ad nauseum, as if the mere fact that he ever left the country at all ensures that all will think of him as a Continental jetsetter.

His presence at her graduation nearly sent me over the edge. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt (um, hello, it's an occasion), he sighed and "harumphed" mightily during the speeches that were given in French because he didn't understand any of them (nevermind the fact that it's a French school.) I was not pleased by the fact that after the kids all got their diplomas and parents were invited to go down to meet the graduates, he made his way down before her godparents and me. Fuck you, dude. He'd never even seen the school before (he last saw her the day before she started kindergarten.) Never mind the fact that I've paid the (outrageous) tuition on my own these past six years. Where the fuck does he get off? Asshole.

I refrained from talking (too much) shit about him in front of my daughter, however, it's funny that, in his world, he can say shit about me to her, and not think she'd tell me. Of course she'd tell me - I'm her ACTUAL parent, dickwad.

She's going to my mom's in mid-July. No mention was made of plans to see her when she's in the same town as him. I am glad that she finally got to form her own opinion of him - based in reality, rather than fantasy. If she wants to call him when she gets there, she has his number. If not, well that's okay too. At least she got two dresses and a pair of shoes out of the deal (plus untold amounts of junk food and candy that I'll never really know about.)

For me though, the important thing is that he's gone. Fucker.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006 

We're all still breathing

I'm exhausted. Physically and emotionally. It will take me a day or two to collect my thoughts. I'm sorry I haven't responded to the comments...I will! Suffice it to say: he's just not very bright. If I'm being honest, I think an additional reason I didn't want him to come to San Francisco is one of vanity. I didn't (don't) want people to meet him, and then look at me with the "Really? Him?" face.

Oh, the purported reason for his visit is that my daughter is graduating from CM2 (5th grade) to collège (middle school) and he came for the ceremony.

I'll write more later. It hasn't been going "well," but no one is bleeding yet either, so it's a win. Right?

Monday, June 12, 2006 

Today's the day...

And I don't know if I can do it.

My daughter's "father" called yesterday to remind me of his flight info. He sounded very excited about his trip to visit his daughter whom he has refused/neglected to see over the past six years.

He kept asking me if I was angry about something, or if he was interrupting me, or something. He can't seem to comprehend why I wouldn't be excited to see him.

What the fuck?

He lives in the same town as my mom. My daughter has spent every summer there since she was six. Christmases, too. Yet he never came to see her. She would leave messages for him that he never returned (I put an end to that, refusing to let her leave messages anymore - it was too hard to be ignored by her "dad.") Last Christmas, he promised to come by my mom's and take her to the movies. He never showed. My nephew came over later that day. He walked in carrying wrapped gifts that he said had been left on the porch. They were from him. He'd come over, but didn't ring the doorbell because he'd chickened out. Jesus.

All this after he had a well established relationship with her. I'd visit and we'd stay with him, he'd visit and stay with us. Lots of phone calls back and forth. He came down for a visit right before she started kindergarten. He left the day before her first day. And then he disappeared. No warning, no explanation, nada.

When she was about two years old, he was here visiting, and I had a very serious talk with him about not becoming a big presence in her life if he really wasn't going to be around. He swore that he'd always "be there" (whatever that means) for her. He pretty much was. Until he wasn't.

Mere words cannot express the disdain I have for him. I truly hate and despise him with the white hot fire of a thousand suns for hurting her like he did. And yet, she can't wait to see him.

I know that I am seriously going to lose my shit at some point. I feel it. It won't be pretty.

I'm going to hold it together as long as I can for my daughter's sake, but I don't know if I can do it.

Pray for me. Wish upon a star. Something. Just hope you don't read about a woman in San Francisco who is under psychiatric evaluation after repeatedly running over her baby daddy. For real.

Wednesday, June 07, 2006 

Unhappy Birthday

The fabulous weather has left us. It's not raining, but it has cooled considerably. We're back to normal. It was nice while it lasted.

My birthday is next month (July 28th for those of you keeping track.) I always loved having my birthday in the summer. Until I moved to San Francisco. The weather here is awful during the summer. Gray, drizzly, foggy. Our "summer," when we get fantastic weather for weeks at a time, is September and October. That's the wedding season around these parts.

I love birthdays. Not just mine, but friends' too. Kids clamor for invitations to my daughter's parties because they're always the best. Seriously. She's had rock climbing, art workshops, ceramic painting, swimming - all kinds of stuff. I love to go all out. I'm also a pretty good gift giver. I tend to pay attention to what people casually say they like, and then surprise them.

Unfortunately, I am obviously very difficult to buy for. Last year, I swore to myself that if I received yet another lavender/musk/ylang-ylang bath/shower gift basket from The Body Shop, I was going to strangle someone. Now, I'm not someone who particularly even cares about gifts. I'm more about the party - the celebration of me, if you will. But come on, people. Books, music, a nice bottle, an available French guy - these gifts are timeless. They never go out of style.

Although I feel stupid for not knowing the exact date, I know that June is the birthday month of He-Who-Shall-No-Longer-Be-Named-In-This-Blog. Nevertheless, I'm kind of bummed. I knew exactly what I wanted to get him for his birthday our first night together, and now I can't get it for him. Well, I suppose I could, but hell if I will.

Monday, June 05, 2006 

Glorious Sunday

The weather in San Francisco has been fantastic the past two weeks. Of course, just by typing that, I've probably jinxed it all.

Last Sunday, the Carnaval parade went down Mission St., by our apartment. We didn't watch (or participate) this year because I had to take one of the rabbits, Skeeter to the vet. We had to walk through the parade to get to my car which was parked on the other side of Mission, but we made it.

This past weekend was great. Although I slept completely through Saturday, due to some random nausea and puking (fun!) when Sunday rolled around, I was ready to get out of the house. I got a phone call from my former assistant who has recently moved less than two blocks from me. She and her friends were having an impromptu barbecue in Dolores Park, and invited me along. My daughter was at her friend's dance recital, so I happily agreed to join in the fun - now that we can be seen together without fear of repercussion.

The park was so crowded. Every available grass surface was covered with blankets and grills. A random band had set up and was playing in the middle of it all. It took me a while to find the group I was meeting...what did we do before cell phones?

It was a potluck, so I needed to think of something to take. In the end, I went old school, and took a Nilla Wafer Banana Pudding - though I cheated and just bought pre-made vanilla pudding. I'm happy to report that everyone loved it...and not just the stoned folks. I met some really cool people. I had a blast lying in the sun, drinking sissy drinks, listening to music and laughing with new friends. This is what summer should be like.

My daughter spends her summers at my mom's - I forsee a lot more days like yesterday in my future.

Thursday, June 01, 2006 


So, my baby daddy, a man that neither my daughter nor I have set eyes upon in very nearly six years, is coming for a visit next Monday. Christ. I really don't want to see him.

Get this: he asked if he could stay here. Um, hell fucking no, dude. He even thought he could sleep in my bed. Dude's smoking crack, or something. I found him a hotel - not too close.

I need a drink.


Marcel Proust said...

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes."

My daughter's class had to analyze this quote, and describe how it has applied to their life experiences.

I couldn't stop laughing when I saw this assignment. They are ten and eleven years old, people - what life experiences? Sheesh. It must be a French thing.

I've been riding everyday. You'd think my butt would stop being sore by now.

I can hear my daughter on the phone in the other room. She's talking to her father. Dear, sweet jeebus, I hate that man - but I must remain civil for her sake.