Turning 30 (Serious & Spiritual…Hey, I warned you :)

I turned 30 yesterday and have been having mixed feelings about it…Not so much about turning 30 itself, but being 30 and in my current situation (i.e. a single gal, with no hope in sight/credit card relying intern…really, need I say more?). My pity party lasted the good part of a week before I got over myself and realized how fortunate I am to be healthy/living in a wonderful city with amazing friends and a supportive family (…not so bad after all, aye?)

So to celebrate the big 3-0, a dear friend and I hiked out to the beach to have a little lunch and enjoy the beautiful weather (tank tops and sunshine in October!?!? Yes please :).  As I contemplated the last ten years of my life and all that took place, I began to think about my future too; hopefully a husband, some children, winning the lottery (the big one, not just a scratcher) and aging gracefully (think Demi Moore).  It was during this fantasy that an old belief popped up (an excuse really), something that I had been telling myself and others for a long time… “I’ll find a partner when I am leading the kind of life I want to be leading.” Variation “I need to be the person I want to be before I will find the husband/love I want.” Well, fuck that…

While standing at the mighty ocean’s edge, I began to think about her power and grace. Then it dawned on me, the ocean didn’t create her own water…it had to come from sky! (And I might add, sometimes travel a long way to get there…) Then once its time on earth is done, it returns to the sky only to be reborn again and become part of ocean once more. Repeat. A wave of relief washed over me as I applied this concept to my own life…it is part of the life cycle to be incomplete. Then we find friendships/relationships that feed us energy and provide us with that little something special that fulfills us so we can do our work and live our best life. A new belief began to take form, “I don’t have to wait until I am complete within myself/career/financially, but can continue to receive “rain” growing stronger, brighter and more me in a relationship.”  Well obviously, this new belief feels right and true…Now if I can only keep that old one from popping up again, as my dad would say, “Then, I’ll be in business…” 

Tales from the Nanny

After realizing how much money the government takes for taxes, I decided to work “under the table” as a nanny until I can get back on my feet (Don’t get your panties in a bunch IRS, this is a few hundred dollars we are talking about here).  But boy, I had no idea what I was getting into…

Finding gigs was actually pretty easy. With it being summer and all, families were in desperate need of coverage for nannies out on vacation, busy with summer internships or just because they needed a break from their own damn kids.

My first family had a little girl I will refer to as Boo-Boo Daddy (BBD) because she was just learning to talk and everything was BBD…I mean EVERYTHING. There would be times the precious little creature would be screaming BBD only for me to find out later that all she wanted was a glass of milk. Or another time when she decided she didn’t want to poop in her diaper, so she took it off and shit on the floor. Awesome, really fucking awesome.

I ended it with BBD because after four hours with the kid I would be so stressed out that I would have to immediately go home and smoke a cigarette then take a nap…The damn kid was just too overwhelming!

So, for my next family, I decided to try to take it down a notch. Something more mellow and more like my upbringing, so I set up a time to meet with a couple who are both therapists like me. I had a little bit of trouble finding their house and arrived about 5 minutes late (obviously not a good sign for someone you are thinking about hiring, but I was late nonetheless). Dad Therapist answered the door and lead me down a very cluttered hallway filled with boxes and I casually inquired, “Did you recently move in?” “Oh, no,” he replied, “We’ve lived here for years.”  As we turned the corner into the living room, I began to notice a smell, something like kitty litter and all that comes with it. “Do you have cats?” I inquired. “Oh, yes,” he said, “We have two. They are our other babies.” And proceeded to bore me with the names, ages and special talents of each critter. (Don’t get me wrong, I love animals and have lovely little fur ball of my own, but I think I was too overwhelmed with the stuff and smells to really take it in).

I tried to make my way to the sofa, but had a little trouble getting over/around the glorified play pen that had been set up for the little bundle of joy. “Probably to keep her away from the cat piss,” I thought.

As I waited for Daddy T to go get the rest of the crew, I took in the room and all of the stuff in it, ‘cause man, there was a LOT of stuff…probably not like a “Hoarders” amount of stuff, but pretty damn close. To make matters worse, none of the blinds or windows were open adding to the already claustrophobic feeling of the place and the smell.  “How do people live like this?” I wondered. Open a freaking window! Let some light in… The rest of the interview didn’t go any better and when I left, I didn’t even inquire as to when we would be speaking again. The thought of having to spend 8 hours a day in that room made me a nauseous…I was fucking outta there…

Luckily, not long after, I landed a gig with a wonderful family. Their little boy, who I will call Frog, is the sweetest, most lovable little boy on the planet…No joke, I just wanna hug ‘em and squeeze ‘em and kiss ‘em, but the kids gotta sleep and eat…so we just kick it. I find myself filled with gratitude on my early morning walks over to Frog’s house. Although we won’t be in each other’s lives for long, we will have spent just enough time together to make an impact on each other’s lives. I’ll teach him how to sneak on the back of the bus and his mommy will pay me enough money to pay my rent J  

Polk-a-Dot Undies

While out for dinner last night with my gorgeous friend, Molly, I noticed we were getting some attention from a table with very decent looking guys at it. Hanging out with Molly, this is the norm because dudes always stare at her because of her goddess-like good looks and long, blonde mane; but this time, the one of the guys was looking at me! I mentioned to Molly that she just might be my good luck charm...

But then to my horror, I discovered why I, not my friend Holly was getting all the attention…

The Sitch: Molly and I were grabbing a little pre-concert din din before going to see our favorite bluegrass band...thus, dressed for the part, I was wearing a nice little dress and boots. But, being summer in San Francisco and FREEZING, I was also wearing tights. What I failed to remember was that they were not leggings, but the see-through kind. So, when I slid off my boots and hiked my legs up Indian style to enjoy my tortilla soup in comfort, I was actually giving this table of dudes a full frontal view of my crotch donned in bright green underwear with gigantic white polk-a-dots. (Now that things have gotten really personal, let’s just add that unlike my jeans, which get worn out in the thighs, this particular pair of tights is actually ripped and has a decent-sized hole in the crotch…)

So, I’d like to apologize to you, long-haired, jewish-looking boy eating a burrito with your buddies last night…I’m not sure what you saw, but I’m damn sure it wasn’t pretty. Oh, and that hole in my tights, that was an accident, sicko…I don’t usually go around wearing crotchless tights…

Me vs. 10 lbs.

With my upcoming role as bridesmaid quickly approaching, I thought it might be a good idea to try to lose ten pounds. Why? I have no idea. While I could probably stand to loose the weight, I feel good and my dress fits perfectly. Still, knowing I am about to be on parade in a strapless dress in front of old college friends and potential husbands is motivation enough to want to look good…really good.

Hearing good things about SparkPeople.com (namely that it is free), I signed up to start tracking my calories and receive motivational emails about weight loss. You can even join a special online bridesmaid format for specialized “you-can-do-it” support.

My first day things went really well and I gave myself a little imaginary pat on the back for having met my caloric and nutritional goals for the day, but then things headed downhill…The following day was Sunday, a day of gluttony, filled with brunch out, afternoon cocktails and ice cream with the Sunday night movie. But then Monday rolled around and it was the Fourth of July, which being a holiday, is essentially like another Sunday all over again.  My day began with a pre-hike, Fourth of July celebratory donut, which I promptly washed down with a 20 ounce Mountain Dew; I knew things were going to be ugly, at least calorically speaking. 

After a long day of hiking and beaching, I returned home feeling revived from the sunshine and ready for some BBQ and brews. Not wanting to make a pig of myself @ the BBQ and also not wanting to wait to eat, I ate I nice big salad before heading out. Upon arriving at my destination I was glad I did because the only items left were hours-old kabobs and some dried up looking macaroni salad (hello people, mayonnaise in the sun?!?) I shrugged, broke out my beer pong champion coozie and started chatting it up with my new friends…

Having lived in foggy San Francisco for six years, we were ecstatic for a clear night and finally able to enjoy the fireworks from my friend’s roof. We even got in a little star gazing before it got too cold and we all headed home. Not wanting to abandon my ten-pound weight loss goal less than 72 hours in, I logged in to track my day’s calories. Breakfast = 1 glazed donut, 1 20 ounce mountain dew, Lunch = Spinach salad with strawberries, sliced almonds and (fat free!) balsamic vinaigrette, Dinner = Four Budweisers and six cigarettes. The results were tallied and I was way under my suggested calorie range! Satisfied with my success and my day, I climbed into bed smiling and thinking, “Maybe I’ll try to lose 15 lbs…”

Yoga Guy

It seems even to cliché to write, but I have met him…yoga guy…not as bad as this yoga guy, but still…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DJsQcnB6GC0

Being unemployed allows for lots of free time to try out new yoga studios. Armed with my yoga mat and yoga BFF, I headed into class ready to relax and renew.  Knowing myself and that I do not respond to change well (at all) I decided to sit quietly meditating before class to get used to the new space and check-in with myself to see what I needed from class. I was just getting settled when I heard someone ask, “Are you saving this spot?” I looked up to see the urban legend that I had heard so much about, abominable yoga guy, completely covered head to toe in hair, and wearing shorts which left nothing to the imagination. Being the budding bodhisattva that I am, I promptly responded, “all yours” as enthusiastically as possible. “Okay,” my inner monologue began, “this is your practice for today. Notice: judgment, annoyance, just notice…oh, fuck!” Urban Tarzan had begun his pre-class ritual of attempting to reach his toes, huffing, puffing and grunting the whole time.  “Ok,” I thought to myself, “what are my options here? Move, leave…” But before I could finish my thought the lights dimmed and the teacher began guiding us in the opening meditation. 

Things went surprisingly smoothly for the first half of class.  Besides trying to hide my “that’s nasty face” (best illustrated here)

every time yoga guy dripped sweat onto his mat or took a break to “mop up,” I was able to get into my own yoga groove, but as the class began to reach the end the teacher decided we were ready to try some hand stands.  Already exhausted from the day/class, I did my usual pony kicks (i.e. preparatory jumps) and focused on maintaining proper alignment.  Yoga guy, however, had a different approach…He began throwing him legs up in the air - grunting and farting (yes farting) the whole time. Afraid for my life, I abandoned my practice and curled up near the end of my mat, as far away from the flailing neanderthal as possible.  The pose, usually called child’s pose, quickly became frightened animal pose as I made note of each of yoga guy’s attempts at levitation. 

The teacher suggested one last attempt before beginning our cool down and as I prepared to flip over onto my back for savasanna, I saw out of the corner of my eye that yoga guy was really wobbly and in fact was falling over and headed in my direction! I moved my hands out of the way before one of his giant feet landed smack on my mat.  I couldn’t help but stare at the rivers of sweat creating lines in his overgrowth forest of leg hair.  “Oh, sorry,” he said, “my bad.” He removed his foot only to leave a footprint of sweat on my mat that quickly turned into a little pool of foulness.  With this being my first time at the studio and the instructor already dimming the lights for final relaxation, I looked around quickly for where they might have the mat spray and towels, but finding nothing, I grabbed the blanket I was planning on using to keep myself warm and laid it over the tiny pool of filth. Curse words floated through my inner monologue, then sheer annoyance and disgust.

As soon as the final Om was chanted, I hopped up to return my props and tell my yoga BFF all about the events of the past 90 minutes. Looking uber Zen herself, she took one look at me and mouthed, “what’s wrong?” I mouthed back, “later.” Then headed to the bathroom to wash my hands in case I had accidentally come in contact with any of the yeti’s bodily fluids. Taking a few deep breathes of the lavender soap, I felt ready to face the world again or at least my friend and move on with my day.

I found my friend waiting for me outside the studio. “Great class,” she said, “What did you think of it?” “Ha,” I said, but before I could launch into the full story, Yoga Guy came out of the studio and gave a little wave in my direction before heading off down the sidewalk.  “Do you know him?” she asked, “He’s kinda cute…” Unable to control myself any longer, I made the combination stink eye/death stare in his direction and responded, “Yyyyyeah, he's all yours...” 

I'm back!

...whoot, whoot, I'm back! It took a long weekend at the natural hot springs, a few days of laying in the sun reading smut and my roommate gone for ten days (so I can eat bacon in my underwear, my favorite "I live alone" activity;) but I am finally back to me! I have officially let go of my corporate "experience." And I know this because after dinner, with some actual energy to spare, I had a little Roy Orbison-Baha Men-Cee-Lo-Cyndi Lauper Dance party.  Hmmmm, maybe that's why my neighbors across the way greet me with a knowing smile when I see them on the street even though we've never met.  Either that or because I usually forget to close my blinds...

Okay, I lied...this one is a little serious...

During a recent sunshine-filled morning, I set out on a little adventure through GGP.  Mid-wander I found myself upon a peculiar scene.  Four little boys, roughly 3 or 4 years old, where having a T-ball lesson with some baseball cap wearing, gym-shorts-for-all-occasions kind of guy. While the mothers stood, arms crossed on the “sidelines” each little boy took a turn at bat.  Then, with each hit, the little boys and the dude would take off around the imaginary bases for a homerun victory lap.  One little boy stepped up to bat and on the first try walloped a good one out into what would be center field. This little boy knew the drill and raced around touching each imaginary base, while the last little boy barely made it to second base before loosing interest and walking back to the sidelines.

The next little boy hopped up to bat, swung and missed. “Try again,” “Eye on the ball,” rang the mom’s voices from the sidewalk. Finally, with one mighty swing, the little boy launched the waffle ball way past imaginary third base, but instead of taking his victory lap began squealing, jumping up and down and shouting, “kiss, kiss” while hugging and kissing all the other little boys. “Hey, no kissing,” shouted the coach, “we gotta run the bases. C’mon.” And he was off, but the little boys were too involved in there love fest to notice, and the hugging and kissing continued. After the coach had taken his victory lap solo, he tried again to get the boys attention. But the excited little boys just looked confused. They were excited and something good had just happened. Why were they supposed to stop? I pictured the little boys celebrating with mom when something good happened at home, like pooping in the big boy potty. That’s when mommy gives you a big hug and kiss to let you know how proud she is of you. 

Well little boys, I am afraid the time for hugging and kissing is over. It is time you learn to be a man. Now, you are being taught to take your victory lap and the attention of all the adoring fans, not to express your excitement and joy through physical means with your friends. It is now time to have your value mirrored to you externally from the roar of the crowd as you humbly round the bases with the greatest of ease while enjoying your time in the spot light. Geez, no wonder all little boys want to grow up to be athletes.  They learn early that outside recognition and praise feels good, like mommy’s hugs and kisses, only past a certain age, one becomes more desirable than the other. 

As I walked away from the scene, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad for what I had witnessed that day. I wanted to encourage the little boys to kiss and celebrate any way they wanted too. To enjoy and express their feelings of excitement and joy, but as just a childless bystander out for a stroll, I knew it wasn’t my place and told myself what all future parents think: “My children will be different.”    

Women, Food and Deprivation

During a recent trip to a grocery coop, I overheard an interesting conversation.  A woman was giving some member of her family, who was obviously visiting the area, a tour of the coop and barraging her with the benefits of eating a local, organic diet. The relative nodded politely as we all do in these situations, but upon making eye contact with me rolled her eyes at the “education” she was receiving. 

What happened next, as they say, “takes the cake.”  The woman stated that by eating local and organic she would, “easily live 5-10 years longer” than she normally would have.  Now, I consider myself a pretty up-to-date person, but I had never heard this statistic. And upon further research (i.e. Google) found no evidence that this statement was true.  So, I thought, “Why does this woman believe that by eating certain things she will dodge death?” As if a car crash wouldn’t happen on the way home, because she had organic beet salad for lunch. Then I realized what’s been bugging me about pretentious food snobs…well, a number of things actually.  #1 Regardless of if you eat all organic, local, sustainable foods, you are still going to die.  #2 Not everyone needs restraint/deprivation in their diet, some of us need to let go a little bit. #3 The last thing we as women need is more guilt or shame, we feel poorly about our bodies, our choices in relationship and how we raise our children…I say ENOUGH! No more playing victim to the current food movement or any other fad that promises to make us better (or live longer), if not (unable to die). Me must admit our humility, our humanity and flow through life with grace, humor and integrity instead of guilt, shame and fear.

A few years ago, while in grad school, I decided to “treat” myself to a trip to the naturopath.  The woman came highly recommended and her website promised a (to treat the whole person with dignity and respect, not like seeing your medical dr.).  But after 1.5 hours, I felt more shame than I had ever felt at after any doctor’s visit.  After hearing my current diet - restricted meat, tons of sugar – the lovely DO told me she couldn’t help me because I wouldn’t do anything she told me to do (i.e. cut out sugar) and I left with some non-petroleum, local salve (not without an lecture on petroleum use, never mind that I took the city bus to get to the appointment and she drove her prius), a sheet of paper that said things like, “smile everyday” and “be sure to spend 15 minutes outdoors each day,” and $380 less than when I went in.  Well, as soon as I left the place I burst into tears and walked all the way home, my anger growing with each step. How dare that woman judge me and my lifestyle, I came to her for help! As I walked through the poorer parts of town, my anger grew into rage. These people can’t go the coop for everything and they are still alive! I walked by people standing in line for McDonalds and ice cream and thought there can’t be one way to eat, just like there isn’t one way to live…we can’t all be bankers or lawyers or doctors and we can’t all take fish supplements or put wheat germ on our toast.  And we shouldn’t feel bad about that…We need to love and trust our bodies, they will tell us what they need.  And I don’t know about you, but my body rarely thinks, “mmmmm, tofu.” What is does feel is the need for protein and iron, especially during certain times of the month when those vitamins need to be replenished. Or craves chocolate when hormones are doing their thing leaving me feeling sluggish and a little sad.

So ladies, go ahead and have that red devil cupcake bite with your skinny, decaf, non-fat latte…your body just might thank you for it…

QUIT!

It is official. After 3 months and 12 days, I have had it corporate America. I’m actually pretty proud of my self, last time I didn’t last two months! This must mean my tolerance is building ;) Let’s just hope it needn’t be tested again…

Humpin’

Tuesday is my Friday (at least as far as work is concerned), so by the time 11pm rolls around I am definitely ready for some R&R…if only it were that easy…

This Tuesday evening I returned home to find my neighbor, whom I have nicknamed “Next-Door-Nasty” or “Nasty” for short, laying on top of her latest foreign traveler de jour in the entryway to my building. At first I wasn’t sure if it was her. There are a few new people in the building who didn’t seem to get the memo about this being a quiet building, one for introverts who read books late into the night and chain smoke cigarettes. These people have dinner parties, bond fires in the backyard and have a constant train of people in and out. So, needless to say, I wasn’t expecting to know the people, well, humpin’, in my entry way. 

I slammed the mailbox shut hoping to shame them into stopping, but looked in just in time confirm it was indeed Nasty who was now straddling her gentleman caller as he was pulling her hair…gross… 

With a little time to kill, I borrowed a cigarette from a bum who had set up camp in a doorway nearby and tried to get out of ear shot of the moaning/giggle fest happening inside.  While I smoked, I attempted to text my roommate to see if she would open the door or do something to get them to stop…I didn’t want to be out here all night! But, she wasn’t home and with no one else to share my news with, I texted the neighborhood watchdog who is familiar with Nasty’s shenanigans.   

Finally, they “finished” and I waited until I saw them turn on a light in her apartment before heading inside.  Then, and only then, did I tip toe in and past the site of the Tuesday night free sex show and into the comforts of my own apartment across the hall from hers. 

The next few days, the news traveled fast…all of neighbors wanted to know the details.  “Why didn’t you watch?” asked the middle aged man in my building.  “Ah, because she’s nasty,” I replied. “Why don’t you tell the building manager?” asked another. Yeah, what’s he gonna say, “Would you please stop humpin’ random smelly tourists in the building’s public spaces”?  He gets uncomfortable when he has to come over to change a light bulb…So, I did the only thing I could do -  I grabbed a couple of pamphlets on Sex Addiction from my local community clinic and slid them under her door.  But really, when it comes down to it, sex addiction is really only a label they give to men, for women, they just call it awesome.   

F*#% Cupid

At the urging of some of my friends, I decided to create an online dating profile with the site OkCupid.  A few of them had found relationships, even husbands, using the site for “urban hipsters.”  While I consider myself to be neither of those things, I figured it was worth a shot and posted a few basics about myself, as well as,  a picture one of my friends labeled as “San Diego beach bimbo.”  Well, in the year and a half I have had the account, I received a number of inquiries, none of which being in my “desired age range” or even geographic area.  Sorry, I’m just not into having a long distance relationship with someone’s grandpa in Maine…

So, I’ve been cruising along, perusing the goods and ignoring the advances of those gentlemen whose profiles sound like shrines to a god (eyeroll) or anyone who appears to have the tendencies of the Unibomber or Jim Jones…But what happened yesterday, as they say “takes the cake.”

Having weeded out the “don’t, won’t and never’s,” I finally decided to take a chance and send a message to someone I thought looked cute and whose profile had me giggling with glee.  The next day, I opened up my email and was excited to see onlinecutie had written back and went immediately to site to retrieve the first and only message in my inbox.  The following is what it said:

           

            “My dad always told me to fuck blondes and marry a brunette…wanna? ;)”

Yeah, I’m serious…So, I clicked on the little button for “Account settings” and then “Delete Account.”  When a little screen popped up, “Are you sure you want to delete your account?” “Yeah,” I thought, “I’m sure…f*(# cupid.” …

Origins

I recently returned from a lovely holiday in the MW to find that I am having a hard time switching gears back into my city life.  The other night I was getting ready to meet some friends for dinner when I found myself unable to change out of my father’s old, worn-in flannel shirt.  Running late, per usual, I threw on some red lipstick and headed out the door.  When I met my friends they didn’t say anything about the shirt, but their looks said it all… “What?” I said, “I’m wearing lipstick.”  Thus, my new blog “Lipstick and Flannel” was born… 

L&F will continue to highlight my adventures and general shenanigans, but this time, back at in San Francisco.  Hope you’ll join me as I dive into the world of online dating, corporate life and the last year of my twenties…this is gonna be good!