Mmmm coffee...

As I was hanging at my favorite local coffee spot, I was having this conversation with a fellow patron about tea. When he asked me if I drank tea, I responded that tea isn't my thing. I will drink tea and I actually can enjoy a nice cup of tea. But my relationship to coffee really leaves little room for tea. Who has time for tea if you are drinking 8 cups a coffee a day? I not only love coffee but I, in fact, need coffee. Yes, in that totally codependent, "there-are-groups-for-that" kind of way.

As I began to think about it, coffee has really become my life-partner. I started drinking coffee when I was about 8 (no that is not a typo). My Grandparents called coffee "dessert" when i was a kid. They used to put that powder creamer and a boat-load of sugar in coffee and serve it to my brothers and I as an after dinner treat. I am sure you can imagine what the evening was like. After bouncing off the walls until about midnight, my brothers and I would finally pass out and sleep in until 10 am. I have a feeling that the 10 am part was the ulterior motive, but I digress. More serious coffee drinking began in high school. I would have a cup in the morning before school along with the cigarette I would have stolen from my Dad's pack. Best breakfast ever. The years after high school solidified my habit. I started drinking coffee in pots as opposed to cups.

The only thing that has changed is what goes into the coffee. I spent years drinking coffee black and smoking Camel straights. Kind of went with the whole wearing all black thing and the mohawk. Also kind of mirrored the guys I dated as well - strong, acidic and left stains. Around my mid-20s i began to put a little teaspoon of sugar in the coffee and also entered my first long-term relationship. And just like my coffee, he was strong, a little sweet, and being in love, i felt like i couldn't live without either him or the coffee. All three of us shared a love of Parliament's as well. We lived happily in a small studio for years in San Francisco and then moved to Los Angeles.

Now being a local Bay Area girl, I was raised on Peet's and had developed a bit of snobbery around my coffee. There was no Peet's in LA. I felt like I was leaving my real lover behind and having multiple affairs as I tried coffee at different coffee shops. All of them leaving me feeling empty and disappointed. I had an affair for a while at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, but it wasn't the same. I decided it was time to go back to Northern California. I missed Peet's.

I left my coffee affair, my boyfriend and Parliament's in LA. And also changed what went into my coffee. This time it was just cream. I was back buying bean's at Peet's and splashing a dash of cream. I was also single for the first time in 10 years and was feeling like I needed to take care of the ulcer I had grown while living in LA. Coffee and my life was looking nice and light.

It was at this time I rediscovered a local coffee spot that brews a great cup of coffee and has great beans. In high school it was known to me as the pick-up spot for Bears. Now i think of it as my spot... I grab my cup, I meet up there with my friends or I find my quiet corner to write there. Don't get me wrong, I still love Peet's but I never hung out at any Peets. Once I made the move to the local spot, I began to splash a little sugar in with my cream.

I still drink the strongest coffee you have ever tried at home and am known for sending my friends to the bathroom within minutes of drinking my brew. But recent years have marked a lighter, sweeter blend of coffee, cream and sugar. I guess some of my edge wore off, same can be said of the guys too. They also seem to be sweeter, lighter (as in the size of the baggage they carried), and better quality like my beans.

Heartbroken

I could feel the tears slowly gliding down my cheeks as he rode away. The side of me he will not see. How would I continue my stoic façade if I wore my emotions like raindrops on a window? I couldn’t decide between the two of us who was more afraid of the vulnerability of where we were. I guess truth is we are nowhere. That indescribable place in which there is no definition, like one of those crayons in the box with a name like burnt magenta. Is magenta even flammable? I had almost forgot what it was like when the sadness creeps in and soon the tears just flow. How is it we get to this place where the walls are so thick we lose the determination to tear them down? I find myself struggling with my own narrative after spending years in this place of self-discovery, finally to be exposed at four in the morning by the Viking in my bed.

I guess I should feel relieved that someone saw me after protecting myself with shields of outrageous tales that have come to define my character when they were simply stories of events rather than the colors of my character. He saw me as the color pink like the first blush I wore after a stolen kiss in the aisles of Safeway; the assigned color of passion. And the pink of the sky in summer as the sun begins to duck behind the sea casting its hue upon the clouds while the air continues to be warm. And for that moment he saw me as the “real deal” and in that moment he let me go.

I could feel his hands as they slowly loosened their grip and soon I began to slide away. I didn’t reach out nor did he try to regain his hold. He let me go and I let him. Perhaps it was the exhaustion of the hour or maybe it’s just that I didn’t have the strength to protest. Confused by words uttered sweetly while wearing armor. The steel too difficult to hold and too cold to the touch, I guess I had no choice but to let him go.

I have taken flight before so the path is familiar as I glided to the ground. Needing to catch my breath once again before spreading my wings. With no destination or time constraints, I know I will remain grounded for a while with the hopes a distraction will pull me up once again. Or perhaps it’s the warm current I am waiting for that will pull me up to the sky to see again the beauty of what’s around me. But today it’s grey as I listen to the sound of the rain pouring down drowning the sounds of my tears dropping upon my keyboard. I am heartbroken.

Indecent Exposure

Since when can't a girl pull down her jeans in a parking lot and show her best friend her new cute panties? Really, doesn't Oakland Police have some "real" criminals to look for. And why did i have to be lectured in front of my home after they followed me from the parking lot? I swear I should have asked them if they liked the view, except my panties are too cute to sit in a holding cell.

Gentle

Be gentle with me new love
There have been others before you who didn’t understand
that there is comfort in the space
and shades of purple encircling old wounds are like crisp leaves fading in the fall
And there is really nothing to be afraid of
even raging fires have a path

The cinder cone has been building since the first tear
and it’s still just a shell
And like the vintage ponies going round and round
paint and wood and the timbre of the music
You can hear the laughter
even when the Wurlitzer long since played

The furtive glance betrays my distance
And there is nothing to fear
The warmth of your hand as it guides me back
Like the content cat finding its ray
It comforts like a car sitting in the sun in early spring

Be gentle with me new love
There have been others before you who didn’t understand
that there is no white on the canvass
even as it burns to the touch

And the award goes to...

I had a history of ditching dates. Not one of my better habits and yes, therapy worked wonders. Anyway, I thought I would start with the story that wins the award for “Largest Quantity Of Date Ditching In The Same Location.” This all occurred in a local bar here in Oakland that I was 86ed from (until recently). I think due to the fact that the bartender and I probably both want to forget this whole series of events, I am going to keep the bar name anonymous.

This bar is the perfect blind date spot. It’s a bar I wouldn’t normally go to so chances were low I would run into anyone I knew. It had a fair amount of regulars, so someone might notice if anything should happen to me. Especially since I had decided to make this my regular “blind date bar.” And probably the greatest reason I loved this spot, it had a window in the bathroom. All I had to do was stand on the toilet, push the screen out, pull myself up, hop out the window and put the screen back. Simple.

Truthfully, I didn’t decide to go there with the express purpose of jumping out the window. The first few times I went there I actually left out the front door. But there was the first time. It was one of those dates you either wanted to charge $120/hour for your time while listening to his “my daddy never loved me story” or in my case you jump out the window. I remember excusing myself to the bathroom after my date had launched into his story about his father serving time in San Quentin. I got into the bathroom and as I sat there contemplating how the hell I was ever going to leave; I noticed the window. I wiggled the screen and found it freed quite easily. I had myself pulled up and out in moments. I was free.

As I walked to my car, I began to think of the email I would send to my date explaining what happened. What do you say after ditching your date out a window? There really isn’t a great explanation.

I think after that first time, I got a little hooked. Honestly, I did reserve this for particularly bad dates, but I was also going through a tremendous string of bad luck with dating. All in all I ditched about 17 dates there. I remember the last one was a guy who took my Craigslist ad about liking scrabble a bit too literally. He showed up on the date with a frame pack on. You know the kind you use when you are trekking in Alaska for one month. I was concerned. He then pulled out Scrabble. Okay, cute. Then he pulled out the official Scrabble Dictionary. Okay, that makes sense. Then he pulled out a Webster’s Dictionary. This was getting me a bit concerned. And then he pulled out an Unabridged Dictionary. You know those enormous dictionary’s you find in the library on its own bookstand that is supposed to have all the words known to humankind. The backpack now made sense and I now had the heebie-jeebies.

But not thinking this was a window-worthy situation; I played Scrabble. This changed rather quickly. I remember his first word was mayhem. And then the next word he laid out was death. Then came blood. I had no choice. This was exactly why this bathroom was designed with a window. And sure enough I was out the window within moments of entering the stall.

Technically this was the last date I ditched. The next time I came in, the bartender pulled me aside. He tells me that after each time I climb out the window, my dates apparently go up to the bartender asking if he had seen me leave and each time he has lied and said yes. He had quickly figured out I had climbed out the window from the get go. Years of tending bar had taught him the look of a woman who desperately wanted to get away from her date. And I wasn’t the first woman to have done it. I just had carried this on the longest. He was tired of being the one to let these guys know I wasn’t interested. And then having to buy a few of them a shot because they seemed genuinely bummed. I apologized and offered to buy the bartender a drink. He told me I just needed to go before my date got there and that I wasn’t welcome back.

The Gap

So finding myself put to the task by the man who likens himself to a relative, I had no arousing tales of port-o-potties. And I wondered how rays of light could be so erotic and surmised it was the thought of my bare ass against cotton that could put a smile on his face. Or was it the handprint left behind along with the sting?

So this one is for the ninja who has kept me company in the sun while letting me take drags of his smoke so I can still claim I am not a smoker…

I used to love the Gap. Yes, that uber-trendy store that has proliferated like Starbucks. And it’s not because of the cotton twill cargo pants or the fleece hoodies that last but one season. No, it was never about the clothes or the ads featuring celebrities who haven’t stepped inside the store. And it wasn’t because Sharon Stone wore a Gap turtle neck to the Oscars.

For nearly a year I got to love the Gap until I was banned. Technically I think the term is 86ed. I am not sure it’s all Gaps but it certainly includes one particular store in which I was told never to return. I discovered the Gap in the heat of a lustful affair. He lived with his parents and I lived with too many roommates. And he wore Gap clothing. It all started innocently enough with a simple trip to a simple store to buy “the basics”. As we perused the store, I felt conspicuous in my motorcycle boots and pink hair. And we clashed as he pulled out jeans and shirts that looked exactly like the clothing he was wearing. Not wanting to be left alone in what felt like a page from 1984, I followed him into the dressing room. I had assumed I would wait near the entrance of the dressing room area when he motioned for me to follow him inside.

The four walled room was complete with a 3-way mirror and a door to the floor along with a neon-colored button to summon for assistance. I am not sure if it was the fluorescent lighting or the whiny voice keeping time to the beats that attempted to be known as music that got me so charged up. But as I watched the khaki cargos slump to the floor, I found myself pulling him close. Sitting on the rejected items, I found the bench to be the perfect height as I cautioned him to keep his voice down.

We began to have a weekly rendezvous at the Gap. And with each meeting we became more and more adventurous in the little room now filled with wool as the weather changed. I often wondered if the cameras caught our little secret and if anyone ever watched.

Then it all came to an abrupt stop. Perhaps we were being too inconsiderate, it was the holiday season after all and people actually needed a dressing room. The knock was loud and the voice even louder as we were asked if we needed any assistance. I remember my friend breathlessly answering, “No, we are fine”. The staff person knocked again, but this time told us we needed to vacate the dressing room. We dressed and then opened the cardboard door only to find ourselves face-to-face with one of the salespersons and what I assumed to be the manager. The manager looked disapprovingly at the both of us and told us she knew what we were doing and that we should be ashamed of ourselves. I turned reflexively away so she didn’t see my smile or hear my giggle. She then asked me if I thought this was funny. Truth was, it was funny, so I responded, “yes”. The manager turned even redder and told us to leave. She emphasized the fact that we were no longer welcome in the store and that we were not to return.

Unfortunately, without the Gap, we really had nothing in common. It’s now been years since I have entered this American clothing staple. I often wonder if the store still holds the same titillating power and whether my picture is located near every cash register under the word “86”.

Warm

I woke from the crack of the sun peeking through my shade. As I opened my eyes I couldn’t help but feel betrayed by the dawn. His breath was barely audible through the sound of the rain and the wind. And I watched as the cross-eyed beauty gingerly tiptoed across the bed hopeful I would fill her bowl once again as he slowly turns on his side gracing his hand across my stomach then gripping me and pulling me close. Perhaps it was the tickle of her whiskers or maybe it was the rumble of her purr that momentarily stirred his slumber.

And for this moment it’s warm and I feel his breath against my neck and I smile.

And for this moment, there is only still. And even as minutes pass, the warm air emanating from the radiator is only occasionally rippled by the click of the metal. My blue-eyed girl now nestled in the crook of his knees. And as I lay here in this nest of cotton and feathers and fur, I can’t help but think of the sun as the mistress who will soon entice my lover away.

But for now we are here in the warmth of my room now awash in shades of pink. Our cheeks now kissed by the rays peering through the window as they begin to shine upon us. I hold my breath as if to hold time immobile hoping to have this last just a little bit longer.

And for this moment it’s tender as I feel his breath against my neck and I smile.