January 11, 2016

“The magicians keep disappearing..”  That’s what my Irish friend Grace wrote this morning, and my god, she is right.  Jason and I were discussing Bowie last night – that’s his favorite vocalist.  I thought I didn’t really know much of his music, but how wrong I was – listening to all the songs that were playing today – David Bowie’s voice was interwoven throughout my childhood and teens years like a tapestry.  Lemmy was my later teen years, but this guy has been there throughout my lifetime.  Thank you, David Jones, for a wonderful serenade.

Envelopes in hand, I headed to the Board of Behavioral Sciences to turn in my second set of official transcripts.  Turns out they also need Form B filled out by the school. In Irvine.  Are you freaking kidding me?  Dr. Weber was injured and therefore not at work (I emailed him), Robin emailed the Irvine office.  I left to do various errands in the area and headed back a few hours later.  Weber can’t do anything for me other than contact the folks down south and try to figure out what’s going on.  It was so close – I could have had my intern numbers and a 60 cent raise today, but no such luck.  

Winco trip to buy plant-food (vegetables) and canned foods and then home where I received two of the best pieces of mail ever – my Hipnic tickets and my trucker patch for the burn in the Marmot jacket I have. Now I need to put the Hipnic tickets in my safety deposit box and learn how to put on a patch.

I was told by a person today that I should not stop writing my posts about sexuality.  This is something I’ve been thinking about.  My thoughts are as such (subjective, I understand):  I believe there is too much shame, secrecy and sexism when it comes to sexuality, particularly women’s sexuality.  Everyone knows the women sleeping around = slut, males who sleep around are “just being a guy.”  I was told if a woman (namely me) talks about sex or goes into a sex shop she is seen as easy and not girlfriend material.  If I am easy, I am certainly missing out on a lot of sex and am a little sad about that, though the girlfriend part seems to be working out well since I’m also quite single – although the reciprocal “interested in him/him interested in me” hasn’t happened, either.

I went to Zumba tonight and almost died.  My inner thighs are still so damn sore that it brings back fond memories from long (long) ago activities that are not squats.  Gotta be grateful for the memories, right?  "We'll always have Paris...".

Pictures: My soon-to-be-patched Marmot: At the car wash; Brandman; Hipnic tickets; my new zumba/running shoes