February 17, 2003 - 9:50 a.m.
Valentine and President's Day weekend. One of my favorite times of the year. A time to revisit those you love and cherish. A time to unwind, relax, eat chocolates, smell roses, and water flowers people send you unexpectantly. A time to look beyond Hallmark, Ghirardelli, Godiva, and trademarks for something real and tangible.
A poetry reading in the city Thursday evening in the Mission district. Monique invited her faithful readers to attend the event. And I was honored to be there, listening to better poets and younger writers share their thesis work. Reciting over 20 years of collective prose with us; the enthralled listening audience who adored them. Monique dripped sex, looked sexy, and oozed life and meaning without the need for sauce. Putting yourself out there emotionally is never an easy thing. And she and Gg did it so beautifully together. Magnificently. Gg's poetry can best be described as clever sound and rhyme. A cross between Dr. Seuss, Satan, anagrams, hexagrams and everything in between. Delightful. Compact. Splendid. Entertaining.
Monique's poetry is alive, kicking, breathing, climbing, masturbating, walking around and observing the world with eyes wide open. What a beautiful poet and person. Her affection, aura, sensuality, and kindness are just as real as her words. Her clear complexion, cute little glasses, contagious smile, taller than average body, expressionate eyes, mannerisms, and clear, pleasant speaking voice all real and enduring. Highly suggest you visit her website and read her journal and poetry for yourself at this link. Mopie.com
My body felt stiff as she gave me a big hug and thanked me for being there. She giggled as she whispered the name Shagging Bastard in my ear. Did she still have feelings for him. I couldn't tell. He looked the part. People were heading for the wine table as I made my way out of the building. She invited me to join them but I had to get back home to my own existence. As I walked five blocks to 21st street, I couldn't help think back to six years ago when I saw Her at the Mexican restaurant with friends, one of them a minister's daughter. On February 13, 2003 I finally knew I would never see Her again on the same street, in the same room. And the envelope in my backback would remain unopened.
Early Friday morning, Naomi and I went hiking. Steep, muddy hills in Tilden park. We made it to the Youth camp and down the gravel fire roads back to the car. I suggested Indian food for lunch near Bancroft Street. It was a $6.95 buffet of delicious curry, spinach meat, rice pudding, fresh fruits, hand made bread and other tasty side dishes. We took a walk past the train station to University Avenue. And I saw how easy the route is to walk. Private thoughts stirring inside my head. I felt sad for her. What a perfect job and commute to and from the city. Then I felt myself the real specimen being observed. The moth tapped and rolled upside down with pencil eraser. And I wanted to fly away.
Keep things real. So I decided not to write in my journal for seven days. Until I couldn't take it anymore. Dead silence. The inability to express myself in words.
On Friday night, we went to a comedy club. Sue Murphy and friends were performing and I couldn't pass up a chance to see her live, in person. Let me tell you, she was no disappointment. And the two male comics equally entertaining. Saturday morning I could barely get out of bed. Sore muscles from Friday's strenuous hike. Yesterday, Bubbles and I went to see "The Recruit" movie starring Al Pacino and hunk of burning love Colin Farrell. I've been near the Langley Farm but never visited. An ex-boyfriend of mine was almost recruited there. But he chickened out at the last minute and stayed in grad school. I think the movie does a good job in portraying the type of training they receive at the Farm. And watching Colin on screen is worth every hot & heated moment of vicarious viewing.
Bubbles loved the girl in the movie. She was pretty hot herself. Ashley Judd look-alike. Bubbles sat in row three while i squeezed into a middle row seat with strangers. I refuse to sit up close in the first five rows.
Afterwards, we went to Jamba Juice for smoothies and Office Max to purchase poster board and glue sticks for his collage due tomorrow. All in the life of a soldier woman and mom. Don't know if I should use the word "girl" anymore after reaching the age of 40.
~ Soldier Girl (Woman)
