Monthly Archives: September 2009

I cannot believe I’m admitting to any of this.


My friend Sally is in town, visiting from Australia.  Isn’t she cute?

sally rutter

Totally adorable, right?  Hold that image in your head ok?  Because this post is about to take a big turn towards the terrifying.

Buckman joined Sally and I for dinner, and as it tends to go when girls get together, one story blended into another.  In passing, I mentioned an incident over the weekend of *ahem* off-season spotting (and yes, male readers, that means what you think it does and if you are offended STOP NOW), and that reminded me of a Story, a story with a capital S.

A Story that Buckman now claims did what he previously thought impossible, a Story that made him more gay than he previously was.  A epic adventure of tragedy, comedy, drama and romance.   It answers the timeless question of what would happen if the Williams Ferrell and Shakespeare got together to rewrite Carrie as a low budget indie flick as a vehicle for a Lindsey Lohan comeback.  (And could someone please make that happen?  I miss her raspy voice.)

I’ve decided it’s time to tell this Story.  Ya ready?  No, you’re not.  I should be more concerned I suppose, that this Story will turn all my male readers gay, but did you know that if you turn a hot straight man gay, you are awarded a toaster from the gay community?  And you, my readers, are nothing if not attractive, so perhaps this will be enough to trade up to the breadmaker I’ve been eyeing.  So here we go.

I had this “friend.”  Now, kids.  Mummy is allowed to have “friends.”  No, that is not gross and do not NOT slam that door and where are you going?  The movies?  Actually thats ok.  Take your time, and call Mummy before you come back.

Ok you’re back.

My friend, let’s call him Ricardo because that’s not at all his name and I don’t know anyone named Ricardo and it’s a shame because it’s a cool name.  When our schedules coincided we liked to meet up, and fairly often that was on my lunch break.  One warm and sunny day, such as today, he texted me to ask if I was available.  I did a quick check before I responded.  My period had been over for three whole days, but for the two days following I’d had a tiny bit of spotting.  Unusual for me.  But we were all clear, as well we should be, so we arranged to meet.

I was wearing my hair up in a bun, and cute little pencil skirt.  As I left, a coworker remarked that I looked very innocent that day, like a librarian.  I giggled to myself as she told me to enjoy my lunch.

Flash forward about five minutes.  I’m in the back seat of my car, which is parked in a parking lot behind an empty office building.  My cute little skirt is hiked up to my armpits, and I’m straddling Ricardo, who is wearing only his shirt.

A good time is being had by all.

Until suddenly something doesn’t …….. feel ……… normal.  I look down and there is blood.

I’m not sure I have the words to explain to you how much blood I’m talking about here.  We’re not talking oh oops sort of spotting.  We’re talking crime scene.    Except that period blood is ….. recognizable for it’s consistency (I’m really trying to be delicate here because if there’s one thing I want you to take away from this story, it’s that I’m clearly a LADY) so there’s mistaking this, or passing it off as, oh perhaps your piercing nicked me?

Now when it comes to my womanly bits and pieces, I think of myself as ….. the air traffic controller.  I feel no shame that there is ……. weather, but I pride myself on, to the best of my ability, predicting  it, and coordinating with the ….. pilot to bring us to a …… safe landing.  So to speak.

Epic fail.  There is blood on the back seat of my car, all the way across his midsection, on his white shirt, on the seat again …..  I’d Carrie-d him.

I looked around frantically, it felt like the car was slowly filling up with blood.  For a brief moment I felt relief in God’s promise to Noah that he’d never again kill all mankind via a flood, but then my heart sunk when I realized God had promised nothing about not killing with a crushing wave of mortification.

I turned around to the front seat, stretching to reach the napkins in the glove compartment, only to realize that my hands had somehow gotten covered in blood and now I was leaving bloody handprints all over my car.  Including one on my car window.   I frantically dabbed at Ricardo with a napkin and a bottle of water I’d just grabbed from the fridge before I left, because clearly what the poor dude needed now was an ice cold sponge bath.

And that’s when I saw the truck pull into the parking lot.


Gone were the innocent days of a bygone era, when I’d worried about being caught merely having sex.  No, now they were going to take one look at in my bloodmobile of a car and assume I was in the process of disembowling Ricardo WITH MY VAGINA, and I’d be spending the next 36 hours in a police station trying to explain how I’m not the fucking Ice Truck Killer.

The driver stopped the truck and looked at me.

Then he slowly drove away.

I took a few seconds to enjoy my freedom and returning hearbeat, and then turned my attention to Ricardo’s formerly white shirt.  He assured me it was fine, that he had another shirt in his car.  And then he paused, admiring the splatter, and said, “You know, my next client?  Hasn’t paid me.  I’m leaving this shirt on, I bet he’ll pay me today.”

Hallmark doesn’t make a card for this, but I made sure to send a gift, thanking him for being so cool about all this, because that?  That is a good “friend.”

Nine pound bird is not a euphemism.



Valancy Jane and Buckman – *trying to get the attention of a Victoria Crowned Pigeon*

Buckman – “That one’s looking at you.”

Valancy Jane – *clucking noise*  “Look at him, he’s coming closer!”

Victoria Crowned Pigeon – *coming closer*

Valancy Jane – “I don’t know what this noise means to him but it must mean something, look at the way he’s coming over here, bobbing his tail.”

Victoria Crowned Pigeon – *comes closer, faster*
*takes off*



National Public Lands Day


Did you know that last Sat. was National Public Lands Day?  And that all the national parks were free?  And that there’s a national monument just a couple of miles from my apartment?  And that they happened to be having a festival over the weekend?

Totally out of excuses for having never been there.

So Aurora and I went to see the Cabrillo National Monument, the site of the first European landing on the Pacific Coast of what would become the United States.






I’ve been all about the pictures lately.


But tonight I took a walk and it was so lovely and I have no pictures to show for it.  It was warm and dusky and the airplanes were taking off and doing their usual cresent moon trail around the city (and around the cresent moon) and a lot of Bachman Turner Overdrive came up on my iPhone’s shuffle and I remembered halfway there that I was walking around with a pony face on my face and when my favorite cashier at the italian market admired my grocery bag I was so glad I’d also brought the extra one I never use and as I walked down my old street nobody but the people who know me knew what to make of the girl with half a pony on half her face and everything smelled like basil or maybe it was just my bag and then a manhole cover blew lukewarm air up under my hair and when does that ever happen in this city anyway so I am forced to assume that maybe even Satan can be charmed sometimes, and I just wanted to write the words I hope all my pictures have been conveying lately.

I am so grateful for this little life.