I’m technically Jewish (my mother’s bloodline) but I wasn’t raised in the religion. I didn’t have a Bat Mitzvah. I’ve observed Yom Kippur before (I worked in a synagogue for two years) but never like this. I’m fasting/abstaining/atoning. I’m atoning in my own way, kicking myself in the ass. My last serious relationship ended badly a year ago. I’m thinking about the choices I made then and since.
I’ve coveted someone’s significant other. I’ve coveted him a lot. My false idols have been men I’ve dated, deemed special (artists/musicians/tech stars) and put on a pedestal. I’ve been heartbroken when these relationships ended. I’ve been dishonest. No murdering.
My experience with fasting/abstaining is that I want the things I can’t have. Wanting things I can’t have is the main theme of my year. I also really want a cheeseburger and have sex (with myself).
“That’s not sex positivity. It’s sex negativity!” my date shouted from the front seat of the UberPool Prius. Squished next to two strangers on their way to the ER, I was describing to him the sex positivity workshop I’d recently attended in Cow Hollow. I was taken aback by his insistence that he knew what sex positivity was and that I didn’t. I decided not to mention the attendance of Vicki, the velvet vulva puppet, at the workshop, lest she be fetishized as I was for my own attendance. (I was also thinking that ER trips and first dates are both good times to spring for regular Uber rather than UberPool.)
Today is my first day of a 5 day “advanced” juice cleanse from Oakland’s Uptown Juice Company. I am thus far juiceless. I’ve never been hungrier for some macerated kale. Uptown Juice says my chlorophyll is out for delivery.
For the last 3 days I’ve been pre cleansing. The only things I could eat or drink were fruits, vegetables and water. No whiskey. I realize these juice cleanses are Gooped. You’ve heard it all before.
My rich uncle bought it for me. Do you think my rich uncle thinks I’m too fat? I have gained 10 pounds since I broke me foot in April. I don’t think I’ll lose actual weight on a juice cleanse but I see it as a kick in the ass.
I’ll probably see god after a good skin brushing and some diarrhea. So there’s something to look forward too.
Update: The “Green Detox Boost” tastes like the bottom of a boat.
I felt like going out after work yesterday so I did. It was a lovely evening for a drink on Portal’s patio. I ate some brussels sprouts and watched the sunset. I was joined by a young heavily tattooed guy who didn’t care for things, many things and expressed his displeasure with what I’ll call the jerk-off with jizz gesture.
The jerk off and jizz seemed to be an extension of the jerk off gesture used to connote lameness. It was a jerk off and jazz hand. I’ve been trying to practice it so I can use it around my friends to see if they’ll say something.
Mr. Jerk Off and Jizz told me he was a bad boy and a lady killer. His dream is to travel around the country with a tiny house and bed ladies. Tiny House Hunters is the worst show on HGTV IMO.
I’d just been reading some of the Ask Polly book. I told him that the more he said he was confident and amazing, the less confident and amazing he seemed, at least to me. We went our separate ways.
I hadn’t been to a WeWork Berkeley Happy Hour in awhile. I sat by myself and texted a friend. I looked up and saw an attractive guy.
Me: Long haired muscular Asian boy alert! I love WeWork.
Friend: Haha, go say hello.
So I did. We had a good conversation so I asked him out. He said yes. We texted back and forth for a couple of days planning the date. He was kind enough to ask me if I had any dietary restrictions. I googled him and there it was on his LinkedIn profile. He graduated from Cal in 2015. I thought he was probably around 30. Nope. He probably had no idea that I’m considerably older than him. I wondered if I should alert him. I decided that a date was not a marriage proposal and to stop overthinking.
The day of our date. He canceled. It’s not me it’s him, he said. It bummed me out. It bummed me out just because I liked talking to him and had put myself out there.
Being young is hard for him. I’m not being sarcastic. I get it.
You can park anywhere you want for as long as you want for free with my new disabled person parking permit. Do you want to take me to dinner in San Francisco’s SOMA? Giants game anyone? Whole Foods? When my boot comes off I will love parking my car in front of my apartment in downtown Berkeley and everywhere else until October 31st. My broken foot doesn’t seem so bad all of a sudden.
I’m not Olympic swimmer Michael Phelps or gymnast Alex Naddour but I experienced a sister of cupping type “massage” and did not like it one bit. I’d hurt my wing and went with a cheap but well-reviewed place on Piedmont Avenue in Oakland. Bunch of masochists those reviewers were.
I don’t believe in not gaining without paining or paying to be pummeled. If it hurts so good, please don’t do that to me. I don’t think cupping is supposed to hurt. According to cupping pioneer Gwyneth Paltrow it feels amazing. I think horrible pain is what I get for being cheap. I’ve proven that over and over again with bikini waxes.
The real message here is to stop something when it’s unbearably painful. I was also scarred by a burning stick at a so-called acupuncturist because he took my insurance. He said, “you’re supposed to say uncle.” I thought the pain was supposed to help me.