Photo by Chantel Williams 2008

I drove my first load of belongings to San Francisco this weekend. It was the last moment I had to change my mind about moving. I mean I’ve quit my job and “abandoned” my children – I could still go back on those decisions right?

If Dr. B picked out a crappy apartment then, of course I would change my mind and return to the warm, safe bosom of Portland. Of course, if I showed up and saw the shoe box sized bathroom and was like, “ummm yeah – my hair wouldn’t fit in there?” But then he was like, “I saved the best for last.” He took me up a rickety wooden narrow winding staircase, up to the roof and I looked out at the clear blue sky and saw Alcatraz. I could reach out and grab the Pier 39 flags and use them to dry my dishes or dust off my laptop screen. The sky was blue, the sun was warm and the air smelled like cotton candy from the pier.

I decided that I was staying and my daughter was like, “ummm yeah – maybe I’ll rethink my decision to move in with my Dad.” I might like it here. We (my daughter did as I circled the block looking for parking) carried half of my shoe collection upstairs where we found the Dr.’s shoe collection might be bigger than mine. We unpacked boxes and made the obligatory comments when two people decide to share a very small space. Comments and questions that are kind and specific so the other persons feelings aren’t hurt.

Questions like;

“What the fuck is this for?” and,

“And you call yourself a grown up and you still own Lara Croft Tomb Raider action figures?” and,

“Well you can dry your hair in the kitchen.”

He’s the psychologist I’m not, I don’t have to be nice or care what others think of my tact. All the while my daughter sat in the living room on the Leopard Print Shoe Shaped chair that DOES NOT belong to me and was all like, “whateverrrrr , you’re weird. – lets go to the wharf and pick up on boys.” Then I realized fucking wow, I live six blocks from the wharf.

Ms. Puddin and I made our way home on Sunday night. After I spent an entire Saturday sleepless night walking around in the middle of the night, staring at the foggy skyline from the roof top deck and possibly trying to talk myself out of moving. My friend’s words about being “selfish and irrational” kept spinning through my head. I was literally searching through the fog looking for a sign from God.

I remember being in San Francisco for the first time over 25 years ago when the world was scary and dirty and I was homeless. My parents were trying to show us a good time without money enough to buy popcorn or, souvenirs or lunch. “I hope the smell of cotton candy doesn’t make you too hungry.”

25 years ago I still wanted to live there.

*Please expect very little from me this week, i’m moving. I will resume regular posting over the weekend.

A couple of weeks ago I complained about the cholesterol test my doctor made me endure; which she completed with a smile after I endured twelve hours of fasting, the wait in the lab and finally, the stick with the needle. After which she shook my hand, wished me luck in California all the while repeating; this will be so good for your depression and then kicked me out of her office. I hate that damn cheery Asian woman. I hate that she knew and remembered everything about me including where I got that scar on the inside of my thigh after she bribed me with anti-depressants in exchange that I give up a PAP smear. Damn evil genius!

Yesterday I received my results in the mail. As feared, I have very high bad cholesterol and very high good cholesterol. As I read the results she wrote next to them in her scribbled, doctor, cheerful handwriting; “Lose 15 pounds, lay off the cheese and you’ll be fine.” Then she signed it with a happy face and, “Good luck in California!”

Yesterday I ate my last Big Mac. I don’t usually eat them but I decided that I will enjoy the last great fat festival in style. My 300 cholesterol count needs to come down; my weight needs to come down and we’re going to do it with healthy eating and good exercise.

In the same spirit my daughter received an email last night from her dad. I read it over her shoulder.

“Dear Puddin, I hope you’re as excited as I am about you coming to live with me. With you and Mr. Bug and Luna here I will have everything a man could want.”

Then I cried and blamed it on the Big Mac.

This has been the best of times and the worst of times; as you can imagine after the last post where I told you everything and nothing at all. A few months ago Dr. B told me that he was ready to go back to California. I’ve never met another single human being on earth who loves California or, road trips as much as he does. You can imagine me, not surprised. If you ever want to move, find your dream job in your dream city then you definitely need to date me. I can have you set up in an exotic location making six figures in a very short period of time. Its my karma and I can’t seem to stop it from happening.

But in all seriousness; I was crushed by the news and planned on the imminent demise of our relationship in June; his tentative departure date.

I became quite cranky.

Dr. B is one of those people who see’s no limits to what we want to achieve as humans. I’ll say, “hey I think I want to open a wine store on Jupiter, I wonder how lack of gravity will affect my wine prices?” His answer is usually the same; well then let’s do it. “It’ll be easy.” This never the less infuriates me because my life is defined by what I can and what I can’t do. I have children, I must create order and routine; I must be a model to society. I must, I must, I must…..I’m continually reminded of things that make Dr. B so different from each other.

More back story.

A few months ago I seem to have lost some friends without any announcement. I wrung my hands, I stayed up at night worrying, I wondered almost obsessively about what was wrong with me and then finally I gave up and cried. I was heart broken, no less heart broken when a guy you were dating for seven years suddenly stops calling. I also did not call to check in or beg for forgiveness because, I AM STUBBORN. This threw my depression into deep dive. It wasn’t long before I realized; hey I need to get back on my medication or else I’m going to go broke, lose my job and have to live in a van down by the river with my dog. I’m not exaggerating this point.

I started hanging out with Dr. B more and more and realized;  wow, I missed being happy. I missed going out, I missed being out of my house. There is a whole world out there waiting for me. How could I ever be a writer if I lock myself up in my house to drink wine and watch Sex and the City re-runs? I’m not that creative.

A few months ago my kids began talking to me about living with their Dad. “Mom, you know we’ve always wanted to….” Of course my thoughts immediately went to NO, children need to live with their Mother. Again I limit myself and have begun to put limits on my children. Ask yourself this question…. Why is it that its OK for Dad’s to move out of the house after divorce and Mom’s left to raise the children, be poor and by herself becoming the selfless martyr? Why don’t Dad’s do it?

Back to now.

I started thinking about it. Then Dr. B said, yeah move to California with me. I thought about it some more and harder but, still with limits.

I’ve been in Portland since 1982. I ended up here. Thankfully I ended up here. Portland is the best place to be and the worst place to be. It rains and it rains, and it rains. If you’re depressed this is the worst place to be. If you want to bike, ski, hike, kayak, camp, drink beer and, coffee then Portland is the only place to be. Portland has food culture that is only rivaled by European cities and its fucking the cleanest place I’ve ever been on earth. Portland will make you soft in the heart and soft in the middle.

Then I realized that each time a boyfriend has ever left I’ve tried to figure out a way to go with them but, I limited myself. I limited myself with reasons that had to do with me, finishing school, having a steady job with health benefits, keeping my children close to their family and me here, alone, and six months out of the year unhappy and depressed because it was fucking raining outside again. I’ve been trying to leave in some form or another unconsciously for six years.

And then my daughter said it again. At the end of the school year I want to live with my Dad. And then Dr. B said it to me, “you’re a high heeled girl living in a Birkenstock world.”

Then I decided. I think I’m moving California.

Photo by Chantel Williams, 2008

Available on my Zazzle Page 

Dr. B surprised me with a trip to Sasquatch over the weekend. I’ve highlighted three acts in my How to Wear High Heels column this week at poprockcandymountain.com.  Which should be posted soon. I again mixed fun and blogging and cowboy boots; a girl worked a little with only her camera and her memory to guide her. The photo above is from the road trip to George, Washington. My personal highlight of the trip, was the $40 motel room in Yakima Washington that showed evidence of what we can only allege from our forensic expertise was, blood spatter and bullet holes in the doors and walls. Lets just say Dr. B spent his money on me and well; Frank sprung for the hotel room.

Melissa Lion has asked me to write a little piece about Summer Love on the PDX Back Fence blog. This will be going up very soon as well. Be sure to swing by her blog and say Hi to that Sasso’frass of Sexiness and then go read my post. I will warn you I wrote a sex story in this post. Don’t go there if you can’t read this phrase without blushing, “hard, wet and, loud”.

Ms. Redstapler has also gifted me with the first blog award ever given to me in my entire four years of blogging. She loves me. And that’s the only award I will ever need. I need to choose 10 bloggers that i love; which will be very difficult because I’ve been doing this a while and ten is a small number to wrap my love around. Yes, my love can be bought and your bribes will be accepted. I warn you to be careful what you buy because this is one where you are required to pay it forward.

The last few months around Chez Chantel has been an interesting mix of excitement, loss, worry and final decision making. I’ve lost some friends suddenly and without explanation; I’ve been called selfish and irrational by a surprising source and, I’ve wrung my hands trying to make the right decisions. My family surprisingly are my biggest supporters. The people that know me the most, understand me the least and torture me endlessly have turned out to be just what I needed when I was stuck and unsure.

Things are about to take a drastic turn. While I can’t tell you about it now I will very soon. I’ve discussed this decision with many and found out its all about not being afraid. Fortunately because I’m afraid of everything its kept me paralyzed for most of my life. Sure I’ve done the odd brave thing here and there. I stood up to my Stepfather at the age of 16 while I was near an emotional death to go back to school and gain my freedom. I married and divorced someone whom I was crazy in love because at the tender age of 19 I knew deep down that having two children with a drug addict was not the life I was meant to live. I divorced without support from family and, with two little children to care for. It turns out I was right my ex-husband, my children and, my family thank me for it. I’ve raised children on my own, I’ve stayed off of welfare, I went back to school after much prodding from my friends because I was afraid I would fail. Turns out I didn’t fail, I was really good at it.

I took control of my emotional well-being after a life that most never have the opportunity to recover. I’ve stayed off drugs, off the streets, off of welfare and become a productive citizen, a good mother, a happy person and a healthy human. Most people can never get that lucky.

But I’ve been in hiding and I missed the signs. I act out of obligation or a series of “have too’s”. I forgot to chase the things that bring me eternal happiness. I write in the dark and hope that some day I get to be a published writer. I tinker here and there, I take pictures and I live from day to day and paycheck to paycheck. I quit taking risks and left the rest to dreams. Because how much more can a girl ask for?

Because I’m so mature I equate it with good sex. You can’t have good sex if you’re afraid to really show your face as you reach the ultimate orgasm. You’re too inhibited, you’re too afraid that your partner won’t like that face and, you’re not sure if its supposed to not be beautiful all the time. Sometimes our “O” face ain’t pretty and the only way to find out is to go for it; uninhibited, without restraint. Good sex happens when you find a level of comfort with your own body. When you know yourself enough to ask your partner for what you want or make then lay down, shut up and hold on. But its more about you, your body, your mind, your emotions and your needs.

Here’s to not being afraid to show my “O” face.