castro-versary...!

ohhhhh, june!?

hey gurl.

i've been living in june. very busy living in june. and i have so much to tell you. in fact, i've been keeping lists of the things i want to tell you. yesterday when big red and i were chatting she mentioned that she noticed i hadn't been putting my words on this here blog very often, recently. i assured her it was not for lack of words, but for lack of quiet time in which i am awake long enough to make my words sound like real sentences of the english language and not just random pairings of words strewn about on the page.

june has been gorgeous in san francisco. sunny and h.o.t. hot. so it always cracks me up, when on the first day of minor fog, all of san francisco begins to moan and groan about the fog and the coldest winter i ever lived was a summer in san francisco (thanks mark twain) and all that buzz... but really y'all... it's been perfect. and even more perfect is this weekend... because this is what makes me proud to be 'merican...

these colors don't run. happy pride!!! 

it's also my castro-versary! it was this weekend last year that i moved into my apartment in the castro and began what i've discovered now, as the long journey to re-claiming my post graduate school, san francisco loving and self-loving identity. it's been a bit of a windy road and i'm still navigating, but shit it's getting better every day.

i've got hundreds of lessons that i want to tell you about... probably, they are all super obvious and you are going to think in your head duh, layla bean... we learned that one about the golden rule in 2nd grade, but sometimes putting the rules into action in my adult life and sticking with my guns long enough to see it through the hurt and to the good is hard. and i'm often stubborn and impatient... so hang in there with me, would ya?

until i get those words out, take a look at the beauty that's been existing up in my life!

tiniest second of fog... and still beautiful.

he's an animal.

i discovered that my neighbors have been hiding this little garden over that big old fence of theirs!

new do.

first game in sf... el gigantes!

gurl. i started doing my own gel mani! are you jelly?

he likes to feel the wind on his face.

cooking lessons.

no words...

see you soon. i love you. 

jake and layla make a dance...

jake and i have been talking a lot lately about owning our happiness. that idea (sometimes seemingly obvious... but if you're human like me, shit. making mistakes and learning how to be the layla i actually want to be isn't always my initial reaction...) that being happy comes from being inside of what really drives you. you. not what others validate as an acceptable form of expression. doing what i need to do to be happy is key for me right now. for as much as i think i know about myself, there's always more. and i'm usually the last one on the obvious bandwagon, you know?

so, as i mourn the loss of one great pal, i've got another who is allowing and encouraging me to own the things that make me, me.

jake and i are making a dance together. yes. our friend ryan asked if it would be an adventure with a lot of spinning/twirling... he's interested in that. i think we'll have to throw some in to keep him engaged,

but seriously, we had a rehearsal on saturday. i am a better person because of it. for so many reasons. being in the studio is always beautiful/exciting/challenging. and when it's with someone that i trust and respect as a collaborator... shit is magical.

basically, we rolled around for two hours. which, isn't too far off from what we used to do back when we worked in the same building... but intentions were different. it was like being in grad school again. we played with patterns and tricked our brains into moving in ways that are not our comfortable lexicon. pure joy.

i'll post some video one of these days... for now, i'm enjoying how high it leaves me. seriously... i can feel the effects for days. owning this joy (with a little help from my friends...).

ps... for about a year now, jake has been saying this to me: i was meant to be a dancer. me too, buddy.

it sounds so much better...

ben howard covers call me maybe...

breaking up is hard to do...

remember that song by neil sedaka? here's the thing, it was playing in whole foods on friday while i was buying the ingredients for a meal i was preparing to make for a pal. i hadn't heard it in ages, but somehow i knew every word... i be-bopped through the produce department and even kick-ball-changed my way to the meat counter. for a song about such an emotionally taxing event, it's got a great beat and a lot of doobie doo's to sing-a-long with!

the following night, i broke up with that same pal i was shopping for... as a friend.

have you ever done it? usually, when i'm ready to be done/need to be done with a friendship, i let it fade away. cowardly really. i stop calling. i stop responding. fade.

but this time i did it. i said all the things that i needed to say. the things that i usually wish i had said when i look back at the situation.

it was awful. and arduous.

you see. i love[d] this friend. but as much as we rallied our friendship around our mutual ability to be fiercely loyal, it turns out he couldn't hold up his end of the bargain. i think he fooled himself into believing that his untruths were true. that the issues he created were actually my issues. hell. no. m.f.

my usual nature is to ignore the issues. lie to myself and pretend its all ok, because when we're together, we have a great time. it's as though i'm telling myself that having a dysfunctional friendship is better than having no friendship at all. that's dangerous. last night i picked up my bravery and said no thanks. ok, not exactly that politely... whoops.

you see, we met for drinks, ate dinner and then had one more drink. when i was in the bathroom at the bar i thought to myself, leave. you shouldn't stick around for this shit kind of friendship. tell him his behavior is not ok and get the fuck out. but i didn't. instead i went back to the bar and ordered another drink, sat down and feigned interest in whatever we were talking about.

as big red pointed out... honey, that's a line in an eagles song... take another shot of courage, wonder why the right words never come. my liquid courage came in the form of rye whiskey.

but, after he walked me home. all the right words came. well, right might not be totally accurate. i could have been wayyy more eloquent. probably, it would have been more effective without tears pouring out of my eyes... but i did say it. don't call. don't be my friend. i don't deserve this mess that you've created. 

part of me hopes that he'll come to his senses and get it together... though, the realist in me (who rarely makes appearances) knows that it's highly unlikely. i will forever be thankful for the brief bits of lovely friendship that we did share, though.

xoxo. be kind. love your friends as you love yourself. and remind me to do the same when i forget, ok? thanks. find all these pictures on various boards on my pinterest.

you-neek...

i remember the scene so well. tony guest and i were driving down santa ana avenue, only one block from our house when he said it. you're real unique, bean bean. ohhhhhhh, i had a fit. had. a. fit. i crossed my arms tight over my chest, squeezed my eyebrows together real tight and flung my feet up on the dashboard of that big ass navy blue club wagon van. how dare he call me unique, i thought to myself. who the hell is he calling unique?! i'll tell what you are mister meanie-pants... 

wait, what does unique mean?

it was 1987. i was five years old.

i don't remember why he called me unique at that moment. probably, i was recalling (which in my case meant fabricating... i did that a lot back then) some account from the day at montessori school... oh ya, i'm one of those. 

when i was five, i had the most elaborate days of play with my pals. imaginary games, scenarios, characters and specific life events far too provocative and emotionally driven for the average school children. but what the hell did we care? 

often, we'd collect piles and piles of dried up pine needles... the really long ones that were great for practicing your braiding skills. then we'd sit between the bushes and a chain link fence and build walls of pine needles to either side and above us, making a cave. there were plenty of old cigarette butts, so we'd collect those, pretend to smoke them and use them as cash, a form of trading for goods and services, duh. oh, did i forget to mention it was the apocalypse and we were in hiding/protecting ourselves from robots and machines who were at war with our government? yup.

ps... 95% girls. usually the only boy that wanted to play with us was chris burns, bless his heart. we told him if he was going to play our game, he'd have to make babies with all of us so we could start a new world in our cave. he said he'd trade his baby making for five cigarette butts each. seemed reasonable at the time.

hmmm, i guess it's not so unreasonable that tony guest would call me unique. in fact, that was probably the most kind-hearted way to say what he was really thinking! seriously, i love this dad of mine.

here's to keepin' it unique. i think i'll wear stripes, polkadots and plaid today... and probably shout off some (workplace innapropriate) thoughts on gender-norms... all in a good day.

pps... i'm on a management team of six in-house managers. five of us are women. fuck ya. 

love you. 

nightime...

when the stars come out

the world begins

i don't know 

what the stars feel

                            -layla, 1985  

erte found here. 

that dear old dirty town...

recently, i've been feeling way less disdain for new york. hmmmm. i think there's a compliment in there somewhere. or perhaps some self reflection. it may be possible that being in graduate school and living in bonkers (that lovely stretch of neighborhood in yonkers proper, but still in the bronxville p.o. - bonkers, so correct) was perhaps not the very best way to take in the majority of my new york living experiences. christ, most manhattanites refer to westchester as upstate... or anything above 125th street for that matter.

somehow i found this blog, hither and thither, followed by this one, an apple a day. or maybe it was the other way around... can't remember now, so much clicking. at any rate, both are new york bloggers. hither and thither are a husband and wife and baby and very fancy. you know, the blog is sponsored and designed and very glamorous. i love it. and it lead me to this:

the story of 190 bowery is insane. for a long time most new yorkers (myself included... categorized as someone who's been to new york and spent time there, not a new yorker. guess that period of non-disdain is essentially over) believed that this building was abandoned. it's an old germania bank riddled with graffiti. who knew, though... it's a single family home! mom, dad, daughter. what?! somehow, my imagination of the people that could live in this bank are way wilder than what's actually going on. i picture the [fictional] tenenbaums meet tony, louise and layla. oh shit, that'd be awesome! read the whole article and see a slideshow here.

and the other lovely blog that's making me reconsider my hatred unpleasant memories of new york... an apple a day. she's really quite lovely. a florist and antique collecter/diy-er extraordinaire. you know how i've always said i'd like to be someone who can live in a clean, streamline designed apartment (shit, that ain't gonna happen)... her too, her too! she's got almost as much stuff as i do. remember the olden day episodes of project runway? i've got a knack to santino everything i touch. i think she'd be the same way.

i've been writing a bunch lately. did you notice? maybe i'll see you again later in the day. until then, read these blogs and that article. the piccy came from the article... all linked above (see how i'm trying to work this non-plagiarized post...?? i know, let it go... )