Home, Sweet, Sweet, Home


Yes, that is correct, you are reading that right, I am home.  I am in my new room on Folsom and 22nd, in the heart of the Mission, across the street from the Cesar Chavez elementary school.

I woke up, in my own bed, thank you very much, to the sound of rapid fire Spanish being spoken in the kitchen at top volume and loud Mexican music.

I could not care less.

I had slept so soundly, so wonderfully, so dreamily that I had not actually woken up to the noise of the family in the kitchen, but to my alarm clock.  That may not always be the case, I may get annoyed, but the sound of Spanish being argumentatively thrown about was just fine with me.

Yeah, so  the walls here are a little thin.  The good news is, who cares?  I have my own set of walls!  I am in my own room.  Right now, sitting at my desk writing my blog.

Which, my apologies, dearest readers, I could not bring myself to write last night.  I was one pooped puppy.  I got up yesterday at 7:30 a.m. and I took care of myself in the proper way.  I knew if I was to fly about like a chicken with its head cut off I would not be efficient nor useful to myself or others.

Wonderful, wonderful, wonderful others that helped me move–Shannon, Alex, and Matt.  My heroes who came into to save the day at the last-minute.  I owe you much.

I joked with Shannon and Alex that I need a village to do anything.  And it’s true.  I could not have done what was done yesterday without the help of my friends.  I am so grateful for friends.

At one point in the day Matt said, you look good in a truck.  And it made me smile.  I felt good in the truck.  I like pick up trucks.  There’s something sexy about them.  Maybe it’s from growing up in Wisconsin, maybe it’s from my dad restoring old Chevy’s in the drive way, I don’t know.  But I like pick up trucks.

Then it hit me!  I want to have a truck.  How great would it be to turn around the favor and pass along what has been given to me?  So many people have helped me move, so many.  I would love to play it forward.

So, hey Universe, I aspire to own a truck.  It would be pretty damn cool to be of service to others when I have been so gifted with friends who help out.  I have moved a lot in San Francisco, you might have figured this out from past blogs, and it would be awesome to do for some one else.

I like it.

And with the help of said village, I was able to move all my things from the Castro and Bernal to my new digs here in the Mission in two hours!  Of course, I don’t have  a lot to move and I have done it a few times, so I know how to do it, but I was sort of amazed that it happened so fast.

Which, all in all was a good thing as I only had the City Car truck for 2.5 hours.  Next time I will reserve a little further in advance!  I even got to have coffee with Matt at Philz and I took him out to lunch at a taqueria in the neighborhood—mmmmm carnitas.

This could be dangerous, I had carnitas twice this weekend.  I will be mellowing out on that.  In fact, food is going to get real basic real quick.

The kitchen situation here is not awful, but it is uncomfortable.  The patriarch of the house speaks no English and I speak no Spanish.  He’s none to happy, one can tell a bit from tone of voice even if you don’t speak the language you know when some one is talking about you, about my presence in the kitchen.

To give the man some credit, he’s old, this is a family home, cousins, daughters, mom, dad, grandpa, I’m the stranger in the mix, and he’s probably very set in his ways.  And who is this strange woman with tattoos in his kitchen making her oatmeal?  Get her out of here.

The good news is that the space I have can easily accommodate a small mini kitchen.  I have been planning it out since I got unpacked yesterday.  I will need a mini fridge and a microwave.  Perhaps a crock pot or a little hot plate.  It will be a bit like dorm living, but I will be more comfortable not having to engage with them in their kitchen–it feels like their kitchen.

I do have stuff in the fridge right now, it’s not like I don’t have access, it’s just not a welcome space for me.  And that’s cool.  I am loving having my own entrance and my own king size bathroom, I can make do with setting up a kitchen space for myself and be completely self-sufficient.

The room is actually bigger than my studio was in Nob Hill, which I did not realize it was until I got my bed set up and my desk and my rocking chair situated.  Plus, there’s a fairly large wardrobe that came with the room in the space (no closet in the room or bathroom).  So, if I set up a little kitchen nook, I’m looking at having a nice little studio space for $700 a month.

That is not bad.  Not bad at all for San Francisco, and killer for the Mission which still seems to be supporting artificially increased rents.  The rents here right now are out of hand.  It’s going to push everyone interesting out if it continues.

A lot of artists I know, part of what made the Mission the Mission, seem to be fleeing to Oakland.

Maybe I should go snap up some properties around the artist migration to Oakland and when it suddenly blossoms I’ll be able to jack up rents and make a tidy profit.


I’m just going to stay here in the Mission, in my little nest, in my little nook, sunny and bright, small and tidy, and all mine, all mine, all mine.

I once would have looked at this space and said, no fucking way.  Now, I love this space.  I have keys to this space and I have made it into my little home.

And I walked to work today!

Only took me fifteen minutes.

Now that’s hot.

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