Posts Tagged ‘Bay View’

I Just Wanted To Tell You

January 23, 2015

I think you’re fabulous.

Really.

I know you don’t know me.

(I do a little, by sight, around the block, in the circles, you know.

But no, I don’t know you, although I do know your name and that you seem kind and sweet.)

But I really wanted to tell you that I think that, that you are fabulous, really, everything about you, I just thought I should tell you.

I smiled and said thank you.

This stranger, not a friend, a passing acquaintance at best, but someone who has seen me show up for the last few years, out of the blue, right when I am making my strides, the come back kid.

Come back to fabulous, baby.

We’re all waiting for you.

It felt so nice to hear.

I didn’t even tell her that her timing was fabulous, really, that hearing from her after the past week was such a nice thing.

I just thanked her again and smiled and let her give me a hug.

I mean I had no idea volunteering for a commitment would illicit such a response.

I am not sure if it was the relationship, though, I do think in its way, it totally was, that finally got me to figure out my routine in conjunction with work and living out by the sea.

Small aside.

I, for a hot second, considered a place out in the produce market neighborhood which is sort of an industrial wasteland of railroad tracks, low-income housing, and warehouses that most folks have no idea exist.

A long time ago, eight years, I believe, I worked as a customer service rep at one of the produce markets.  My room-mate got me a part-time gig there.

The pay was shit, but it was pay, and it was easy, and I got all the free produce I could possibly eat.

That was the pay off really.

Yes, sir, I was literally working for food.

I know the neighborhood, and the place available is in an artist/work/live space.  I considered it, not because I want to move, but because if it’s less than what I am paying, than that might make sense with graduate school tuition looming.

But it is not cheaper and I am staying.

Much to my relief, really.

Why live in a neighborhood where I would have to bicycle commute through one of the filthiest homeless thorough fares in the city–under the bridge at Cesar Chavez and the 101/280 split.

There is a bike path there, but it is not fun to commute through.

Anyway.

The bicycle commute I do, though longish, is not bad, and my rent is good and my location, down by the sea, with the buttery moon cusp crescent sinking into the indigo sea as I write, is divine.

In fact, I shall be down by the sea this weekend.

It’s a good place for me to go.

Just sit, with a book, in the sun.

Or walk the shoreline for a while.

The weather is actually predicted to be 70.

I’m there.

I want to continue giving myself space to feel out any other feelings that may be coming down the pipeline.

Today was pretty mellow.

One small, brief, slightly petty argument with the ex in my head which I promptly realized was fear, and was able to quickly let go of, and nada.

Just some serenity.

A busy day at work didn’t hurt.

Nor some check ins with friends.

I have some unexpected and really nice responses to the writing that I have been doing here.

I appreciate the feedback my friends, I really do.

And then to be given such a sweet and unexpected, out of left field really, compliment, was just the cherry on my love sundae.

That’s what I have been feeling a lot of lately.

Ha.

I just realized something, and it’s akin to when I adopted my feral cat Uni.

I had been praying for love.

But not very specific.

I was given a cat.

I meant a boyfriend, I hollered at the ceiling when the little white furry nugget that was Uni as a kitten kneaded on my chest and put her small white and pink face under my chin and purred so loudly that I was smitten with love.

Smashed with it really.

I realized that I have been praying for love a lot recently, even before the break up.

Not his love.

No.

Just love.

Ok.

Maybe a little for his love.

But again, I was unspecific.

I was just lighting candles, I like candles, shaddup, and when I light one I usually ask for love.

Not money or sex or prestige.

Love.

God for me is love.

So whatever conduit he decides is where it’s at.

Of course, I have been absolutely showered with it, bathed in it, swept along with it, flooded with it.

Love.

Everywhere, like rich golden sunlight and warm sandy beaches and it’s poured out from my community like a river of buttery goodness–affirming me, my process, my person, who I am, what I stand for–smothered in it, love.

From friends and family and community and my fellows, those I know and those I don’t know very well.

It’s been a virtual love fest.

I laugh.

God, my God, has a funny sense of humour.

I am back on the beam.

Back to my fabulous self.

Reconnected with that which is the most important to me.

My self-love and acceptance of who I am.

I don’t need to forgive him.

I never did, not really, he’s just doing the best he can.

I needed to forgive me.

And I am just doing the best I can.

I hid my glitter under a barrel and apparently it burst out, a love bomb explosion of fabulous.

Nobody puts Baby in a corner.

Least of all myself.

I promise I won’t glitter bomb any of my friends, or myself, but I won’t hide who I am either, nor get small, nor not speak up for who I am and what I am.

I am fabulous.

Hear me roar.

Or whatever sound glitter makes.

 

 

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House Sitting Is NOT

June 15, 2013

A vacation.

In fact, I realized after last night, I really don’t like house sitting.

Oh, the house I am at is lovely and there is nothing wrong, I just did not and have not let myself see how much it is not the best fit for me.

I would rather be in my own place, in my own space and doing sustaining work.

Work that I got just another little more of a taste for today.

I went into the design firm and spoke with my boss, who so does not feel like a boss, which may be part of the reason I love it so much, I love my boss, she’s my friend.

But I also like how the learning is going and seeing myself trying to do new things, trying to learn new things and letting myself believe that new work stuff can be done.

We sat and talked about projects she has coming up and what I can do to be of help to said projects.

I am super excited to be any part of what is happening and despite being told that I don’t need to take out the trash and the recycling, when she left, I did just that.

There is something to be said for cleaning up the space that I will be working in.

The action of tidying it makes me feel good, I know that my friend will be happy to see it clean, and it is my sneaky way of getting into the space more.

When I was not certain what to do at the bike shop I would sweep the floor or re-organize the stock room, straighten the t-shirts, or dust.

The small actions of keeping the space neat not only grounded me into feeling that I was accomplishing something and keeping busy while being paid, it also allowed me to be making a sort of mental inventory of what was in the store.

I am doing the same when in office space.

I am seeing what she sees, I am organizing it in my own brain, I am putting myself in the middle of the space to see what there is to be seen.  I don’t know why this is helpful to me and I don’t need to know why, I just know that being around her and gleaning information from the design studio helps me somehow.

She will be out of the office for the next few weeks and I will be doing a lot of the work remotely.  Some of it, certainly, from here at the house sitting gig.

Some of it at the office.

I don’t need to go into the office to do the work, but I think it will be helpful for me to log some hours there, it will feel like going into a job and I believe that will make me more pro-active until I get used to the feel of working remotely.

I also like the area and I love the space.

I like being back in the same building as the bike shop and seeing the landscape from a different vantage.  I like being in the Mission and I like that I know my way around it.

I like that tomorrow I am going to meet up with another dear friend and go see her house and see the in-law she has.  See if it may be a better fit for me than the space I was offered in the Bay View.

I am leaning toward the beach offering more so than the Bay View offering.

Partially as I have never lived out by the beach.

I have lived in the Bay View.

It’s sunny.

It’s in San Francisco.

But it is still Bay View/Hunters Point.

Besides when your girl friend says, “there’s not a bath in the studio, but I am putting in a deck and a hot tub in the back yard that you can use,” well, that right there beckons like nobody’s business.

Cold foggy night?

Who cares.

Let’s hot tub!

The idea of being settled down is a nice one for me.  Really get myself planted and put and work on furthering what feels like a legitimate career for me.

I have a lot of work ahead of me, I don’t deny it, and I can stop the fantasizing around it.

I realize that, I heard it recently, ‘I want the reward without doing the work’.

I want to be in a career without having learned the ropes, here’s your opportunity.

I want to be fit and healthy without having to think about what I am eating.

Another problem with house sitting, “help yourself to the food.”

NO.

Not a good idea for me and yet, every time I go rifling through, neglecting to properly take care of myself and being ok with microwave popcorn for dinner instead of healthful food.

So today, to celebrate access to a car I made a run on Rainbow Grocery and spent nearly $100 on good wholesome (not all vegan) food.  I plundered the stone fruit–yellow nectarines, black plums, two different kinds of apples–organic Fuji’s and Pink Lady’s, Japanese sweet potatoes, organic raw carrots (great for snacking on with humus–man why did it take me so long to find humus, my tasty new friend), organic Roma tomatoes, Coconut and raw chocolate tea, Stump Town Holler Mountain coffee in the whole bean, Nancy”s low-fat cottage cheese, Judy’s extra-large brown organic eggs, Ezekiel sprouted grain English muffins, one yellow zucchini, one green zucchini, and bananas.

Excellent.

I am willing to keep house sitting here and there until I get into my own place.

But after that, I think I am going to pass on doing it.

Although, it really is nice to be trusted by your peers, your friends, your families.

I mean you should see all the keys on my key chain right now!

Going Back In

May 27, 2013

Moving forward-looking backward.

This is what I don’t want to be doing.

I need to turn around and face forward, walk towards.

Towards San Francisco, let’s be honest.

See, every time I say, ok I am here in the East Bay, all I have to do is a little commute and every thing is cool, man, then I get on the BART train.

It’s not horrible, sometimes.

Then it is, like today, heading into the fray, literally, I had forgotten it was Carnival, I was on a car that was more crowded than a normal Sunday, and stinky, and loud, and I soon discovered why.

And I got to get off at 16th and Mission, which was a cluster fuck of crazy.

After having ridden too long on a car that stank of weed and beer and a long weekend.

I thought, I would live just about anywhere in San Francisco happy and without a care if I don’t have to do this commuting in and out so much any more.

When I am at Graceland, in the compound, I joke, but you catch my drift, I am happy, warm, cozy, on an island of loveliness.

The sun scatters down through the high palm trees and the cats run amok, inside and outside and the flowers bloom, the fig tree is pushing out gigantic globes of luxuriousness to be harvested later this season, the bed is comfortable, the bathtub, the claw foot mind you, is alluring, the sun smoothed out from the red and blue and yellow blocks of church stain glass windows spreading rainbows on the wood floors, beckons me to nap on the bench in the back room.

Then, I get on my bike and pedal out into the world and shall I say, my perspective is altered.  I cannot live on an island forever, I must foray out into the world.

What sucks, again, just a matter of perspective, but a hassle to deal with, is that I did no grocery shopping tonight.

I could not get out of the Mission in time to bust a move on Rainbow and once I was off the train in Fruitvale I just wanted to get back to the house.

Especially since I had the stank of vomit in my nose.

Some knuckle head from Hayward with an A’s cap askew on his tow head spewed chunks all over the last car.

Thank you jeebus that we had come up from under the Bay.

The entire car off loaded to move onto another train.

I could not believe how much vomit this kid had in his system.

Like, dude how many super burritos did you eat at El Farolito today?

Sad.

Such a waste.

I scrambled onto another car and was able to enjoy the rest of the ride and I had a fun conversation with a kid who had a beat up fixed gear who had all sorts of questions about my bicycle.

We bantered, flirted a little, not too seriously, albeit a bright, attractive, young man, his eyes were so red I could have gotten high if I stared at them too long, and I rode the rest of the way to the station chatting about riding fixed gear.

I am a little more comfortable on my bike then I was yesterday.

Reminded me of when I started riding bicycles in the first place.

I had moved out to Bay View and lived off Third Street at Palou.

The T-line had just gone in and the commute to work in the Mission was just too long.  I decided I was going to get a bicycle.  I could bring it in to my job and have a way to and from work that did not include the slow, still working out the kinks, new train line.

I walked into Pedal Revolution and told them I did not want “hip, slick, and cool, just something comfy I can get from point A to point B.”

They sold me a hybrid.

Which makes perfect sense, I would have done the same to me too.

Man, how far I have come.

I am still grateful for that bike though, it taught me that I am teachable.  It brought me too and from the Bay View and helped me haul groceries all over the city until I gave it up and switched to a one speed Pogliaghi steel frame an old lover left with me when he moved out of the city.

My room-mate at 23rd and Capp Street said, “you do not deserve this bike.”

He grunted, flipped it over, spun the back crank and shook his head.

Then he apologized, “sorry, I know that’s not very nice of me to say that, but it’s sort of like someone gave you a vintage Porsche and you asked, ‘what’s a Porsche?'”.

“This is that kind of good,” he shook his head again and, “enjoy the riding.”

Oh.

Man.

Did.

I.

Ever.

That bike was like when I realized I was not having orgasms when I was having sex.

I used to think, what is all the fuss about?

Then I found out.

That Pogliaghi was like that.

I felt like I was flying on silken wings, I had never ridden steel before, I had never ridden a one speed before, it was like someone handed me a Hitachi Magic Wand and said, “have fun kid.”

I smiled for days.

I could not wait to get on that bike.

Then I got hit by a car that turned right on 16th from Valencia without using a turn signal and bye-bye bike.

“You might be able to salvage it,” Clancy at Pedal Rev said, shaking his head sadly, “but, the frame is bent and it’s not safe, it could break at any point, you are going to take a huge risk anytime you sit in the saddle.”

I sighed.

“Take it, have it, I donate it to the shop, strip what you can use, and thanks for being honest with me,” I said.

“No.  Are you sure?”  Clancy pushed back his messenger hat and rubbed a hand through his red hair, “it’s still a really beautiful bike.”

“Yeah, but I can’t ride it, it’s yours.”  I walked out, borrowed a bike, walked, took the bus, and got around.  I managed until I got the Felt 35 road bike that I used for the Aidslifecycle, which I eventually sold to my co-worker at Mission Bicycle after I designed my current whip.

“How much did you pay,” he asked me admiring the rims.

“I did not pay retail, I used to work at the shop, I don’t even know what price to put on it, I was a kid in a candy store, I got to pick whatever I wanted, I mean, I have glitter paint, and an Italian saddle, hard to price that,” I said, but leaned in and whispered under my breath what I paid at cost.

“Holy shit, lucky you.” He smiled.

Then I was at Fruitvale and, disembarking, getting ready to ride down the three-day weekend busy streets with side shows happening here, and hookers hanging here, and crack a lack a lack happening there.

“I might have a room,” he said on the message.

“It’s in the Bayview.”

I live in East Oakland, that’s a step up.

I’m down.

When can I move in?

I already know how to get to Rainbow from your house.


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