Posts Tagged ‘El Farolito’


October 27, 2017

And moving forward.

I spent a great deal of time talking with the mom today at work regarding the rest of the school year.

What the family needs.

What I need.

It’s been a little over ten months with them.

We are going to sit down and renegotiate the contract in December, make sure my health insurance needs are being met, talk about vacation times, and schedules moving forward past spring when I graduate in May.

I asked off for a little travel time in February.

And I asked off for May 18th.

Which is the day before I graduate, the day before the commencement ceremony.

I suspect that my mom is going to want to spend some time with me.

She has told me that she and her partner will come to San Francisco to see me walk, to see my graduate with my Master’s Degree.

I have some feelings around that and no little nervousness, I haven’t seen my mom in a while and there’s a sense of wanting to show her a different San Francisco than the last time she was here.


I didn’t entirely disappoint, I think.

I took her to Hawthorne Lane for dinner.

I took her out to the bars.

I took her to Coit Tower.

I can’t remember if we did Twin Peaks.

I took her to Chow on Church Street.

Philz Coffee before it was hip and Phil flirted his ass off with her.

I got her quesadilla’s from El Farolito, super quesadilla suiza with carne asada.

I took her to Tartine.

I did pretty good

I also ditched her at some point to get absolutely shit faced obliterated.

I was just going to go out for a few drinks with a friend at Blondie’s in the Mission.

I had already been with my mom for a week, I had taken her to London, on my credit card which I was soon to max out, but it still had a few dollars on it, hung out with her, fed her, bought her smokes, and drinks, and tuk tuk rides around Buckingham palace, to the Wheel, to the National Gallery, to see a show, we saw Stomp, I took her to a fancy tea place where we got stinking tossed on fancy ass over the top expensive cocktails.


I was ready for a little mom break.

I ran down to El Farolito and got her the quesadilla.

I called my friend and said, “I need a margarita, I need a break from my mom,” and she said, “I’ll see you at Blondie’s in a half hour.”

I got my mom situated in my apartment on the couch in the living room, my room-mate was out-of-town, thank God.

And I got dressed and fled into the night.

I had two double margarita’s on the rocks with extra salted rim and when my friend said “let’s have another!”  I got a little scared.

I could feel it coming on.

It was probably coming on before I even got off the plane at SFO.

I think I knew.

I could feel it in my body, I knew it in my conscious even if I wasn’t saying it out loud.

I was going to score.

I had all the reasons in the world to get fucked up.

I had been with my mom for a week in a hotel room in London, flown there and back with her, I deserved a fucking drink.

But I knew if I kept drinking, well, something else was going to get up in the mix.

I looked at my friend and said a bit under my breath, “if I drink more I’m going to want to do blow.”

I said this because this was the friend who had used to be sober who had done that AA thing and had said to me once while we were on a run that maybe I might have a problem because of how I didn’t like myself when I used.

I had no idea what the fuck she was talking about and was aghast.

I didn’t like myself?

Truth was I fucking hated myself, but I couldn’t let myself see it.

She had told me that all I had to do is let her know if I wanted to use and she would help me to not pick up.

What ever that meant.

So in that moment, two double margarita’s in, with the urge to call my dealer on my phone and arrange a little something, something for delivery, I said, to the best of my ability what I thought was a plea for help.

Her response?

“I could definitely do some blow!”

Fuck me.

I sighed.

I know I sighed.

I got my phone out of my purse and I dialed my dealer and arranged for him to meet us at Blondie’s.

I went across the street.

“Hey, where are you going,” the cute guy sitting next to me said.

I flippantly replied, “my friend wants to do some blow so I’m going to the ATM across the street to get some cash before my dealer shows up.”

“Holy shit!” He jumped up, “me too, can I get some too?”

And like that, I had a new friend.

I was so popular.


I will spare you the dirty details of the night.

It was so close to my bottom that it was a pretty intense scene.

And I remember all of it, oh yes I do.

Right down to getting back to the house, while my mom was still asleep in the living room, with a couple of grams of blow in my bra, what I hadn’t yet used, to chop and snort and cram as much in as I could before she woke up.

I was that kind of addict.

I did not fucking matter that my mom was in the front room, probably heard me come in, probably knew what I was doing, nope, didn’t matter.

Because once I started, the party was not over until every fucking last bit was gone.

Suffice to say my mom’s last day in town was a bit of a rough one.

I muggled through.

I guess what I’m getting around to is that maybe I’ll want to show her a nicer time than I did before.

We are both in different places, and I also hope to have some time to celebrate my graduating from graduate school.

A nice meal somewhere with friends, good coffee, laughter, connection, company.

A party.

I should throw myself a little party.

Ah, May, you’re a bit away.

But when my employer and I walked through the months and worked on getting my schedule lined up with theirs, well, there you were, a tiny bit bashful but a little smile on your face, a daisy tucked up behind your ear, saying here I am, let’s have some fun.


Of course, my dear.


And They’re Off!

September 30, 2014

Holy cats man.

That was a day.

And I think most of them, at least for the next week or so, perhaps the next month, until I get a little more of a routine down, is going to be this fast.

I mean.

I feel like it’s been pretty non stop.

Even when there’s down time at work, there’s really not down time.

And that’s cool.

I certainly do not feel like I have idle time on my hands and the day goes by super fast.

“Super cool!”

That’s my favorite saying from the two year old.


“Super sleepy.”

Yes, lovey, super sleepy indeed.

He was pretty tired when we were first leaving the house and a couple of times I had to stop the stroller on the way to the park and chat him up to keep him awake.

I did not want him falling out in the stroller before we had even gotten to the park, too early a nap is almost as good as no nap, especially when I needed to be back to the house to take care of the business of running the house.

The house and the family run on a pretty good schedule and if I keep abreast of it I will be fine and I was fine today.

A little overwhelmed, but not badly and I am getting my bearings and finding what works for me and experiencing the moods and ways of the boys, what is easy for them to handle, what is a challenge, where I need to step in and when I can step back.

It will all come together.

And it really is lovely to be in the Mission.

I got to run to the bike shop and replace a faulty light for my bicycle that I would have had to make a special trip for otherwise and then I got to say a quick hello to one of my favorite people in the hood and her awesome pup.

I know the landscape, I know the parks, I know the stores, and though I don’t know everyone in the neighborhood quite like I used to, enough of it remains the same that I feel quite at home and “super grateful!” to be home.

Even the smell of Pete’s BBQ on Mission and 20th said home to me.

I remember the smell of the restaurant when I first moved to San Francisco 12 years ago the beginning of this month.

I lived at 20th and York with four other ladies.

I felt a little bewildered by the neighborhood for a few weeks, but I got used to it quickly and the smell of Pete’s always was a welcome sign that I was heading in the right direction toward home.

I only ate at Pete’s once, it’s not really my scene, but I remember it well. And I am nostalgic more about the smell of the place in general than the food itself.

Every once in a while I do miss some of the eats I used to get in the neighborhood–the super quesadilla suiza with carne asada at El Farolito, the sandwiches from Mister Pickles, the super al pastor burritos from the truck on Harrison and 22nd, anything and everything at Lucca Ravioli, the slices from Serrano’s, but then I get the trade-off.

I am in one of the best neighborhoods for fresh fruit and vegetables.

Plus, the farmer’s market that’s at 23rd and Bartlett on Thursdays.

Side Walk Juice for green juice concoctions.

Ritual for coffee.

I feel really spoiled to be able to have a job in this neighborhood.

The parks are great, well, ok, not all the parks are great.

I swung through Alioto park on Capp Street and 20th and pretty much swung right the hell back out.

There is a children’s area that most folks are not aware of, but the foremost part of the park had a hung over hooker taking a cat nap on a bench and a gaggle of teens skipping school smoking a blunt, and some guy poking aggressively through the trash barrels.

Plus, the park equipment was a bit down trodden and sad and it just wasn’t a great scene.

However, not too far away at 21st and Folsom is the Jose Coronado park and we went there.

What I look for in a park often has a lot to do with bathroom access as well as whether or not it’s enclosed.

For instance, I love Dolores Park, but the playground is not enclosed and when you have a frisky two-year old who likes to run and a busy four-year old who likes to chase, having an enclosed park area is super key.

And the renovated Mission Pool and Playground is fabulous.

The front is “super cool” and I get the impression that the boys have spent a lot of time there, many of the moms and kids and nannies and grandparents and Rec Center workers recognize them.

I like the feeling of community that the neighborhood has.

I feel a part of.

Which is also a lovely thing to have.

I told my friend that I ran into that I would move back in a heart beat if I could find a place that has the amenities that I have here and the rent.

It’s probably not going to happen anytime soon.

And the truth is that it’s good for me out here.

It’s good to have a little quiet after the hectic of the city scene and the hustle and bustle of the neighborhood.

The sound of the ocean crashing on the beach as I write is certainly no drawback either.

It is a wonderful place for me to live and I get to commute to a wonderful, changing, yes, but still a good place to be, neighborhood that I have so much history with.

It’s good to be working from “home.”

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