Posts Tagged ‘Memorial Day weekend’

90 Days

May 28, 2018

A lot can happen in 90 days.

This is what I tell myself.

A lot can actually happen in a few hours, in a few minutes, in an unexpected conversation with ones landlady.

Oh my God.

I have been asked to move.

I don’t know exactly what to do yet, or whom to share this information with.

I will admit I had an impulse to post up all over social media, but I restrained myself.

I think I was in shock.

I still am a bit, truth be told.

Yesterday though, I was definitely in shock, disbelief, horror, I was freaked out, I cried in supervision when I had to do my check in, I probably should not have been riding my scooter, but in a way it might have been the best thing since I had to focus fiercely on the road for a half hour.

I rode my scooter into supervision yesterday because of the huge Carnival festival that happens in the Mission every year Memorial Day weekend.

It’s a gigantic party and it’s a huge, huge, huge parade.

Where my internship is located at was a designated area of the Mission that was to be part of the route and there was no parking anywhere to be had, I knew this ahead of time and planned on taking my scooter.

I had no idea I would be riding to my group supervision with the information I had just gotten.

I had been actually excited to go to supervision, see the therapists who have watched me over this past year as I have grown comfortable with becoming a therapist and seeing clients there, and share with them the achievement of having graduated.

All that, however, was eclipsed by the bombshell my landlady dropped on me.

She told me she wanted me to move out.

That she had been planning on talking to me about it for a few weeks, but didn’t want to “spoil” my graduation weekend and stress me out.

Thanks.

You stressed me out anyway.

I find it really interesting that I had decided to pay my rent a week and a half early for next month too, I usually do pay early, by at least a few days, but something compelled me to do it earlier than usual and I believe I may have sensed something in the air.

A few weeks ago my landlady had the property inspected as she was planning on doing a re-financing of the house, “I’ll finally get that window in the studio,” is what I thought.

That, apparently was not what she thought.

Oh, there’s going to be a window, but it’s not for me.

She told me that she was originally going to give me thirty days, then I had paid rent for this upcoming month, like I said, I like to pay it in advance, and since it might take me a little while to find a place that she thought she’d give me 60, no, 90 days to move out.

That now that I was done with school, I got into a PhD program you rotten whore, oops, did I say that? She was happy to have “helped” support me through the Masters program by letting me live here.

Helped?

I have helped you lady pants, like, I pay the rent.

I pay utilities.

I am a model tenant.

I pay rent in advance.

I have ever since I moved in.

I take the trash out, I keep my studio clean, clean, clean.

I am sober, no partying down in my little den.

I don’t smoke.

I am a fucking full-time nanny who has a part-time internship and I, until recently, also attended grad school full time.

Meaning.

I’m not around all that fucking much.

Who could ask for a better fucking tenant?

Oh.

And I don’t have any pets and I don’t complain about the dog that you got a year ago that barks and whines and cries and then gets yelled at for barking and whining and crying.

I don’t know what is worse.

The barking or the yelling at the dog to stop barking.

Considering the year of great noise I should get a goddamn discount of the rent.

Ugh.

Anyway.

I took in what she was saying and let her do the talking, I was in shock and also trying really hard to smile and nod and not say anything to just listen, to absorb information.

I was also in my scooter jacket about to get on my scooter and go ride across town to my internship, I couldn’t process what was happening.

Which was probably a good thing, I didn’t get argumentative, I didn’t freak out on her.

I did find a silent, hot core of anger later, but more about that at another time.

She explained that she’d gotten her re-financement and was going to be doing a major remodel on her house, ripping out the kitchen and the bathroom in her unit, putting in a deck, building another in-law in the back yard, pulling out the kitchen in my unit and making it a one bedroom with a bath (and maybe a hot plate), and that she needed me to move out so that she could move into my unit while the remodel was being done on her unit.

I quietly congratulated her on the refinance and asked again about the move out date, September 1st, the 15th at the latest, she needed to know as soon as possible when I was going to move out so that she could get all of her contractors lined up and ready to go.

Oh.

Ok.

Glad to hear that you need me to hustle.

Good information.

I’m only deep diving into the most expensive city to live in for rentals in the United States with a dearth of options, where closets get rented as studios, and people curtain off living rooms for extra bedrooms, where adults live in dorms with shared bathrooms and communal spaces that are marketed towards tech kids in the FiDi and Mission districts.

Sure.

No problem.

Let me get right on that.

I decided to cry instead when I got to supervision.

Oh!

And hey, she also noted, you can pay your last months rent from your deposit if that helps you consolidate your cash to get into a new place.

Hmmm.

Thanks.

I think.

Don’t you owe me the deposit back with interest, isn’t that what you told me when I moved in, “I’ll be putting this in an account that will gather interest and I’ll give you the deposit plus the interest when you move out, just make sure you give me a 30 day notice.”

See.

This is where it gets tricky for me.

I never signed a lease.

I live in an illegal in-law unit.

It has a kitchen with a full size working gas range and a full size refrigerator, but no window and no ventilation.

I cook and open up the back door to ventilate.

I am also pretty damn certain that she didn’t pull permits to do the work on the in-law when it was remodeled, but I’m not 100% certain.

What I am certain of, however, is that in her nice, sweet, off-handed way she was manipulating me into thinking I was getting a deal and that she was being kind to me.

Oh, and you don’t have to pay for July’s rent either.

And while that’s a lovely offer, I think that you, madam, are not within your rights to push me out, at least not without a written notice, or some sort of compensation.

So.

I got myself onto the San Francisco Tenants Union webpage.

They have open drop in hours and I will be going to get myself some counseling to see what my rights are.

I may not have a signed contract, I may not have a lease, but I had a verbal agreement and over four and a half years of cashed checks with “June rent and utilities” written into the memo.

I have a paper trail.

And I know I have rights.

I just don’t know exactly what they are.

But I will.

And when I do.

Watch out.

I am mad and I am not going to be manipulated into rolling over.

I am going to move.

That is going to happen.

But I am going to do it in a way that advocates for my rights.

I am not going to get pushed out.

So.

Yeah.

If you hear of anything for rent in San Francisco.

Not Berkeley or Oakland or in the East Bay or over in Marin.

IN SAN FRANCISCO.

Do me a favor and let me know.

Thanks!

 

 

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Today

May 30, 2016

Was a good day.

Really.

Like nice.

And stuff.

Heh.

Yoga in the morning, and although I felt stiff and cranky, after yesterday’s class when I pushed so hard today felt like it took me a very long time to get to where I felt at ease in my body.

But.

At ease I did get and the final resting pose was so lovely and good and I walked out of the studio floating and into the sunshine of a lovely San Francisco day.

Albeit.

Windy as fuck.

And typical Outer Sunset weather, the fog came, oh, hello there, “summer time” let me turn up the heater and find a muffler, and where’s that extra hoodie?

But.

Before then.

I had a coffee date with a friend of mine from school, and I realized that we had never hung out during the year of classes, which really, isn’t that much of a stretch when I reflect on the fact that the majority of my class mates work full time as well as doing the full time grad school program.

Of course we hadn’t hung out.

The fact that I have socialized with any of my cohort still astounds, it was a busy fucking year, yo.

A lot happened.

“I realized I had no idea what the fuck was going on with you,” my friend said tonight as the fog was rolling thick and cold over Twin Peaks.

We were up at the Castro Country club sipping tea and catching up.

I got to do a lot of that today.

Catch up with folks.

First with my friend from school–Trouble Coffee, a hang out in the back garden at The General Store, a walk down to the ocean, although we didn’t hang there long, the wind was super kicking.

Then he hopped the N-Judah and I went back to my house, made up a nice lunch, and made some plans for next weekend.

Yup.

I’ve got plans.

Yay.

The date was confirmed and we’ll be hanging out Saturday.

Then.

I realized.

It’s.

Sunday.

And.

What the fuck do I do with myself?

I found myself wandering around my studio, no homework to do, no lady doing the deal, no responsibilities, I mean I knew I was heading to the Castro tonight to meet up with my person and grab dinner at Firewood Cafe, then doing the deal with a bunch of peeps up at Most Holy Redeemer, but I had hours, hours of nothing in front of me.

I contemplated going to the MOMA, but realized it was already after two and it closes early on Sunday, not the best time to get my new museum on.

Although my friend and I discussed going in on a joint membership together to save some money and get the most people with us to use the membership.

Anyway.

I didn’t go to a museum.

And.

I didn’t go running amok about the city either.

I realized.

I just needed to stay put.

To sit still.

To be in my home and be ok with down time.

No homework daunting me, no papers looming over my head, no reading that has to get done today or else.

Nope.

All I had to do was sit and read one of the books I had picked up in a wild burst of delirium my first semester when I thought I would actually have time for pleasure reading in addition to my school reading.

Bwahahahaha.

What silliness.

I picked up a book that I had started months ago and sat out on the back patio and soaked up the sun before it got completely shrouded in fog.

The next door neighbor was out on his back stoop playing blues guitar.

I would read a few pages, then let the book fall to my lap, raise my face up to the sun, close my eyes and let the blues scales roll over me.

He played for hours.

I read for hours.

HOURS.

Oh my God.

I realized that in the last week I have actually picked up two books for pleasure, finishing one completely and three quarters of the way through the other.

I may need to go book shopping.

Yippee!

It was so nice.

To sit still.

To watch the sky.

To feel the sun on my face.

And when it got chilly, because, well, that’s what it does out here this time of year, I pulled inside, curled up on my chaise and read for a while longer.

Then, when the time was ripe.

I hopped on my scooter, rode up and over the hills to the Castro and reconnected with my person and also found out my favorite new friend, my darling Puerto Rican fairy god father, was coming in from Oakland and my friend, the having tea friend, the doing the deal and going to school friend, also wanted to hang out, well.

I just found myself surrounded by friends and I saw so many folks tonight and reconnected with faces and people who I have not seen in a while and, well.

It was good.

So good.

I am so blessed to know the people I know.

Really.

And the Castro was on fire tonight, all the neon lights and all the party people, hello Memorial Day weekend, I do remember when, it was a party by the time I left the Country Club, my tea a warm ball in my tummy, to head back here on my scooter.

I turned it on, let her warm up and could see the moisture, the flakes of fog like snow flurries in my head lamp, and took it careful going home.

No less to avoid the drunky drunks and the many Ubers on the road then to keep myself from slipping around on the road.

I laughed as I was coming up and over the last bit of hill on 17th, I knew I would be coming home to light all the candles up in my studio and turn on the heat and make hot tea stat.

“Hello summer, we meet again,” I chuckled.

Summer time.

High jinx.

Dating.

Doing the deal.

Having fun.

Dancing.

Seeing friends.

Drinking tea in cafes.

Or coffee.

I mean, let’s be real here.

Hello summer.

It’s nice to see you.

Let’s be friends.

I found my muffler.

I’ve got four hoodies.

Bring it summer.

Let’s go.


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