Posts Tagged ‘Samovar Tea Lounge’

Sunshine

July 19, 2017

I’m listening to an old Mike Doughty album of covers, The Flip Is Another Honey.

It just seemed appropriate.

I feel sunny.

I had a super yummy day.

Literally.

I cooked some good food today.

I had a first stab at recreating a dish I had yesterday at Samovar by Yerba Buena Gardens.

I had gone there for lunch with a darling friend who I don’t get to see very often anymore, we used to meet up on a weekly basis and now, well, between my schedule and hers, it’s more like once every couple of months.

However.

Thanks to the time off from my day job, I was able to go with her to the MOMA yesterday.

We saw the Edward Munch show.

It was good.

Dark as fuck.

But.

Um, that’s Munch.

There were also some super sexy, lush paintings that I hadn’t really known were in the artists oeuvre.

I was impressed and it was a good show.

My favorite artist?

Nope.

But nice to have some exposure to his work and I love going to the MOMA.

We had coffee in the cafe and got caught up on life.

Then we went to the 7th floor of the museum and wandered through the sound installation, which was super intriguing, but made me feel bad for any kid that might wander through, the desire to touch and tinker with the little wooden machines and instruments would have been too much temptation for my little paws when I was younger.

I was, however, able to restrain myself.

The part of the exhibit that really got me though was a room full of video screens with a synchronized song that was being played by six or seven different artists in different rooms of an old mansion in upstate New York.

It was so well done.

I was stunned and moved and completely captivated by it.

I got the chills and was dreamy and in reverence.

I love art.

I love it when I am surprised by beauty.

I love music.

And the two were just the most elegant conceptualization and moving amongst the screens and seeing how well synched the videos were and the sound was arranged so that there were speakers not just for each screen but also in the ceiling above.

It was like literally being inside the song.

I get a little shiver thinking about it.

Of course.

I stood the longest in front of the screen with the woman playing the cello.

I have such a soft spot for cello and again it went through me, time, soon, when, I don’t know, but it is there, that longing, get a cello again, practice when, fuck if I know, but do it, get lessons, start again, start again, start again.

I have enough on my plate.

But I do dream on it once in a while.

I also recognize that I was so lucky to have had the cello when I had the instrument in my life, that I was given an inordinate gift beyond any comprehension that I can now just barely muster.

I got to play the cello for four sweet, stirring, amazing years.

How many people can say that?

It was a gift and I love classical music and Bach’s preludes can make me inflamed, like I have to go buy a cello NOW, as can the passion of Chopin, although I feel his music is more piano than string, and Debussy, ack, be still my heart, Claire de Lune?  Please.

Exquisite.

So much music.

So much joy.

That’s what I felt like today.

Suffused with joy.

Sometimes soft.

Sometimes furious with passion.

I am so alive.

Even the little mundane things I did today, laundry, cooking, making check in phone calls, taking out the trash, they all were filled with this light and I just felt a glow.

I also felt full.

I ate well today.

And my tummy seems back to normal.

Yesterday, as I mentioned earlier, I had a dish at Samovar that I replicated this morning.

It was their Salmon Egg Bowl.

Brown rice, smoked salmon, poached eggs, sauerkraut, and ginger soy dipping sauce.

I took a few liberties and made one mistake.

I over poached the eggs.

One of my liberties was to poach my eggs in Miso broth, which did not give me a clear broth and I couldn’t see the egg white form on the egg, I don’t normally time things when I cook and I should have just timed the eggs.

They ended up being soft/medium boiled.

Not horrid.

But I missed getting that super creamy yolk that would have pulled the whole thing together.

The other liberty I took was to add pickled ginger and sliced pickling cucumber, the cucumbers weren’t pickled, but just the tiny little ones they use to make pickles, so fresh they added a nice clool brightness to the salt brine of the sauerkraut and the richness of the salmon.  I also used turmeric spiced brown rice, to give the rice color and I thought the plate was actually quite pretty.

It was not great.

But.

It was good.

It will be better the next time I make it.

I also roasted some asparagus, still going through the asparagus my employer gave me last week, wrapped in bacon.

Mmmm.

Bacon.

That was breakfast.

A slight departure from my normal oatmeal and fruit and hard-boiled egg, but a welcome one.

Once and a while I get to shake it up.

For lunch I roasted a chicken with a salt and pepper crust and made brown rice.

Nice and simple.

And that’s what I had for dinner.

With, ha, um, some more asparagus.

Heh.

I think I will pull the chicken and shred it up and make a cream of asparagus soup with brown rice and chicken.

That will “kill” the asparagus.

Otherwise I don’t think I will be able to finish it up before it goes bad and its a shame to waste asparagus.

And in between the cooking and the tasks I saw people I love.

I connected with fellows.

I sat in a cafe in Noe Valley and reconnected to my people, two back to back.

And I had a really good therapy session.

Also up in Noe Valley.

I was supposed to have a client after all my meetings and sessions in Noe, but it was cancelled by the client and I found myself able to quickly zip up and over the hill and hit the Inner Sunset and get right with God at Irving and 7th.

Such an unexpected gift.

Ran into some folks I hadn’t seen in a while and got my God on.

A damn fine day.

I really, really am.

The luckiest girl in the world.

Seriously.

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You’d Make Some One

November 14, 2016

A good wife.

I thought to myself as I was canning up homemade chicken soup with rice a few minutes ago.

I burst out laughing.

I make me a good wife.

I am my own good wife.

I do it all.

I do the laundry.

Two loads today.

I do the marketing.

I cook the food.

And.

The food is tasty.

I just finished putting up my food for the week and for the next weekend of classes which is fast approaching.

It’s hard to believe that I have classes this Friday.

I don’t know where the time went.

But fuck me.

It went.

I do know where the majority of today went.

Into my 14 page, 4, 484 word Psychopathology paper.

Holy Toledo.

Yeah.

Most of my day was that.

I was supposed to meet with a couple of ladies.

That didn’t happen.

And I was going to go to yoga.

That didn’t happen either.

Although I set my alarm to get up early and go.

What happened?

My internal clock went off and said, “get the fuck out of bed!”

And in no uncertain terms, my day changed and changed for well, the better, not that I necessarily had a bad plan for my day, things changed, they often do.

I got up earlier than my alarm by an hour.

I got up because I have a cold.

Oh.

It’s not devastating.

Although it is annoying.

It’s a sneezy cold with a bit of a fever.

No cough, which is nice, but a nice low running fever and a sneeze, also, a slightly whisky throated cigarette smoking huskiness to my voice that is actually sort of fun.

I think I caught it from one of the women I work with or one of the families.

Everyone has had it.

I’m better off than most of the folks that I have seen come down with it.

I’m a healthy lady.

But.

I didn’t want to meet with the women I do the deal with if I had a cold.

However, I wasn’t going to cancel my blind date and I wasn’t going to not do my paper.

So.

I offered both the ladies the option to opt out.

My person does that with me, as she knows I work with kids and I do the same for her, if one of us is feeling under the weather but capable of meeting we do, unless the other person opts out.

Both my ladies opted out and I have to be honest.

I was grateful for the extra time.

The paper took longer to write than I thought it would, although not longer than I estimated.

I was just hoping that my  estimate would be over.

Nope.

It was pretty spot on.

I estimated four hours and I started writing at 10:30 a.m.

Yes.

I did get up early, but I also did laundry, took a shower, got ready for my date so I wouldn’t be stressed about that, even wore my favorite dress, and I had a nice breakfast, tidied up the house, and wrote my morning pages.

I also had a phone check in with one of the ladies.

Then.

I wrote the paper.

I finished it just after 3 p.m.

I took a lunch break in there for about twenty minutes or so and I got up once and walked outside and just stood in the sunshine to let my brain rest and let my body have some sun.

I skipped yoga.

Kind of hard to do yoga if you can’t breathe and are sneezing.

But I’m grateful to that too, I needed the time I would have been in class to write.

My paper, as I already mentioned, but feels good to say again, thank you; clocked in at 14 pages, 4, 484 words.

Yeehaw.

I wrote about Post Traumatic Distress Disorder and Alcohol Use Disorder.

Things I know nothing about.

Ahem.

There was so much to write about and so many notes and books and stuff and things.

So much.

But it got done.

Thank God.

I even had time to proof half of it before I left for my date.

We met at Samovar Tea Lounge above Yerba Buena Gardens.

It was a beautiful late afternoon and I was grateful to be out in the world, even if it took a few minutes to come to and realize that I was actually on a date and not writing a paper.

It was a nice date.

I had a nice time.

There was not really any zing zip for me, but he was a kind man, a nice man, and we talked.

He wants to see me again, that was clear, though I will probably pass.

I am grateful for the experience though, to be out in the world, to be trying new things.

I mean, this was my first time being set up by a friend.

I’ve never had that happen before and it is super flattering to be thought of.

Speaking of thought of, I received an e-mail today in regards to a book project, turns out a photograph of me will be in the book.

I was super flattered and it’s really nice to be included.

My world feels sweet right now, heady almost, the relief of having that paper done is quite nice.

The author of the book asked if I was still in graduate school and a nanny, as those will be listed alongside my portrait in the book.

Yes.

And.

Yes.

Care taker–of myself, graduate student, budding therapist, Burner, all the things.

After I signed off the e-mail I finished proofing and editing my paper.

I printed it off and voila!

I’m done.

And so is my weekend.

Fuck it went by fast.

I’ve still got some reading to do for class but it can wait for tomorrow.

I have earned a video and a cup of tea.

My candles are all lit up, I have Coleman Hawkins playing and I have my bunny slippers on.

It’s a beautiful thing.

Happy Sunday!

Do A Little Shimmy

November 12, 2016

In front of the mirror.

Um.

Yes.

But before that I have a lot of moving and shaking to do.

Holy shit do I have a lot of stuff to do.

I preempted it by doing some of the work today.

I mean I got busy already.

I brought reading in with me to work and for the second day I was able to do reading while the boys were on their quiet time I kicked out some reading.

I also just finished doing another hour of reading.

That’s right.

Because this is how I have to roll to get it all in.

Actually.

I did an hour of reading then I took another twenty minutes or so and organized the material that I will be using for my big Psychopathology paper.

It has to be 12-15 pages long, in APA style and it will be an in-depth analysis of two different diagnosis with emphasis on using the DSM V and as well as a psychoanalytic approach.

I will be addressing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

And.

Alcohol Use Disorder.

Ahem.

I may have a little experience with the two.

Hahahaha.

Fuck I amuse myself.

But.

Hey when writing I have found that the best things to write about are things that I have experience with.

I have experience with both in spades.

Thank you very much.

So after I did another two chapters of reading for my Family Therapy class (this is after working a full day at work, and yes, it was full, though lovely, so lovely especially, getting out to the park in the sunshine) after I got back from doing the deal tonight, I sat down and organized the reading and the materials.

I did not start the writing.

But I have started the thinking.

It sits and stews a little up there in my head.

I don’t know exactly how that works, but I do know from a great deal of experience that it does.

I have done the reading, which is a huge part of the battle.

I have the beginnings of where I need to go in my mind.

I have reviewed the directions for the paper a number of times.

I have started sticking post it notes in the places I need to go back to and integrate into the paper.

I will devote seven pages to each diagnosis.

I will break them down, do an assessment, how it presents in the client, what the diagnosis looks like in the DSM V, what it could be, and how to address it psychodynamically.

I have FIVE books I am working with.

One of them is the full size DSM V and the other is the desk reference.

One book on psychodynamic psychiatry and another on psychoanalytic case formulation.

Plus one book of personal experiences.

I actually won’t be using that one so much, I have, ahem, plenty of my own first person accounts to draw from.

I really won’t have any problem sketching out what the presenting problem looks like in the client.

Anyway.

So yeah.

That.

That will be taking up a big part of my weekend.

But it won’t be all my weekend.

I meet with my person tomorrow.

I plan on getting up and doing yoga, I need some exercise, before I meet her as well.

I need a mani/pedi and some eyebrow waxing and I need to do grocery shopping and cooking for the next work week.

I will also do the deal tomorrow.

And I will meet with two ladies on Sunday.

I plan on doing the bulk of the writing tomorrow after I get back from doing my errands in the Inner Sunset.

I am not sure how long this paper is going to take, it’s a big fucking paper, but having started to delve into it and having organized my materials is a big step forward.

I estimate three to four hours.

That sounds like not that much, but for me three hours of straight writing is a fuck of a lot.

I wrote my Family Therapy paper last weekend in two hours, but that was not with as much referencing and was seven pages.

This paper will be double that.

So I figure four hours of writing.

My hope is to get the majority of it written tomorrow before I head out to my 7 p.m. commitment.

And I will work on it more after ward.

I had originally planned on doing the bulk of the writing on Sunday.

But.

Um.

Ha.

Something came up.

I have a date.

What?

Totally out of the blue.

Once it was all set up I messaged my friend, what do I wear?

I laughed to myself, the quintessential question.

Not whether I can appropriately show differential diagnosis in a co-morbid presenting psychological disease, but what dress to wear, and heels, should I wear heels?

I mean he is 6’4″.

6’4″!

Yes.

Thank you God.

And doesn’t drink.

Yes.

Lives in Oakland.

And happens to be a friend of a friend.

This was not the message I was expecting to get today as I was reading my text books at work while the boys were down in their rooms.

A message pops up.

A friend doing some match making!

OMG.

Blush.

Flattered.

So, so unexpected.

Would I be interested in?

Check out…

And yes?

Ok?

What’s your schedule look like?

How about these days?

And this time.

And.

BOOM.

Date with guy set up for this Sunday at Samovar Tea Lounge.

Holy shit.

I mean.

My friend did all the leg work, said to both parties, hey go check out so and so on my page and if you like I arrange.

She did it all.

Professional like.

Damn Gina.

I feel hella looked out for.

By the time guy had checked me out and I had checked guy out she’d verified times and dates for both of us and had gone ahead and made a freaking reservation for us!

Holy Toledo.

And like that.

I have a date for a cuppa tea and a new friend on Sunday.

So.

Yeah.

Um.

Writing that fucking paper tomorrow like a house a fire.

Heh.

Oh.

And side note.

I GOT THE ASK FOR MY NEW JOB!

I got it.

I got the money I asked for.

They responded today and said, absolutely, totally reasonable, no problem, we can do that and we can’t wait to start working with you.

Quote, “can’t wait’ end quote.

Fuck yes.

I was so freaking busy after lunch with the boys, then doing the deal, then homework that I totally forget to check my e-mail.

The response had sat for seven hours in my box.

Hahahahaha.

“I’m sure you’re going to be taken care of,” a friend of mine told me when I bumped into her after my get right with God.

“I always am,” I said, “I’m sure they’re just figuring out the contract.”

And they were.

The family will have the contract to me by next week to sign.

Huge sigh of relief.

So what am I wearing to my date on Sunday?

When I jokingly asked my friend.

She was like, girl you don’t have to worry about that!

And I liked her rule of thumb.

Wear whatever makes you stand in front of the mirror and do a little shimmy.

Yes.

I know exactly what to wear.

Hello weekend.

Let’s get cracking.

I got places to go and things to do.

So.

I get to get my shimmy on.

Shimmy, shimmy.

Coco pop.

Shimmy, shimmy.

Pow!

Oh.

Yes.

Yes, please.

Nice Guy

February 9, 2014

Not for me.

Dirty fingernails.

I noted as he sat down from me at Samovar.

That’s a bit off-putting, then I recalled, well, he is a mechanic and I do like guys that work with their hands, there’s something sexy about that.

Then he smiled.

Dude.

None of the photos on your profile had you with missing teeth.

I tried to recall if he was smiling in any of the photos that he had put up.

I could not remember.

“One of the guys at the garage left the wrench on top of the engine,” he gestured, “and, well, uh, yeah, I had to make an emergency trip to the dentist.”

I just about felt like I had been gut punched.

I cannot imagine what losing your front row of teeth must feel like, but it could not have been pleasant.

So, that explains the bottom teeth, but the snaggley teeth up top, not so much.

British.

Ok, that explains the crooked, yellow, and gaped upper teeth, but still.

Then I though, well,  there can be a sexy kind of allure to an English accent.

But there was so little chemistry for me (I was trying to not practice contempt prior to investigation) that it was rather like sitting there and having a spot of tea with an English mum who wanted to show me photos of her grandkids over a nice steaming mug.

Except that the photos I was shown were of the kids, the house, the cars he’s been working on.

I could actually tell you an awful lot about this man, Mister Nice-Guy-But-Not-For-Me, I sat and listened to him talk for nearly two hours about himself.

I mean there’s the getting to know a person, then there’s the being told about your wife’s naked naughty pictures with her spiritual guru/guide, that led to your divorce, losing the house, getting shared custody of the kids, two, what happened when the dog died (I was suddenly no longer on a blind date, but in a country western song), how expensive rents are (mental note to self, might be paying for my share of the tea-pot) and the number of restored cars that you have worked on, a lot.

I also have a new understanding of all things restored, classic, metal molds, welding, paint, primer, 2500 Horsepower engines, chrome, dents, wide rims, the trouble of parking a large 1965 Chevy pick up in the Castro, and pinstriping.

I could be wrong, but I don’t think he asked me one thing about myself.

I asked him a few things then just sat back nodding and putting in the appropriate mmhhhmmm and unhuh, and sipping my tea, then my water, then signalling for more water, and serepitiously checking my watch.

Mister Nice-Guy-But-Not-For-Me was really on a roll about quitting caffeine, when I made the first interjection about my time line.

I moved it up an hour to cut short the date.

I mean I had put in two hours, I had done well and practised not having contempt prior to investigation, I showed up, and I was nice, and there were some flickers, I did find him interesting in a sweet way, just, well, not for me, and there was no chemistry.

I mean none.

I did not find him attractive at all.

Despite the allure of the 1965 Chevy pick up truck, I had no desire to kiss him, or spend more time finding out about him.

Shit.

I know lots.

All the tea, water, and refills led to me making a break to the bathroom, getting centered and asking to be shown how to nicely end the date and be on my way.

I had grocery shopping to do.

Yes, that’s right, I wanted to spend my Saturday night going to Whole Foods rather than spend any more time on the date.

I also was hungry and wanted salad bar and I did have a commitment to get to and some tea to drink with a ladybug, so, it wasn’t like I was really being dishonest, it was more like, I need to not spend any more time with this, I would really, rather go grocery shopping.

Now, if there had been chemistry, and I have had that with men before, so I know what it looks like, I would have pushed my time out as far as possible and taken a cab up to my commitment in Noe Valley.

But I found it far easier to leave, give him a hug, thank him for taking the time to come into the city and buying me the cup of tea.

“It was really nice to spend time with you,” he said, then, “I would like to get together again real soon.”

I may be busy that weekend.

Trying to put myself out there and date another guy.

Whomever he is.

I don’t know.

I do know that I  am just taking suggestions and trying to turn willingly toward the man I am supposed to be with.

Like I don’t know exactly what keeps me sober, but I have some ideas, however, I don’t know the exact mix of what needs to happen.

Like could I do less here, more there?

I don’t know, I just take all the suggestions given and go from there.

“Have you tried online dating,” she asked me at Tart to Tart.

I have, a little tiny bit, but mostly the men who have responded to my profile I have not wanted to go out with.

I wasn’t sure about this guy, he looked ok, and he sounded nice, and he asked me out in a way I found sweet, so I thought, hey, just do it.

Because you never know when you are going to meet that person or who may pop up on the way to or from a bad date.

And this was not a bad date.

It was a nice date, just a not for me kind of person.

I am sure some lady is going to be really happy with him.

It’s just not me.

One more down.

Who’s next?

I mean Valentine’s Day is in just six days!

 

Just kidding.

You Have to Ask For What You Want

September 30, 2013

Of course, you first may need to know what the fuck that is.

I was talking to the ladies at tea today and having a moment of testing the new waterproof eyeliner I had bought this past week, not waterproof, and having my moment.

I had some questions in regards to what to charge for some services and I got a lot of input, shortly on the heels of some dating suggestions, and I was suddenly just overwhelmed and the tears began to fall.

My girlfriends love me and want what’s best for me, but I have been trained so well to not ask for what I need that I have a hard time articulating it.

I usually know, at least after some practice, some therapy, some more practice, and a lot of inventory, what I don’t want, and that’s a start.

I did not want to go to the interview I had today for a possible nanny position in the NOPA neighborhood.

I felt overwhelmed with the cobbling together of hours and times and needs of families and schedules and how am I going to make this all happen.

“Honey, I am just saying, you don’t have to do this,” my friend said, “you are going to be in demand the minute that you put out there what you really want.”

She suggested that I write it down and really be specific.

I have been thinking about it all day, especially as I did not cancel on the family in the NOPA and their daughter is wicked adorable, 19 months and a little spit fire, but that I could already see myself walking into a situation that may not best serve my needs.

My needs.

What are my needs?

Let’s start with the most basic basics:

1. Rent $1200 a month plus utilities, let’s just call it $1275 as I don’t know yet what my first utility bill is going to be.

2. $239.40 student loan

3. $81.94 phone bill

4. $450 groceries

5. $60 recovery

6. $50 toiletries

7. $25 transportation costs

8. $25 books or magazines

9. $25 writing materials

10. $40 cafes

11. $40 restaurants

12. $125 clothes

13. $40 entertainment

14. $25 artist dates

15. $200 savings

16. $25 misc

Total: $2611.24

This means that I must make weekly $652.81.

This is a bare minimum.  I would like to make more and spend more.  I would like to knock out my debt to Barnaby a little quicker (thus the money into savings, I have about $850 of the $1350 plane ticket saved aside in my emergency fund at the moment).

I am not asking for much with my ideal, at least for the time being, is not a great deal more than that basic spending plan.  I would like to make $800 a week to start out.

Last week I did ok and I will do ok this week as well, closer to the first number than the latter.

I had it once suggested to me that I not pay more than one weeks worth of my monthly income to rent.  That would mean making $1200 a week.

That is doable, but I am not sure as a nanny that I am going to swing that.

What I would like to swing, if wishes were horses beggars would ride, does not seem too far off the mark though.

I want to, sigh, spit it out, have one kid, work with one family, make as a start $20 an hour, full-time, 40 hours a week, with paid vacation and sick time.

I am more than willing to do a share and I like doing them, so if I were to do a share I want $26 an hour for two and I don’t want to do three.

Three is too much.

I can do it, but there is not rest and there is not the kind of engaging I want to have with the children.

What else do I want?

I don’t want to start any earlier than 8:30 a.m.

I don’t want to work any later than 6 p.m.

I want to be treated as an equal and not a servant.

I want to work for people who are smart and creative.

I want my transportation costs covered.

I want to work in San Francisco, the closer to where I live the better.

I have had all these things in the past, I have had them, however, not all at the same time.

I have made stellar money as a nanny, $950 a week, under the table, 10 pto days a years, bonuses at Christmas and my birthday, but was treated like a servant, asked to not use certain bathrooms in the house, was constantly micro-managed, and they had no art on the walls.

I hated working for them.

I have worked for far less and worked for fantastically amazing creatives who blew my mind and I loved working with them.

“Maybe you are trying too hard to re-create that first relationship,” my friend astutely observed when I parried her suggestion with the I want to work for ‘Burning Man’ people cop out excuse I use to justify why I am not working for people that can afford me.

Maybe.

Maybe I am just too afraid to believe that if I ask for more I will get it.

I asked the Mister when he was available to hang out.

I am tired of waiting.

8 days with no contact is a few days too many.

I want to be asked out on a date damn it.

At least let me know when you are going to have time.

So, I took that initiative and asked.

How will anyone know what I want unless I speak up.

I am the reason I am not paid better.

I am the reason I am single.

I am an idiot.

But at least I am trying to do things differently.

Be teachable.

Try.

I mean, I did run off the bathroom at Samovar to wipe the eyeliner from my face and have another good cry, but I got over it.

My friends want what’s best for me more than I do.

So, big breath, I am going to look for full-time nanny work.

I am going to ask those people in my community that I am not currently working for, to put it out there to the parents boards and the groups and the things and the people.

I don’t want to go through Town and Country, I don’t want to work for an agency, although they keep sending me job listings, but I do want to work full-time for either one to two families.

I want full-time hours, not this piece meal, cobbled together work.

It’s too damn much work.

I can’t pretend to not notice that.

I will have to tell the people who I work for what’s going on, but not right yet, not tomorrow, but soon, I feel.  I am going to have to have more than two and a half days worth of work.

I just have to.

My brain hurts thinking about it, but there, I have put it out, to the best of my current ability, to the Universe, I need to be better taken care of.

My current situation does not best serve my needs.

Thanks for listening.

xo.


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