Posts Tagged ‘shop girl’

Out And About

September 27, 2012

Well, tonight, all I really wanted was to get home, not so much out and about.

However, I have officially changed the thrust of my blog and it is no longer “Life in San Francisco”.

It is “out and about”.

I do not know if that is going to stick.  In fact, I am already wondering if that makes me sound like I am coming out.

Which I am not, just for the record.

Nor am I in the closet.

I am a devout heterosexual.

I like the lads not the ladies.

So, hmm, yeah, that may have to change.  On the lam?

That could work.  I mean I do not plan on being legally in Paris.

Shhh.  Don’t tell.

Although if it happens, I am all for it.

Matt came by the shop today and we caught up briefly between customers and invoices and bike shop chatter.  He and I readily agreed on the fact that I have absolutely no idea what is going to happen.

And today instead of being afraid of that, I am embracing the hell out of it.

My wildest dreams could not have pointed me in this direction a year ago.

Moving to Paris was definitely on my menu, but it was not as real as it is now.  I also thought I was going to be moving to Paris to be a nanny.

I am not going to be a nanny.

I am nanny no more.

I will do other jobs.

I will not say never, ever, ever, but let me put it this way, if child rearing is going to happen in my future, I prefer that it be one of my own rather than some one else’s.  I am not interested in pursuing that career regardless of my abilities or if it could work out well for me.

I also do not want to be a masseuse a waitress or a bike shop girl.

I am not interested in being a working girl, I see enough of them around here to see that there is really no fun to be had corner sitting while waiting for a John at 10a.m.

I am also not interested in being a kept girl.

Despite what some have suggested.

I am no ones mistress.

Just simply my own.

My perspective is limited and my scope is limited and my view is limited.

I limit myself all the time.

“You can’t do that, shouldn’t try this, don’t go there, be careful or else….”

I am tired of putting limits on what I can or cannot do.

One thing that has stuck with me in my mind since my Florida trip to see my mom is something she said about me as a child.  She said that when I put my mind to do something I did it.  I was determined.  I followed through.  I have tenacity.

I am tenacious.

I like saying that word, tenacious.

  1. Not readily letting go of, giving up, or separated from an object that one holds, a position, or a principle: “a tenacious grip”.
  2. Not easily dispelled or discouraged; persisting in existence or in a course of action: “a tenacious legend”

Yup.

I can agree with that.

I also, however, want to be flexible in my tenacity.  I do not want to be stubborn, I do not want to hold onto the old ideas of you do not have enough to do or go or try.

What did Yoda say?

‘There is no try, only do.”

Well, I am going to do.

I am going to just show up.

I am going to get out and about and let things happen.  I do not have to make things happen, which is also an old tired worn out threadbare scraped down to the bone marrow idea.

You see, I have no use for it.

Despite holding onto the thought from time to time that I can make stuff happen.

I cannot make any thing happen.

I can, however, do the work, I can get out and about, I can go shake it, I can get myself into right action and I can let go of the results.

I have a secret I have not shared much about since I have been doing some pretty big amending my ways life style kind of work.

I am not seeing a change.

I was talking to John about how I keep expecting some white lightning moment, some sort of promise to materialize right in front of me.  Some sort of sign.  Some burning bush thing.

I have been doing some hard-core work and I do not feel like I am seeing any pay off.

Ah and there’s the rub, there is not supposed to be a pay off.

I am just supposed to be able to go free and clear with a light conscience onto the next phase of my development.

But I want a cookie.

Or at least a pat on the back.

A job well done.

How horrid, I want a reward.

And I know better.

My expectations have been pretty high and my feelings around what I have been doing have been rather flat, tepid, not really there.

A little relief here.

A little relief there.

But I still feel pretty much the same.

I did think I was going to have some earth shattering spiritual fire bomb of goodness.

Well, I did get laid both times right there after having done some amends (I have however done seven and I want more, more, more.  I am greedy too).

That could be ground shaking.

Or bedframe shaking.

Baha.

It just is never what I think it is going to be.

That is the gist of it.

It does not matter what the name of my blog is, Out and About with Auntiebubba.

Oh, fuck, yes it does too.

I need a better tag line.

Auntie Bubba, woman of the world.

Auntie Bubba does it better.

Auntie Bubba, say it enough times and it makes no sense.

I am more than a blogger, more than a bike shop girl, more than the sum of my amends, I am a poet, a dreamer, a schemer, a traveller, a lady, a star-gazer, a dancer, a lover, I am tender, and silly, and I laugh loudly and long.  I am a Burning Man attendee, a participant in the Universe, an active listener.

I am Carmen Regina Martines, you drank my milk, prepare to die.

Auntie Bubba, Where Are You Going?

Joan and Tami and Beth

June 2, 2012

Oh my.

I got to see some of my favorite ladies tonight.  Plus Carolyn and Stephanie and Nikki and Bonnie and Amy and Rae and Lisa.

It was a ladies fest.

Or Bitches and Burgers, as it’s also known as.  I normally do not hit up the Bitches and Burgers on Friday nights, and ladies, I know it’s at Burgermeister, but it should probably be re-named Bitches with Salads.  I think I saw one burger amongst the lot of you–and I think it was a veggie burger.

None the less, the Beegees were on the juke box and there was much laughter, a few tears, loads of hugs, and lots of good old-fashioned girliness happening.

I left early to get home to write, load photographs and eat my evening snack before retiring.  I have a day tomorrow.  I have a day tomorrow that I feel like I already need to be girding my loins for.

It is just KFox and I at the shop.

Two ladies, no guys, no mechanics, no back up.

Slangin’ bikes.

Bitches be makin’ it happen.

Actually I love working with Kristin we are on the same wave length and we end up working really well together.  Once I got past the minute jealousy of working with the tiniest girl ever, well, not ever, but man she is small, I got into working a groove with her and we do well.

I think because there is no bullshit.  It is cut to the chase and make it happen.  I have learned a lot from her design aesthetic, in fact I did a really awesome bike design today utilizing her strategy of color palette and it went from being a cool looking bike to a wow bike with a few tweaks.

I had him on the fence and the design was not going well, he wanted a bike, but his color choices were not leading him down the right path.  So, we backed up and I stole some Kristin tips and next thing you know, complete redesign and an exceedingly happy customer who happily, and I mean happily, dropped $1600 on a one speed bike.

Tami nodded sagely when I was telling her about work, “you are great at retail,” she said.

I am?

Who knew?

I always rather looked down my nose at retail, but it turns out I am pretty good at selling shit.  I feel like it’s partially because I have only so much money I spend on extraneous things and I know quality.  I know what nice feels like.  I don’t often buy it, but when I do I love it and I know how that feeling is.

That makes me relatable.  Plus, I don’t work on commission so there’s no pressure to up sell.  I do if it makes sense to do so and the person is for it.  I am not a pressure tactics type of sales person.  In fact, I am sort of blase at times, I know the bike is quality, I am not going to shove it down your throat.

I have had a couple of people ask me to “convince them” and I just want to say, “fuck off.”  Don’t waste my time.  I am not interested in pursuing your sale.  Your money or you need to be told how much sunshine is coming out your ass. I rather take offense at it.  And it’s typically with people who don’t know their ass from a hedge.

Hole in the ground is so yesterday.

Oh, best google search terms from yesterday: will cocaine on my anus, not in my anus, get me high?

Well, it depends on how much is in the nose of the person sticking it up your ass.

People.

You know you are up past your bedtime when you are google searching this.

And if you butt is numb, it’s working.

Ahem.

I also got to see Mrs. Fishkin today.  I just love writing her name, Mrs. Fishkin.  It is a rocking moniker.  She was having lunch with her hubby, Lenny, who is also just a pumpkin, God, I know some truly cute people.  Mrs. Fishkin was in the most adorable powder blue frock with this color patch print that was not cupcakes, but the whole ensemble resembled a scrumptious petite four, all pastels and pinks and an adorable black cropped cardigan with red swirl applique, she looked like a little Mission Mini Cupcake.  Plus she was rocking a new do.

Too good!

She also invited me to join the gang at the new park on Valencia Street for Sunday Streets.  I wanted to cry.  I will be at the shop.  I will be shop girl and then there will be music stage boy and mechanic dude, and that’s all she wrote.  It might be a complete shit show, but fuck it, I’ll be there.

Although the thought of being able to spend the afternoon at the park with Eve pie and  mama Fishkin and papa Lenny and friends, AB, Craig, Reno?  Mama Grace and Papa Price, maybe? Juniper?  Esther?  Oh.  I sure hope I get kid visits at the shop.  I will be throwing down the spoke cards for the monkey posse left and right.

Ah, it will be a good weekend, because it will and it will be crazy and I will build a bike or two and rock it out and when it gets tough, the tough will just say,

Paris

and all will be just fine in the world.

Dropping Hints

January 18, 2012

The building where Mission Bicycle is located is the old New College campus.  The College lost its accreditation a few years back now, I want to say five, maybe even six years ago it closed.  Perhaps not so long as that, but it’s been a while.

None the less, occasionally some one will come by looking for the college or they will be alumni who have not heard the college closed and they are in town visiting, etc.

And once in a while there’s mail.

Today there was mail.  I took it for myself.  It was a writers magazine that I had never heard of that was addressed to the writing department head at the college.  I figured he would not be missing it.

I opened it up and saw lists for grants, MFA programs, writers residencies, scholarship awards, contests, agency listings.  I said, mine, mine, mine.

Then like the scared chicken I am, I left it purposely on the counter at work.

The Universe said, “hey, you, yeah, you, bike shop girl, you ain’t gonna be at this bike shop forever, get on it”.

I got excited.  Then I thought, hmm, I have lots of time on Sunday when I will be in the Mission between commitments; in fact I have four hours of kill time.  I will hang out in a cafe and devour this catalogue of writers gold.  I will underline and highlight and make lists.

Or I can get scared and say, ah, thanks, Universe, that was nice of you to drop this literally in my lap, but nah, I’m ok working at this bike shop…

FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.

Oh, good lord.  No I am not.  I am a writer.  And that is what I’ll be doing for the rest of my life.

I heard something really interesting tonight.  My friend had come to the realization that he was jealous of some one he knew because he had all this “stuff”  a nice house in San Francisco, an awesome career as a photographer, assistants out the wazoo, a family, a nice studio, etc, etc.

But then my friend realized how hard this man worked for his success and that it had not been handed to him.  My friend came to the realization that he too could have everything this successful photographer had if he was willing to work for it.  But, he was not that driven.  He liked his down time, he liked going to the beach and surfing, he liked having options.

I believe I am somewhere in the middle.  I am willing to do the work.  I am totally willing to do the work, but I want someone to tell me how to do it.  I feel like I need an instruction manual on how to do it.

Actually, I feel often times just flat-out overwhelmed by it all.  It seems like there is so much that must be done and attended to.  It does not matter, on one hand, that I wrote the book, it matters how I put the book out there.  And I still don’t know how to do that.

I’ll start a google search and send out a query.  I have researched how to write query letters.  I have started a blog.  I have stared at the internet.  I have tried to figure out SmashWords and self publish.  I feel like I get to a certain point then I have not idea where to go next.

For example, I believe I have a great book proposal with writing about my experiences nannying at Burning Man.  Granted it may be a very niche audience, but I am willing to believe that some body out there, perhaps more than a few some bodies, are quite interested in what happens when you nanny at Burning Man.

The question is then, how do I pitch an idea?  To whom?  How do I start?

I want there to be something clear-cut and obvious.  I want a check list.

I don’t think that it exists.  This is not to say that I will not continue attempting to find ways to get published.  I just will have to keep muddling through.

The catalogue I got today was intriguing, scary, yes, but intriguing.

Then I got home to an e-mail from Zefrey.  An old friend of mine who I have had moments of being in complete awe over how much he has accomplished as an artist and how and where he has shown and, then the “why not me?”  has risen it’s ugly, nasty little head.

The jealousy monster.  I heard Matt’s voice describing that photographer and his success and how he came to realize he wasn’t interested in working that hard.

Am I?

Am I willing and ready to let go of my creative jealousy whenever I hear of another show Zefrey has put together?  I know he works his ass the fuck off.  I know he put himself through school while working a full-time job he hated.  I know he got up and pulled his roots and set off into the wilds of the New York art scene and I cannot imagine how hard he worked for it.

So,  am I willing to do the same thing for myself and my writing?  Am I ready and willing to put in the work and do the same.  I am prolific. I write all the fucking time.  I have notebooks upon notebooks of stuff.

The desire seems to be there.  The material is there.  The fear is definitely there.  But I feel like the work is what is missing.  I don’t do enough work.  I have to really just stop thinking about it and do it.  If I feel that sitting down in a cafe a couple of times a week is going to be the necessary impetus to get the work done am I willing to do so?

Yes.

Yes I am.  I am also willing to apply to writers in residence programs.  I am willing to check out applying to the Iowa Writers Workshop.  I missed this years deadline, but I can get the application together for next year.  I am willing to go through that catalogue page by page and take some constructive actions.

Yes.  I am willing to do the work.

I am not willing to be jealous of my friend any longer.  I am letting go of the green monster.  The Universe dropped me a big ass hint today.

The gauntlet has been thrown down.

I hereby pick it up.

 


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