Posts Tagged ‘Tacolicious’

Replete

December 20, 2016

Full.

Not quite.

But almost.

Stuffed.

I ate some nice food today.

The boys I take care of, at least for the rest of this week, are on vacation from school.

The housecleaner was there today so the mom said take them out to lunch.

Absolutely.

But first.

The park.

It was a glorious, albeit chilly day in the city.

We went to Dolores Park Cafe for coffee and animal crackers.

Well.

I had the coffee.

And they had the animal crackers.

Then to the park, far emptier than normal as the city seems to be fully in exodus mode as the holiday fast approaches.

It was nice, going to work this morning and not having the normal amount of traffic.

It was nice to be at the park with the boys and not have heaps of people sitting in the grass smoking up and drinking beer out of paper sacks, the park was truly under the rule of the local little ones and their minders.

I rather found that lovely.

I got some much needed sunshine on my face and it was sweet to sit in the top of the park and look over the city and feel so much gratitude for my life.

The boys were snuggly and lovely and sweet today, animal crackers always help that, but they are also very aware that I am leaving them soon and they seem to be stockpiling the snuggles.

“Carmen, put your hand back there and keep rubbing,” the four year old admonished me this morning as we sat at the kitchen table and they ate the oatmeal I had made for them.

“It feels good.”

Yes, my sweet friend.

I’ll give you all the back rubs and snuggles you can possibly take on this next week.

The boys mostly dug in the sand box and I mostly soaked up the sunshine and casually trolled the internet to see if there were any movie theaters open on Christmas night in case I decided I wanted to do a movie.

Christmas Eve I now have plans.

I will be meeting my person in the morning at Tart to Tart, doing yoga before hand as the studio is open in the morning on Christmas Eve, then after I do the deal I’m going to head over to Oakland to help out a friend who has to move over the weekend.

We’ll get as much done as possible, hang out, grab some dinner and go to a movie.

Christmas Eve in Oakland.

Not what I was planning, but I am quite sure it will be really nice.

I adore my friend and it will be nice to spend time with her.

Especially as she made such the effort to come see me on my birthday in the city.

Travel to the city is some serious shit, the parking is awful, the traffic is quadruple what it used to be and it’s all around a much harder place to negotiate.

That she made the effort means a great deal and I can make the effort to do the reverse.

Especially as I have no time frame in regards to the holiday anymore.

The rest of it will fall together as it may.

Or may not.

I’m not too worried about it.

All in all, it’s just another day, granted it can be very sweet and special, but I do find that the more I have expectations around it, the harder it can be to get through.

I thought I had eluded the Christmas blues with my plans to fly to Wisconsin this year.

Seeing as how Paris was so heartbreaking last year and the year prior my boyfriend at the time chose to spend it with his ex-wife (that relationship didn’t last much longer than a few more weeks, fyi, although I harbor no grudge or resentment, it was painful to go through that day alone walking on the beach, which is what may very well happen this year too, so I best get the fuck over it), I really can’t make plans for the holiday.

I just seem to get bit on the ass when I do.

So whatever happens I am entirely fine with.

Coffee will be had, that’s about all I know.

After that, no expectations shall lead to no resentments and that will make for a fine Christmas indeed.

And really, after all the love I got in the last day from friends and my employers and the boys, I don’t need to ask for more, I have already been given so much.

Just take lunch and dinner for heaven’s sake.

I ate some amazing food today.

The boys opted for Tacolicious for lunch, which if you haven’t gone is a pretty high end taco joint in the Mission.

The boys had the kid’s plate–fish taco with homemade refried beans and rice and lots of chips and big cups of milk.

I had the pozole, which was good, not the greatest I’ve ever had, but super warm and hearty and satisfying.

I also had the plantains with crema and refried beans.

THAT was hella good.

I was a very happy camper eating that.

After lunch the boys had quiet time and I had sort of a mental break down on the phone with my friend when I realized how tired I was and that I was struggling with the idea of the speaking engagement I was supposed to do tonight, in fact, would be at right now as I was supposed to speak at 8:30p.m.

But I had said yes without considering that I have a super early start tomorrow and I wasn’t feeling all that well, a constant head ache all day, that has just in the last hour finally simmered the fuck down.

I took 7 ibuprofen over the course of the day.

No fun.

I also was running a slight temperature, again, nothing huge, not really all that sick, but it just became clear I was going to need to marshall my reserves to get through the day and also to go to the dinner that my employers wanted to take me out to for my birthday.

The boys were so excited, it’s their favorite restaurant hands down.

They had so much food I don’t know how they crammed it all into their little boy bodies, but man, they did.

I had swordfish sashimi and yes!

They still had it, the persimmon salad with duck breast.

It was amazing.

Persimmons are basically out of season at this point so when I saw the salad, I knew.

It was divine.

And then.

I just got on my scooter and came home.

I don’t know that I am actually sick, but I suspect the emotional roller coaster of figuring out my travel or not travel to Wisconsin, combined with my birthday and having to finish that gigantic paper for school just kind of pushed me over the edge.

I’m going to go to bed early tonight and just call it a day.

I’m sure I’ll be fine in the morn.

I feel better already, just from being home.

Home.

It is such a nice place to be.

Yes.

Even when I was expecting to be elsewhere.

Home.

As it turns out.

Is just where I want to be.

Seriously.

Date Night!

March 20, 2016

I jest.

Work night is more like it.

Being tired night can be included in that.

Why am I at work night should be the title to this blog.

Because that’s where I am.

Le sigh.

It does not happen often that I am here on the weekend and it will not happen again this semester.

I feel a little bit broken.

I realized, on Sunday, as I was sitting in my last class of the day that I had unconsciously, oh what would Freud say about that, sabotaged myself into working thirteen days in a row with one day off and then another five days of work before I had my two day weekend.

Ugh.

Carmen.

I met with my person today.

And no!

Fuck.

We did not finish my inventory.

The lady is having me go deep.

DEEP.

It’s been a little painful, plus I’m sick, let’s just not beat around the bush, I haven’t been running at full speed, it’s not debilitating but it certainly feels vulnerable when I am sick and it’s usually when I am better that I realize how sick I have been.

Or when someone points it out right in front of you.

“Oh, you’re sick,” she said, “ok, we’re going to go easy.”

And did we go easy?

Nope.

But.

Ah.

I got some stuff out.

All the stuff that just does not serve and she promised we would finish next week and I believe her.

But when she asked about today and the working, then added: “how do you feel about that?”

I burst into tears.

Um.

I didn’t see that coming.

And that indicates to me that I am sicker than I am letting on.

So this has been a very take it easy sort of day.

I left the scooter at home, took a car to Tart to Tart, then another to the Mission after doing the deal for awhile.

I also got a manicure and a pedicure and chatted with a girl friend I’d lost a little touch with since she’s moved to the East Bay.

“It’s so affordable over here!” She told me.

Yeah.

I hear that.

I’m pretty damn lucky to still be here.

My driver today asked how long I’ve lived in San Francisco and I’m coming up on fourteen years!

It’s a pretty great run.

I found myself a little overwhelmed though, in the Mission.

It’s changed a lot and I know that and I am here all the time and I work here and I commute here and yet, wow, I just got such an eye full and ear full and the bustle and the weird, well, to me, it’s weird, tourists and gawkers and destination people and the conversations and the money.

Whoa.

There is some money on parade here.

Especially on the weekends.

I mean.

I know that I am in it consistently, but I’m here when the work week is happening and I don’t interact with the community the same way.

Hell.

Who am I kidding.

It was not community that I was interacting with today.

Not that I had much interaction, it was mostly observation.

I am pretty happy that I am not living down in this area anymore, despite occasional longings for a shorter commute to and from work and school.

I never thought I would say that.

I always thought I would wind up in a house in the Mission.

Perhaps not.

Of course, there is plenty here that is still good and awesome.

I was just a bit overwhelmed with it and remembered with a lot of nostalgia what it was like the first few times I hung out here and ate here and went to bars and night clubs and danced and shot pool and played poker in the back room at Dalva.

Long soaks in the hot tub at Osento.

I still, once in a while, think, oh, I should go to Osento then realize it’s been closed for years.

Things change.

And that’s ok.

I don’t have to bemoan it or belittle it either.

It was nice to go to dinner with my boys and we went to Tacolicious and were waited on hand and foot and it would have perhaps mortified me to be there in another lifetime, but in this one I was being paid to eat out with the two most handsome little guys ever.

And.

When I was with the boys, I didn’t notice the hoi poi and the hulllabaloo and the commerce and the scene and be seen.

I just enjoyed walking along a street, Valencia, that I have walked down many, many, many times before, remember New College?

Remember when Ritual opened?

I do, I was there day one, third latte of the day.  Same for Four Barrel, before they were open, grabbing coffees from the back of the store where the roasters were.

Remember the KFC!

A street where I have played and worked and sat in cafes.

A street I have written blogs on, poetry on, had sex on, well not on the street itself and now that I think about it, ha!  No.  I have hooked up on Valencia.

Heh.

Anyway.

I digress and yes, this lady is a little tired.

So.

Movie night the rest of the night and some hot tea and just sitting back until the parents get home.

Then a ride out to my home, my sweet, quiet, laid back, sleepy little studio.

Down by the sea.

But still, yes, still.

In San Francisco.

Where my heart lives.

Where I wear my flowers in my hair.

Where else, would I be?

Well.

Burning Man.

But that’s another blog.

 

Hipster’s Don’t Wear Glitter

October 23, 2015

I protested over some of the best sushi I have had in recent memory.

My friend looked at the waitress and asked her, “does she look like a hipster to you?”

The Japanese waitress looked at me, smiled, looked at my friend smiled, “she looks like a hipster.”

Damn it man.

My friend was joking, poking fun at me, but I do have some tell-tale signs of hipsterdom.

I work for tech.

Although I do not work in tech.

My family is a tech family, no getting around it, just none.

I work in the Mission District of San Francisco.

San Francisco is already up there on the hipster list, but the Mission?

Please.

It is über hipster.

And that’s not because there are so many Uber drivers in the bicycle lane waiting to pick up their fares from Tacolicious or Mosto or Dosa or Bar Tartine or dropping them off in front of Rhea’s Deli to get that one sandwich that goes so god damn good with that tall boy of Pabst Blue Ribbon that was drank at Mission Dolores Park that one day last week when the weather was so good.

“Come on!” My friend exclaimed, “you ride a fixie!”

Granted.

Yes.

I do.

“You worked at a bicycle company in the Mission!”

Yes.

I did that too.

I remember when I posted a photograph on Instagram, before everyone fucking knew what Instagram was (my Paris friend was shocked that I had been on Instagram so long, nearly four years, she hadn’t realized that the app has been around that long, but yeah, I got on the bandwagon awhile ago–the app just celebrated five years or publishing the selfie, remember what that used to be?  Literally, a self-portrait, I did a few of those before Instagram, in pencil) of my bicycle and one of the dad’s I used to nanny for commented:

“The hipster just got more hip, is that possible?”

The mom of the play date at work asked me on Tuesday night if I knew so and so, “you know, she’s really cool, and hip, like you.”

I don’t know the person she was referring to, but I can infer the compliment.

“Oh, we are going to be the envy of the neighborhood,” a mom who I ended up leaving after a really uncomfortable week of being overly micro managed, said as I agreed to be her nanny.

“We got our own hipster nanny!” She exclaimed and gave me a hug.

Note to self, if they hug you that much before the job is yours they might be neurotic.

I didn’t even know there was a candidate for nanny that was hipster, must be a subculture.

Speaking of.

Here’s a great definition for hipster courtesy of Wikipedia:

The hipster subculture is one of affluent or middle class young Bohemians who reside in gentrifying neighborhoods,[1][2] broadly associated with indie and alternative music, a varied non-mainstream fashion sensibility (including vintage and thrift store-bought clothes), generally progressive political views, organicand artisanal foods, and alternative lifestyles.[3][4][5] The subculture typically consists of white millennials living in urban areas.[6][7] It has been described as a “mutating, trans-Atlantic melting pot of styles, tastes and behavior”.[8]

Hmm.

Let’s see.

I like subculture.

Ok, I can see that, ok, fine, a little hipstery there.

Affluent or middle class?

Nope.

Nope.

Nope.

But then again, better off than I have ever been and were I living in the mid west I would be considered middle class.

Of course, I wouldn’t be making half of what I make here in the San Francisco as a nanny.

No way.

No how.

And in San Francisco I am not middle class and certainly not affluent.

Bohemian?

Sure.

I will go with that, although I think I am more of a sparkle pony than a Bohemian, but I have some of the trappings, I like art, I like music that doesn’t play on the top 40 radio stations.

When, in fact, was the last time I listened to the radio?

Oh.

Ha.

Yesterday, in the car with the mom on the way to the boys appointment to get their annual flu shot.

I got mine too.

I remember listening to the lyrics of the song that was playing and wondering, who the fuck writes this?

Awfulness.

But I love art and that is very Bohemian.

So ok, a couple of points on the hipster scale and I have tattoos and yes, I do have a one speed custom bicycle, but not because I am affluent, but because I worked in a bicycle shop and not because I had some rabid interest in bicycles, it sort of fell in my lap, my friend was the General Manager and really wanted me to come and work for him.

So I did.

And I built a bike.

But my bike, despite having hipster tendencies–one speed, custom paint job, Italian drop bars, steel frame–is so not a hipster ride.

The aesthetics are totally skewed.

Hello.

I have a deep midnight blue paint job with Rock Star Sparkle top coat.

Not one coat.

But two.

No hipster in their right mind has a whip with glitter.

Or a leather seat with embossed roses from Italy.

Just me.

What else?

Oh yeah, gentrifying neighborhoods.

Yeah.

I used to live in the Mission, but no longer.

I lived at 20th and York, paid $650 for my room with its own bath in a five bedroom house with four other girls.

I bet now that rent for my room would be $3,000.

I lived at 22nd and Alabama with a woman from Northern Italy who had rent control from having lived in the top of this Victorian forever and paid $500 for a huge room with everything included.

I also lived in an enormous Victorian on 23rd and Capp before it was gentrified, thank you very much, for $450 a month plus utilities.

God.

I have people question why the hell I moved out, but if you knew who my room-mate was you probably wouldn’t have moved in.

The last place I lived in the Mission was a tiny in-law at 22nd and Folsom and I paid $750 including all utilities.

That was about two and a half, three years ago, right as it was getting crazy.

Now.

Well.

Fuck.

Whatever.

Everybody know how expensive it is to rent in San Francisco, and now I live in the Outer Sunset, where I am very happy and content to live.

Although it too is getting a little on the hipster side.

I’m definitely progressive, I definitely eat a lot of organic food, ok, sigh, I am looking more like a hipster every word I type.

Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.

I wear glasses with oversized wood frames.

I listen to alternative music.

Ever hear of jazz?

Yeah, like that.

But there’s a lot of music that I listen to that is definitely not mainstream, is underground, and is alternative.

Fuck.

I guess I am a hipster.

Wait.

Millennials.

Nope.

Fuck that.

I am so not a Millennial.

Not by a long shot.

I’m way too old.

Gen X thank you very much.

There.

See.

Not a hipster.

Well.

I guess I have some characteristics.

(Wrecking Ball coffee in my cupboard from Washington State)

Converse on my feet.

Fixie in the garage.

Yes I did own a vintage Vespa, well, I thought it was a Vespa.

But.

I protest.

I am still to glittery to be hip.

And I eschew cigarettes, tall boys, tech talk, Tinder, festival clothes, floppy hats, jean shorts (unless I’m rocking some funky tights), happy hour in the Mission, and snobbery.

See.

I’m too nice to be a hipster.

So there.

“I’m just joking!” My friend laughed at me, “you know I’m just joking.”

I do.

I do, I know.

I am willing to admit that I am often mistaken for a hipster but as soon as I wave my hand and give you a hug the truth comes out.

Oh!

Your’s so nice.

You must be from the Midwest!

Yup.

I’m not hipster.

I’m a Sconnie.

Welcome Back To “Normal”

June 17, 2015

Although there never really is a normal day in my life.

I am just not going on a date, being scammed for all the money in my bank account, or finding out that I won a full ride to graduate school.

It was a big day at work, I had to have the boys out most of the day as the house was being fitted with new heating and air duct work, so crazy amounts of working guys in and out and I had to be off premise from 10 a.m. till almost five p.m.

But.

The mom and dad are so flexible with me and the boys schedule and they have extra space outside their main residence that was used.

It ended up being a restaurant adventure sort of day for me and the boys and one that I marveled at on more than one occasion today.

I got to eat at Tacolicios for lunch, which despite its lame name, I’m sorry, it’s lame, is really quite good.

I had the Marina girl salad with grilled shrimp and sat on the patio with an iced tea while my boys ate the house made refried beans with cojita cheese and had fish tacos on hand-made tortillas and ate corn chips and rice like they were going out of style.

Then this evening, a further celebration with the family for my graduate school acceptance and the scholarship award–dinner out with them at Kiji on 23rd and Guerrero.

Oh my god.

It was so good.

I texted a friend tonight and was like, go, go, go.

I had Hamachi Kama–grilled yellow tail tuna collar-bone–extraordinary; grilled asparagus, Umi Maso, also a first for me, which is ocean trout, sashimi; Unagi–barbecued fresh water eel; Toro–blue fin belly; sautéed Japanese mushrooms; a bowl of the best Miso soup I think I have ever had; and two perfect Miyagi oysters, some of the best I have ever had, super fresh and the presentation was beautiful.

Divine.

I will be going back.

Sans the little guys.

In fact, I thought, definite date night restaurant for upcoming date.

I have many upcoming dates on my mind.

But not obsessively so and I have to say, that is so refreshing.

Just taking it nice and slow.

I’m finding the more I know about myself, the more that taking it slow feels right, good, the thing to do.

Healthy.

I am liking that.

Taking it day by day is how it’s supposed to be anyway and I realize that normal, whatever normal looks like for me, is just staying as much as possible in the moment and keeping the focus on myself and my care; on what I have to accomplish in my day and how to be the best woman I can at any given time during that day.

I’m not perfect and I don’t expect to become so, but I am feeling a whole lot more relaxed about things.

I suppose not having to be concerned with coming up with tuition money for my first two years of graduate school has something to do with that.

And my healthier approach to Burning Man.

I just got off the phone with my best friend from Wisconsin, who echoed how nice it was to hear me doing well and what a big change it was going to be for me to go to Burning Man and not work every day that I am on playa.

It’s coming up pretty fast.

However.

My next focus will be on getting to Sonoma next week and what that will look like work wise.

I’ll be heading up to Glen Ellen to work with the family and stay with them at their place, I believe it’s called Stone Tree?

It’s not their house, they rent it, but it appears to be palatial and has a pool and a lot of space and I’ll have my own room and bathroom.

Which is good.

It’s one thing to nanny at Burning Man, I mean, yes it’s Burning Man, so there’s that; but it’s quite the other to actually be a live in nanny at a house with a family.

For a week.

I’m going to miss my sweet little home by the sea.

Although, it will be sunny and there is the aforementioned pool and I will have down time.

I’m not even anxious about it, really, rather just looking forward to a new adventure with the family.

I really do consider myself so lucky to be with them.

The fit is perfect for my graduate school schedule and goals and they just take care of me and I love the boys.

God.

I love these kids.

I mean.

I know.

I say that about all the children I take care of and I love them all.

I marvel at how they are all so different, but when it comes down to certain things, there is nothing like sitting down somewhere–a stoop, the bench at a playground, on the floor, a bunk bed, or rocking chair–and snuggling and reading stories or just talking.

Yesterday the oldest boy and I sat for a good forty-five minutes on the front stoop bird watching and talking about how much we like spending time together.

“We’re going to have slumber parties in Sonoma!” He said.

And so we are.

Blackberry picking.

And blackberry pie making, the oldest one is adamant about making a black berry pie.

I’m even tempted to break out the old pie crust recipe, although I’m sure freezer ones will do, and weave a crust.

There will be swimming in the pool, hikes along the creek, visits to the llama farm down the road.

I’m excited.

And I get paid.

So there’s that.

I’m excited about all sorts of things.

Some of which I am not going to write about, but you know, read between the lines yo and know that I am happy.

Life is good.

It is generally.

But.

Really.

Life is good.

I Made It!

April 11, 2015

At one point, as I looked out over the bay, Alcatraz sitting like a rough hewn jewel in the blue waters of the bay, I thought, how am I going to get through this day?

So much stuff.

It was jam-packed.

And yeah, of course I remembered we were going swimming today and did I have my swimsuit.

Oh fuck.

I actually thought that swimming was going to be earlier this week, open family swim at La Petite Bailene in the Presidio.

No.

Swimming was for today.

Ack.

I mean, yay!

Let’s go!

Of course it was the day I was wearing kohl eyeliner.

I never wear kohl eyeliner.

Ok.

I obviously did today, but 28 out of 30 days in the month, I’m not wearing kohl.

Yes.

I do wear eyeliner, I can hear some of my close girl friends ahem’ing as they read this, I wear the make up folks, that is part of the Auntie Bubba package.

There’s going to be make up.

There’s going to be glitter.

There’s going to be tattoos and funky hair.

I’m going into my colorist in two weeks.

Can you say excited?

I am.

Last time I went in and got colored up it was shades of violet and purple with some deep indigo and hot pink.

Not that this time.

Although, to tell the truth I have been flirting with a number of different ideas.

I’ll probably get some blonde highlights.

I know, how pedestrian of me.

I’m loving the wild, long, curly, California beachy hair mess I have going on.

Most of the time.

I knew it was going to be a pain in the ass today when in attempting to secure all the things to go to the pool–bag of snacks/lunch (sunflower butter sandwiches with marmalade, strawberries, bananas, string cheese, apricots, Joe’s O’s, mandarin’s), bag of towels, swim diaper, swim trunks, epi pens (peanut allergies for one of the boys means always have epi pens, Croc’s, extra pants (potty training is happening), socks, diaper pad in case potty training is epic fail, sunblock (because before we get to the pool we’re going to run around on the beach at Crissy Field), hats, sweat shirts (because it’s San Francisco and you never know), I realized I didn’t have a hair tie for my hair.

Great.

Kohl eyeliner and no hair elastic.

I am screwed.

But at least I have my swim suit.

I borrowed a hair tie from the mom and peeled out of my leggings.

“You’re wearing Meow Meow pants!” The little guy said this morning and took his stuffed cat and kissed me with it (I wore my leopard print leggings into work).

I do love this bug, he is just the bomb.

Except when he is tired or hungry, then watch out.

Things will fly.

Stuffed cats being the least likely to cause injury.

I’m not entirely sure what he did to me today in the pool, but I got walloped at one point and I have a tender pinky finger, it’s got a bruise from some sort of little boy rambunctiousness.

Before I have even been at work twenty minutes I have secured the swim package and the snacks and threw a cup of reheated coffee down my gullet and I’m gearing up to get in the pool and smudge the make up and yeah, let’s do family swim.

And play at the beach.

Shit.

Wasn’t expecting that one, but ok, I can roll with it.

And oh, there’s a play date at three p.m. in Dolores Park too.

Ack.

I got uptight in my body and I could feel myself slipping out of the moment, the serene blue of the water, the sky, the sun, the tops of the trees feathering out like umbrella pines in Italy cascading through the hills winding down the road in the Presidio.

I breathed.

I’ll get through it one moment at a time.

It was a lot.

It was too much.

Mom agreed.

We got through it.

And decided no more play dates on days where there is swimming.

There’s a lot of activities happening right now.

Spring Break.

Not for me.

That’s for sure.

I just rubbed my face and smelled chlorine.

Ah.

I love the smell of chlorine.

Swimming saved my life when I was in high school and I always have such a fondness for being in a pool.

There will be plenty of opportunity for me to be in the pool next week, family swim is planned for at least two of the days and there’s talk of exploring the Mission Bay UCSF Campus.  The family may get a membership there.

Please oh please.

I love that pool.

The outdoor pool can be a little chilly sometimes, but the facility is great, and they have an indoor pool too.

I miss swimming laps.

The mom mentioned being happy she skipped the gym today, she decided last-minute that there was too much happening.

I nodded in agreement.

“You probably don’t approve of the gym, do you, you aren’t really a gym person are you?” She asked as we crested over the hills and toward the Marina.

“Uh, no, I would go to the gym,” I said, without much thought behind it, “it’s just not a luxury I can afford,” I finished.

I wasn’t thinking much and continued, “I mean, rent is two paychecks out of the month, I can’t really spare a membership at a gym, I’d go in a heart beat, though, take a yoga class, go…”

I stopped.

“San Francisco is so expensive to live in,” the mom glossed over the awkward pause and we continued forward.

I wasn’t telling my employer I don’t make enough, but I think it came out sounding that way.

And in some ways, I do make less than I was making before, I was working all under the table though and not declaring anything.

I didn’t have insurance, I was working for three different families, and though they were all generous in different ways, I didn’t have benefits.

I do at this job.

“I know today was a lot,” the mom said as we sat watching the boys on their play date in Dolores Park, “I just want you to know how much I appreciate all the things you did today and dinner is being delivered to the house, Tacolicious, we got you a Marina Girl salad with chicken.”

Thanks mom.

I am taken care of and I do have exactly what I need.

And I made it through the day.

One chlorine scented moment at a time.

And now it’s the weekend.

Yes.

I’m Going to Atlanta!

January 30, 2015

I just registered for the conference.

Woohoo.

I started looking for flights, but as I won’t really be able to buy the air plane ticket until after my direct deposit goes into my account at midnight, I figure, I’ll be waiting until I get home from work tomorrow.

First step on the way to the dirty South.

Hotlanta here I come.

I still can’t believe I will be going there in July.

However, not only may I get to see a lot of folks, some from here in the city, I found out in the last day that another two friends are also going, I may get to see my eldest niece as well.

That would be pretty cool.

I haven’t seen her in about 10 years.

My sister sent me a message that she, my niece is in Atlanta doing school and working for FEMA.

Whoa.

Cool.

It’s a little ways off, 154 days, but the preparation to go has to start pretty quick.

The airlines are averaging about a $475 ticket round trip for the time I am looking at.

There is supposedly a discount through an airline agency that links up to the conference website, but I wasn’t able to navigate it to find out what ticket prices were.  I will be doing more exploration soon.

Ha.

I just figured out the site and I actually found cheaper tickets via another website, not by much, but probably by enough that I will buy my own airplane ticket and by-pass the event site.

Then.

On to housing.

My friend got a hold of me and let me know that he had not actually booked the hotel room.

So we are looking at AirBnB.

I’m sure that something will come up from that.

But again, stuff to attend to quickly.

I suspect that the hotels and motels will be overwhelmed with requests for berths.

There are not hotels with vacancies within eight, nine miles of the venue.

That’s a lot of rooms that have already been booked.

There are dorms, apparently, available at a couple of the universities, but frankly, though I am ready for graduate school, I am not ready to stay in a dorm ever, ever, ever again.

I am willing to pay a little more to stay in a spot a little nicer.

Plus, if I’m splitting a room with my friend then we can probably get something decent.

I am super grateful that I bit the bullet and regisered.

The cost is $100.

Just enough to make me know that I will go.

The investment in money is important, but the investment in me and my life is the most important.

I am over the moon that I am allowing myself this trip.

I have been thinking about it since I missed the last convention in 2010 and a lot of people in my community went and raved about it, it was in Austin that year, this is definitely my year.

Oh sweet Jesus.

I just got completely sucked into AirBnB.

I need to stop.

I wont’ be booking tonight.

I can spend time over the weekend checking out all the options and doing the research.

I can also shoot my friend in Atlanta a message and see if he has any suggestions.

I have plenty of stuff to do this weekend.

Might as well add-on one more thing.

The biggest thing is done, I registered and paid for the conference.

The rest of it will fall exactly into place as it suppose to.

The next thing on the agenda is, drum roll please, taxes.

Yeah.

Woohoo.

Time to get those suckers done.

I am awaiting the response from one of the families I worked for to see what, if any, there are declaring in regards to deductions for child care.

I have gotten response back from the two other families and I just need the last and then I may proceed with the taxes.

I am ready with all my stuff.

Once I have the pertinent information it shouldn’t take me much more than an hour to do the deal.

Then I get to do the FAFSA forms.

It was suggested that I apply for financial aid even before I receive confirmation that I have gotten into graduate school.  It apparently will take some time for the application to be processed and the school advisor said the sooner the better to make sure that I can pay tuition when it is due.

I still cannot believe I actually applied for the program.

Sometimes when I am at the park and mediating a melt down between a 2 1/2 year old and a 4 1/2 year old over the same shovel I am so far from doing anything else, it seems absolutely impossible that I could do or be anything other than a nanny, for the rest of my life, amen.

Then I ride my bike and feel a twinge in my shoulder, the same one that has been bothering me for almost a year, or my ankle, yeah, that’s right, my ankle still hurts, and I think, I can’t get done with being a nanny fast enough.

I must have work that doesn’t rely on my body keeping it together for another ten to fifteen years.

Of course, the graduate program is just the first of many steps that will need to be taken before I can be a licenced therapist doing the deal and making decent money.

I figure, and I am not joking, that I’ll be 47 or 48 before I have my own practice.

I’m 42 now.

The program takes three years.

The accruing of hours will probably take another couple of years.

That puts me at 47.

I might even be lowballing that estimate.

I may be 50 before I have my own practice.

Regardless.

I am not afraid of the work.

Work has never really terrified me.

Sometimes, it tires me out.

Today was hard, this week really, has been long.

The eldest boy was home sick again and that makes for longer days.

The upshot?

Lattes every morning this week from Ritual and lunch three times out, paid by the family, once at The Crepe House and twice now at Tacolicious.

That’s a nice perk.

Plus all my fruit this week courtesy of BiRite.

I can hang with that.

Ah yes.

Work.

Taxes.

Travel.

Throw in some sex and I’ll have it all.

I’ll pass on the death bit though.

 


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