Posts Tagged ‘utilities’

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!

 

 

“Fun”ded

June 22, 2014

A friend told me today that it’s called “Funemployment.”

Jesus.

I don’t know who you are talking to, but help me get some of that, please.

Now that my rent, thank you God, and my phone, thank you friends, and my utilities, thank you family, and my groceries are taken care of, thank you Universe, what indeed do I have to be afraid of?

“Easy does it,” she told me yesterday, and “we absolutely insist on enjoying life, so go have fun.”

I am not quite sure how to do that.

I suspect that going to Wisconsin is going to be fun, you could put me in a paper bag like a cat and I’ll be happy to nestle in it for days, hanging out with my best friend, is the best.

I suppose that’s why she’s my best friend.

That and she’s damn pretty and damn smart and funny, and well, yeah, I am biased, but she’s all that and more.

So, in like 9 days, I’ll be having some fun.

But what can I do now?

In the next nine days, now that I don’t have the anxiety of what is going to happen to me since I can’t work for over a month? I have to incorporate some fun into my existence.

I have a lady coming over to do some work tomorrow, which is its own kind of fun.

And the gentleman who helped organize the whole crowd funding thing himself, is going to stop by for tea, he wants to see what all the fuss is about.

How it is that I know so many people from so many places.

I get around, dontcha know.

I know a lot of folks because I like to live life, I like to say yes, I am not upset at myself any longer for the scooter, I was just trying to cram more into the stream of life and I got ahead of myself.

There’s got to be a balance for me.

A little fast.

A little slow.

“It’s going to whiz right by you,” a friend told me tonight over a cup of tea up at the Starbux in Noe Valley, “before you know it, you’ll be right back in the mix.”

I know that’s true.

The days loom long, but if I keep it small, they are manageable.

Today I got up and was already having a hard time with what I was going to do.

I did my morning routine and asked that I be guided to just take the next action in front of me instead of having anxiety about how the entire day was going, that I “didn’t have anything to do” was actually a lie.

I could begin to break my day down into small, bite sized pieces and go from there.

I had breakfast, which is not quite the ordeal it’s been since I am able to now walk well enough in the boot to not need the crutches inside.

So, breakfast, made the bed, made the coffee, iced the ankle while I was eating, made a second cup of coffee, iced the ankle some more, wrote four pages long hand, sat and did a meditation, and got myself into the shower.

I will admit, that despite the shower stool in my bathroom, I am still not showering quite as much as I would prefer, it’s still a big ordeal to do it.

But it went easier than the last time and I was able to get in and out without doing irreparable damage to myself.

Then a load of laundry.

A few phone calls.

My ankle is singing, so sit down.

Have a cup of tea.

Elevate it.

Ice it.

I have to say, I probably ice it more than it needs, but my god, it feels so good that I enjoy it.

The best part is when the cold is just a tiny bit wet, the condensation soaking my sock, the frozen peas somehow get colder, and it numbs it all out.

It is lovely.

I also reminded myself to continue with the ibuprofen, the pain is not too bad and I can manage it without, but I also know that it’s an anti-inflammatory drug and when I walk for a bit in the boot or don’t have my ankle elevated, there is still swelling happening.

It doesn’t look dead dog leg bad.

But it don’t look real purty yet either.

So, ibuprofen is still happening.

But the fun.

How do I get some fun up in this bitch?

I will say I have been writing more, that’s a kind of fun, low-key, you know.

I have been listening to a lot of music.

That’s great.

Doing a little chair dancing with my foot on a pillow.

Sitting outside when the weather abides it, the sun on my face is fun.

I’ve gone through an old photo album and found some photographs I had completely forgotten about.

That could be a little fun for me.

Now that I am a bit more dexterous with the walking boot and the crutch–down to one crutch when I go outside, I could go for a little walk in the neighborhood, like a block, maybe two, and just take some photographs.

Get really into the tiny details of the block I live on.

I’m sort of movied out, tell the truth, not too interested in watching videos.

I do need another book.

The Jonathan Lethem book was so not doing it for me, I had it dropped off at the library by a friend yesterday.   And today I ate the entire book “Slam” by Nick Hornby, not bad, not great, but easy and light and a quick ass read, so I have nothing new in the house to read.

I think what that leaves me with, aside from the no fun data entry I agreed to do (half way done!), is the crafty bit of making some hair pieces.

I found out another friend is going, (I actually typed right over that, assuming that you know where I am going. “You can still go to Burning Man?” A friend asked, and when affirmed that indeed I would be, he concluded, “then everything’s fine.”) to that man who burns in that place over there in Nevada, and I thought, I should make her a fancy little hair piece to give to her on playa.

Now that sounds like fun.

Make some things for people, not think about myself.

Get crafty, girl.

Now that I am not having financial nightmares about rent, et al, I can perhaps enjoy the rest of my down time.

Aw.

Hell.

I will enjoy the rest of my down time.

Maybe I’ll even glitter my boot.


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