Posts Tagged ‘working girl’

Serenity Now!

February 16, 2017

I couldn’t figure out why I was in such a mood this morning.

Not a horrible mood.

But just a bit flat.

I’ve been doing a lot of Trauma reading for class and I wondered, am I getting into it, the reading, too deeply, am I dissociating?

Then.

Ha.

I realized.

Oh.

Hello.

You haven’t had a day off in ten days.

You’re not dissociating.

You’re just fucking tired.

Heh.

And the tired went its way once I got moving.

I am grateful that I let myself take it real slow though, on my way to work I saw a motorcycle accident.

The rider was being attended to on the ground and his cycle was broken, I mean broken and in bits all over Lincoln Avenue.

There was a cop taking a statement from the person I am assuming was the person driving the car, he looked shaken up and it was pretty obvious what had happened.

He didn’t see the motorcycle and he accelerated into the turn and hit him.

Lincoln is a two lane road in both directions, but heading in from the outer avenues always feels a little tense, as there are a lot of cars that are pulling into the right hand lane and there are also cars parked on the right hand side of the road, the visibility is low and I learned very fast to stay in the left hand lane on my scooter as much as possible.

It was a bit spooky and I rode the rest of the way into work at a slow, measured, calm pace, no lane splitting, just cool and relaxed.

Having done the commute enough times now on my scooter I have a better idea of how to gauge the timing on it and I knew that I was fine to take it at a more mellow clip.

Grateful for that.

I would rather be a little late than dead.

And I wasn’t late either.

Work was busy.

One of my charges was home sick from school.

That always makes for a little extra work.

But.

I felt very of service and I was able to rally her spirits enough with a promise of using the stroller to get her out for a little while when it seemed she had high energy.

We made it to the Upper Noe Valley Recreational Center and on the way I ran into a classmate from my cohort!

It was super nice to see her and give her a great big hug and then off to the swings and some hanging out in the sand box.

We didn’t stay long, my little charge ran out of juice pretty quick, but timing wise it was perfect.

By the time we got back I was able to have a quick bite, then turn around and hop on the train to pick up the other sibling from school.

He and I went to Dolores Park after pick up and ran around and played hide and seek and tag.

We were at the park for about an hour, then headed back to the house, grandma was on her way.

Yes.

Grandma visit for the next week or so.

The timing is nice for the family, next week is “ski week” at the school and all the kids are off, it’s sort of like an early Spring Break.

The family I work for will be staying in town.

I am not sure if my hours will be less or more than what they are now, I worked a little late for them today, but I’m pretty much guaranteed off by 6:30 p.m.

I also talked to the mom about Burning Man today.

She didn’t give the complete all the thumbs up in the air, she has to check out her calendar, but she said they would try to make it work!

She asked me to send her the specific dates and she would look into it.

So when I came home tonight.

Yes.

Yes I did.

I updated my Burner Profile on the Burning Man site and applied for the low-income ticket.

I had to write a little essay about what the event means to me, how I have experienced it, what I will bring to the event.

As well as show economic need.

The graduate school tuition bill will help establish that.

Heh.

I also sent them my W-2 and a copy of my paycheck stub.

All electronically.

It took me a minute to figure all that out, but I am amazed, I got it done.

I got a confirmation e-mail back and now I just wait and see.

The organization promises to respond within ten weeks of the application.

The Burning Man organization is allotting 4,000 low-income tickets this year.

They’re still expensive, $190.

But considering the current ticket cost is $425, it’s a bargain.

Of course, as always, I don’t want to pay anything.

However.

This year, for the first time ever, I am planning on going to Burning Man.

Not.

“Working Man.”

I have worked every single event I have gone to.

Ten of them.

And considering that I am in school and working full-time I just decided that it was about time for me to just go.

I can afford to camp and provide for my own needs.

I don’t have to work to get my costs covered.

I got a tax return.

There are funds that I can earmark towards infrastructure needs and getting to and from the event and you know, maybe some hair flowers and glitter.

Heh.

So.

Fingers crossed I get the time off and the low-income ticket.

If I don’t get either.

Than so be it.

I am happy to have just taken the actions.

I can let go of the results.

The results are not mine anyhow.

They never have been.

That’s up to God.

And.

Well.

God seems to like me out at Burning Man.

We have a good time hanging out together on playa.

So.

I don’t expect to get dropped this year.

Burning Man 2017.

Let’s do it!

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Finding a Groove

January 5, 2017

Not really.

But I’m just going to pretend that I am.

I did, however, feel like, hey, you got this today.

I mean.

I really just have to show up, that’s the gist of things, that and not freak out about the fact, I almost wrote, fucked of it, of school starting next week.

What the hell.

When did that happen and I have to do all my practicum shit and wasn’t I going to do to that during the break.

What was I doing?

Oh yeah.

I was sick.

I guess I have somewhat of an excuse.

And I have time, I remind myself, I have some time.

Granted, not a lot, I do need to get on the stick, but it will happen.

Some how it always does.

Even when the train won’t come.

Even when I decided to leave my scooter at work.

I actually did that.

I rode to work today and then the rain decided to rain again and it didn’t slack off and it was cold and I just felt funny about the idea of getting on my scooter.

I mean.

Really funny.

I heed stuff like that.

I just do not need to force riding home in the dark, in the cold, with the rainy rain and the slick streets and nope.

Not going to do it.

I figured, I got out of work an hour early, we are still figuring that all out and I don’t doubt that it will be a little wonky for a little while as the mom and dad and new baby get their routine down.

The house guest left today though, one less person in the house, and though I know that she was and is a good family friend, that there was a bit of breathing space that was tangible when I came back from picking up the kids from school.

I have to say, I am getting into that part of the job, going to grab the kids at school.

Getting out of the house, having a little purpose, packing snacks, making plans to do things.

Of course all plans to go do things and stuff at the park were cancelled as soon as the rain started back up, but the forecast looks clear for the next few days.

I should be able to ride my scooter home from work, I’ll just suck it up and take the train in again tomorrow, and Friday as well.

After that, who knows, I keep hearing about a monster storm that is going to dump a load of rain on us over the weekend and it looks like solid rain all next week.

Sigh.

Tomorrow though, no rain, means an outing to the park and hopefully a break in the clouds and some sun on my face.

And perhaps.

A visit with my former charges.

I ran into the mom dashing in during the rain to grab the boys and we had a quick hug and she asked if I had seen the boys, and I had not.

Which did make me momentarily sad, I wish I had, it would have been nice, but the rain being what it was, maybe it was for the better.

“You have been very missed,” the mom said, “there have been a lot of tears, a lot.”

Oh.

Dang it man.

That made me mist up.

But.

I did assure my former employer that I would be doing lots of pick up and that tomorrow and the days following I would look for them.

I would love to give them great big fierce hugs.

I do miss them.

That being said I can see that this current job is going to serve me really well and I am happy that I have made the change.

I really like the mom.

In fact, I think I may have told her more about myself than I have most of my previous employers.

Granted, there are some that definitely know more about me, as they have been in my life past my employment with them, but for the most part, I don’t divulge that much.

I told the mom today that I was sober.

It just sort of came out.

I ran into someone who I do the deal with and he waved and said “happy new year” and I figured, well, here’s a great opportunity and I just told her as we were standing in line at Whole Foods in Noe Valley.

It felt good to divulge and be honest and like I said, just to see that this job is really a good fit for me personality wise and money wise and principle wise and even environmentally wise.

They use all organic products, right down to everything they clean with.

They eat organic, they listen to music together.

The dad put on Leonard Cohen today for the baby to hear.

“It’s really important to get them into music young,” he said.

Hell yes.

I like their art.

I like their house.

I like how it’s clean and cozy, but not super tidy, organized, but not fanatic.

I really like how the mom pulled me aside at the grocery store when I said, “I’ve got the list let me know what you want me to grab.”

“Actually, I don’t need the list and what I want you to grab is food for yourself,” she looked at me very seriously and touched my arm, “we’ve discussed it and I understand your food stuff, but we really want you to have some staples in the house, in case you get hungry in a pinch, or need some food, we want to make sure that you have what you need and aren’t going without.”

Oh my God.

So nice.

And maybe for the first time ever I really embraced that.

I mean.

I didn’t go grab some lobster tail and steak.

But.

I did get a box of my favorite tea and a 1/2 gallon of unsweetened vanilla almond/cashew milk (I can drink milk, but um, it’s not always the best idea for me to, heh, it can be a little hard to digest, I’ll leave it at that), I picked up some carrots and apples and a couple of Japanese sweet potatoes.

Things that I can nibble on, tea that I can sip, I was told very firmly to drink what ever coffee is in the house, they have a friend who is in the coffee business and apparently they have a lot in the house.

Good to know.

Especially since I bring coffee with me.

Should I forget, I’m covered.

And.

I got the “I love you,” tonight from the little girl.

That was unexpected and really lovely.

I also got the “you’re stupid,” a couple of times, but that’s pretty par for the course.

Mom, dad, and the older brother got the “you’re stupid” too, so I didn’t fee too awkward about it.

I also got a rousing walk up the hill from the J-Church with the brother and sister, stomping rain boots, umbrellas, snacks, and a bright and loud version of The Yellow Submarine.

It was pretty awesome.

I laughed a lot today and for that I am grateful.

Yeah.

The rain sucked and I was cold by the time I got home.

But that’s what hot tea is for.

And bunny slippers.

Seriously.

Get a pair.

They are the bomb.

A little more tea and then off to bed.

I am still a bit tired, the new job stress is easing, it’s still a bit exhausting hauling all over and having a new schedule and the cold and the rain.

But I’m making my way through.

So grateful for this experience.

Really grateful.

Getting the fuck out-of-the-way and letting the good stuff in.

Please and thank you.

All day long.

All day.

All The Gifts

June 26, 2016

The constellations in the sky.

The love in my heart.

The ocean, the waves this twilight, late afternoon walk to the beach, perfect curls and peals and no one there.

No one.

The whole city, and a few extra thousand folks, were all at Pride.

I didn’t have FOMO.

Fear.

Of.

Missing.

Out.

I thought I would, but truth is, I’m in the Mission and the Castro a lot and it felt like it was going to be like going to work and all the traffic and the drinking and sloppy, I just didn’t have it in me.

Although I did get dressed up for it, just in case I happened to change my mind.

I did the yoga and that was great.

Felt nice to be in the studio and stretch and get strong.

I had a nice breakfast at home then scootered up to the Inner Sunset and met my person and did the deal and connected and got perspective.

And fuck.

The gratitude.

Just whelmed me.

That I get to do all the things that I do.

That I get to go to New Orleans next weekend.

Next weekend!

I mean, it feels like I just got back from New York.

Heh.

I sort of did.

I mean.

There was a moment, and it was so brief, that I just waved it off, swatted it like a little gnat, I don’t have a date for Saturday night, oh boo hoo.

Blah.

Blah.

Blah.

You know.

The thing is, I do.

Me.

And I am damn fine company and not that there’s not interest.

There is.

I just have some rules about dating that I am pretty unbendable on, even if he is hella cute.

No touching.

Hands off.

That’s the policy, always has been, always will be, but it was sweet to get his messages and catch up, we’ve known each other for years and always stayed in touch.

We reconnected and that was nice.

Although, also a tiny bit disappointing to hear that there was a misadventure and a return to day counting.

Le sigh.

Oh well.

So it goes.

Although, it was sweet to hear the incredulity he had that I was still single.

I’m saving myself for Mike Doughty.

Ha.

Anyway.

I took myself down to the beach and I had me a me date and it was fantastic and I sat in the dunes and let the wind rumple my crinoline and sat with my face in the sun and let God blow love into my heart.

It was a good time.

I’m such a lucky girl.

Pink hair and all.

I think that this is going to be it for a while on the hair color too.

Time to go back to brown.

I’ll spend the summer pretty in pink, but yeah, I have been thinking it could be time to go back to my natural color.

I also thought about hacking it all off at the end of summer.

Go short again, cut off all the colored bits.

That’s on the table though, I do love my long, curly hair, I do.

But.

Yeah.

Maybe back to natural.

Who cares?

I am rambling.

Oh.

Ha.

And I could have had a date tonight too, now that I am reflecting.

I must have been putting it out there on my way back from the beach, I don’t know how the guy didn’t hit me, but I literally had a guy whip across the MUNI tracks and pull his car in front of me while I was crossing the street at Judah and 46th and ask me what I was doing tonight.

I was like.

What the fuck?

Do I really look like a prostitute?

Were you just hoping I would say, well, dear, I wasn’t doing anything, but since you zipped up in your brand new bright orange SUV mini Cooper (which is so not mini and so ugly), I’ve totally changed my mind.

Let me get in your car and give you a blow job.

What you say?

Fuck off.

I just walked around the car and kept going.

I’m not sure if he thought I was a working girl, I mean, I am sure there’s lots of extracurricular action going on this weekend, but come on.

I was walking home in my flip flops.

Of course, I am tall, maybe he didn’t see the beach wear.

Just the bright, hot pink, hella big, curly hair waving around my pink glitter lips.

I get it, but seriously, fuck off.

Besides, like I said, Mikey, I’ll be waiting for you, nice and cozy, down here by the sea in my little love shack.

hahahaha.

Oh.

I fucking amuse myself.

I do have a thought though to message him when he gets to San Francisco.

Then.

I heard “Don’t You Forget About Me,” and I heard Shadrach in my heart.

“Be the ball, Martines, be the ball.”

Yeah.

Like that.

Go where the water is warm.

Let myself be pursued.

I’m not real good at that, but I’m willing to try.

Flowers yo, courting, pursue me, damn it.

Ah.

Fuck.

I feel like I’m trying all sorts of things.

Although I have yet, and really don’t plan on doing so, returned to OkStupid.

I can’t bring myself to do it, after having a profile on that site for like six, seven years, time to move on, it didn’t work.

And.

Yet.

I still feel like I am hurtling, inexorably toward the man I am supposed to be with.

So.

So.

So.

Not worried.

I’m in love with me.

Yeah.

I know what that sounds like, you can fuck off, but it’s true.

I really do feel that way.

It only took like a few decades or so.

Heh.

And it may change tomorrow.

But right now.

Life is so fucking good.

It really is.

I have so many astounding gifts.

I am so grateful.

If life were fair.

I would be dead.

I am alive.

I am a light.

I am loved.

I am.

I am.

I am.

So.

Very.

Loved.

 

Eleven

January 18, 2016

For eleven.

I got my eleventh star this eveningIMG_8287

I think she’s pretty.

IMG_8293

Courtesy of Danny Boy Smith @ Let it Bleed.

Deep in the heart of the Tenderloin.

Wow.

Not much has changed and so much has changed.

I am beyond grateful that the reason I was in the Tenderloin was to score a new tattoo.

Not to score.

I haven’t been over to Polk Street in quite sometime.

I used to live up at Washington and Taylor and would frequently ride my bicycle up Polk and then up further, up, up, up California Street, then onto Washington, ending at Taylor.

High.

Up above the crack smoke filled streets and the dirty self-medicating junkies and the cross dressing prostitutes.

I was surprised to see a couple of girls working the streets.

I mean.

I should not have been.

It is the Tenderloin.

Maybe it was just that I haven’t seen a working girl where I live in some time.

Not much action going on in the Outer Sunset.

Although I’m sure things are shaking and moving in and out of the 7-11 parking lot just down the street from my house.

I was glad to walk the streets and not be a street walker, to be coming from my last hour of classes at my first weekend back to my second semester of my graduate school program, to be heading to get a tattoo to celebrate my eleventh anniversary without picking up.

Rather than picking through the garbage strewn gutters or standing under an awning smoking a cigarette and wondering how the hell it all went wrong.

Instead.

I find myself wondering how the hell it all went so wonderfully right.

Graduate school reinforces that premise every time I walk the halls of the university.

Every time I sit in class and raise my hand.

Every time I have a positive interaction with a professor, a student, a fellow in my cohort.

I am full, constantly, of wonder and awe.

Not withstanding I am also a little tired, it was a big weekend, but I did it, I’m through, and I don’t know if it’s an actual lighter reading load then last semester or that I am used to doing the work, but it feels easier.

Perhaps I am just easing into it.

Gratefully so with much surrender.

And.

Really.

Just a stunning amount of perpetual incredulousness that I have made it this far.

I really should not be here.

If life were fair.

I would be dead.

I also have been recognizing, noticing, and in great awareness around the myriad of strikes that have just been against me for so long.

Poverty.

Drug abuse.

Alcohol abuse.

Sexual abuse.

Neglect.

Trauma, trauma, trauma.

I don’t think about it often, I don’t need to ponder the mysterious ways of the Universe, it was just brought home today in my first class of the morning.

I shared about not having real health insurance.

I have Healthy SF, in case you were wondering, but though it provides a lot of the things that having health insurance covers, it’s not the real deal.

And as I explained to my class over a discussion about what it is like to live with the constant, chronic, high level of poverty and what it was like to grow up–though I did not see it at the time–in that dire place of not enough, I realized it was a miracle, a fucking huge ass miracle, that I got out.

The cycle got broken.

I emerged.

A phoenix from the ashes of a crack pipe.

I mean.

Let me not put to fine a point on it.

But the affects still linger and I don’t always realize them.

The shame that comes from being poor, the hot lunch program at school, the American cheese in a box, being the scholarship kid, the kid in need, or the homeless teenager, who despite having a full ride to her first year at university, couldn’t keep it together to keep food in her dorm fridge.

The constant stress of not having the money to afford health insurance, with a few exceptions here and there, worrying about if I would get sick or hurt.

I related how when I did get hurt, my ankle injury, and how I was out of work for six weeks I was blessed with amazing friends who came out of the woodwork to help me.

The GoFund me that someone started so I could pay my rent that month.

The anonymous twenty dollar bill I found in my messenger bag one night.

The rides to and from places.

The gift card for the grocery store.

I have a community of love and friendship that I leaned into really hard.

But the affects of being raised with the absence of so much, I never really contemplated until, irony, no?

I got into graduate school.

Which is a privileged place to be.

Granted.

I am.

Again.

A scholarship kid.

No shame in that.

Although, yes, I admit,  I am loathe to share it with my cohort, I somehow, still think that I don’t quite deserve it and somebody will take it away from me.

In class today the lecture covered what happens to people who live under that kind of stress, who live with PTSD, poverty, drug abuse, alcoholism, for those that self-medicate in the streets, for the homelessness and the racism that we inflict on each other.

And I just felt like gasping for air.

My palms got hot, I got hot, my flight or fight or freeze got activated.

I was alive and charged up and saddened to hear what was being said and then reacting too, to some pretty naive comments made by some well meaning, but hyper privileged classmates.

So.

I shared.

I shared what it was like, what it is still like–do you know that I will get penalized by the government when I go to file my taxes for not having “real” health insurance–to be a person without.

The thing is.

I don’t believe I am a person without anymore.

I have so much.

Love.

Abundance.

Joy.

Stars–like eleven!

I have a good job, I am in graduate school, I live in San Francisco (still, haven’t gotten priced out yet!), I eat organic food and drink expensive coffee.

What I found fascinating, though, in class, from a very astute and experienced PhD professor, is that the affects of poverty don’t dissipate for about three generations.

A lot of the stress that I carry with me, even when I am flush, may well continue to be with me, to be in my body, to just be there.

I have felt it.

I have put name to it.

I have done inventory.

I remember once writing the fear a letter, saying, “dear fear, I hear you, you may be right, but I promise, I will take care of paying rent, you wont’ be homeless this month.”

I had it taped up to my wall by my writing desk for months.

It was when I was living up in Nob Hill.

I don’t know if those affects will always be there, as so much as been lifted, so much space has been made in my heart, in my body, so much psychic change has happened for me, that I believe these intergenerational traumas will end with me.

That is my belief.

And not only that.

The experiences, the wealth of knowledge, the how I got through, the how it works, the passing it on, they are the true measure of my abundance and ability.

These things mark me, but they are not me.

I am more than the sum of my parts.

I am the light that shines around the edges of those black stars.

I go forth.

Into this furthering light.

Into this ever expanding place of being held.

Always.

Further.

Into.

This deepening love.

 

 

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?


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