Monday, February 28, 2011

Moving Out Day Tenderloin Style...

One day, I went to throw my trash away, out the door, through the hall, and down the shoot...



But the shoot was full, so I decided to take it down to the trash room, and this is what I saw along the way...



I stepped over the discarded trash to get to the big trash bin in the basement...



Yeah, I agree, Take the Lead does belong in the trash! Maybe, so does everything else, not just thrown at the trashcan! "A" for effort though.

Friday, February 25, 2011

TMI at Planned Parenthood

Homeless couple…
“Hate you for knocking me up.”
“Cut your dick off for knocking me up.”
“You can’t read.”
“I like looking at the pictures.”
“I don’t have my I.D. only a copy of it, and do you need this? It says I can legally pick up my mail.”
“Uh, No.”
“Nine, nine, what’s our zip code?”
“I already have five kids.”

It’s too early for this shit, did she just say one of them died, sad and tragic for sure, but definitely not the kind of person who should be reproducing. I brought Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets with me, but I can’t bring myself to read it. Wrong atmosphere, wrong time. I’m too sleepy anyway. My eyes are starting to glaze over…

Ten now, still waiting. She’s here to take a pregnancy test, Oh my God!

“Had that Deprovera, but when it wore off…”

It’s not supposed to wear off, you’re SUPPOSED to come in every three months and get another shot, so it can do its job. So people like YOU, don’t get knocked up.

I hate filling out the questionnaires about my family and sexual history, every year. I did this last year, nothings changed. You know we have these machines now, called computers. You could keep my information there! Just an idea. I don’t remember when my last Pap Smear was. It happened here. You’re the ones who gave me my last Pap Smear, so wouldn’t you have the fucking information, because I DON’T remember. I don’t keep this information written down, and I certainly don’t remember when my last period began and ended. It certainly doesn’t really matter anyway, because you just have me make up dates when I tell you I don’t remember.

I want into one of those rooms, now! They don’t call it waiting room for nothing, it’s been an hour and a half since my appointed time and I was the second person to check in.

Ohhhhh, and you need to take wee-wee test. Great, just went, but I’ll drink a cup of water and give it a try. If you tell me I’m pregnant, I might just drop dead.

And it’s not Uterine Cancer my Mom died from, it’s Ovarian. The only reason I wrote Uterine on your inane questionnaire is because you told me I needed to take a urine test, Goddamn it. It was stuck in my brain, and now I’m stuck waiting forever, thinking about this mistake I need to correct when I talk to you; something uncomfortable that I don’t want to talk about, just makes a hard situation worse.

And noooooowww, I have to pee for real, but can’t go for fear of my name being called and them missing me.

Finally, in the little room, weighed and blood pressure taken. And YAY! I‘m talking to the nice doctor lady finally! “I’m turning thirty this year, if I decide I ever want kids, how long do I have before I dry up?”

“Depends, but thirty-five is when we start worrying about fertility.” Awesome!

Should have canceled my appointment this morning when I was home, warm and dry, before trudging through the rain, before I was spending my morning listening to a homeless lady discuss her sexual history.

Monday, February 14, 2011

My Tree

Before:



The tree that lives in front of my apartment building, my window, has been dying for some time now. I’ve affectionately dubbed it, my tree. I’ve only called it my tree since it’s been dying. Sometimes I wonder why this one in front of my apartment building, my window, is the one that has died, while all other ones on the street are still green, vibrant and alive.

For awhile now I’ve thought that some un-descript “they” are going to come dig up my tree and replace it with a new tree, one that’s green and alive. Every weird sound I hear has me rushing over to the window to see if “they” have come to chop it down. It’s totally brown and dead and has been like that for a long time now. But still, no one comes. I picture that the “they” in my head is someone that the city has sent over to clean it up. “They” probably wear coveralls and have a chainsaw and drive a truck. I imagine that “they” come to take the dead tree away in order to make the community look better, nicer, prettier even, because after all, it is “their” job. But that hasn’t happened yet.

And today:

THhheeeEY, came for my tree...



First and foremost, I want to state that, I AM NOT a tree-huggin-eat only organic/vegan-compostin-smell like patchouli-do yoga-hippie but, I am naming February 12, 2011, the day my tree was officially murdered. The guys that came for my tree were the Vietnamese men that work on my building as needed. “They” didn’t wear coveralls or drive a truck. When “they” were done they threw my tree away in the compost bin. “They” threw my tree away!! In the garbage!

I wonder what’s to come for this little patch of earth. Will there be a little sapling in its future? Only time will tell. As for now the space is a reminder of a time gone by. I’ll always remember my tree when I walk out of the apartment building, as the wind blows, a faint reminder of what was there is gone now, never to return.

Friday, February 11, 2011

Egyptian Residents in San Francisco Celebrate Mubarak’s Resignation





For those of you who don’t keep up with current events, (I know you’re out there, I have a friend who has admitted that she doesn’t vote!) Egypt has been in the forefront of news media recently. A grassroots protest ignited a few weeks ago calling for the resignation of President Hosni Mubarak, and their demands were met today, only hours after the President said he wouldn’t resign until September, when his term was officially up.

Planned as a protest, this rally turned into a celebration as the news spread about the resignation. Around 5:30 pm a small but proud group of local Egyptians, as well as media, had turned up for the celebration. Music, flag waving, and hugs all around as chanting arose from the crowd. Clearly they are happy and have hope in their hearts about the future of their country.







You can watch what President Barack Obama had to say this morning about the subject here.

Baby, It's Loud Outside



The boyfriend and I sleep in the closet! When we first moved in, the bed was in the junior bedroom, by the windows, street side. It didn’t stay like that for long.

I’m from a smaller, quieter town. It was so noisy here, cars driving by constantly, bus stop out front, trash compacter at five in the morning, construction at eight am, and of course, people screaming and yelling all night. I couldn’t sleep. After a few days, we rearranged the rooms, the closet which was going to be the computer/office became the bedroom. There’s no windows, it’s dark, and best of all, quiet. The clothes still hang in the closet at the end of our queen sized mattress.

It's still noisy! The Tenderloin brings something out in people, a crazy primal something. It's pretty much the only place where screaming all your thoughts at the top of your lungs is an acceptable form of communication. Whether it's drug deals gone wrong, or relationships on the rocks, people like to express themselves for all the world to hear, the streets of the Tenderloin acting as their stage, and they're all playing the lead, after all, no matter what time of day.

Over time, I've become unafraid of judgment for talking to myself out loud while walking down the street. If I want to say, "Hey, what's that thing you forgot at home, oh yeah, the list of groceries, what was on that list"...all out loud, just chatting it up with myself, cool, no one thinks you're any weirder or freakier than anyone else walking around here, you're probably one of the more "normal" ones.

In June 2010, some people put together a visual representation of how loud the Tenderloin can get on any given day, check it out, it's cool, oh, did I say that out loud, or to myself? I just don't know the difference anymore!

Saturday, February 5, 2011

Hooker's Sweet Treats



There’s a new sweetshop in the neighborhood. It’s called Hooker’s Sweet Treats on Hyde, between Ellis and O'farrell. I’ve been looking forward to the day when there would be a place like this around here. My boyfriend and I stopped in one day, we had the bread pudding, which was absolutely warm-ooey-gooey-caramely-chocolatey deliciousness! They also sell caramels and salted chocolates and cookies, as well as French press coffee and espresso. It’s a quaint place, decorated in a homey way, with canning jars and old furniture and a huge bouquet of flowers in the window. We started talking to both of the nice gentlemen that were working there. They hadn’t been in the neighborhood very long, but I asked if they had any weird or interesting stories yet. They told us that one day shortly after opening they had actual hookers come in to express their delight with the name of the little shop!