The Mission

Walking through the Mission I am excited by all the small vendors and smells of tender meats cooking street side. Not the vendors that claim to sell organic produce but the vendors who own the shabby surplus shops and push carts. My Boo Thang and I walk through all the shops void of any hipsters and tourist and are reminded by our mother lands, we can finally speak the language of haggling. You can't do that at these hipster trendy spots where they claim all the best products from Indian tea to Brazilian potions and lotions marked up at least 200%, yet seem to lack flavor and soul. Who do they think they are fooling?  If I like something yet know it's over priced I feel I have the right to dispute this, you can't do this at Therapy across the way on Valencia. It's a bit surreal to see this crumbling of a civilization happen right before our eyes. Each small colorful shop filled with people of color speaking all sorts of languages some familiar some I have never heard of replaced with a stale looking brunch, coffee, or retail shops and restaurants that specialize in small plates (no thank you I want a whole burger please) with cashiers covered in tattoo's and fake thick rimmed glasses. And these damn ironic shops that sell cupcakes and blasts loud gangster rap with a small dork girl with blue hair (can I punch you in the stomach and leave with my $4 mini cupcake please?) I must admit I frequent these shops and love my Philz coffee and understand that the gentrification would mean that the Mission will soon become just like every other place void of character and flavorful food true to its region.  I can always go to Richmond on 23rd Street and Oakland on International Blvd  to find my fix of food and stores I can haggle my way through but I will miss walking through the Mission with the back drop of the city risking food poisoning while searching for papusas, lumpia, tortas, gyros, and dosas. And everyone turns a blind eye to people beating their children publicly and local strangers are more than happy to help you chase down your child to beat some more. 

Ready for the Weekend

I got to get some dancing shoes on these feet.

Gypsy Lesbian

Painting by Kees van Dongen

In middle school I was known to be socially awkward. I had no clue how to communicate with other human beings. It was my first time regularly interacting with people from all sorts of ethnic backgrounds, Iranian, Indian, Nigerian, Japanese, Chinese and Arab (I lived in a predominantly Black and Latino neighborhood) and the first time I heard the name Ashweenie over the school loud speaker. I heard that name at least a hundred times over the loud speaker and always wondered who this Ashweenie was, we never got to meet. I was raised by MTV, during the time they had music and shows that included Beavis and Butthead, Singled Out, and bands like Green Day, Nirvana and rap group Bone Thugs and Harmony were popular. I would sit with my usual lunch crew near the sewer drain who consisted of a nerdy Chinese girl with glasses, a couple guys that would call me a lesbian but insisted on hanging out with me so we could discuss hot topics that included any new Beavis and Butthead episodes and Jim Carey films. We spent our lunch hours telling jokes and imitating film actors (I liked to think they secretly thought I was cool and had major crushes on me). I once body slammed one of those kids out of rage for breaking my Beavis and Butthead key chain and ran as he lay crying on the cement floor. I  also went through a phase of shunning my assigned gender role and refused to wear anything pink , frilly, or dresses. I would borrow my brothers pants and use a shoe lace as my belt. I cut my hair short and dyed it black and refused to make eye contact with anyone. My Granny would pray I was going through a phase. People would whisper and stare not quite knowing what to make of me. I'd like to think people were so intrigued by my mysterious ways they would spread rumors about my sexuality and background and gypsy lesbian was the only thing that fit. I wasn't really bothered by the moronic immaturity at school because I had crack heads and ladies of the night outside my house to worry about. And if anyone pushed it to far I would get all crazy bag lady on them. I liked keeping people at a distance that way they wouldn't want to come over to study or call a motel and ask to speak with me. I liked having only my nerdy Chinese friend around. She was the one person I knew who could imitate the hell out of Beavis. We spent our lunches talking about mindless shows with no judgment of the identities we were assigned during junior high. However, I still had a line and refused to hang out with band geeks and thespians. While we since drifted apart I still hold a special place for her. Thank you nerdy Chinese girl for being my only friend in junior high when everyone else thought I was a mysterious lesbian gypsy.

Legrand Love

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I sometimes imagine I am Victoria Legrand singing in a small cafe with all the people that use to make fun of me and call me a Gypsy lesbian sitting and waiting in anticipation of my greatness and then I come and belt out this beautiful-ness and at the end I tell them all to suck it losers.

Holiday Spirit

My youngest brother Cream Puff and I use to make loads of home videos. Many included a take on the once popular MTV show Cribs but ours was filmed in our apartment in Richmond where an abundance of crackheads and gang members reside. I found this video recently which I filmed during what I would like to call my arthouse film phase. I was in college at the time living with friends and Cream Puff would often stay over because we had a Christmas tree year round, a piano and a community pool. The film stars Cream Puff and my little cousin who is now a certified gangsta (I've seen his gangsta certificate) Lil Weezy (I told him that couldn't go by this since there is already a Lil Wayne/Weezy). I know it's somewhat premature but I hope this gets you in the holiday spirit and brings out that warm fuzzy feeling you get during this time of the year. Enjoy!

Please note no children were hurt while filming this scene.

Señor Stash's Homecoming

The Fresh Mex

He's home. Señor Stash you will be missed.

Caca-lina

Cacalina and I were very close when I was a child. She is my first cousin. Her father and my mother are brother and sister. She was bold and outspoken and often got into school yard fights. Her nickname came about as she was known for pooping herself and hiding her underwear in the most random places around the house. I would often find poop filled undies in drawers and hiding between nooks. She went to all the trouble to hide them when I thought it would be easier to just throw them out. While I didn't envy her bathroom methods I did admire her ability to do as she pleased without thinking of the consequences. She rarely cared about the trouble she might have to endure or the outcome of her actions. We would pretend to be singers in a girl group and her sometimes overbearing sister (who I love dearly) Antionetta would try and take over the show. We would play tea time and fake English accents since we thought all people who were of high status and liked tea had an English accent. We weren't allowed to go outside since we lived in a motel. Cacalina would defy these rules and go out anyways to the local park which inspired me to do the same and take more risks. Cacalina got older and her ways stayed the same. We drifted apart. I missed her and her funny and exciting ways. I stayed in school and Cacalina slowly disappeared from the school yard and officially left when she was only 11 years old. I was left alone to fend for myself on the school yard and participate in the singing duo which was now a solo act. I would run into her in the neighborhood and the connection we once shared was no more. She was beautiful, tall, tanned, long thick hair and confident in her looks. While she was assured in her looks she lacked self worth and made some poor decisions. I wanted to intervene and Antionetta (her older sister) and I bonded over this. We became close almost like sisters, symbolic of the sister we somehow loss. All we wanted was for Cacalina to be the old her (without the poopy underwear of course). I sometimes see her on the streets looking disheveled, sometimes with no shoes talking to herself and cannot believe it is the same person. She barely recognizes me anymore and I sometimes don't want her to. I went to visit her during the birth of her last child. She seemed anxious and aloof. She was talking about her plans with her baby fully aware the county was taking custody but not acknowledging it. I hugged her and told her I loved her and she asked me to leave as she was feeling anxious as my Boo Thang was also in the room. I know she will never be the same but will always remember the Cacalina who was strong, beautiful and free.