I've taken the first steps to possibly buying a house - I'm in the process of being reviewed for a pre-approval for a loan. Once this is done, I can begin setting up appointments to view places. I have a few in mind already but am holding off getting too anxious.

If my credit is still too shakey and I can't be pre-approved, I will find out what the heck I need to do to improve my standing and focus on that for the upcoming year.

It's all kind of scary but hopefully better for us in the long run.

Last night, I worked my shift then stayed for the overnight. Saturday nights mean that we go to bed at Midnight. Once the guys were tucked in, I finally dozed off when the doorbell begin persistantly blaring at 1am. I ignored it for a moment hoping that the person would realize that we were "closed" for lack of a better word but no luck. So I answer, "hello?" The person, a woman, is asking for a guest to come up. I explain that we can't confirm if someone is here or not begin to explain that doors are shut for the evening and no one is to come or go, she cut me off telling me his support staff position, which I know. Once she heard that I would not be getting him nor sending him up she barraged me with a few "Fuck yous". How sweet.

Got called a bitch this morning, oh, that's a "FUCKING Bitch" which actually I missed when it happened, thankfully. I was called this because I went to ask 2 men who were arguing over a soda that may or may not have been stolen from one man by the other, who happen to normally be friends. I first asked them to lower their voices because the rest of the room of 30 some people still had at least a half an hour to sleep. They continued. Then I made the statement that I had 2 sodas stolen in the past month and wasn't arguing with any of them, to make the point that it wasn't worth it, arguing that is. Apparently this annoyed one of them. Maybe it *was* a dumb statement, spurred by inpatience at their lack of regard for the other guests and carrying on the silly arguement for nearly a half an hour but not worth being called a fucking bitch over, that's for sure. I should have just asked what would make this person feel redeemed, a replacement for the lost soda, etc...
I was informed of my new title by 2 other guys who overheard it. This is the type of thing that we know not to take personally but sometimes it's a challenge in the moments following it - especially when you've been nothing but kind and accomadating to the person who says things like that.

One thing that helps deflect the shitty feeling after things like this happen, is the security in knowing that we all (social service providers) have dealt with it and I'm not alone.

Which brings me to something that I've thought a lot about since I started working in the field (back at SIREN in 2006). The psychology of poverty and homelessness and how it affects persons living in it and how they interact with those around them, dynamics of street relationships and how their persona changes depending on where they are (various shelters, drop-in centers, hanging with street friends vs. talking with shelter staff). I'm trying as hard as possible to gain understanding of all of this as to better equip me to deal with things such as the above arguement - it might very well be that the person that called me a fucking bitch is also on edge because his bed ends tonight and he is stressed out and that pushed him over. Or maybe he called me that because his bed is up tonight and he no longer has to front to staff and his true personality is out right now.

Of course, as usual, there could be a dozen answers.

When I last wrote, I was leading into a scary cab ride to the hostel near the Marina District of SF. Now I'm lacking steam to type it all out. So there.

Whilst out in the Bay Area, I read an editorial written by a youth worker for at-risk population in Oakland. He was talking about how a group was planning to come from Oregon to protest at the hearing of the cop who shot an unarmed man, Oscar Grant, in a BART subway station.

This writer spoke out about these activists coming in and riling up the people who actually live in the neighborhoods, in turn opening up the potential for youth, in particular, to get caught up in trouble that they would ultimately pay for and in which they may have never done in the first place without the antagonization. At first, I was a little puzzled. Then I paused and tried to imagine his side and it started to make more sense.

I don't 100% agree with his anger regarding a group that was trying to ultimately show support for Oscar and his family I can see how it could impact the community if things get out of hand.

Just a point of view that I hadn't considered in a while.

It was nearing 11:30 at night when we stumbled out of the San Francisco airport on Sunday evening, the rest of the US was passed out from their 4th of July activities earlier that day. It was cold and windy, 57 degrees to be exact.

I debated our options - the BART would take us as far as downtown but then we would have to hoof it for a few miles carrying bags and basically looking like sitting ducks...in a city I've only been to one other time. We could try to find a shared shuttle bus to the Wharf that may be bringing other travellers to that district. Or we could catch a cab and pay a large fare.

We crossed the drop off/pick-up zone and continued towards the cabs. Fuck it. I just want to get to the hostel, I thought to myself. A man spoke to me in a russian/eastern european accent - $45 to San Francisco.... We accepted. He loaded our bags into the trunk. I took note of his license plate that indicated that he was a "livery taxi". Once inside the car, it was dark and silent. My mind started to wander and thoughts of the movie Taken began flashing through my mind. It was just me and my 7 year old daughter, virtually helpless in a large urban area where I only knew 2 people, both via the internet. I gave the driver the address and he punched it into his GPS and immediately got onto his cell phone and began speaking to someone in Russian as he sped through the streets and highway. I handed myc cellphone to Ana and told her to keep ahold of it just in case something happened. Shortly after, my phone spontaneously went dead. I did start to panic at this point - rational or irrational, I couldn't tell. My mind was racing and I was thinking of different scenarios or escape routes/ideas, THEN, he whips into the long driveway to the hostel near Fisherman's Wharf and deposits us at the steps. I handed him $80 bucks and booked it. He seemed pretty happy at this tip. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there and into a bed at that point. Whew. Fucking movies!

This week I interviewed for a PT job at a sister shelter, 1 question asked "what do you like most about working at SS?" I answered truthfully but later realized a better answer: it is one of very few jobs that I've had where I don't ever dread coming in (the exception being the few weeks while a sticky situation with a client was happening).

I stopped by this morning to water some newly planted flowers and Ariana commented about how much she likes it there too. A client helped me stretch the hose so the flowers didn't get crushed and we chatted. I'm a lucky gal.

Back trip planning, flight is in 3 hours...

I found this great resource today about maintaining health while living on the streets, info that is around, but I like the way these are put together...

Booklets and leaflets.

As I sat out the light at Franklin and Chicago yesterday a young'en to my right starts talking in some kinda smooth talk and says "Ooo, pretty lady, you could make sooommmeee monnney.." or something equally gross and to that effect.
What's worse, I think I recognize that player - his cuz brought him to town from Chicago and we crossed paths at work once. I know that street life ain't pretty but I suppose it always holds a story. And hell if there aren't dozens of stories hanging around Frankin and Chicago!

Sometimes I wish I weren't a woman - partially because I know that most men ain't looking for someone or something special, they are just looking because someone is there and is a woman. And in this case, looking to capitalize off of a woman; even worse!

Sometimes I wish I were invisible (in general).