Shacking Up With The Boyfriend: A San Francisco Treat

Yes, we ate Rice-a-Roni. Practically every night. We budgeted ten dollars a week for food and Rice-A-Roni was under 50 cents a box.  I worked at a bakery on Geary; he worked at a record store.  

We were 19, Amjad and I. Just one year out of high school and instead of going to college, we were going to San Francisco.  

Living hand to mouth was never more fun.  Amjad would get promotional items from his record store and then turn around and sell them to the other record stores. With the few extra bucks, we'd put on our vintage clothes and go out dancing:

One time we found a Seiko watch on a sidewalk in Berkely and hocked it for ten dollars. Just the right amount to splurge on pizza.

That had been my third visit to the city. The first time I was there I was 16 and in trouble. I flew to San Francisco to meet my aunt and uncle there for one last exploit. When I returned, I made a life-altering decision: get rid of the drug-addicted-loser-of-a-boyfriend and everything associated with him.

I went back to San Francisco two years later--this time with a guy who was into hommus instead of herion.  There were a lot of things I knew back then: I didn't want to college. I didn't want to stay in Toledo.  I didn't want a paint-by-numbers, collect $200, buy St. James Place lifestyle.

This was no surprise to anyone.  

As I mentioned in my last post, I was a bit different from the other kids.  Art, poetry, music--these things set my soul on fire.  When my high school counselor advised I take a higher math class, I'd have nothing to do with it.  I didn't need math, I didn't need foreign language, I wasn't going to college.  I was not, I repeat, I was not going to college.

I was going to live my life (not to be confused with "finding myself".  That, dear Internets, is what I am currently doing).

Yes, I was going to live my life, dammit, and live it now.

Amjad and I loaded up the Dodge Dart and headed west.  We made a brief stop in Venice Beach where we got jobs and rented a room on Electric Avenue from a character actor named Malik. After a month or so, we headed up the coast.  It had been over a decade since the summer of love for most people. But not for me.  I was in love with the city, with the rat-infested bakery I worked in, with the Japanese garden in the park, with my boyfriend, with the Haight, the boot leg albums we got from the record store, the Jim Dine exhibit at the museum, the clear, warm autum of a city that pulsates day and night.

And then a strange thing happened.  A thing that often happens when you're in a strange and exciting place. You discover that there's a whole lot of strange and exciting stuff you don't have a clue about.

So what do you do?  You probably guessed it.

You return home, work in your dad's restaurant and enroll in the local college, because dammit, there are things you need to know about to live your life fully in this strange and exciting world of ours.

Of course, me being the odd kid, the one who talked to her pen, the one who bought the semi-nude magazine cover into English class, the one who skipped school (3x actaully) to stand in line for concert tickets, the one who protested saying the Pledge of Allegiance, the one who...where was I?

Oh yeah, me being me, I did things my way.  College was still not the means of getting a job and buying Park Place.  Continuing my education was a way of enriching my life.  I enrolled and spent two years studying nothing but music, art and dance.  I know, a nightmare tract for you parents of college-bound seniors.  But hey, would you rather have them shacking up with their lovers and dressing like this:

Stay tuned for more San Fran Stories

posted at Humor-Blogs