Proud Of My Restraint, Really

Dude pushing middle age: The good thing is, as I've gotten older, I've gotten more debatable.
Younger chick who may or may not be me: You've gotten more debatable.
Dude: Yeah, I'm, like, better at listening to other people's points of view and not just telling them they're wrong. I've really gotten a lot more debatable.
Younger chick: Wow.

Chocolate Vs. Hepatitis, Round 1

Random sample of the awesome craziness loose in San Francisco: Today, in front of my house, there was a man sprawled out, completely asleep on a sunny day at 1 in the afternoon, on the hood of a teal Acura Legend (circa 1995). His feet were not on the hood with him, no, his feet rested on the seat of an upright beat-up 10-speed bicycle on the sidewalk (I don't know how he kept it upright either). And resting on his stomach was an open plastic container, you know, the kind they give you to take your salad home in, and it was full of chocolate-chip cookies.

And my first thought? It wasn't "Oooh, is that guy on drugs?" or "What a weirdo." No, this is San Francisco, and really, the whole thing wasn't as weird as seeing the woman who was peeing against a wall like a dog on Market St. five minutes before this. My first thought was more like "I wonder if he'll give me one of his chocolate chip cookies."

M&M In A Tree

Corner of Chestnut and Sansome, 5:00 p.m., 4/13/07


From the back.

The whole thing?

Friday found me very cranky and itching from head to toe (allergy attack from the stargazer lillies sitting at the reception desk in the office), so when my co-workers suggested Grumpy's for lunch, I was all "Fuck yeah. Two beer lunch." We secured a nice table in the back and as I was about to take the first sip of my cold one, some crazy-eyed bitch comes up to me a sticks a microphone in my face. And by in my face, I mean maybe an eighth of an inch from my lips. And this was no regular microphone, it was gigantic and covered in that squishy black stuff they put on earphones. This ho looks me straight in the eyes with a very serious expression and asks this golden nugget of the question "Should we re-design the internet to make it more safe?" My response: "You mean the whole thing?" Then I went into a liberal intellectual rant about how there should be no government regulation of this wonderful free space and if suburban moms don't want to look at porn, then by God, they shouldn't type in hotfucking.com on their destination bar.

Her response: "You are the first one to say that. Everyone else is for safety measures."

Great, hope I turned out to be a stellar soundbite for KGO Newstalk 810.

Maybe This Is What They Used The Cardboard For

Best hobo signs of the week:

"Please donate to the United Negro Pizza Fund."

"My wife has been kidnapped, need 87 more cents for the ransom."

"You're pretty."

"I'm really a P.h.d in physicians."

"If you give me money, I'll stop playing the guitar."

"What would Angelina Jolie do?"

"Why lie, I need some crack."

"Wouldn't YOU like a beer and a sandwich right now?"

Cardboard

After moving in, one room of my apartment was full to the ceiling with suddenly useless cardboard boxes. I posted an ad on Craigslist, offering up free moving boxes to whoever wanted to take them off my hands. The first response was in my inbox exactly 13 minutes after the posting went online.

Thirteen minutes! That's less than 800 seconds! A few millimeters on your sundial!

Tragic as it is, I'm sure that somewhere, sometime, there has been a stabbing victim who has bled for more than 13 minutes while waiting for his 9-1-1 call to produce results. But I live in San Francisco, and it takes just about that long for somebody to ask if they can pick up my trash.

Nice list, Craig. Nice list.

Whatever Works

My friend, and fellow Midwest transplant, was telling me with wide eyes about her recent night out at a gay bar.

"...And some guys would just walk up to a guy at the bar and grab his package! Can you imagine if I tried to pick up guys by doing that?? That wouldn't work."

I corrected her, saying that it would probably be extremely effective.

It's Unignorable, The Lack Of Action

I haven't decided if moving to San Francisco had been good or bad for my ego. On the ONE hand, I get hit on a lot. A lot a lot, like catcalls walking down the street and invites to dance clubs from complete strangers. I've said "I'm sorry, I have a boyfriend" so many times I'd start to believe it, if it weren't for the total and unignorable lack of action.

But you know in Scary Movie how there's the housekeeper with the one deformed little shriveled hand, that kinda looks like a combination of a fetal pig and an earthworm? That's the OTHER hand, here. Because the guys that are hitting on me. . .um, does it sound just too too egotistical to say I consider myself out of their league? Like, far out of their league? Like, I'm the majors and they're the Booneville Beauty College intramural softball team?

One thing I looked forward to, moving up here from my last town, was the larger dating pool. In my hometown, there weren't that many straight, attractive, non-drug-addicted, employed kind of guys, and I'd already dated them all. But so far, all the attention I've gotten has been from fat fortyish balding men carrying shopping bags or herds of thuglings in loud sweatshirts and ill-fitting pants.

It's getting a little un-awesome.

I Didn't Ask For C*ck Pictures, Either

A couple of weeks ago, more out of boredom than anything else, I posted an ad in the personals section of Craigslist. (Don't look at me like that. It was just for entertainment value.) It was short, to the point, and did not include any version of the phrase "hey freaks come and get it." I received 200ish responses.

Some of the choicest, with original spelling and punctuation intact (natch):

“I'm going to get the details out of the way so I can dwell on my ex-girlfriend in the next paragraph"

“oh, yeah, and the friends-first thing works perfectly for me. i can't get it up.”

“Brain is not important for me. I don't think,i just do it”

"Naturally Dom guy here, loves to be in Control behind closed doors(light bondage, bdsm etc/Not into pain though) I can be aggressive, yet gentle, erotic and freaky, but sensual"

“im also a bounty hunter”

“I'm single and never been married, I live with my parents and have no kids.”

“hey, so what kind of black guy are you looking for?”

“saw your post and i think you deserve a chance to get to know me.”

“i can show you around, i guess. just don't make me feel like a loser babysitting some girl who's new to the city.”

And my personal favorite:

“I am 5'10" almost 200lbs. But you wouldn't know it from looking at me cause it's almost all muscle.”

Oh Good, Because My Last Chinese Astrologer Couldn't Dance For Shit

My roommate recently bought a computer off Craigslist. (He does this, buys used electronics with an ease and seeming spontaneity that totally baffles me.) The woman who sold him the used laptop introduced herself as a former Classics professor, explained she didn't know anything about computers, presented her card, urged him to call her if there was the slightest problem, and left.

Here's what her card looks like (without the name and address, natch):



Need some piano lessons and a good laugh? Want an original score and your astrological chart? Need guidance of the romantic AND sight-seeing sort? I've got just the person.

Right Next To The "Shurts"

The other day as I was walking to work- down Mission, from 7th to 4th, full of interesting people- I was more or less stuck behind a very tall, very skinny woman with allergies to both shampoo and walking in a straight line.

I managed to pass her when she stopped abruptly in front of the dingy window of a dry cleaner's and began- with complete absorption- to write something in the dust. I glanced at it as I accelerated past.

She'd written, with the utmost concentration, "Sope."