There's a car alarm going off outside my window. Does anyone care? Probably not. Car alarms are like the Special Olympics or telethons. No one pays attention to them unless they are directly involved. I had a delightful co-worker named Bob who was so much fun to be around. He liked to compete in relays and shooting hoops. He was pretty good too and I never saw anyone happier when they won a metal. I miss Bob and our daily interactions. He used to say, “Eric is my best friend, isn’t that right Eric.” He was too cute. I "helped" M and F move today. Yeah, that's what I'm calling it. Really all I did was stand around and gab while some laborers did all the work. I tell you, gabbing really is hard work. My jaw gets so tired (keep your minds in the gutter...) I forgot to write that I got my performance review at work. Or did I write about it? In any case I did phenomenally well. So well that my supervisor said that if I don’t like anything she’s written I can edit the forms and then give them to her to sign. I asked for more hours and I’m probably going to get them. The only downside to my review is that I’m not going to get much of a raise. Three percent and it’s going to be prorated since I’ve only been with the company since July and since they do their reviews at the beginning of the year—that’s just what happens. She also mentioned that we probably aren’t getting bonuses this year. I didn’t know we got bonuses to begin with! So no skin off my nose, I probably would only get a prorated one anyway :P

Wednesday night after the gym on my walk down 25th Street home a very large masked bandit ran past me and up a stairway. He turned around and shook his little fist at me. I love raccoons. As a little kid I played with raccoon babies often. One of my dad’s friends always seemed to be taking care of abandoned raccoons who’s parents were killed by vehicles. The only things about baby raccoons are they get older and became more mischievous and destructive. The corner raccoon wasn’t happy about seeing me. He stood his ground and we had a staring contest. Then I spat some water at him and laughed. I walked away and he soon ran back down the stairs and up Noe. I got my performance review at work yesterday which was very favorable. The unfortunate thing about the whole process is that I’m only going to get a 3% raise since that is all they give anyone. Plus it will be prorated since I didn’t start working for the company until July. C’est la vie! My class last night was Short Story II. Among my peers were Cocky, the Fonz, and Dumb McGluck. Ought to be an interesting sememster. I just finished up my laundry. Of course I didn't have enough quarters so I had to schlep down the street to the bank, get a 20, break it at the bagel shop (which is horrid!) and trek back to LaunderLand. The place was quite this morning. I think there were only three other people in there as I did my laundry. I only took up 5 washers this time.

The psycho roommate is having loud and obnoxious sex while I'm typing this.

I was pushing my roommate into the oven when I heard a loud crash and felt sprinkles of water hitting my face. I had actually been dreaming and while I was pushing him into the oven, I was actually knocking over the glass of water I had at my bedside. Who needs coffee to wake one up in the morning when they have a chore to do right away! I was up and out of bed in seconds. The spill was cleaned up and I was ready to start my day. Over the hill I went to meet FF to go to the gym. He was late so I waited fifteen extra minutes for him to show up. In that time I saw one of my coworkers, watched the lights change over eleven times and saw a homeless man pee on the sidewalk. I’m not sure the gym is doing me any good. Of course, it could just be the fact that I eat like a pig so I’m not seeing any visible results. Why does tapioca pudding have to taste so darn good? I need to buckle down with a nutritional plan, shed twenty pounds and put on at least ten in muscle. Of course I want this all to be done by March 1st, but I suppose March 2nd is more realistic ;^D I wasn’t very nice to FF this morning. Well, more like I wasn’t very talkative. That all changed after working out. My mood was lighter and I was feeling better. Of course things were bound to change. This afternoon when I got to work three women were walking down the hall slinging 'tude like cornbeef hash on a griddle. I was trying to walk down the hall and the three of them where walking side by side talking and taking up all the space and chugging straight for me. This big chick said, "Oh no she didn't! Girl, I tell you, she's just a ho! Did you see her and her big bootie dancin' out on the flo'?" Fearful of being run over I stepped into a door jam so I wouldn’t get hurt. None of the women broke formation. This pissed me off. I hate when people aren’t courteous. Not wanting to miss the opportunity I said snidely, "Pardon me!" The trash talking big chick turned around and rolled her eyes at me. So I said, "Honey, this is a place of work. Leave the ghetto at your home in Bay View. Shoot." Her two friends exploded in laughter. I could tell she was pissed. And why wouldn’t she be— her friends were all over the wall. Luckily being in the door jam saved me from getting any of their funky bits on my clothes. :^D Spring semester 2003 started today. I begrudgingly went back to classes this evening starting out with Writers on Writing. For the next few months I’ll be reading one book per week, average 230 pages, and writing one paper per week on the book I’ve read totaling no less than 1500 words. Can you say, “FUN?” Remember this is just for the one class. Luckily when I showed up for class I ran into a chica I had class with last semester. She and I sat towards the back of the class and imitated Waldorf & Statler from The Muppet Show. Every class should have snide hecklers! We capped on just about everybody. I could not believe how many dullards were in the class! “Um, it says here we have to read ten of the eleven books. Does that mean we have to read all of them?” Next to us sat the infamous D. He didn’t have his usual posse with him, but he provided a lot of comic relief. After class I went to meet up with the sassy Lady M! She’s the foxiest woman this side of the bay! We caught up on what we’ve been up to. She shared with me some sordid little details of what she had been doing up in Tahoe. All I can say is, HOT DOG!

There was a brawl below my apartment windows this evening. Its genesis was the Raiders loosing the Superbowl. I heard a man and woman arguing. The fight sound rather salacious so I pulled up the roman shades to take a peek on the street below. A minivan was parked in front of Launderland. A man was outside the van yelling at the women who was sitting in the passenger’s seat. Their words were bitter and biting. On my side of the street in front of Happy Donuts (btw— how do we know their donuts are happy? I'm not sure if I were going to be consumed by cops and the alike that I would be happy. Then again...) there were a couple of men who were laughing at the ruckous being raised by the couple. The man across the street turned around and then with what macho bravado he could muster puffed out his chest and said, “You think this is funny?” The peanut gallery muttered some indiscernible drivel and the pigeon-chested chap crossed the street. A soda flew and I lost sight of the man underneath an awning. The next noise I heard was a thunderous POP! The arguing man stumbled from beneath the awning. His hand met his face and a stunned look set in as he tried to keep his balance. He moved into the street and turned around several times, like a dog who is about to recline for a nap. Then the street erupted in a brawl! Traffic stopped and people jumped out of their vehicles. Fist flew and people screamed. I raced to the charmed-roomies door. It isn’t everyday one gets to watch a ringside street fight. I feverishly tapped at his door. My roomie thinking I was the psycho opened the door angrily—however upon seeing my face his mood instantly changed to a happy one. I told him the about the event happening outside our apartment and he rushed with me to the living room to watch. Things had quited down, but we got dressed and headed down stairs to sum up any damage that may have happened. On our way down the stairs I asked if he heard the all the sex noise. He said he hadn’t, but he was disgusted at the mere thought. Since neither of us really wanted to be in the apartment we decided to take a drive. We drove down to the Civic Center than over to the Fillmore where we picked up his gorgeous girlie. They smoked out in the car but I abstained like the good boy I am >:^P Afterwards we headed to the Haight to grab a slice of pizza. We drove over to the Safeway on Mission Street so I could get some puddin’. A cop car was pulling slowly out of the parking lot as we were pulling in. The cop was absolutely delicious looking. I pointed at him and said, “This little piggy went wee-wee-wee all the way to my home!” Shoot. Cops like that one don't frequent the Happy Donut's by my place. If they did, I would know that the donuts would surely be happy! Eventually we made it back to the apartment although neither of us wanted to return >:^C *** I set myself up for rejection this evening. Deciding that I had to send off some work to potential publishers I sent my “Spamster” memoir to McSweeney’s. Their particular journal seems to cater to people with eclectic tastes. With the urging of my dreamy co-worker in Color I decided to send out one of my more bizarre pieces to them for review. Also on my list to send submissions to for the month of January and February are: The New Yorker, The Paris Review, Fourteen Hills, Transfer and possibly The Atlantic Monthly. The Poet said I should submit something to the James White Review but I don’t have anything that deals with gay themes. One of my fears is being classified as a gay writer instead of a writer who’s gay. Is that understandable? I want to write for the mainstream. An interesting article I read recently sums up how I feel on the subject. You can view it by clicking here.

I’m feeling down right now. I just got home from the gym. I was only able to squeeze in 30 minutes of cardio before the place closed down. It didn’t feel like more than ten minutes. Tonight I went out with my friends M and F. They’re a lesbian couple who are moving in with one another after a year of dating. M is one of my best friends. She’s like a family member to me and was my saving grace when I knew nobody else in San Francisco. Dinner was nice. We went to Welcome Home. Our waiter seemed like he was best friends with "Tina." He was cute although a little too hyper. He cleared away F’s plate of liver and onions before she was finished with it. Oops! After dinner we went to Bearbucks. If you’ve read my journal before you know my apprehension about hanging out there. However when I’m with M I’m a little more comfortable, if only because she will kick anyone's ass who bugs me. We ordered our drinks. One of M and F’s friends was sitting in there reading a book. M went over and started chatting with him. M introduced me, but we had met before a couple months previous in the same Starbucks. He shook my hand and it lingered a little longer than I like. He looked at me intensely and I could tell his was attracted to me. I went and sat down with F in the corner booth and M kept talking with him. To make a long story longer (no, I’m not going to be mean so I’ll wrap this thread up) he gave M his business card to give to me. It all feels so much like fifth grade. I’m surprised on the back of the card there wasn’t a note with to boxes to check, “yes” or “no”. M wanted to know if I was interested, but I’m not. Remember, I’m going to be celibate all year. So there’s no use even meeting new people, right? We sat and made fun of people’s fashion faux-pas as M and I always do. Sometimes I just don’t understand what people are thinking when they leave their houses. Being part of the fashion police was fun, but we soon parted our ways and I walked up to Farmer Fred’s house. He drove me over to NV so I could pick up my gym clothes. I started telling him the story about the business card guy but then I wish I hadn't. FF started asking me questions as to whether or not I was going to call the bloke. I told FF I wasn't interested and that I only like guys who were "unattainable." FF collects cow figurines known as Cow Parade. Earlier in the day I was certain I saw a cow dressed up like a Venetian gondolier, complete with striped shirt, hat and gondola. I called FF up and asked if he either had seen the gondolier cow or already owned it. He said I must have been mistaken and that I probably saw a cow that was on a canoe, which he already owns. Hmmmm. Now I only bring this story up because as we were going over to NV we were talking about it and FF was saying I was wrong. I was playing the, “Well I could be wrong since I really didn’t look, but I thought it was a Venetian gondolier cow.” But FF kept telling me I was mistaken. That started to bug me. So for the rest of the evening I was basically quite. But you want to know what? I wasn’t mistaken. The cow is known as the “Cowdolier.” My favorite cow so far has been "Bovina, the Las Vegas Showcow." Now that's one sexy cow!

Whilst reading my email, I found a message from Jennifer Andrews with the subject line that reads, “Don't Spend Another Valentine's Day Alone!” I instantly thought, who are you Jennifer Andrews and how do you know I’ve spent my Valentine’s days alone? Thanks for reminding me. Maybe I’m happy being alone on V-Day, ever think of that? BITCH! I clicked on the message and it was from match.com. Come on, like I’m going to find love for V-Day via the internet? Yeah, right. At least it wasn’t another email from Samantha, Carol, Susan, Jenna, Cathy, Isabella, Amy, Blair, etcetera who are always excited to write to me since they always send their messages using the highest priority little red exclamation point ! Supposedly I lost contact with them. Their subject lines are always the same, “Hi ERIC, it’s [insert whore’s name here.]" These "women" are always trying to get me to view their skanky vaginas and since I have no urge to be a gynecologist I never click on their web links. Don’t they understand that I’m gay? Leave me alone ladies, leave me alone! I’m also tired of the emails with subjects like this: “Barely Legal Mature Fat Teenage Grannies Eat Huge Donkey Cock and Drink Monkey Spunk while Riding Midgets Dressed like Clowns!” I just wonder how they got those pictures of my mother? I just got home. Earlier (if 10:30 PM can be considered earlier) Farmer Fred called me and told me he didn’t feel like going to the gym tonight because he felt tired. Instead he suggested I come over to his place to watch “Y Tú Mama Tambien.” I said sure, since it would get me out of the house where the annoying psychotic roommate was lurking in the shadows. I drove over to the Castro and waited for FF to get off from work. He soon arrived and we went up to his place and started watching the movie. Half way through the movie he got a call from Farmer Amy, his “wife” who said she was down at Harvey’s having a drink. She invited him to go down the street to join her. So off we went. While exchanging stories in the bar, a pretty cute, albeit youngish waiter came over to take our drink order. His name is Hersh, so if you see him at Harvey’s tip him well. Farmer Amy got another margarita, Farmer Fred got a beer and I decided since I would be driving back over the hill I should just remain as dry as my sense of humor. Hersh came over several times to talk with us. Well, I should say he came over to talk to FA and FF since I don’t talk much to people I don’t know. They asked him about his hours and after he wove his tail of intrigue and heartache FA and FF said they could relate to the crazy schedule he endures since both them are ER nurses. Hersh asked if they had worked today. FA said "no" and FF said "yes." Then FF patted me on the arm to include me in the conversation and said, “He doesn’t work at all.” To which I said, “Well, when one is a millionaire one doesn’t have to work.” We erupted in laughter. Now I've convinced myself that the cute Hersh really believes I'm a millionaire. Lord knows I act like one and I spend enough money to be considered one. What can I say, it’s the aristocrat in me coming through.

I am feeling kind of dejected this morning. I went to work out with FF at 11:30 PM at the gym last night. We did cardio followed by abs and some shoulders. We went to eat an early, early breakfast at Bagdad Café. The food isn’t very good there but they’re open 24 hours. I'm pretty determined to loose another 30 pounds but I've been sidetracked lately-- easily falling victim to cravings for potatoes and the occasional apple fritter. At Bagdad the waiter who took our order kept sicking his crotch out. FF asked me if he was doing that to persuade us to order sasauge and I said, "No in his case I'm affraid, he's trying to get us to order bacon." FF laughed. He ordered a latte and I ordered a hot chocolate. When I drinks came FF said mine looked "really gay." "Your drink looks gay." I said. He put the drinks side by side. His was a tan with lightly murkey foam. Mine was a full dark umber with a cloud of whip cream on top. "Your's looks gayer!" he chuckled. "No, your's is gay. Mine's just childish." I retorted. FF is going to Hawaii in a couple of weeks. He's taking along his ex-boyfriend who's a real swell guy. There is a real round about way I met the ex and how he became a friend. Long story short, I now have to know every guy's relationship history before he can become a friend. It seems that most of the guys I know have dated one another, which may or may not lead to drama. After breakfast I took FF home, then headed back over the hill to my ‘hood. I couldn’t find parking at all so I circled the blocks for ten or more minutes singing with the radio as the rain fell steadily on my truck. I finally found a place, but it took me a couple of minutes to parallel park because I was tired and the space was on a hill. After curbing my wheels, along with any enthusiasm, I walked five blocks home in my workout shorts passing bundled up street people along the way. Upon getting into my apartment, I threw everything off my bed and fell asleep.

Today was a boring day. I went to the gym, came home and then pigged out on Phish Food and chimichangas.

The paleness in his eyes melted the winter still clutching my heart.

Am I the only one who encounters mentally disturbed people riding public transportation? I cannot even begin to recount all the crazy people I see day in and day out between going to work and running errands around the city. Today some woman seemed to be expressing milk from her breasts while on the J.

I went and watched “Lord of the Rings: Two Towers” tonight with The Poet. The movie was good—I feel no need to compare it with the first film as so many other people do. Don’t we compare too many things already?

I thought it was interesting how Gimli provides much of the comic relief during the brutal battle scenes. For those who have not seen the movie skip the next sentence! I felt quite sorry for Gollum/Smeagol, the audience laughed and laughed at him, but they just don’t understand what it’s like to have two creatures in one head :)

The best part about seeing the movie was the chance to accompany The Poet.

I love the rain because it makes other people miserable. Today at work I was delighted to see how many people were unprepared for the downpours. My favorite thing to see is one of the merch-hags at work, bitching about how the rain has ruined her Bumble and Bumble hair, smeared her hooker albeit MAC makeup, drenched her black cashmere Banana Republic turtleneck, spattered her leather Marc Jacobs boots, and wetted her JP Todd hand bag.

I was in a car accident today with MisterK. While we were driving down the hill on Noe Street, MisterK stopped at the stop sign at 23rd Street. Our bodies were jolted forward, necks whipping, seatbealts tightening and a heavy crack sound filled our ears. Someone had rear-ended us (and not in a good way!)

MisterK got out of the car and the nefarious bumper-crusher pulled along side us. He said he was going to pull over, but he turned onto 23rd and headed up the hill. He hit and ran, but we wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt and waited a while for him to return. No luck.

We parked the car and headed to my apartment, where my roommates entertained MisterK while I changed my clothes. MisterK and I decided to go eat before we went to the police station. Off to Miss Millies for some yummy “Creative American Cuisine.”

We finally made our way to the Mission Station on Valencia and 17th. After MisterK called his insurance company we went into the station to file a report. The officer that took down the information would best be described as a mysoginstic, ball-scratching, bed-farting, dimwhit with little man syndrome.

The front desk officers were listening to the reports on the missing pregnant Modesto woman, whom many suspect is dead—possibly killed by her husband. The little officer taking our report was tacky enough to say to his partner, “I would have waited until she had my kid and then killed her.” He smirk and then laughed, his little pigeon chest puffed out proudly. Asshole, what an asshole.

Since we didn’t have much information on the hit and run driver there was way we could prosecute. So we just chalked this one up to experience.

My lifting partner left me a voicemail message saying he couldn’t make it to the gym this morning. While he left the message for me before I went to bed, my crappy cell phone provider didn’t deliver the message to me until after I had already gotten up at 5:30 AM. I’m calling them today to complain, and hopefully get some free goodies to ease my unhappiness.

So what to do with all the free time? Hell, I’m not going to the gym alone! I’m always afraid that someone mightF flirt with me when I’m by myself and if there is a time I don’t want to flirt (besides when on public transportation) it’s when I’m sweating doing cardio or weights. I feel so unsexy.

So, I noticed in the corner of my room were two bags filled with dirty laundry. You know who should do wash some dirty laundry? Christina Aguilera, ‘cause she’s dirrty. *Ghetto speak* Shoot-- her panties were all up in her lunchbox, shoot.

I peered out my window to see how many people were in the Laundromat across the street. Seeing at least three of the washing machines were open I decided to spend my morning at LaunderLand!

Doesn’t the name "LaunderLand" sound like some far off magical place you would want to run to as a child? A place where one could escape his or her parents and/or siblings. There are many special creatures in Launderland, like Tide the Dragon, Cheer the Gnome and Downey the slightly retarded Elf. The three of them together fight the evils of Lord Pit Stains, Magician Ring-Around-the-Collar and the nefarious Sheriff Static Cling.

Today, however, none of the magical creatures of LaunderLand were there. I teared up when I walked through the doors. I wrote this story however. Enjoy.

The whole room vibrates and spins with electricity. The non-human hum, mixed with coughs and cackles of a few men and women who were brave enough like me to attempt the mundane on a Thursday morning, does not inspire any true reaction from me. John Cage would relish an experience like this picking apart the symphony of sounds; I however would rather be anywhere but here.

The walls are undressed exposing a mediocre tapioca cream color. A few plants are like inmates locked up in the artificial light. Their yellowed brown-fringed leaves droop. Saddened by their current state they finger the walls hoping to catch a real ray of the sun even if only for a moment.

Signs are peppered about the room commanding us with what not to do. I survey the room to see if any of the signs have a positive message or at the very least a thank you. Not one in the bunch.

A woman's heavy steps come up behind me. Her perfume is thick, fighting with all the other scents in the air. A spot right behind the bridge of my nose pulsates, screaming for me to stop smelling. A small pinprick ache cuts my brain. I angrily turn towards the woman because of the unexpected odor assault. She smiles at me like she just ate sunshine. Her hair is wispy, undulating down her shoulders, puddling on her breasts. Despite my head aching I grin back at her. “Relax,” I say under my breath “relax.”

The street traffic begins to pick up. Looking out through the bar encased windows I notice people outside carrying lattes and pushing strollers. They look in. I can tell what they are thinking, how grateful they are to be outside enjoying the weather instead of being cooped up doing chores.

The room feels more and more institutional. Most of the people inside are keeping to themselves. No one has uttered even the smallest of words, no “hello”, no ”pardon”, nothing. All they do is stare at the walls. I am left to imagine they must be dreaming of what else they could be doing instead of being stuck here. A man to my left is sitting on the middle orange molded plastic chair. Closed off and defensive, arms folded across his chest, his eyes focused downward. He sighs heavily adding another layer to the noise in the room.

An obsessive woman in the corner keeps feeding the change machine one-dollar bills. The machine keeps throwing up quarters. A smile spreads across her face wider than the Pacific Ocean. I can tell she feels safe, playing with her very own personal Vegas’ style slot machine where she always breaks even.

I want to make conversation. I look around the room, scanning the people to see who might be receptive to a bit of banter. The smelly woman is now engrossed in her magazine. The attendant is astir with a small stepping stool adding enough water to the poor prisoner plants to keep them alive a few more days. I wonder if the plants ever get a crust of bread. Each and every person is wrapped up in himself or herself, blanketed with vacant stares. I look towards the ground.

The floor seems to be growing hair. I’m sure it is swept often enough to keep it from having a full-blown ‘fro. I knell down to take a closer look. I see bits of string, hair and indiscernible lint. A small peppermint candy is melting under one of the tables. I feel like I am melting.

The progression of our activities has made the room humid and warm. I shed my sweatshirt exposing my tattered T-shirt. I ran out of clothes, as is usually the case on laundry day. My time is almost up. I start to feel slightly giddy. I’ll be able to leave this place. I had not made any friends.

A small dog is patrolling the perimeter of the room. The dog only pauses long enough to sniff a few pant legs before moving on. She’s a dark mini Schnauzer, her hair has grown out and is un-brushed. She trots towards me but does not stop. She has spotted the melted peppermint candy with her dark little eyes. Her nose sniffs it and she bites at the ground. With little effort she manages to get it off the floor. The taste must not have been to her liking as she tries to spit it out, her tongue spasms every which way. The candy falls only as far as her beard, sticking to the mass of ratted hair. I laugh and the room turns to look at me. Only the smelly woman smiles, all the rest would rather have not heard my laugh and they go back meditating on the mechanical droning.

I’m done. Packing up my clothes I look once again around the room. I wonder what I have in common with the people here? I wonder what they will do with the rest of their day? I am not sure I care, but I want to. It’s often the case when I’m around a group of strangers I keep my distance, secretly yearning for someone to talk to me—if only to remind me, I too am deserving of being talked with. I’m not asking for a discussion on existentialism with a complete stranger. I just want someone to ask me how I’m doing.

At the door one of the plants is almost stretched far enough to catch the sunlight. I feel happy for the plant and turn to in and whisper, “Keep trying.”

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant

Tell all the Truth but tell it slant –Emily Dickinson

So after weeks and weeks of contemplation, I’ve finally decided to start a web blog. The world will be a better place I am certain. I would love to write something wry and witty for my first entry, but I decided to write the following instead:

This morning I… tumbled out of bed and stumbled to the kitchen, poured myself a cup of ambition— wait, that wasn’t me, that was Dolly Parton. While we have the same sized boobs, that’s where the similarity ends (just kiddin’ about the boobs— mine are probably bigger.)

Actually I just fell out of bed and then lay on the floor hoping the clock was wrong. Everyone who knows my morning rituals will tell you I watch “Charmed” at 9 AM when I’m not at the gym working out. But this morning, not even the Halliwell sisters could charm me from my slumber.

So I was dragging serious ass. I don’t drink the black mojo juice with any regularity. It has the potential of stunting my growth and I want to be 5’10” like Cindy Crawford. So no coffee, no caffeine, no nothing...

That was until my coworker asked me to go get some brew with him. I thought, heck I’m already six-foot, maybe some coffee with shrink me 2 inches. We hit the infamous coffee conglomerate on the corner (betcha can’t guess which one!) and I ended up with a fatty latte. I figure it’s mostly milk, so it must do a body good.

Work was the usual— email after email to people in the company I never see or talk to, trying to track down something or another for a manager who doesn’t want to do it herself.

I also ordered office supplies, because I have the power.

“Order me some paper clips,” a coworker begged.

“Did you offer unto me a sacrifice of copier paper?” I bellowed.

“Yes, and I even burned some file folders,” she cried.

“Then it shall be done.”

Coming home from work was uneventful. Nothing happened on the J— there was a cute guy sitting across from me but I never flirt so I really shouldn’t bother looking around the car to see who’s cute and who’s not.

One of my roomies got on at 18th Street and we chatted as the J meandered up the hill. We got off at 24th and made our way home.

I watched “Charmed” at 6 PM with the other roomie. The show is so bad it’s good— kind of like eating deep fried ice cream. TNT shows the show at least twice a day (except for when it’s preempted by sports) and on Tuesdays they show it three times: 9 AM, 6 PM and at 10 PM.

The thing I like most about the show, besides the awful acting, is the fact that the show portrays San Francisco with total LA flair. It’s totally absurd, as any San Franciscan will tell you.

After the show I thought I would go down to the drug store to pick up some deodorant and ant poison but I hit the road with the Charmed-watching roomie instead. We picked up his cutie of a girlie friend and we headed over to the Haight. She produced some herb and I figured, when in the Haight do as the Haightians. So out of a mocked up lipstick pipe I huffed and puffed all the while outside the Park District Police Station.

I had two hits and they had no effect. I would have to smoke a tree to get the slightest buzz. Maybe it’s because I’m from Mendocino County— where it’s practically sold at Safeway Stores. I’m not a big time smoker— I’ve never bought it and I totally could do without it.

We went to Amoeba, where I was inevitably overwhelmed by all the music choices. My memory puddles and thoughts become muddied as I try to remember who I like to listen to and what CDs I may want to purchase.

As I peruse the lines of CDs all standing so attentively, each wanting me to take it home— I see hundreds of the same CD huddled together. Of course it’s a CD I already own. I instantly feel tragically uncool for having other people’s castaways still in my possession. But I like Paula Cole, so f--- all of you! :P

There were more Shawn Mullins CDs than I could count. I felt sorry for him, then again I’ve only heard that one song— you know the one, “Everything will be all right, rockabye…” I think any songwriter who writes the the lyrics “They hung out with folks like Dennis Hopper, Bob Seger, Sonny & Cher” deserves to be a one-hit wonder.

I picked up three CDs, two by Liz Phair, “Juvenilia” and “Whip-Smart”, the latter of which I owned but lost. I think she is so sexy. The other CD I purchased was Jeff Buckley’s “Graces” if only because it has Leonard Cohen’s “Hallelujah” on it. But I like Jeff Buckley so I’m happy with my choices.

When I took my CDs up to the registers I knew the guy behind the counter was judging my purchase. “These CDs are crap,” he thought to himself as he asked “Do you want this to be debit or credit?” Yeah, just give me my CDs foo’, thank you very much and have a nice evening.

A person can’t go to a store like Amoeba and buy guilty pleasures like anything by a boy band or a pop princess. I think you’re tagged as a crap consumer if you do, and the store staff keeps your picture on file as being lame, bringing it out during store parties to make fun of you. “This is the schmuck who bought 98 Degrees and Christina Aguilera!”

Shoot— look at the time. Time for bed. Tomorrow will be an early day.