Last night was Stewie’s first puppy class, sans Stewie. The instructor is a big old queen. We were taught how to respond to our puppies and shit like that. I can’t see Jim doing any of these things because he’s ultra WASPy. If he has to use hand gestures I’m afraid he’ll have a seizure. There were two gay couples in the class. One set trendy guys with a poodle and the others were bearish guys with a lab. It was very cliché. The poodles owners have two poodles and they have these ridiculous French names that I can’t remember. One of them sounds like “Mildew.” There was one woman in there that has a pit mix and she kept saying, “I can’t get Bear to come. I say, 'come Bear. Bear come. Come Bear. Bear come." I laugh "Have you tried stimulating her clit?" There’s another woman in there that has a poodle that doesn’t listen to her—she said, “I don’t know if I have the worse dog in there world or if I’m the worse owner. My dog doesn’t listen. And she bites. And she draws blood. And she tears everything up. And she doesn’t know her name. And she’s an alcoholic. She’ll find any bottle of alcohol in the house and break it and then drink the contents. And she took a chunk out of my ear. But she doesn’t bite anyone else, only me.” “Hello Victim.” There are these treat bags that we can use, that are like modified fanny packs. I’m tempted to get one and wear it into work and when ever someone does something good I’ll toss them some cut up hot dog.

Have you ever eaten the steak, egg and cheese bagel from McDonald’s? The reason I ask is because I’m really interested in whether or not it’s real steak. It doesn’t really look like steak. It looks scary. Mystery meat. I stopped by the golden arches this morning to get some coffee. Surprisingly (or not so) San Francisco has one Starbucks per person. Yet there is not a Starbucks anywhere near where I work because it’s crack-head central (well it probably shares the dubious honor with the intersection of Taylor/Market/Sixth Street) thus I’m forced to either go to Muddy Waters a few blocks away or enter Micky D’s two-hundred and thirty-four steps from work. What’s this about? Do crack heads not need a cup of coffee? Regardless of your take on Starbucks it has set the standard (albeit low to average) for how coffee and some other beverages should taste. Anyway, as always the lid doesn’t fit the top of the cup so I spilt. That annoys me. A homeless man that stakes out the front of McDonald’s opened the door for me thinking he was going to get some change. I’m sorry but you’re not at the Plaza and I’m fully capable (despite obvious contentions) to open a door by myself. *said like Soup Nazi* “NO CHANGE FOR YOU!” There was this little crack-whore chick in McD’s who had a dried bloody nose. Doesn’t she have a mirror? DOH!

I was getting a salad at a sandwich shop on Mission, a very cramped space— only a few people can be in the shop at one time. There happened to be four of us in there on Tuesday when in walked two more customers. I didn’t bother to turn around but the owner of the shop’s face lit up. A gravelly hoarse voice ordered a deluxe "light on the bacon but not because I’m watching my weight.” I turned slightly and saw it was a publicly elected official (PEO). I turned back around, not to give him any satisfaction that I recognized him as well. I felt an inexplicable brush to my bottom followed by that hoarsely voice saying "pardon me." The PEO, in a black suit, had slipped behind me to get closer to the counter. What’s more curious was the manner in which he slipped by. People have two choices (perhaps more— but two tried and true methods) of passing one another in tight places. The first: a “cheek-2-cheek” pass in which the passing person turns his or her back to the other person and moves accordingly. The second: the “spooning” method where the person passes as if he or she were spooning the other person, much like the bed cuddling method. PEO employed the latter technique. Yes, the PEO spooned me. Such intimacy in my mind obviously puts the two of us on a first name basis from now on. One pass is acceptable. Two— ok, he obviously has to get back by. However the third spooning pass was nothing more than gratuitous. I believe there was even a little shaky-shaky in there to rouse my interests. If you’re wondering, I discerned he wears briefs and his wife probably isn't satisfied. Not because of his deficent pole size, but she seems to be a... errr, yeah. PEO-- Call me.

Stewie was a bad boy last night. When I got to the apartment he had: pulled down the baby gate in the kitchen door jam, tore the curtains off the front door and shredded them, taken down three jackets & four baseball caps to chew on, pooped under the bed, peed on an Ohio State sweatshirt, had the stereo remote on the floor, over turned a vase of flowers, cleared off the dinning table, taken all the trash from the bathroom and strewn it down the hall, and took the roll of toilet paper and ran it through the house. He’s obviously on Puppy PCP. We’ll be holding an intervention later this week. I’m going to have to send him off to rehab. I attend Kindergarten w/o him this Thursday.

People probably assume that I am laughing at them, not with them. Last night in class, my friend Courtney and I kept giving each other these looks of “OMG” every time someone said: 1) something stupid, 2) something stupid, 3) something stupid, 4) something stupid. The people in this particular class are real characters. The regular CW students are humdrum, but the Playwriting students are impassioned weirdoes—they are so funny to watch and listen. There’s this one who’s a bearish type guy, total musical queen, who says things like, “I don’t even read the critics. I have this saying ‘I agree with critics when they write something good about my show and I disagree with everything else.” He followed that lame statement with a chortle. Not enough people chortle. There’s this one woman who speaks with a neuvo-riche Martha Stewart accent, “Marlowe was such a wonderful playwright. His last words were either curse words, or they weren’t. He was stabbed either above the left eye, or the right.” She followed that statement with short warbles and then “It’s so interesting” which is her equivalent of “It’s a good thing.” Then the Professor slid in this comment about the amazing actress who we saw perform last week in Ibsen’s “Ghosts.” “I had drinks with Ellen after the performance…” and one could see tinges of jealousy among the playwrights. Clenched fists and false grins.

Rice Pushers

I went and got a burrito at Poncho Villas. I said, “no rice” and the chick making my burrito said, “No rice? You no want rice? No rice?” She said it in a manner as if by me not getting rice I would be putting millions of rice farmers out of business. “Yeah, no rice.” Have I mentioned my disdain for rice pushers? Every time I go out for Asian food it the same thing. “How much rice you wan’, nuff for two people?” “I DON’T WANT ANY!!!!” “No rice? You no want rice? No rice? When I little girl growin up on rice patty, we no have enuff money for food. All we eat—rice. Rice good for you. You need eat rice, nuff for two people!” “NO!!!!!” Then they always bring out rice and then I tell ‘em not to charge me for it since I won’t eat it. Pushy, pushy, pushy.

The cool thing about looking like a Who from Whoville is all the free roast beast.

On the 7

Her voice was a victim-arpeggio of trembles. She stepped up into the bus. “I-I-I need to get to 9th Street to pick up my welfare check.” Bus Driver: “You need to pay.” Woman: “I-I’m going to pick up my welfare check. I don’t have any money. W-w-won’t you help me out.” By this time she’s moved pass the bus driver and has sat down behind him trying to hide. Bus Driver: “You need to pay to be on the bus.” I put down my book and look at my watch. I want to get to work on time and the bus driver is not moving the bus until she pays. I’m annoyed. Bus Driver: “You have to pay.” Homeless woman: “W-w-won’t anyone help me out? Put 35 cents in my cup so I can pay? Please!” She begins to sob. Me: “You can WALK. It’s only two blocks!” Homeless woman: “W-w-won’t anyone help me out? 35 cents? 35 cents?” Me: “Get off! You can walk!” Bus driver: “I’m not moving this bus until you pay.” Homeless woman: “I don’t have any money. I’m going to get my welfare check. 35 cents? 35 cents?” Me: “Fuck you! Get the off the bus! How dare you hijack us like this. You’re going to make all of us late.” Girl next to me: “Yeah, get the fuck off the bus!” Man at the back of the bus: “Get off!” Homeless woman: “35 cents? 35 cents?” Then this woman walks up and puts 35 cents in the bus. That just pissed me off even more. Me: “I can’t believe it! Why’d you do that? Jesus Christ, now she’ll continue hijacking buses everywhere because people like you." 35 cent lady: “Fuck you.” Me: “Bitch, you wish you could.” Girl next to me: “What a cunt.” We get to 9th street and does she get off the bus? No. “I have one more block.”