Pardon Me!

I walked over to Rainbow Grocery on my lunch break deciding to cut down shorter alleys instead of meandering thoroughfares. Down one alley I came across one woman who was in the middle of doing her “business.” Squatting, she moved her head up and down, an apparent strain on her face. Then it happened. A large cacophonous explosion came from her nether regions. The pigeons a few feet away took off in a flurry. Apparently not only was Montezuma getting his revenge but auntie Flo was visiting as well. Normally I would have felt embarrassed stumbling upon this scene, but I guess I’ve been in the Mission too long now and it’s become routine. She grabbed at a pile of papers and trash and began to clean herself up. It did not matter that I was witnessing this scene. No apologies made, none expected. I did however wish I carried around tampons or at the least toilet paper to hand out during these encounters.

Levity

Shakespeare balanced tragedy with levity. I stood on Castro Street in front of Cliff’s around 8:50 PM. Monica was supposed to meet me in A Different Light Bookstore at 9. I had gone into the store with the intention of skimming through the new arrivals. I didn’t want guys skimming me as the new arrival so I left soon there after. I stood on the sidewalk. Originally I was facing the street but I couldn’t see if Monica was coming. It takes quite a bit of courage to actually face the guys who walk up and down the street. A guy will walk pass and without turning his head look me up and down. It’s unnerving. No matter how uncomfortable I was I stood my ground and waited. Monica and Heather showed up and we chatted before making our way to Harvey’s. Monica and I were set on listening to the last message from her stalker but we couldn’t get her voicemail to work. We were met outside the bar by another of Monica’s friends, Joie, dressed up in a cowboy shirt and jeans—perfect for Trannyshack’s “Women of Country.” Inside we staked our claim, near Hecklina and waited for Tom to show up. The show began and it seemed like all the drama from earlier melted away with the antics of the performers. Monica’s friends with all the queens so it’s nice to go to these events with her because I can feel like a part of the show. It was exactly the space I needed to be in-- far enough away from Fell Street and the events of the evening. Three hours flew by and I found myself bidding everyone adieu as a cab took me up over the hill back to the crime scene. I walked into the condo greeted by the hum of the clothes dryer. Walking into my room I fell on my bed picturing the body in the bathroom, over and over again.

The Party Turned To Tragedy

My roommate pounded on my bedroom door. Nine minutes into my disco nap I popped out of bed. Half dressed I went to the door. "Can you answer the door for the paramedics. WE have situation here." I glanced towards the bathroom. A body lay on the tile, light brown limbs akimbo, naked. The sight didn't surprise me. I didn't ask any questions. A few weeks ago I found out that I my roommate liked to party and play. This apparently was one of the consequences. I opened the front door. I was going to hop down the three flights of stairs to the foyer but decided I really should be wearing shoes. So I went back to my bedroom and pulled on a pair of Adidas. My roommate tried to talk to the guy in the bathroom. "Are you awake? Stay with me." I couldn't discern if there was real concern in his voice. I went back out only to be met by one of the paramedics halfway up the stairwell. "Hey, how's it going?" I asked as if we were old friends. "There are going to be a lot of people following me up" he replied walking pass me into the condo. "Um OK." "What's going on here? What's the situation?" the medic grilled my roommate. Their voices became indiscernible as they filled up the bathroom but I did make out "craigslist." I left the door open and walked back to my room. Outside two fire trucks and one ambulance had gathered. A woman yelled out "We're going to need a stair chair!" In the kitchen and hallway a medic carnival had sprung up. The naked trick was brought in front of my bedroom door. The first paramedic was barking orders and trying to get the man to regain consciousness. "Can you hear me? Squeeze my finger? Can you hear me?" "Who has the stair chair?" Soon he was on his way out the door. As fast as the carnival was up it came down. I heard the ambulance pull away from the curb without sirens. Fifteen minutes later my roommate had put the towels from the bathroom into the washing machine. I heard doors close before I walked out, now fully clothed. I looked over the place. If I had not been there I would have never known what had happened. I'm not sure I like knowing what happened.

Nick’s Birthday Extravaganza Part II

As part two of Nick’s Birthday Extravaganza commenced, we found ourselves at the RADAR Reading Series at the SF Public Library. We had been in regular attendance to the series until this past February when the new semester of State began. Fortunately I had already heard a good number of my favorite writers perform, such as Laurie Weeks and Eileen Myles. The incomparable (albeit a cliché term) Michelle Tea emcees this bastion of the literary underworld. She’s infectious with upbeat demeanor—a mix of spunky punk ultra cool Mission chick and sisterly down home charm. She extorts the crowd with her freshly baked cookies, dolling them out only if someone asks a question of the writers. The line up of writers was Eddy Joe Cotton, Thea Hillman, Kirk Read and Chelsea Starr—the latter of whom I’m convinced moonlights as a Peachy Puff Girl. After getting our seats I noticed Thea Hillman putting her stuff down in front of Nick and myself. I said hello, however Thea didn’t remember who I was despite meeting me a few times before. I seem to have this non-effect on people; I’m quite forgettable—possibly because it makes me uncomfortable to gain any acceptance within a group of people because I fear loosing my outsider/edge status. I re-met Kirk Read who knows Nick. We had read at an event together a couple years previous but he had snubbed me there so I just chalked it up to cattiness. I do enjoy his stories, they’re pretty outrageous. My favorite story of the evening was by Chelsea Starr. It was a memoir piece from her childhood in Oregon. It hit very close to home. After the reading Nick and I went to Carl’s Junior, enjoyed our Western Bacon Cheeseburgers while watching all the crack whores and homeless wander about. Martuni’s was our last stop of the evening. We opened the back room and sat in a dark corner. Before too long Nick’s friends Geno and Devon showed up and we laughed the night away. It was a great way to close down his 2 day fiesta.

Nicky Pickle's 27th Birthday Party Extravaganza Part I

Last night was Nicky Pickle's 27th Birthday Party Extravaganza Part I. He decided to have it at the Rite Spot Café. About 14 friends showed up for this last minute bash. The dinner coincided with Suzanne Ramsey AKA Kitten on the Keys performing. She’s HILARIOUS. Such a hoot. Scott, whose birthday party was last Friday at Aunt Charlie’s in the Tenderloin, met up with me there. He’s probably one of the more adorable affable guys in San Francisco. A real good egg. He owns Piggy the Pug, the best play pal any Jack Russell could ever want. Stewie loves to hump Piggy and she obliges him readily. Dinner and drinks with Kitten on the Keys, who sang songs about Hot Nuts, a grandma who sold her granddaughter’s panties on eBay and a song about Heinous the Hamster who like to go up anuses. All the while being crude and funny, scratching her ass and burping into the mic. Nick requested Bohemian Rhapsody and she did one of the best renditions I’ve ever heard. She wrapped up with the title song on her new Album “It’s Not a Pretty Princess Day” and I think two of our party members even got to see her un-pantied crotch when she lifted up her pink gingham checked dress. HOT! We wrapped the night up by walking to catch cabs and public transportation.

Onward Christian Soldiers

During the summer my mom used Vacation Bible School as a babysitter. She’d enroll my sister and me in the VBS Circuit. Starting at the First Baptist Church, we’d work our way to First Presbyterian, then on to Evangelical Free and finally wrapping up at the home of Lacto-ova Vegetarians, the Seventh Day Adventist. At each stop we’d be taken aside by a VBS counselor, some woman in her 30’s who yearned for children of her own but was barren do to sins, and told to pray for Jesus to come into our hearts. I never understood why Jesus would leave my heart each week. Didn’t he like it in there? Was I eating too much spicy food? Talk about abandonment issues. At the Seventh Day Adventist church we’d get to sing “Onward Christian Soldiers” as we marched into the sanctuary carrying banners and trumpets. Some kids even rode horses in. There’d be a rack set up behind the pulpit for our daily inquisition of a town heathen. It was rad. After the torture I’d make my way to art class where I would freak out at a picture of a green Satan fleeing from a wooden heart shaped door of an English country side cottage, Jesus on the inside peeking out. This was supposed to represent my heart— but I knew Jesus had hightailed it because of the enchiladas I had the night before and that the green devil was going to squat.

On the 33

While riding the bus this morning, three men got on at the junkie-halfway house stop. Rough and tumbled, they lumbered to the back of the bus where I was sitting. They didn’t quite look like new recruits to the halfway-house. I reveled in the possibility of who they were. One of them looked like he had just walked out of prison, leaving behind in the pen his Neo-Nazi brethren. He of course was the most attractive with his shaved head and mustache. He was wearing white Dickie overalls and sunglasses which was peculiar on a foggy drippy San Francisco morning. I felt a certain kinship as I too was wearing sunglasses. Much to my delight, they started chatting. Among the topics they covered was a list of employers that would hire felons. Good to know my criminaldar is finely tuned. The conversation soon turned to the best way to off a wife, how to send people in boxes to remote locations and how much alcohol one can drink while still wielding a hammer. Obviously these men weren’t bright. One said, “You should send to her in a box to the Dead Sea. Maybe she’d get eaten by a killer whale.” Um, OK. I have a sneaking suspicion they never covered geography or the fauna of the Israel/Jordan region in Shiv Making 101.

Trenton

My sister phoned to tell me a story concerning my nephew Trenton (age 5) and what went down at his last t-ball game. While playing second base Trent caught a ball. He tagged second base, which technically means the runner from first is out. But for safe measure, Trenton charged the kid and tagged him with the ball as well. Overjoyed, Trenton shouted at the kid “YOU’RE OUT!” and proceeded to jump up and down. “You’re outta here. I tagged you out! You’re out!!!” Ah, I’m amazed at what good sportsman like conduct he shows at such a tender age. If that weren’t enough. He did it a second time, however this time while rejoicing he yelled, “I got the brown boy out!” Brown was not the boy’s last name. Both the coach of the team and the umpire expressed their concern/indignation for such a comment. My sister-in-law was embarrassed to say the least— but what does she expect when her child is being raised by rednecks?

Return to Witch Mountain

Return to Witch Mountain is on the Hallmark channel and I can’t help but watch it. As a kid I loved this movie. I distinctly remember wishing that I had alien powers that could levitate me over gates and the alike. I even remember holding my own hands at Frank Zeek Elementary and flinging myself onto the cyclone fence only to scrape up my face. Looking at the movie now, I’m fascinated not so much by the terrible acting (Bette Davis does a pretty good job at being an old bitch, who’d a thunk?) but how San Francisco looked in the 1970’s. It was such a different place from the San Francisco of 2004. My earliest memories of San Francisco take place in the early ‘80’s and have to do with Chinatown, the Sutro Baths, Playland, Fisherman’s Warf, etc. I remember distinctly getting hamburgers at the Wendy’s on Market Street when I was 8 and my parents making us take them outside to eat. We weren’t allowed to sit down out side because according to my mother, “vagabonds pee everywhere.” This is where levitating powers would come in handy. I could have floated above the sidewalk, taking care not to pick up vagrant urine particles on my shoes. The movie keeps being interrupted with commercials (duh.) There basically all Hallmark commercials for mother’s day. The people on the screen are hawking Mother’s Day Locket Ornaments. It’s disgusting. Ugly. However after watching about six of these commercials I’m drawn to buy one.

Swadhistan Chakra

Perhaps GlaxxoWellcome has something to unblock my swadhistan chakra. If they don’t surely Pfizer will. I doubt my health insurance covers such ‘scripts