My Poo Smiled at Me

You ever just have one of those days? I'm so anal about things and compulsive that it's a bit absurd. I can't for example, explain my story with a title like, "My Poo Smiled at Me," without first letting you know that I washed my hands before I approached the keyboard.

I forgot what I was doing at work the other day while I was working and then remembered that earlier in the day, while I was on the toilet that I really wanted to take an online test to find out if I have A.D.D. I would imagine that I have it, since I have to repeat, "take online ADD test" to myself a hundred or so times on my trip from the bathroom back to my desk so I don't I'll forget to take the test. Despite my efforts I forgot to take the test and ultimately remembered a few hours later.

I began my search for a test and found one. I started to answer all these questions. The one the stuck out the most was something about trying to read a book and skipping to the end or middle or what ever because you can't focus on the material you're actually reading. I totally do that. And all these kinds of tests are stupid because you know how the answer you give will affect your test unless you're a total idiot. Like, "do you think you're attractive," on a self esteem test or something. A few seconds later I caught myself skipping down to the bottom of the page to find out just how many questions there were on this little test of self-exploration. When I realized that I was doing basically the same thing as the question about the book I just closed the window diagnosed myself.

Dealing with the fact that I have A.D.D. made me feel like poo. And then some days you just feel like poo for no reason. I'm not trying to sound like a downer, but you know days where you just don't feel like seeing people. This doesn't happen to me that often considering I'm not able to go to the gas station alone, but today was one of those days. Clearly, since I'm not out binge drinking somewhere, I have the kind of time sitting at home to write about my poo on the computer.

I was feeling especially off today about a number of different things that I wont bore you about. It's funny though, getting down, because at some point you have to come back up. And depending how far down you are, it takes different experiences to come back up. I must not have been too far down today because I was just sitting on the toilet thinking about how everyone else will do something tonight while I chose to stay at home. That doesn't make me a loser; it just means I'm going to have some time alone on a Saturday night? Anyway, I was having a really good poo. Like the kind that's nice and solid and feels like it will be a one or two wipe poo instead of a never ending wipe poo. I'm sure you follow. It's the one act, I'm certain, that we all experience universally. It is the poo that binds us together. Anyway, so I'm dropping a good one and finish. I wipe, twice, cause as I predicted it was pretty clean.

As I dropped the second piece of toilet paper into the toilet I realized that several pieces of my poo had floated apart. One longer curved piece at the bottom, the little tiniest piece right in the center of the bowl, and to equal medium sized pieces floating just at the top. Did my poo just smile at me? That's awkward. I mean, what do you do in a situation like that? It's not like being in a bar where you see someone you don't want to run into, and you both see each other but pretend the other person isn't there. This wasn't like this; my poo looked right at me. I thought it best to smile back. It was the polite thing to do. I flushed and washed my hands paying special attention to the sink so as to not watch my poo smile swirl away. And in some silly way, my poo made me feel happy. It's like being a little kid when your parents get so excited for you because made poopie.

The next time you poo, have a peek. It's like laying on the grass on a warm day and staring up at imagination clouds, well, sort of.

I officially have a fan club

It was only a matter of time really. I mean, when you look a certain way and talk a certain way, people are bound to swoon. In my case, however, I skate by on clever quips and endless witticisms. The truth of the matter is that I didn't realize how much my public enjoys reading my material.

I tried to write this heartfelt blog when I was happy and in love at some point. I sent it to a couple of people to proof read and not a single person enjoyed it. I found it to be deep and inspiring. At least as deep and inspiring as I could be, considering the way I look, and, am. You understand. After being confronted with what my editors considered, "constructive criticism," I decided maybe I should hold off a bit on writing another blog.

I find that the best criticism, the criticism that really helps me to grow and learn, is the criticism that is kept to oneself. When I said proof read what I was trying to say was, "can you look through and find all my spelling errors?" I can't spell. If you've read other postings you understand. But what I asked for was not opinion. Those of you who know me well will find that it is easier to agree with me than to give me a contrary opinion. Watch my face closely the next time you start giving me an opinion I don't agree with. The face sort of just shuts off and goes blank. It at this moment in time when Michael is in Michael’s fun world, a world unknown to that of the common, rational, human being. I honestly don't mean to go off to my special place as often as I do, but sometimes I can't help myself.

I'm getting off track. So I wasn't writing blogs... then I went to this dinner at Caron's house. Caron is an infamous entertainer/hibernator. She believes wholly in the cameo appearance and accredits her hibernations to DT or down time. I love Caron for this. She's never the one calling you too much and bothering you with little insignificant things that no one really cares about anyway. I do that. And that's why we function as friends. Caron calls to get invested in my drama for the duration of the phone call, and then once the fuse has blown, hibernates from me for a week or two.

So Caron hosts this dinner and Eileen and her new chitlin come along with Stephanie and Christine. I was Christine's first boyfriend and even though we never had sex, it's clear that she benefited from the relationship. Not only way I Christine's first boyfriend, if you can imagine that... but Christine and this other girl Stephanie (different Stephanie from the aforementioned) both wanted to date me and agreed that they would both be my girlfriends. I was a 7th grader in a polygamous relationship with two girls. With the inner makings of a porn star I pushed on. Even in 7th grade it didn't take Christine long to realize that we would probably make better shopping buddies than man and woman.

Ok, so I'm at this dinner with Christine and Stephanie and Caron and pretty soon Christine and Stephanie start talking about my blog. And then they start quoting it. The expression on Eileen's face was that of disgust having to hear about my blog yet again. I'm going to teach her baby boy Tyler how to make his own blog when his is of age. It's fun for me to scare Eileen and say, "what if Tyler grows up to be just like me?" She swears her husband Roger would care and she wouldn't, but I can see a bit of fear in her eyes.

So that's pretty much it. I love the praise from my new fan club. It was so motivating that I realized, so what if no one wants to hear about what I think is deep. Instead, they want to hear me talk about life like a valley girl, and while I sort of am a valley girl, I would never be from the valley. ;-)

Ok, so that's my little blog for now. It may be months or a year before I write another so I want to encourage participation. Respond to my blog and tell me what you want me to talk about. I'll give you advice, tell you my take on things, and maybe even make an appearance at a dinner party near you.

Love Lee?

After building a website, printing 8 million stickers, making business cards, and making a bunch of iron on T-shirts, I think it’s safe to say that I certainly do not love Lee. At this point, I hate Lee, in fact, I may just spit on Lee’s shoes when I see him. Ok, really all this hostility stems from Gunita’s amazing ability to force me into doing things I don’t necessarily want to do, like help people. When Gunita told me that she wanted to bring Lee Burridge to Mezzanine quite sometime ago, I said fine, as long as you put me on the guest list. But because it is her first party I offered to help. Little did I know that I would be wearing a bandana singing “swing low, sweet chariot” working in Gunita’s sweatshop all the live long day.

In reality, a world I try to steer clear of, I’m very excited that Lee Burridge is coming to town. I’m more excited that Gunita is finally working toward something she really loves. But what I’m most excited about is that Gunita might actually make some money on this event. Over the two short years that I have known her, I have watched her selflessly, and shamelessly promote party after party without ever making a dime. She’s on every person’s guest list in San Francisco, by her own force and persistence, which has served me well on numerous occasions, but she has never profited from her promotions. She sends out a weekly e-mail to hundreds of people who rely on her and refer to her as the most influential person in San Francisco. Wait, that’s how she refers to herself.

I think it’s only fair that we take this time to support someone that has supported so many of us without ever asking for any bit of reciprocity. So I’m asking it for her.

Don’t forget to purchase your ticket for LOVE LEE live from MEZZANINE, September 23, 2005. This is not an event to miss. And if you’re lucky, you’ll run into Gunita who will most likely yell at you for eating fast food because when you are older it might give you a heart attack.

You can buy your tickets by visiting www.listedsf.com and clicking on the link that says buy tickets. It’s really that easy!

Oh, and I'll be there too.

See you at Mezzanine Friday the 23rd!

Who the hell is El Cucuy?

¡Ya Regrese! What does that even mean? Spanish isn’t my native tongue so I had to ask someone. In the Spanish, that means, I’m back! Great, back from what? I’m so confused. It seems like it has been ages now but evidently it’s only been a short while since, “El Cucuy’s” ugly mug started showing up on Muni busses all over the city. This advertisement drives me loco. I don’t know if it’s his bright yellow East Bay clubbing shirt, or just the forced look of happiness stretched across his face, but this is the worst picture I’ve ever seen. Was that really Cucuy’s best foto?

I always think about that when I’m surfing the personals on the internet. I, of course, do it for sheer entertainment value and would never meet a person from online. Again. Regardless of my cyber proclivities, I always have to ask myself when looking at an online profile, was this the best picture of yourself? Because when I make my online profile I take time to find a really presentable picture. You know, airbrush it, and really make it shine. But some people, it’s like, ok, now this is a camera, and this little device is going to freeze an image of you in history for ever and ever. So, oh I don’t know, maybe smile, or be cute or something. But some of these pictures are just embarrassing. And since embarrassment is the only feeling you can actually feel for someone else, most of my time spent online leaves me feeling embarrassed. And now my commute suffers as well.

Why can’t I be on a bus advertisement anyway?

I think the problem really starts with me. It’s like when you see an ugly couple walking down the street. One side of you is really happy that the uglies have paired up and found love, and the other side is like, “well fuck, I’m single, but these creatures somehow managed to find each other.” Sort of makes you question where you stand. But really, all I want is to be on a billboard, it’s not a lot to ask, and then, just when you thought you were cute, El Cucuy swishes by on the 19 Polk. Give me a break; if he can be on a bus, then I can be on a bus.

I thought I had gotten over my problem with El Cucuy. Seems silly. I don’t even know the guy. Maybe he’s really super fantastico! I may never learn the answer to my quandaries. I did try however, to do a bit of research on Mr. Cucuy. The only thing that I can put together is that, he’s back and on the radio en la mañana, when ever that is. But other than that, there is not a whole lot of information on the man. So I urge my community to find some stuff on El Cucuy and send it my way. Most importantly, if you have another picture of him, I would love to see it. At this point, I’m dying to see him in a different outfit. So much so that I might even print the picture, cut it out, glue a popsicle stick to the back of it and hold it up in front of every muni that passes by.

Es todo.

Don't fall into the fire!

Somehow I managed to convince Jared to pick me up on Saturday morning. This is the second Saturday in a row that Jared has come to pick me up from what can only be described as suspicious activity. That however, is beside the point. You must also understand that I have no qualms with stating that I conned Jared into picking me up because he is the one friend I can count on to NOT read this blog. Really I can say whatever I want about him. I'm not sure he even knows the site address. Regardless, there he was at my rescue on a sunny Saturday morning at the cross street of Gurerro and really far away. I had crashed at Sabrina's house with Gunita the night before. For those of you who have gone out with Gunita and Sabrina for an event filled night of partying in San Francisco, then you can understand why I say, "I was rescued" the next morning.

Jared told me that he would only pick me up if I went camping with him and Darren. I really needed a ride home, and after the night, Big Basin seemed like a minor pit stop along the way to my apartment. Jared tried to convince me that I could last another day and night in the clothes that I was currently wearing all so he didn't have to take me home to get my things. I helped him to understand what I might smell like the following morning and before I could finish I was on my way to my house. I took a quick shower, grabbed a sweatshirt, fleece pants, and my ipod and we were off to the store to pick up our nights food.

We went to the Castro Safeway to pick up our supplies. Every self respecting gay man knows that even if it's five miles out of the way, you still do your grocery shopping at the Castro Safeway. Darren turned into some sort of lieutenant general army man yeller type telling us all of the things that he had on his list and the best way to get them quickly and efficiently. It was Saturday, so I was hung-over. I responded, "I don't know what the hell it is you need, but I'm going to get all of the things that I need, like wine, steak, and chocolate, and then we can meet up and talk about your little list." I did what most people do when they go to the grocery store. I went to Starbucks. Jared shouted an order at me as he tore away with our shopping cart.

By the time I had actually picked up both of my coffee's I found Darren wandering down an isle. "did you get your stuff? I'm all done," he said proudly. "what? I just got my coffee?" I said in puzzlement. "I haven't started my shopping yet." Darren was beginning to realize that the cloud I was walking around in was going to slow him down. I floated to another isle. "oooh, look what I found, gummy bears." By then, the boys just pulled me out to the car. Jared said with a whimper, "will you drive?" Oh that's safe, I thought, and hopped in the front seat.

We were on our way up the 280 toward mount camping land or whatever the hell it was called. I was exhausted. Here we had a full day of shopping in the castro Safeway and now I'm expected to drive for hours and hours up the 280 which is like the worlds worst freeway. Then we pull off on some unknown highway that was discovered by the donner party on their way over to Paramount's Great America, and poof... we were at Big Basin.

Naturally, we weren't there for ten minutes before I was asked by a park ranger to "slow down." He gave me some nonsense excuse about children running in the street. I decided to mock him and drove one mile per hour to our camp site. This of course is just my opinion, but if children are stupid enough to play in the middle of the road where they see lots of cars, then they deserve to be hit. Crossing a street is like Russian Roulette for a child, this is something they must learn at an early age.

We arrived at site 126. Site 126 was basically a two foot by two foot piece of land next to a dumpster. We headed back to the ranger station some time later after scouting out all of the acceptable camping spots. We wound up at spot number 50. Totally a choice spot. We unpacked the car. I decided that if I was going to camp that I should really assert myself, so I put up the tent all by myself. This was not an easy up tent somewhat like Jared at the power exchange, this was a six pole tent. It was more like Jared in Vallejo.

I wasn't even half way finished with the tent before Jared had sparked up a doobie. I don't quite understand pot smoking. It makes me stupid, but some how Jared always gets me to do it. I took a couple of hits. Things sort of get hazy from here, but what I do remember is that I almost fell out of my chair and into the fire. Ouch, that would have hurt. Some how I managed to cook a steak and salad. I was impressed. Darren made us a good 675 smores. We all fell asleep together with chocolate in the corners of our mouths.

The boys left me with a sleeping bag that was so thin it looked like you could fold it up and put it in the pocket of your tuxedo. Darren had a luxurious air mattress and Jared had this yoga mat looking thing to go underneath his sleeping bag. I had nothing. Jared wouldn't share his pad with me. That sounds like I just got my first period. Anyway... Darren was kind enough to let me share his air mattress. I later pushed him off all together and stretched out. I find I sleep better when I stretch out anyway. Then, in the middle of the night, Jared looked at me and said, "come keep me warm, I'm cold," to which I responded, "fuck off," and promptly fell back asleep.

The next morning I slept in while the boys (Darren) made breakfast. We had chocolate chip pancakes with bacon and orange juice. It was a wonderful way to start the day. Then we packed up all of our gear and headed home Sunday morning. I almost cried when I got my cell phone signal back. It was really the same kind of thrill that you get the first time you see Disneyland from the freeway.

Darren insisted that we stop at Fry's Electronics on the way home. By the time we got home we had not only our camping gear, but a new printer, wireless key board and some other miscellaneous items. We dropped off Darren, and then Jared dropped me off. I was finally home. I left work on Friday and headed home; I didn't make it until Sunday afternoon.

Pump up the Jam

Get over it, I'm skinny. I mean it's not like I'm walking for hope or anything that serious. My stomach isn't hella big like I'm chasing a chicken around on the cover of a National Geographic; that would be ridiculous. But I'm thin. A few months ago, I was 130 lbs. and standing almost 6'1" in my lightest loafers. I had finally come to the decision that I would join a gym. I thought having an adult sized body to match my 40 year old head would be cute and might even land me a date. I didn't have any pressing obligations so I got right to work. My friend Chris had been talking about going to the gym again and wanted someone to go with him. Why shouldn't I be that someone? Chris had been going to the YMCA in the tenderloin for quite some time now and, wait, what the fuck? Back up, the tenderloin. Oh, I don't think so. "Don't listen to what people say, Michael, I know it's in a bad neighborhood but all the equipment is new." Easy for him to say, Chris has a smart little moto to get him to and fro. All I have are those loafers I mentioned earlier. Screw it, I'll go!

I was a little intimidated by going to the gym, so I figured the best option for me was to go where the people were ugly and poor. Each time I walk through the locker room I can almost feel my self esteem rising.

Chris showed me how to use each machine. He gets great pleasure at watching me make an entire machine shake as I struggle to lift 30 lbs with my legs. What are you laughing at? I haven't seen you at the gym. If I had one of those big foam fingers I would be waiving it obnoxiously in your face right now. I'm bitter, but I'm over it.

I made this, "pump up the jam" 90's dance mix to really get me going while I do my cardio. I'm like so now. I've also been drinking protein shakes twice daily. I've got so much whey protein flowing though my system that now when I fart, it smells like a perm. For those of my readers who are more masculine and have never smelled a perm, just imagine a combination of egg and chemical. It is this scent that wakes me almost every morning. I can tell that date is just around the corner.

After two full weeks of working out, and eating, and eating, and eating, and then eating some more, I thought it was time to see if I had made any progress. Unfortunately for me, I lost four pounds. Great. Now what. I guess I have to eat McDonalds for every meal and stay completely stationary for weeks at a time if I am going to gain a pound. Until then... I'm going to stick with this gym thing and see where it goes.

What's more important than my unexpected weight loss is the tragedy that happened this past weekend. Ok, so here is my public service announcement. Lock your doors, and never answer your door to anyone you don't recognize. This last Saturday around 8 in the evening my sister heard a knock at the door. My sister's boyfriend Dan went to get the door and answered it without looking to see who it was. Two black men about the age of 22 pushed him aside. They were followed by three others. Five strange men came into my sisters house. They had masks on and were reportedly carrying an AK-47 with a silencer. One of the men held my sister down on the couch and searched her for money while she cried and tried to escape. One of the other men punched Dan in the face knocking him unconscious. Fortunately this was the worst of the physical abuse. The men ran out of the house. Danielle called 911 immediately and then called me. That's really fucking scary. I'm so glad that nothing more serious happened to my sister or her boyfriend. All of that, and the men got away with thirty dollars, my sister's new laptop, and a bong. No, joke, they stole the bong.

How desperate do people have to get to break into a house, hold up two 21 year old kids only to escape with a computer, enough money for a Starubucks and a bong? These kinds of people aren't even worth thinking about; they're filth.

Just for a point of reference... my sister lives right near the Safeway on bay where the 24 hour fitness is, not exactly a rough neighborhood. These kinds of things happen everywhere, even in good neighborhoods, so keep your doors locked all the time! That's enough.

I think we just had Christmas

Have the holidays finally ended? I'm sorry to say it, but i'm so glad they're over. I'm not sure that I will fully believe the holidays are over until Monica and I shove our christmas tree out of our second story window. This holiday season really packed a punch for me. Christmas wouldn't be too hard but when Chris, Donya, Gunita, Monica, Angela, Joseph, Matt, Reza, and Jesus all have birthday's at once it makes the month little stressful. Add in 14 hour work days at the end of the quarter and you've got a big stress pie. How else would I relieve stress but by having a little party on New Years. The plan for this year was to get off of work at midnight and then head out. Luckily for me, we were out at 8:30. I had planned on going to 1015, 111 Minna, and two house parties and changed my mind at the last minute. Let's start from the begining.

As you know from previous blogs I kinda sorta go Melong's car impounded. The reprocutions of said impoundment have caused me several traumatic events and will unfold as follows:

I retrieved Melong's car from a jumk yard that reminds me of the junk yard in the animated classic, The Brave Little Toaster. Not much else was left to do but appear in court on the day stated on my ticket. 12/23/2004. What convoluded this simple rectification was a letter that arrived in the mail some time after I was pulled over. The letter states three possible solutions to my perpetration. The first is to mail in $225.00 for a fine. The second is to "fix it" if possible and mail in proof along with a $10.0 processing fee. Or, appear in court on 12/28/2004 to fight the ticket. Now I'm a bit confused. I suppose this is because my ticket was for two infractions of the law. Driving with an expired license and driving an unregistered vehicle. Ok, we all know that the vechicle was infact registered but the registration sticker was not on the license plate of the car. It was in the glove box. Thus, what I was pulled over for. That's fixable. The other part of the ticket, the misdemenor, was punishable by a court hearing and a $1,000.00 fine. So this letter made things confusing. I assumed the letter was for the registration issue on my ticket and that I still had to appear in court. So to fix the registration it was either, pay the fine, come to court and fight it, or fix it and pay ten bucks. I assumed the court date from my original ticket still held. A quick phone call to the court house could absolve my confusion. Unfortunatly I had the following converstaion.

**Warning** The conversation that follows this warning may bring you some joy, but please be fully warned that the joy you are about to indulge in would be much better if I was sitting next to you reading the blog aloud. It is for this reason that I "axe" you to humor me in reading this portion aloud like a middle aged black woman with corn chips nail tips and a surley demeanor.

Michael: "Hi, I wonder if you might be able to help me? I received a ticket for driving with an expired–"

Big Black Woman (BBW) *please bear in mind that there is no real way to tell if the woman was big, or even black, but this is how I imagine her.

BBW: (Laughing as she answers the phone) "You need to call traffic."

Michael: "Oh, well my ticket says to call the criminal division."

BBW: "What's show name?"

Michael: "Michael S. Harris, ignored star of stage and screen" (Ok, I didn't say the last part, but by now I think it goes unsaid after my full name is stated.)

BBW: "All I have is a minor in possession of illegal substance court hearing on the 28th."

Surprisingly that wasn't me, though it probably should have been.

Michael: "Oh, that's not me, mine is for driving with an expired license."

BBW: "Call traffic."

Michael: "Ok, do you have the number."

BBW: (Huffing and frustrated) "Yeah, it's five, five, fo, six, six fitty fo."

Michael: "Thanks! Have a nice day."

Ok, so I called traffic. I called traffic like four times only to find that the phone would ring and ring and then somone would pick up the phone long enough for me to hear some ambient noise, and then quickly hang up. What the fuck? I called back and was promptly hung up on again. I quickly called back Shaniqua.

Michael: "Hi, I was just talking to you and you told me that I need to call traffic for my ticket but they keep hanging up on me."

BBW: "Well then you need to keep trying."

Michael: "No, they are physically hanging up on me, I can hear them answer and then they hang up the phone."

BBW: "Maybe they busy, so keep trying." Click!

No way that bitch just hung up on me.

Michael: "Hi, you just hung up on me and I'm not sure why."

BBW: "Sir, I've toe you everything that I can. We don't have you in the system so you need to call traffic." Click!

Fuck, she did it again. Ok, now I'm getting really angry. Oh, I forgot to mention that now I"m yelling at my phone.

Boris: "Michael, calm down, what's wrong?"

Oh yeah, I was at work when I was making that call. Boris is my supervisor who sits next to me.

Michael: "This stupid bitch keeps haning up on me."

Boris: "Ok, ok, calm down, is it a customer or is it personal."

Michael: "IT'S PERSONAL!"

I called the bitch back.

Michael: "Ok, now I need your supervisors name and phone number!"

BBW: "Why's that?"

Michael: "Because you are the most unprofessional person I have ever had to deal with."

BBW: "Well I can't give you that infa-mation! I toe you what to do and you keep on being persistant and I'm afraid I have to terminate this call."

Michael: "Don't you hang up on me!"

BBW: "BYE!"

Click.

Well shit. I spent the rest of my work day trying to find a friend with connections to the mayor. I wanted to have the bitch erased but government employees are hard to extinguish.

So I showed up on my scheduled court day according to my ticket on the 23rd of December.

It was a crisp morning, the kind that chaps your hands. Let us keep in mind the importance of lotion and the benefits of being well lubricated. I arrived at 7:35 in the a.m. I was twenty-five minutes early when I headed into the court house and opened my bag for security search at the metal detectors.

A large man told me eloquently, "Building's closed, wait outside, at 8 you can come back."

Oh, ok. I went out side and took a seat on a piece of stone. It's the kind of seat you take when you look at where your are about to sit real hard and determine if you are willing to risk the seat of your pants. Like when there is only one seat left on the muni and your pretty sure it's dried paint on the seat, but it could be fresh gum. I sat anyway. Then I noticed a coffee shop over yonder.

With sixteen cop cars parked infront of me, I thought it best not to J walk across the street but to walk the length of the block, cross the street and then back down to the coffee shop. This might seem foolish, but ask Matt Larriva about spending a night in jail for J walking and you might have made the same decesion.

I got my coffee and headed back to the court house making it just in time to see that large man working the metal detector come out of the building.

"You all can come in now, but I want you to be quiet and listen up. Now I know some of you's can't speak english too good so listen up." (I've left the e in English lowercase in an effort to make a subtle point. I fear that due to my many spelling errors some may not see that so I'm pointing it out for your.)

We made two lines one infront of each metal detector and my first day at boot camp began.

"NOW LISTEN UP. AND DON'T PUT NOTHING ON THE TABLES."

A confused man asked, "Wait, can we or can't we put anything on the table?"

"DON'T PUT NOTHING ON THE TABLES."

His statement clearly didn't clear up the mistery as his use of double negatives in fact meant to put something on the table. It was at this point that my smile grew larger as he continued through his rant.

THE COURT HOUSE AT 850 BRYANT IS A BIDNESS, JUST LIKE ANY OTHER BIDNESS. THE DOORS OPEN AT 8 AND THEN YOU CAN GO ABOUT YOUR BIDNESS. NOW I WANT YOU TO LINE UP STRAIGHT, REMEMBER WHEN YOU WAS IN SECOND GRADE AN YOU LINED UP REAL STRAIGHT, DO IT NOW. OK, NOW WHEN YOU COME IN HERE AND WE TELL YOU TO WAIT OUTSIDE THAT MEANS WAIT OUTSIDE, NOT WAIT IN OUR LOBBY. YOU CAN'T GO TO THE BANK AND WAIT INSIDE UNTIL THE BANK OPENS. WHY? BECAUSE IT'S A BIDNESS AND YOU CAN'T GO ABOUT YOU BIDNESS UNTIL THEY'S OPEN."

"NOW IF YOU GOT A BELT ON , TAKE IT OFF! AND IF YOU HAVE ON STEELTOE SHOES, TAKE THEM OFF." Fortunately I wasn't wearing a belt, and something told me to leave my steel toe shoes at home this morning.

The man continued to yell at us for about 15 minutes then asked if we had any questions. Fuck no I don't have any questions. I didn't want any trouble. I passed throught the metal detector like a warm knife through butter.

Shortly after I found my self in the criminal division on the fourth floor. An old skinny black woman took the lead of the line. She had an abnormaly large ass and walking cane. When she screamed, "I'm crippled! I'm crippled," I took note and kept a comfortable distance between us. The man behind the bullet proof glass told her to take a number and wait for her hearing.

Following crack head crazy skinny woman (CHCSW) was a man, his wife, and their inter-racial children.

CHCSW: "Is those you babies?"

The man turned and noded.

CHCSW: "You got you some beautiful chidgren. Is they twins?"

The man noded again.

CHCSW: "I knew it, we have five babies in our family and two of them is twins. We got two who is paternal, and two identical. Those babies of yours sure is beautiful! They gonna bring your some beautiful gran babies."

Someone must have called her number because without a moments notice she was on her feet. She made almost a full step every minute like the time when Hsiaowen was trahsed and tried to get off a curb. All the wile the woman kept screaming, "I can't walk fast enough, I can't walk fast enough."

It was at this moment in my life that I realized that crazy seems to find me. I'm a magnent for it. A tall, devilishly handsome, magnent for crazy.

I consider all momemnts in my life like sceens in a movie. So as crazy eked her way into the court house I fantacised about how this sceen might be shot, and what shots would flatter me the most.

It was now my turn. I quickly found that a court hearing would not be held for me, and that all I had to do was pay my fine. On an additional trip to the court house on the 28th of December, when I tried to pay my fine, I was asked, "Why are you paying the fine, all you have to do is have a cop sign off stating that the registration sticker is on the license plate, pay ten dollars, and mail it in." Super.

I'm sure that the woman made some error, and while I will correct this violation, I fear that this event may come back to haunt me later in life. I can only hope she didn't make a mistake.

If she did, I plan to sue the city and everyone working in 850 Bryant. I pray that my experience with the courts of San Francisco isn't emblematic of our government in it's entirety. But I'm still afraid.

All the while it was quarter end at Macromedia and I was working very long days. Two fourteen hour days later, it was new years eve.

My cubicle was like a full service bar as my coworkers kept sneaking over for a shot. We closed our quarter with record breaking numbers.

Whoopie.

I left work, ran home, shit showered and shaved and went to a house party for new years. Chas, spun a fantastic set as always. At 10, the cops came. I was drunk by this point, and quite empowered.

"The cops are here? This is fucking ridiculous! They have to come three times before they can come in, and there is a noise ordinace of 11:00. Chas, turn it up! Fuck em!"

We drank, danced, and slurred our words as the New Year rang in. It was at this point that Jared mentioned an a gay party that he new of. Drunken Reza was hailing a cab before Jared finsihed his sentance and we were off to party with the gays. I hate these kind of parties. They usually consist of obnoxious gay teens who are all dancing to crap music and looking for a cheap hook up. Homie don't play that. Five minutes after we entered the party, I had a bitch fit.

Michael: "Jared, this is unacceptable."
Jared: "Do you want to go?"
Reza: "Where are we going to go?"
Michael: "I don't care, but I will not stay here, we need to leave now!"
Jared: "Power exchange?"

Swell. What better way to ring in the new year than with a case of VD. I went along to supervise the boys knowing I was about to throw an even bigger fit.

We got to the Power Exchange only to find a large line. I approached the bouncer.

Michael: "Hi, how much is it to get in?"
Bouncer: "It's fifty dollars tonight sir."
Michael: "I will not pay that."

Clearly he didn't recognize me.

Bouncer: "Then you wont come in."

I turned to the boys. "I'm not paying to get in; I shouldn't have to pay to get in."

Jared suggested that we go in and try to negotiate with the person inside. The bouncer checked our ID's and we went inside. Jared asked the guy working the cost and he quoted us the same price. I stepped up and said, "We will not pay that to get in, how much is it?"

So we left the power exchange and tried to get a taxi. We couldn't. Then I noticed a damsel up the road, all dressed up, with a taxi right in front of her. I ran over. I asked her if she was going near the richmond district and she said that she was headed home to Marin. Perfect, I said, that's right on the way. We all got in together. It was at this point I flipped the switch to my crazy magnent.

The woman sitting next to me, who's name I will not say to protect her anonimity and because I forgot, looked like some sort of large black fuzzy cotton ball. She had on all this black fake furry stuff and she had so much black hair that she was like this big coco-puff with a face. She had a deep voice and kept talking about her horses that she needed to feed in San Rafael where she has lived most of her life. We wondered why she was alone at the power exchange on new years and she wondered why we hadn't brought women with us. "Next time, bring a girl, and you'll get in for cheaper." Um, no thanks.

I asked fuzzy puff how old she was. I was astonished when she said forty. She took that as a complement but really it was because I thought she was older. She replied in a deep raspy manish voice, "It's my Greek genes, it's my Greek genes." At this point I didn't care who made her jeans, all I could focus on were her black die-ables shoes that had to go. We got out of the cab handed her some money and headed for Jared's house. As the cab pulled away Jared laughed, "I told her that we gave her 12 dollars, but really it was only 9." Not only was she alone at the power exchange on new years with only a couple of horses to welcome her back at home, but now she was short changed, and still wearing those God awful shoes.

After rereading my little tale I can't seem to find the words to draw a conclusion to my final days in 2004. Almost any Jerry Springer final thought would do it really, but at this point, I can only forget my past an look forward to 2005.