Or, “What I Did on My Summer Vacation.”

Yo, homies. I am in San Francisco with Supa, and am experiencing technical difficulties. I have my grandma’s inner ear issues (I stole them from her one day when she was watching her stories) and flying really makes me all cattywampus. It just hit today. I get that feeling you get when, OOPS, you’ve had one martini too many, and then you realized you smoked about 16 cigarettes in a three-hour period.

You step back and go oh, shit, the spins are gonna visit me any second. But then they don’t. I’m teetering on the edge of that. I mooched off the Vicodin Fairy, so I should be good to go in about ten minutes. It was suggested that I take all my Dramamine all at once, but I don’t want my vagina to gain the power of speech and start talking to me. “I would like an eclair,” Vagina declared.

Also, like the jackass fishbelly-white girl that I am, I went out in the sun without enough coverage and got fucking fried. Thanks so much, Irish Forefathers. Yes, San Franciscan Clever Street Vagabonds, I know my face matches my hair. But does my foot fit in your butt?

I didn’t bring sunblock, because, you know, there’s no sun in California? Or something? And now I am sad to lose my glowy white skin. I’m not all Aryan Nation or anything. I just don’t like it when I’m skin damaged. I don’t want to look like an alligator bag when I’m 40. Or have my nose carved up and reshaped like my grandpa’s.

Speaking of fitting things in your butt, I went to the leather daddy festival today. Never have I been surrounded by so many men who were so completely disinterested in me. I am not saying that I’m a hott tamale, but if there are that many millions of men, at least one will hit on me. Nothing. It was awesome. The crowd was tight. Now I know what sperm must feel like. And DOOOD there was a metric buttload of unfurled dickums there. Supa succeeded in showing me something I would never see in Seattle. Something she might call “totally unique.”

I will write about the conference when I get back tomorrow. And if you’re all like WTF, what conference, then don’t worry because I’ll tell you. I want to give it the full 10% of my brain. You may rest assured that I talked about my snack trap all weekend, and was given snaps for it. I was on analog all weekend–I only had a pad of paper and a pen. It turns out you can’t link something on paper, poke it with your pen, and have it automatically flip to the Lindsay Lohan “Big Ol Titties” song. Oh technology, you are my lord and master. I embrace you. Analog Is Shit Ass For Suckers.