San Francisco WHAT THE HELL. I always have the weirdest time there. Last time I was there was terrible but oddly fascinating. There is something about that place, like I love everyone I see and there is sex pouring out of the streets or something. That probably sounds CRAZY if you live there, but I don’t care. Better sex coming out of the streets than ennui or purple or golf clubs, I imagine.

I stayed with Squid who edited the book I was reading from. I think I read like a drunken wombat on speed, but at least my shirt didn’t come crawling off like I dreamed and people clapped politely at the end. And now I can say I have read in public. I wanted to continue the night of firsts by singing at the piano bar across the street afterwards, and mangled Frim Fram Sauce to the point of insanity. FUCK IT. The good news is that the editors raised a bunch of moneys and sold a bunch of books.

I got to the airport at 10:30 Friday morning, and didn’t get to where I was going until 7:40, twenty minutes until I was supposed to read. The shuttle driver was going in circles and asking the passengers for directions, which is only hilarz when it’s not happening to you.

One of my editors stuck a beer in my hand when I got there, so that helped. The proprietor of Chucklehut came up and talked with me, which was thrilling. I love to meet dorks with the same habit as me, because it makes me feel comfortable immediately.

Laurie Toby Edison popped up, which made me want to dance around like an incontinent golden retriever. Lunch plans were made. I saw Liz Henry loads, too. In fact, I was kind of out of it on Saturday and so it was a pleasant surprise when Squid dropped me off at Liz’s house, so I could observe the shy and docile Lizard Henrii in her natural environment. And yers, her bookshelves could WAI beat up my bookshelves. Feminist theory up the ass, graphic novels, poetry, cute kids, and sexy cats. Even Liz’s CATS are sexy, because they are San Fransisco cats. I wanted to stay there and patronize her library for weeks. Liz’s house is my new fantasy destination for when I want to run away from home, which is replacing Bisbee after about ten years.

The childrens were watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang which was awesomely horrifying. I can’t believe I have never seen it. That scene, where the king is trying to kill his wife and she’s all Bavarian Bondage Barbie…what is that, people? Part of me wanted to recoil in wtf and part of me wanted to fap, which is my favorite feeling. Liz bought me a mink clippy with a missing eye, and I promised to modify it to have a red laser eye of death. PHEAR Minky the Death Mink. As we were leaving the thrift store, Liz clipped the mink to my butt, to the amusement of passersby. I had been in California for less than a day and was already becoming a furry.

Later Squid and I picked up Laurie and went to lunch at the Ferry Building. I told Laurie that I had had a “playdate” with Liz earlier that day, and she snapped right back, “I was wondering why you were looking so radiant when you picked me up.” WHOOPS. Not that kind of playdate. Thus I am reminded what happens when you use the term “Liz” and “playdate” in the same sentence. That’ll teach me to be innocuously tongue-in-cheek. The next time I see Laurie I told her we had to have oysters together, as the line at the FB was too long. I came away from there with a jar of truffle honey, which is best idea ever…or not. Stay tuned!

So it was good. I’m really glad I got away. I am looking forward to going back there for Blogher. And now after talking musics last night I am on an Atmosphere bender, which I almost always am when I travel anyhow. While hunting for dinner tonight, it was discovered when all the leftovers were pulled out that they were ALL CHICKEN. What the hell, I say. Back to the grind, alas. Five sad leftover chicken dishes is a good way to remind you that you are back in the grind. I am having a PB and J.

pictures when I am less lazy (tomorrow).