Girls! Girls! Girls!

First, let's talk about Freitag, y'all... There was a beer bash at work for the last couple of hours, but I skipped it, as I had some actual work I wanted to knock out before leaving for the weekend. So I did. I did not, however, skip Drinktrain. Basically, drinktrain is an ad hoc drink fiesta every Friday on Caltrain from Mountain View to San Francisco. My employer has a shuttle bus they hire out every weekday to ferry passengers from the Caltrain station in Mountain View to Cupertino in the mornings, then from campus back to the Caltrain station in the afternoons. On the last day of the week, the Drinktrainians throw some sort of theme party where everyone brings alcohol and snacks, then proceed to quaff beverages on the one hour train up to the city. The Caltrain conductors are totally down with DrinkTrain, as the Drinktrainians always make it a point to clean up after themselves once the train hits the 22nd and Mission Street station, so DrinkTrain is low-impact, maintenance-wise.

Anyway, this past Friday's DrinkTrain theme was "Ostentatious Train". Those who were so inclined dressed up in tuxedos and formal gowns. I wore a formal sweatshirt with formal shorts and my awesome-o 3000 formal Salomon Techamphibian shoes. Not formal? Whatevs! They're FRIGGIN' WATERPROOF! Waterproof trumps cufflink compatibility every day of the week. Even Tuesdays. For real.

So, yeah. What was I saying? Oh, right; my coworker who takes the train to SF on the weekends to see his girlfriend is a part of the DrinkTrain crowd, so he introduced me to them. Now, I'm not sure if I'll get drunk every Friday on the train, but at least it's an option at this point.

The rest of Friday was low-key. Oh wait, my bad; actually, it wasn't. Sort of. See, my friend ${oldCollegeGirlfriend} was working in the city this week (she lives in Chicago these days, so her being in SF is relatively rare), so we met for dinner and drinks at my friend Erin's apartment, where I was staying. Then we walked down to the most excellent Thai restaurant in San Francisco. Now, my good buddy (by which I mean, "some bitch who threatens to kill me") Violet Blue thinks that Thep Phenom is the best Thai restaurant in the city, but, and I'm going to be brutally frank here, that cunt is full of shit. Then again, you can't expect good restaurant suggestions from someone who used to live on the street after they ran away from their abusive parents. Or step-parents. Whatever. Those morons have resorted to digging into dumpsters for food; what possible amount of good taste could they possibly maintain?

Anyway, ${oldCollegeGirlfriend} and I ate some tasty food, had some tasty beverages, then walked up to Market Street and took the F line to Motherfuckin' Fisherman's Wharf. I'm not sure why, but it was her idea. Then maybe we sat in a park under Ghiradelli Square, where maybe we made out. And maybe some other stuff. Maybe.

And then she had to go back to her hotel. Maybe I went with her. Maybe I didn't. A gentleman never tells!

Now, fuck a whole bunch of Friday, let's talk about Saturday, y'all! So, Saturday, I slept 'til around 9am, wandered back to the apartment, still crusty and dazed, where it was Motherfuckin' Wake'n'Bake time. Who am I to deny it?

Then in the afternoon, I went out to meet friends both local and foreign at Tres Agaves. I drank beer. I drank tequila. I ate pork. All of these things were pretty good. Then it was time to watch ${cookingGeniusFriend} cook dinner, which lasted from around 4:00pm until a little after midnight. All was delicious. Then we went to Zeitgeist.

Now, at Zeitgeist, Saturday nights are pretty insanely packed, so I was pleasantly surprised when Mark, Matt, Jami, Josh, and Leslie and I found a table in the biergarten area (where you can smoke), which we shared with a trio of 21-22 year old girls, who were celebrating a recent birthday.

I was seated next to a scrawny (but well-bosomed, surprisingly enough) little malcontent of a girl named Aleisha. 22 Year Old MNS would have happily tagged it. From the back, even. 36 Year Old MNS is old enough to be her father, though, so when she put her hand on my leg under the table, I politely moved away. Well, not too far away, but, well, yeah. You know. Aleisha moved over to the other side of the table so that she and her drunken friends could take a picture of themselves, but that didn't work out so well, so she asked me to take the picture for them, which I did. She then climbed over the table to sit on my lap, insisting that her friends take a picture of her with me.

These sort of hijinx carried on until last friggin' call. I am, after all, a man of little will power where "turning down ass" is concerned. Oh well. In Raleigh, the beard kept most of them away. Strangely, it seems to be some sort of aphrodisiac in the Bay Area. Either that, or my chiselled good looks and awe-inspiring self-confidence is running my mojo production facilities these days. One or the other.

Anyway, I've got a number and an address, both in Dublin, CA, which I will never call, sitting right here in my sweatshirt pocket! BOOYAA! If nothing else, ego boosts are always nice. Her breasts were pretty nice, too. Man, it'd been a while since I'd seen such a firm, young example of what those things feel like when they're firm and young. Allahu ackbar.

Sunday, I went to dinner with Erin, Matt, Matt's girlfriend Amy, and Amy's roommate Muriel. Mmmmm, Muriel. Amy has taken on the task of fixing me up with one of her friends, which I'm fine with. If it works, it works. If not, there's always some touched-junk bar trash out there in the courtyard of some bar, just waiting for me to be the Loving Father They Never Had As A Child, only with a wiener! Well, OK; actually, most of them probably had that kind of love from their father, anyway. I mean, why else would they have moved to San Francisco in the first place, right?

I am man. I am predator. I kill prey. These are statements which define me; they define my actions, they define my nature. I'm cool with that. I just want my wiener to be touched with a higher frequency, is all. Nahmean? And now, let us all rise for the benediction:

Homeless Woman: mumble mumble mumble
mns: I can't hear you, I have headphones on.
Homeless Woman: WELL, TAKE THEM OFF!
mns: I still can't hear you, you'll notice I still have my headphones on.
Homeless Woman: [mouths the words "take them off"]
mns: I still can't hear you, but I'm pretty sure you told me to take my headphones off. I am not going to do that, as it seems pretty unlikely that you have anything to say that I'd be interested in. If I'm on fire or something, though, you should yell and wave your arms. I'm guessing you just want money.
Homeless Woman: mumble mumble mumble
mns: Can't hear you, headphones.

You may be seated. Yes, I may be wrong about where a benediction goes in a diary. Maybe it goes at the start. You know what? The cool kids don't know that shit. You do the math.

Anyway, Praise Jebus for homeless people. I mean, if it weren't for homeless people, we'd all have to play rude verbal semantic games with each other, and, well, nobody wants that, now, do they?

Hey Druisan...

I saw you making that allegation about me! Cam wrote that story, motherfucker! You say you're sorry to him right now! I'm entirely too busy to be writing fiction right now. BUSY KEEPIN' IT REAL! That, and the fact that I'm decidedly not down with fiction. Real life is plenty interesting enough, thanks much. Though I must admit, Cam's neutron cat story was pretty awesome, for being fictional and all.

Two Other Things

Saturday, I was reminded that GROUPTHINK is in full effect in the Bay Area. Conversation with the group-at-large went the predictable direction of bemoaning how America is Totally Fascist. They never expected my counterattack, and not a single person among them could come up with 1) proof that fascism is bad, and 2) proof that our "representative democracy" has been shut down in favor of a pro-fascist system. I have a simple rule I try to follow; if you don't know what the fuck you're talking about, save yourself some humiliation and stop talking about it.

The other thing is this: Everyone knows Cory Doctorow is a dipshit. It's an undisputed fact. Everyone also knows he's a total Disneyphiliac. It is reasonable, then, to assume that all Disneyphiliacs are dipshits, but to make that assumption would be to miss out on the Sheer Awesomeness of Boyd Rice's Total War video. That's one you motherfuckers owe me.

And now I close with a "you're welcome". The part below is where you thank me for writing this Document d'Awesomeness.