Dear Nate,
As I am typing, there is an office flair fight going on right before my eyes. Let me lay it out for you:

Team Super Hero: You've heard about him often but I might as well give a few details. Mr. Bottle cap glasses, side slung fanny pack (right at the natural waist of course), pleated pant wearing IT man loves figurines. And I mean, loves them. He's got a perfectly ordered row of Lego men, police, Captain America, Tick, that guy who's made of Rock, Hulk, and Wolverine figurines. Behind him sits large and menacing Hulk and Tick guys on his file cabinet with that Star Wars robot R10D10, or whatever his name is (Because what would this fight be without a Star Wars robot?).

Now, to our left.

Team Super Canada: I haven't seen him yet but I assume he is dressed like a Mountie, but that's just a hunch. Anywhoo, he's waving his Canada flag with pride and has taped postcards containing pictures of all not-to-be missed Canadian highlights. You know, totem poles, moose, and of course, mounties in their oh-so chic red uniforms (When are our cops going to learn? Red riding pants are much more intimidating...).

OK, so here's what's happened so far: I first noticed the brawl because FannyPack Man (For the protection of pencils, wallets, keys and more!) walked by Mr. Mountie's desk and eyed it for a few seconds. You could feel the stealing of thunder. FannyPack Man grazed one of the postcards, guffawed and moved on.
Hours later, I noticed the usually meticulous row of action heroes was in disarray. Pilgrim lego lady was leaned over in a "I'm about to be sick" manner, the tick was face down (he must have been flicked) and Marvin the Martian was missing from sight. What happened to the Super Forces that be?
Coincidence, you say? I think not.
That Mr. Mountie is certainly stealth, I'll give him that.
Will FannyPack Man, the protector of keys, wallets and small plastic men fight back?
More to come as this serious battle for top flair continues...

What a weekend

Dear Erin,

What a weekend. If the video doesn't say it all, I have no idea what will.

In the beginning

I took it completely Yahtzee beginning last Wednesday at 1 p.m. After a lunch consisting of dirty bar food and several pitchers (at Knuckle's in Fisherman's Warf), I was officially ready for the weekend. Yes, I said, "The weekend (obviously starting on Wednesday afternoon)."

Wednesday evening found two compatriots and myself at Green's on Green Street (go figure). Our boy Serge was not around, but Rich had no issues razzing my ex-coworker dubbing her "Balboa" after she requested an application for employment at Green's...obviously not her shiniest moment, but let's be realistic: when you're unemployed, drinking beers and shots of tequila on a Wednesday night in an empty sports bar, there's not a whole lot that isn't shinier than you.

Then there were two + two (and the second two weren't worth it)

After Balboa left us -me and a close friend and fellow resident of the Polk 'Hood Outskirts- found ourselves at another watering hole on a path that led (get this) away from our houses. IT'S STILL WEDNESDAY. After an exchange of words between this friend and the owner of the bar about a previous run-in with one of the bartenders, we were drinking pints once again (we make friends everywhere we go).

Three sheets is an understatement. A SERIOUS understatement. I can't remember the last time I turned down any drink, let alone a beer (true story). This night I did. I had to. I didn't feel sick or like I was going to fall down, but the beer just wouldn't make it into my gullet. No matter how hard we tried, it just wasn't going down. We thought, "Maybe it's the glass. Maybe the glass is broken and that's why it's not going down." Nope.

We thought, "Maybe it's the beer."

"Hey, we need some new beer over here!"

That wasn't it either. Then I realized what it was. I must have some sort of radar that keeps me from drinking when someone I know (including myself) is about to make a mistake. Yep. In hindsight, that's it. My teammate was talking to some unfortunate looking women with bad attitudes and I had somehow found my way (been dragged into) the conversation. Now, due to a mechanism I didn't even know existed, my body (or God) was not allowing me to drink one more drop for fear that something horrible may happen. What an amazing trick. It's like a safety breaker for anyone that I care about.

After attempting to coax several drinks out of my amigo, one of the Sirens' rides appeared. D-bag to the T. An overweight, white-oxford clad cliche who pulled up, right in front of the bar, in a black, late-90's BMW X5. Sure, it probably drives better than my ride, a 1994 MUNI bus liner, but seriously. I think I need to reiterate: IT'S WEDNESDAY.

Using my powers of persuasion (amplified due to my current state of inebriation) I convinced my walking partner to depart the classy, wood-panel clad public in retreat to our respective homes. With a few side-comments (those of which I wholeheartedly believe still haven't set in) made to each of the three patrons we were leaving, we made our ways home. The wrath of Thursday to come tomorrow.

-n

My week in BIRDS:

Sunday:
The birds do not rest on Sunday. While walking to breakfast, I saw them. The tiny little black devil birds; while, they may be small in stature, they are BIG on evil tendencies. An older, balding man was walking in front of Charlotte and I when one of them suicide-dove from the telephone wire into his head. I immediately turned Charlotte into a human shield and watched from behind her shoulder as he did a couple double-takes from the cement to the sky, rubbed his head and then screamed at the bird, "Asshole!"
As I ran past him, for my dear life (of course), I made sure to agree with him, birds are assholes.

Monday-Tuesday:
Slow bird days.

Wednesday:
A skinny, scrawny, scary pigeon followed me for a full block. You know the kind I'm talking about, the ones that really look like rats. The ones who look like they haven't had a scrap of food, ever. I was convinced it was following me, because it was hungry, and I was to be it's next meal. I've never walked so quickly to work. I actually got to work on time. Hmmm...now that I'm thinking about it...you think Gap was involved in that?

Thursday:
Nasty rat-birds hanging outside my apartment, nothing out of the ordinary.

Friday:
Well, this morning was lovely.
A few minutes before my alarm went off, I thought I was going to die.
Half-asleep, half-awake, half-dreaming, I felt my bed do a little jump (or was that my body?) as two sets of bird legs pounded onto the one-inch visible section of my skylight. In my "they can probably break through the window" daze, I did a quick drop and roll (aka roll over in terror and fall) into the crevice between my bed and my drawers. Sideways. You should have seen me try and get out of that one. Let's just say...I can't think on my side. I was flailing around like a parrot in a cage (funny to compare myself to a bird, in this moment), while still watching what those feet would do next.
Needless to say, I hurt my shoulder, fell hard, shimmied out of the awkward position I put myself in and got ready in the bathroom.
As I was leaving my apartment, safe from the bird feet, I finally paused on the stairs and got to laugh. Because I'm sure if you saw me fall out of my bed into a 8-inch crevice, you would have laughed at me so since it was just me; I had a good, long laugh... at myself.
Those STUPID birds.

Remember my Karaoke Kutie, Kenny? (Forced alliterations are still a beautiful thing)
A little refresher: He's the lovely bottle cap glasses-wearing crooner that performs on one-car trains. His favorites? He loves Alicia Keyes and, while it doesn't need to be said, he REALLY loves himself some MJ (That's Jackson, if you're nasty).
Anywhoo, there he was again today, on my train, sitting a few rows ahead of me. He had his weather appropriate huge sunglasses on, a backwards hat and a bright green cut-off shirt. And what was he drinking? Why, a sippy cup full of chocolate milk, of course; which he was so graciously offering to those around him. He had his white boom box but singing was the last thing on his mind. He was to busy reaching into his knapsack and showing off his many libations. Gatorade, Coke and of course, more mmm, mmm, yum, chocolate milk. But as funny as a grown man drinking chocolate milk out of a sippy cup with bottle cap sunglasses on is; that's really not the point of this story. I know it's taking a long time to get the point (I am a rambler), but it's a hard point for me to get to.
As he was zipping up his backpack, he looked up spotted me, wiggled his fingers and yelled out in his lovely little nasally voice, "Hi Erin..."
After getting over the initial shock that he remembered my name, I smiled, focused for a second and noticed something that was all too serendipitous. At that moment, I knew how much I was going to hate telling you and how much you were going to love knowing it. The crazy crooner, famous for his one-car sing-alongs, well, (deep breath) he was wearing an Oregon shirt.*

Side note: I stick by my Ducks and the fact that I went to an accredited Journalism school. Some disloyal dumbie dropped that shirt at the Goodwill and Kenny just happened to find it. He has no association with my Alma-mater. Got it?

Apparently, everyone is thinking about their jobs and how to make them better. Today a stranger dropped a pearl of wisdom right in my lap. I was on a one-car train, so this is really my fault, because we all know a one-car train is just a glorified short bus. But anyways, this man, probably in his late 50s, wearing pleated khakis (so you know he knows what's up), spotted me in the crowd and walked towards me. We exchanged smiles (crap!) and then, I didn't see his face again because he reached up and grabbed the bar above my head and instantly became, just an armpit. So now we'll call him Mr. Armpit. So the voice behind the armpit says, "Expecting a long day?" I tell him that I'm sure it won't be too bad; I'm just glad it's Friday. Then Mr. Armpit drops it on me: "You know, when my days start to get monotonous, as most of our jobs tend to do, I like to do something to spice up my world a little bit." Ok, now I was intrigued. It's not everyday that an armpit in pleated khakis makes an effort to 'spice' up his life. So I ask, "Like what?" And boy, did he have an answer. "Well, at the end of a long day, I like to take the train to Ocean Beach. I like to go there and feel the wind on my face and just think about life. And you know what I do next? I take one of those sand dunes and I move it to another location. I pick up all the sand and move it somewhere else. And then you know what I feel? I feel like I've changed the world. And I feel better. Because you know without me, those sand dunes would just stay the same."
At that moment, as fate would have it, his stop arrived, so he turned back and said, "Now you go out and change the world, you can do it. I can see it in your eyes."
Thank you, Mr. Armpit, thank you.

Yesterday someone asked me if you were cool. Not just any somebody. The guy working at Supercuts. He seemed very interested. It's also important to note that three days earlier, I was walking home from the Easy Freezy and he was perched inside the display case, staring into space, on all fours, like a frog. He wasn't displaying a thing, just; you know, surveying the action. But anywhoo, when I was buying your hair stuff, he picked it up and said, "a hair stick for cool people? He must be a really cool person." I tried not to make too much contact (you know, obviously the freak flag was flying), laughed and nodded my head. But, no way was he going to be deterred, so he kept going. "Well what makes him cool? What are the qualities that make him so cool you would buy this for him?" I replied with a few 'I don't knows' (I didn't write the flipping advertising!) but he wasn't having it, he kept on probing. So finally, I gave up and left him standing there, mouth a gape, with this little pearl of wisdom, "He never asks people if he's cool." I probably can't go back there for a little while.

My day so far: IT has been here for about an hour, trying to fix the newest problem in a long string of mini-disasters, with my computer. So I'm on another computer, watching them and laughing. This is a pretty accurate depiction of what is occuring:

http://www.truveo.com/Zoolander-In-the-Computer/id/3405265599