Being here makes me feel like I am somehow flawed because I don't have an apartment with hardwood floors, a kitchen stocked with merchandise from Williams-Sonoma and a palm pilot. Also I did not bring my shoes made by Camper, purchased here, which alienates me even more. And on top of that I don't even own a denim pea coat. What a loser.

This feeling of being improperly outfitted and unequipped is not a memory of San Francisco that has lingered since my departure but this visit has reminded me all about it.

I never sound happy do I? Well truth be told I am content a large portion of the time, my interest is easily piqued and I don't have any severe feelings of depression (anymore.) Its only that I have a tendency to report what I notice to be negative rather positive. Positive experiences seem to be aplenty and not very unique in variance.

Something worth noting from last night: I was a big hit on the gender bender scene. Apparently I was hit on by the cutest lesbian in the greater Castro-Noe Valley area, according to my companions anyway. I didn't think she was hitting on me, I thought she just liked my necklace. I was told that I was probably naive to the courting practices of this particular section of society and that I have not been properly trained so that I might recognize when I am being hit on. I think that is true in general, I am so accustomed to not being hit on that when I am, I am slow to recognize it.

After I left said companions around 12am I went to meet other friends at Fulton Street an alleged punk rock bar. The punk rock theme is loosely emphasized at this bar but I have always entertained the notion for the sake of keeping peace. I think its pretty hard to be punk in a city with such high rent. Instead of using the term punk they should say it is a liberal rock bar. Liberal is definately more accurate.

Good old Fergus, my arch nemesis, was there, of course tauting me about my low self-esteem just like old times. Secretly, I beleive this is done lovingly and to point out that that my self-hatred is (arguably) ridiculous. We commemorated the evening by knocking over our table and chairs and the table and chairs next to ours. I was supposed to steal some auto part that was nailed to the wall but stealing is not my style and besides the bartender kept watching me.

As we walked back to the car Fergus and I tagged some metal surfaces with actual paint, he with an actual insignia of sorts and me with bubble letters spelling out the name "Molly B." Both Fergus and Brian, two who are reluctant to give congratulations or compliments, commented on my apt tagging style. Later Nat and I had a sword fight with some wooden stakes "borrowed" from a construction site. I accidently smashed his fingers a little bit but he wasn't made he just said simply that he had expected it to happen.

It was these events that reminded what I miss most about this god-forsaken metropolis. All in all the evening was a San Franciscan success. I cannot complain there, in fact the earlier complaints are mostly the result of being left alone all day.

01 September 2002 - 6:35 PM

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