Coming down off the sulking high (read: low) Friday morning, I reacquainted myself with the illness of the beginning of the month. Joy. This time, I had to actually venture into the HMO o’ Doom to retrieve antibiotics. I had worked myself up into such a state that by the time my NP saw me, she was more worried about my heart rate than the infection.

I’m somewhat concerned that the pharmacy peeps know me now by sight. They seem to get a special kick out of greeting me loudly with the name of my utterly uncomfortable condition.

By the time I drove into the City that night, I was on the verge of tears, and for more reasons than physical ones. It’s convenient to say it’s “that time of the month” but really it’s just me and my various issues and a whole hell of a lot of being down on myself. When the MSG greeted me, I was just about ready to burst. And then it was just all quiet, and we walked to our neighborhood bar and talked and had a snack and eased into the weekend time.

Typhoon averted.

Saturday morning we had a lot of grand plans but slept in because I was feeling so icky. We did make it to the farmer’s market briefly, but not before stopping at a gas station to refill one of my (almost brand-new) tires, which was nearly flat. We rushed over to the 4th Bi-Annual Emperor Norton North Beach Open, meeting up with John and his neat friends Bart and Liz, as well as Andrew, who had thoughtfully purchased us a golf club at Goodwill.

Words will not do urban golf justice. The concept is thus: nine holes are set up throughout North Beach, and in between each one is a bar. You buy a ticket, which gets you a squishy neon-colored ball, and your team gets to putt, then drink. There were so many friendly, freaky people there that I felt right at home, and had a wonderful time. We made it through three holes – not the first three, since the MSG and I were a bit late – before stopping for food, and then met up with part of our team at the last hole. They were all quite righteously smashed. It was a terrific way to spend a Saturday afternoon, and I don’t even like miniature golf. (Photographic evidence, not by me, is located here, and more links to photos are on

After that was all done, we headed over to Pooh’s for homemade curry. It was delicious, and the conversation was interesting, but I was quite exhausted and starting to feel sick again, so we left around 22:00 to curl up with a movie, “The Big Empty”, which I highly recommend. It’s pretty dark and magnificently written, reminiscent of Mamet at his best.

Sunday we had a lazy start, and then went to Boogaloo’s for brunch, where I was delighted to run into Paul, brunching with some folks from a party the night before. The MSG and I ran some errands and then went home to make dinner, Pernod chicken breast and corrupted mashed potatoes. They started out as dirty mashed potatoes, and then naughty, and now the recipe is just downright corrupted. It involves caramelized onions and uncured bacon and spice-riffing. So very good. We watched “Northfork” while cooking – another excellent film from the Polish brothers, dark and dreamlike and evocative. I danced a reel around the MSG in his kitchen out of sheer happiness, and I don’t even know any reels.

Right now, a small tortoiseshell cat is begging for attention, and I have fluids to chug before sleep. I am listening to the sounds of the 101 as the spring air slips through my open window and battles with the spaceheater. I sense I should be feeling sick, but instead I just feel like smiling.

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I acknowledge that I live and work on stolen Cowlitz, Clackamas, Atfalati, and Kalapuya land.
I give respect and reverence to those who came before me.