Last weekend, my beloved and I flew to Florida to visit my mother and step-father. We were excited to fly Delta after a number of really frustrating recent trips on United.

We had a good trip, we made it to and from safely, and we were happy to have a more pleasant experience with an airline.

HOWEVER, it seems that no matter what airline you fly, you have to contend with flying with the general population (general pop).

For a large percentage of the population, flying seems to be a feat for which no amount of training or preparation will suffice. I will now make a numbered list of the many ridiculous things I witness generally, as phenomena, and specific ridiculous things I saw/heard while flying last weekend.

1. Standing up and crowding the gate when it's time to board, even if your zone won't be called for another 20 minutes. Now, I have to disclose that I also used to do this. My beau calmly explained to me that it actually slows the boarding process down when you stand up at the gate and make it difficult for passengers to board. It's true - I see it now.

When we got to the San Francisco airport last Saturday (at 5:00 AM), we went to a coffee stand that was conveniently located next to our gate. I tried to figure out where the end of the line for the coffee stand was. I gently tapped the woman closest to me on the shoulder and asked her if she was in line for coffee. She turned to me and, with a look of defiance mixed with a dash of anxiety, told me that she was in Zone 2. Uh huh. She was not even in the coffee line. As a result, we had to form the coffee line around this woman.

2. Getting to your seat. I know it's a tough one. You've decided to carry your suitcase on because if you checked it, you'd have to wait an extra 10 minutes to claim your baggage on the other end. Well, it turns out that you also have a purse, you weigh 105 pounds, you're a southern gal, and you like to depend on men to do things that are too hard for you to do on your own. So, your seat is in row 10, but all of the overhead storage area has been taken because there are 50 other people on the plane just like you. " I'm too busy to claim my luggage. I have important life-saving work to do."

You walk up the aisle with all of the people who are actually seated in the back of the plane, and then you half-try to put your suitcase overhead. You kind of giggle and look around, pretending once again to make an attempt to put your suitcase overhead. Finally, a nice gentleman puts your suitcase up for you, and you make your way against the tide back down to your seat in row 10. Don't worry: I'm sure that won't slow boarding down even more.

Nice frosted pink lipstick, by the way.

3. The person who drinks 1 gallon of water and four lattes before she gets on the plane and has the window seat. That's actually me. I always feel so terrible waking the person up who has the aisle seat. If it's you, on behalf of all of us with hamster bladders, I apologize.

4. There's a baby on the plane. 'Nuf said.

5. The two people behind you who don't know each other, but want to get to know one another over the course of the flight. It may seem interesting to you and your new friend that your new granddaughter was born (CAN YOU BELIEVE IT???) during the same month as your new friend's, but typically, the people in front of you do not. Keep your friendliness and good cheer in your row please. The rest of us are trying to watch Mamma Mia.

6. The guy from south Georgia eating a burrito in the airport, talking with his mouth full and asking his friend if he's seen "Beverly Hills Chihuahua." Please, just don't.

I'm excited that in just over one month, we'll be back on a plane heading to Boston. If you're on American Airlines flight 1290 from SFO to Boston, please review this and information and behave accordingly.

I've been MIA for a while now, largely because I haven't had a whole lot going on, what with the layoff in June. I like to say that I got fired for being a loose cannon, but we all know I'm not much of a loose cannon. Nope, just some budget cuts.

Largely my days consist of drinking coffee, going to the gym, and...not much else. That's not true. Dotted throughout the weeks are daytime adventures with Amy and lunch or coffee with the my old co-workers. I guess since I'm not working there anymore, I can just call them my friends.

In addition to my total lack of exciting stories, I was also the victim of a crime that can only be described as being married to someone who works for Apple who doesn't own a functioning computer. Our old one died, and so I've been doing my internet research and email on my iPhone. It's been a real hardship. Anyway, I got a new laptop (MacBook), and things are looking up. I like the iChat video feature, and I think that once Ryan gets used to me breaking into his work day with a video chat, he will too.

Emily Dunbar-style list:

Good things include:
- new computer
- being back on Google Chat and being back in contact with the Somervillians
- dog sitting Amy and Brent's dog, Tzunami. I like to put her in clothes. It's weird.
- recent trip to Reno to volunteer for Obama.
- the bar called Slidin' Clyde's in Stagecoach, NV
- Harvey and Ryan
- the prospect of an East coast visit for the holidays
- Thanksgiving in Seattle
- the fall, even though there are no leaves to turn
- new Nick Hornby book, "Slam"
- some recent nesting
- spraying Ruby with the water gun when she gets up on the railing of the porch
- cake (not a new one, but always a favorite)
- recent running routine

Not such great things include:
- not being able to use my kitchen sink because it floods the basement of my building (this is day two of said hardship. add it to the list, my friends)
- having the excuse of the sink to go on a date with Ryan
- Ruby is driving me crazy, and Ryan says that I need to cut down on the negative attention
- a recent waxing debacle
- more parking tickets
- missing New England and the people I like there
- still no job

I think that's all, my dear readers.

Jess was visiting us a few weeks back, and she and I were in Chinatown for an improv show. We were crossing the street just as a man in a sweet ass '87 Buick was driving up the street. He whistled or said something regarding our womanly attributes, and so I said "really?" I am really tired of being harassed on the street, and I always find it baffling that men "cat call," if you will, after me. That's not me having low self esteem or being self-deprecating, it's me acknowledging that I don't exactly dress in a particularly provocative way.

So, I said it: "really," as in, "very original, sweet car, you're an idiot," etc. Anyway, here is the rest of the dialogue:

Man in Buick: "You're too manly anyway. I'd beat you and then have sex with you."

Ah, chivalry is apparently alive and well in San Francisco.

*** I apologize in advance that most of the pictures are distorted. I'm too lazy to figure out how to make that not happen. Just click on the picture and you'll see the non-distorted version.***

Last weekend, I enjoyed my first ever San Francisco Gay Pride Weekend. Pride - I haz it.



On Friday evening, Ryan arrived home from work and said "there's a march going on outside."

"Can't be," I said. "Dyke March isn't until tomorrow night."

It turns out there's a TransMarch on Friday night.

Anywhoodle, we went out for sushi and sat next to a lesbian couple who had just gotten married. It was great.

Being in SF during Pride Weekend is a lot of fun, and there's also just a great feeling of non-judgment and acceptance. Pretty much anything goes, and I mean anything.

So Saturday, some of my co-workers and their partners came over to our house, because it turns out that the Dyke March goes by right in front of our house. Jackie and Angela were kind enough to purchase us all rainbow Pride whistles. I can't tell you how excited I was for that. A whistle - who knew?

So, here are some of the pics from the march. There are no booby pictures, but there were plenty of boobies there.






In addition to having the honor of having the march go by my house, I was also graced with having the elderly and disabled lesbians in front of my house. We love old lesbians. Here are some pictures of them.





After the march, we headed upstairs for a little march after-party. Things went steadily downhill from there. Here is the photo evidence.



Okay, that one's not too bad, but the rest aren't really suitable for the interwebs.

Despite feeling fatigued, etc. from the night before, Jenny and I bravely made an outing to the Pride Parade. Here are some photos.









After the parade, we just walked around and looked at the booths and the scenery. Specifically, we saw two things of note: gay country line dancing and leather alley.

Gay country line dancing.





As my friend Emily would say: AAAAAAmazing. I could watch it all day. When the heteros do it, they look like retards. When the gays do it, they make it look like ice dancing. I love it.

Now, leather alley allows no photography, so there will be no images. It was essentially an S&M demonstration. Clearly, my delicate liberal New England sensibilities were tested here.

And then there was this



And so that was my first year of Pride.

My friend, Emily does these lists on her blog of good things/bad things that are going on, things she's looking forward to, etc. I have been inspired by her, so here are my lists.

Recent exciting things:

- today's mini shopping spree
- Philz coffee tomorrow (http://philzcoffee.com/)
- a job that I really like
- good co-workers
- sunny day today
- Harvey snoring as I type this
- upcoming trip to Seattle
- visit from the Somervillians on Flag Day
- Ryan not minding that I don't really love his coffee and being sweet anyway
- thinking it's funny to "grow out" my eyebrows

Less pleasant things:

- missing friends and family on the East Coast
- Brent's eye debacle
- the homeless man who lives in a doorway on Folsom
- Ryan's coffee this morning (don't tell him! he has no idea!)
- my eyebrows (they really are growing into my hairline)

Last summer, when we first moved to California, Ryan got really busy at work, and as a result, was gone from home a lot. It sucked, especially since I was unemployed and in a new city. For socialization, I relied a lot on my 68 year-old Republican, functioning alcoholic neighbor. We are now very close, and I have had cocktails at his house. Just the two of us. And Harvey dragged his ass across his white carpet.

Anyway, that's not the point. The point is that Ryan has been working later recently, typically getting home around 9:00 or 10:00. That means I have most of the evening to myself, and this is typically how it goes.

1) I walk in the door and Harvey runs to the back door so we can go downstairs to the back "yard." I ask him about his day and how his trip to the park with his playgroup was. He typically ignores me and goes and eats the grass that he pissed on that very morning.

2) I prepare myself a gourmet meal for one, which is usually composed of a number of left over frozen items that have been in the freezer for a minimum of three months. For example, this evening's dinner was some edamame, a turkey sandwich, and two Trader Joe's vegetable samosas.

3) I lay on the couch and watch t.v.

It's been like this for the past couple of weeks. Anywhoodle, we're off to Seattle in a couple of weeks to visit Ryan's father; his father's wife, Isabelle; and his sister. I will post the glorious photos when we get back.

So, we have reached an end of an era. I'm back on animals, in the dietary way.

I have gotten reactions ranging from disappointed to excited. My friend, Audrey, was downright angry that all that time we were living in Maine, I could have been eating barbecued meats.

If you know me, then you know that I am a humanitarian, if you will, a social worker, a friend to the disenfranchised, a lover of all humankind (perhaps a stretch, but you get the picture).

Well, today, my beloved (Harvey) and I were walking down a quiet street near our house on the way to the car. I spotted a homeless gentleman (or, as my sixty-seven year old retired Army colonel neighbor likes to say "housing challenged") just a few feet away from us. I noticed that he was eating some butter top white bread as a snack, but that's a rant for another time. He had his back turned to us as we walked by. We were continuing our journey to the car, when I heard someone running up behind us. I turned around just in time to see the aforementioned gentleman STRIKE my dog with his blanket. Just in case you've forgotten, this is what our menacing dog looks like:



Well, I'm not proud, but I turned around and yelled at the man, who turned around with an equally incoherent response. I felt angry, betrayed, angry again, etc. I love my job working with the mentally ill of San Francisco, but on a day-to-day basis, I am threatened with physical violence, fired by clients because I work for the FBI, and so on. And for that reason, I feel like I should be exempt from such attacks outside of the clinic. Well, my friends, it turns out that I am not.

Someday I would like to walk down the street and see a man begin to attack me, but then recognize my face from the global mental health workers network and give me the double thumbs up, only to turn to the next man and call him an ass monkey. In a perfect world...

On this the eve of 2008, I would like to set aside this moment to talk to you about my friend, Steve Gagne. If the name doesn't ring a bell, I'm sure this photo will spark some recognition.



Here he is on New Year's a few years ago with his then-girlfriend, Audrey Walker. They're married now, and Audrey is the luckiest girl in the world.

Lately I've sensed that Steve does not feel appreciated, and so I have decided to celebrate my love for Steve in my blog. I'm sure that all eleven of you who read this will share my love for Steve when you are done reading this.

Things I like about Steve:

1. He likes hummus and cheese, and so do I.
2. Whenever I needed transportation when we were living in Portland, he would lend me his car.
3. He likes to tell me that my dog is fat and smells bad.
4. He reserves every Sunday night for pizza.
5. Whenever I would go to his house, he would yell at me if I didn't bring him a venti-percent caramel machiatto.
6. He has 110% enthusiasm for everything, whether it be for dormering his house or cleaning his pool.
7. He let me live in Man Town for three weeks this summer.
8. He's good-looking. Here's another picture to remind you:



(Things I like about Steve, continued)

9. Sometimes he says things that make no sense and then acts like he has confused even himself. Here's an example: "WHATEVER!! I’ll take a picture of Harvey’s bottom and shove it in your face. ???????????????"



10. This picture: 'nuf said.



11. He likes to read the Kennebec Journal online and find people who went to Hall-Dale High School and pretend that he knows them and that he went to high school with us. Here's an example: "Finally, a day we can all rejoice in! Our friend and neighbor has literally leapt into the next chapter of her life and we should all be excited for her. Remember when Alyssa used to show up to gym class two left shoes on?? She always made me laugh when she used to eat paste."

Another handsome photo:



Things that I don't like about Steve:
1. Nothing

And so, let's raise a glass to my friend Steve. To Steve!!!