Ok, its been almost a year since I have been able to have two jobs which allow me to save for the future. I have spent 7000 dollars of my savings in the past year. Money which could have been put to better use in a less expensive city. After paying a good deal today to have my car unbooted, I finally came to the realization that the employment situation is not getting better and that my savings is slowly being drained. I think this is the point where I decide to cut my losses and just GO. Sure, I would have liked to have had more in the bank than I have now, but my chances for employment in this city are looking slim, and if I can find a job elsewhere why not just do it? This is so unexpected, scary and well...exciting. I could be out of here by the end of May. Never saw it happening this way.

 I wish at times my life would be less Woody Allen and more Terrence Malick

 Applied at a temp agency in SF today. I really need some work/money and most everything I have pursued has fallen flat. Along with money that I need for my upcoming business venture in Portland, I need some structure! Given recent events and the fact that I only work 2 nights a week this lack of structure kinda drives me nuts, although when I get back to working 60 hour work weeks I'm going to wonder why the hell I ever thought I needed "structure".

 Usually when I contact temp agencies they take one look at my resume, which mainly consists of jobs I have had in the creative field and say "Thanks, but no thanks. We don't have many creative clients." I kinda have to get aggressive and explain to them that many of my skills transfer, I can in fact use a computer, Windows, Microsoft Office and I'm fucking awesome at Powerpoint and most importantly, I won't put white-out on the screen. I usually tell them that I am moving away from the creative industry (come to think of it, I was rarely being creative at those jobs - ever)

Being aggressive worked and they allowed me to come in for an interview. Luckily, the computer that I used to take a skills test froze before I got to the typing section, so I was able to lie and say that I type a BLAZING 55 wpm. I also mentioned that I wasn't "Greenspan" when it came to excel. I had a jovial conversation with the recruiter and I said that I was willing to take anything - as long as it does not involve me dancing on a platform in my undies - or "teabagging". ("But they'll pay ya' 11 dollars just to touch your chest!)

The only thing I am worried about is that my ex works for the same company. She mentioned good things about them, and I definitely trust her opinion so why not? Hell, they were the only people that gave me a chance. I just felt odd going to the same place, as if I am encroaching upon her personal space. I don't want to make her feel uncomfortable. Sometime this week I will have to write her just for the sake of full disclosure. I don't want her getting angry with me. However, I doubt that we will see each other and I highly doubt that we would ever be assigned to the same office. If this did happen though, It could easily become a good pitch to NBC and  possibly be a hit comedy.

ps If anyone knows of an ok job in sf that pays at least 15 an hr give me a pm or email - thanks

   A few weeks ago I woke on a Monday morning to grab a cup of coffee at the place on the corner whose coffee is pretty shitty, but I get a chance to flirt shamelessly with the cute girl that works there. She's really attractive, but I doubt she has an interest since she can most likely see the rebound/dysfunction/desperation fumes coming off me. Sometimes I feel like walking up to her and saying :

 "Hey, would you like to grab dinner with me tonight, then go on a long walk through the city which hopefully will make you feel that you have spent more time with me, which in turn will hopefully allow me to sleep with you? I'll be honest - I'm going to be thinking about my ex the entire time and if we have sex I will most definitely be thinking about my ex. If you are really lucky I might yell out my ex's name during sex if you don't totally suck dick at having sex. Have I told you about my ex???"

 Moving on. On my way to the coffee shop I pass my car. I stop. The words DO NOT MOVE THIS VEHICLE emblazoned on a sheet of paper is attached to my windshield. For those of you that do not live in SF this means that my car has been booted. I craned my head to the right and yes, my car had indeed been booted. I was hoping that between the time the notice had been placed on my windshield and the car being booted the DPT had gone on strike. No such luck.

 Apparently, this increase in dosage of medication by my doctor is working because I did not scream or yell one profanity aloud. It's strange the way these meds work - simultaneously the highs and lows are muted in life so existence becomes one big "meh". Meh.

 After grabbing my coffee I hop on the BART train to go to the "MTA  Customer Service Center". It's funny they call it that because no one willing wants to be a "customer" of theirs - ever. Being a customer of theirs only requires having a car or motorcycle in this fucking city and to be a recipient of the DPT flat tax.

 I prepare to walk into this strange wasteland where time, reason, compassion and logic do not exist. I opened the door and was acknowledged by a private security guard who halfheartedly manned a walk through metal detector. His posture was poor, he was slim and his uniform draped off him like a curtain. I glimpsed at his face. Stoned. He was wearing a duty belt cinched tightly. Absent from it was a firearm, which if given the opportunity would have set off the metal detector every time he went to the bathroom.

 I walked to the nearest counter which had enough ballistic glass between me and the "customer service solutions provider" to defeat an RPG at close range. It was so thick that when I moved ever so slightly her face warped a little.

"Hi, I recieved a boot on my car this morning and would like to get it removed."

"Name and License plate number please."

"Cobalt_Blue, xxx-xxx."

"You gots two boots on two cars!"

"No, I have one car with one boot, there must be a mistake."

"Well, the computer sez you gots two boots - here take this number and wait for a manager."

"Thank you."

I tried to make sense of the aimless numbers displayed on the computer screen. Of course, it didn't make much sense. My eyes scanned to the top of the monitor frame and I did see something very recognizable. PROPERTY OF LOCKHEED-MARTIN CORPORATION. Not only were these military-industrial-congressional complex motherfuckers responsible for maufacturing very expensive weapons to kill very poor people they also run the computer system for parking tickets in San Francisco. Does this really surprise me? No.

I waited briefly before an electronic and faceless voice read my number and window to go to. I appraoched, behind the window was a corpulent black woman who had an oddly attractive face in this Jill Scott kind of way. Also, I didn't mention this before, but there is no electronic speaker system that passes through the glass so you kind of have to genuflect whilst trying to speak through the port to hand over your money, only making the experience more humiliating and degrading.

"Hello, there seems to be a misunderstanding. The system shows that I have two cars, when actually I have one and also the balance of 800 dollars was paid off in July when I renewed my registration."

"Ok, can I see your license?"

"Oh, of course."
 
 She spung into action and remedied the problem with great ease and effeciency, even for a public service employee. In fact, she removed a few late charges. Nice.

"Ok, that will bring the balance to $512.00." She said.

"Do you take checks?"

"No, people were writing hot checks to get their car unbooted"

I shook my head. "The nerve of some people. Disgusting."

"Well, I'll just put it on my card then."

I slid the card under the slot, her bejewled hand (cubic zirconia) gingerly sliding it away from me. I signed and returned the pen under the slot. I bent down even lower to make sure she could hear what I was about to say.

"I understand." I said to her in a reassuring tone, while making eye contact.

"What?"

"Look, I know this job is hard. People come in here and assume you are the badguy, as if you were the one who gave them the tickets and that you are responsible. I mean being at a job where people are angry and yelling at you all day. I've had jobs like this and I know it's hard. It must wear on you and it probably doesn't feel very good"

"Well, yeah I mean like it's my fault that you didn't move your car for street cleaning and yeah, people do yell at me all the time and yeah it don't feel too good"

I moved closer to the port and while making this gesture of holding my hand over my heart I said:

"I'm just like you. I just want to be human. Just like you and we have this glass separating us - like prisoners."

"It's so unfair." she whispered as she moved towards the glass, her eyes still looking into mine.

I slid my hand under the glass and we held hands.

"Can we be human?" I asked.

"You can come back here anytime"

 We let go and I walked out of the office and into the BART terminal. I got to my house 10 minutes later - the boot had been removed from the car.

Alternate ending will be posted tomorrow

 We hosted the presidential debates, which was basically an Obama fundraiser. Everywhere you looked there was a television monitor big and small, plus a large projection in the main room. It was kinda like that Apple commercial that made reference to 1984, Except there wasn't a large breasted woman in running shorts anywhere to be seen.
 
 Watching the whole event was pretty amazing, perhaps the crowd benefits from the soft bigotry of low expectations, but observing people engaging an the democratic process and finding it fascinating is far different that what normally transpires which is something along the lines of ordering a magnum of Belvedere, then around 12:00 vomiting all over the table which you have reserved.

 After the debates ended there were a few stragglers milling around finishing their drinks. I spotted a really cute brunette about 5'8 with glasses on the periphery of a group of what appeared to be friends. She had just finished checking her cell messages and put the phone back into her little black purse.

"Isolate" I thought.

I approached and said to her "It's funny."

"What's funny?" she asked, as a quizzical half smile lit up her face.

"Oh, it's funny that what the Republicans are doing to this country, I'd very much like to do to you."

She thought about it for a microsecond as she grinned and looked down at the floor.

"And what might that be?"

"I'd like to open your wetlands for private drilling."

 She walked out in disgust into the cool San Francisco night. This whole dating game, it's all about throwing darts on the wall. One day I'll find a girl that can tolerate me.

Here, kitty: Police expect house cat, get cougar

Wed Oct 1, 3:52 PM ET

CASPER, Wyo. - A police officer didn't think much of a call to shoo off a bothersome "kitty cat" at a home in Casper, Wyo. Then the officer arrived at the home of Beverly Hood. It was no ordinary domestic feline — but a male mountain lion weighing 80 to 90 pounds.

Officer Mike Ableman says he ran for cover inside Hood's home when he saw the cougar.

Hood says she was inside when she first saw the mountain lion lying on her porch Monday. Hood says the lion hissed at her, but she wasn't scared.

She called 911, animal control and the Wyoming Game and Fish Department. Hood reported that she had a bothersome "big cat." A dispatcher told Ableman that it was a house cat.

A game warden tranquilized the mountain lion and the animal was relocated.

Do you know how many times I have expected a kitty and recieved a cougar instead?