Road Notes: San Francisco


Only in San Francisco can I share a nostalgic vegetarian Thai dinner with four lovely friends (all mommies, mostly teachers) with whom I used to attend weird sex parties. In between ooh-ing and aah-ing over pictures of each others’ babies, we said things like, “Did I once eat sushi off your transvestite boyfriend at his birthday party?” and, “Did we ever have sex? I can’t remember.” Ah, the mid-nineties.



It’s also only in San Francisco that you get a mad sexy crowd to show up for a literary event. I read at The Monthly Rumpus, along with Beth Lisick, Kyle Kinane and Andrew Sean Greer among others. I got a little bit starstruck and creepy with Andrew, hanging around his table longer than was comfortable and trying to connect with his husband over hotrods, which I really don’t give a shit about at all and he could totally tell. I used the appearance of a poetry-reading clown to slink away.


I read at Books Inc. on Tuesday May 11. All my peeps showed. Some showed with cupcakes. Some promised to show up and try to throw me off my game by dressing as clowns and bearing gay porn, but they wussed out. If they hadn’t, I could have also started this paragraph with “Only in San Francisco…” Darn them and their disregard for symmetry.


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