First off, I would like to apologize to anyone who I may have showered with overly-effusive spittle, bumped into with a hoop, verbally assaulted with happiness, or spilled soju upon this weekend. It was a good weekend, and sometimes that means I can get a little, um, spastically joyous. Or, as Bjork would say, violently happy. In leiu of some sort of interesting angle, I’m just going to go for chronological order here.

The Escalation Northward
Friday night, my old friend Steve (originally from Seattle) drove up from his home in San Diego. We headed out of LA around 7:30 and made good time up I5 in his lovely RAV 4. That is, until a few miles after I drove us past the nasty “cowschwitz” slaughter yard in Coalinga. At around 11:15, the gas light went on. I reported this to Steve, who dismissed it as always going on way in advance. At 11:20, the car gently lost power. I pulled to the side of the road and tried the Microsoft technique to fix anything: I rebooted the car. It started up again just fine, and we wondered what that was and drove on. At 11:25, the car gently slowed to a stop again.

I called Triple-A. We wondered if it was the gas, but there had been no sputtering, no choking — none of the usual symptoms of fuel issues. And the gas gauge was still technically ABOVE the empty mark! And Steve reported that the fuel light went on when you were down to just one gallon left…which meant another 25 to 30 miles to go! We made contingency plans about towing to a service station, and getting a motel. Calls were made to Dani, who we were staying with in SF, to let her know we wouldn’t make it.

Tow truck arrives. Guy states the obvious: “You’re out of gas.”

But, no sputtering!, we protested. Smooth deceleration! No coughing!

“Yeah, newer cars are like that,” he said, and gave us a gallon of gas.

We were simultaneously ashamed, relieved, and better-informed. Note to everyone: newer cars do not sputter when they run out of gas!

We arrived in SF at 3am, and promptly fell asleep.

Raw Saturday
Steve and I were briefly awoken by one of Dani’s roommates conducting a dishwasher symphony in the kitchen. Who knew dishes could be so loud? Inconceivable! But we both fell back asleep until 10, when we arose to make a raw breakfast with Dani, who only eats certain raw foods.

We ate a raw breakfast (non-grain cereal with fruit and almond milk for Steve and I, cucumber blended with strawberry for Dani), and then spent time basking in the sun and hooping in the backyard. Mm. The sun. It felt good. Different than LA sun. I was like a lizard smiling into the sun. So nice.

Then we headed to a park (Lincoln Park, I think?) near Dani’s house, to go rockhopping along the coast. I was overdressed, but hopped around with the best of ‘em. We saw an awesome pelican, and flowers, and crashing waves, and a couple cuddling on a rugged bluff…while the male half of the couple chatted on his cell phone.

Back to Dani’s gorgeous house in the Richmond for lunch (an enormous salad, natch) and napping.

Well-Cooked Saturday Night
After napping, Steve loaned me his car (its tank kept well above “empty”) and I headed into the wilds of the Oakland hills for the enormous Taurus-born Blogger Birthday Bash that Min Jung was hosting. (I am currently resisting the urge to make a bad geek joke about bloggers and hosting.)

I was a bit late (who knew it took so long to get from The Richmond district of SF to the Oakland hills?) and arrived to find the party in full swing. I immediately shuttled my two hoops down to the hooping deck, and got to work convincing people that yes, damnit, they could hoop. Best protestation? Heather Champ who claimed, “I’m too white!” before hopping on the hooping train and totally, instantly kicking ass. Most improved? Jish, who struggled last time he tried hooping, but totally rocked it Saturday night. Birthday twin? Derek Powazek, who was also born on May 16th. Best potential naked hooper? Amy Leblanc. Best new hooping convert? Vera. Most generous hooper? Jason Straus who gave both Vera and Philo brand new homemade collapsable hoops (a $50 value!). Best Elvissian hooper? Chris, who also wins the “best discussion of the term cock block” award. Most gracious blogger to gently shut down a slightly-tipsy Ariel who coudn’t resist pestering him with industry talk? Ev. Most letchy? Tantek. Best chest for rent? Chris Pirillo (excuse my tongue). Best appetizer? Jane’s fig/olive spread, closely followed by MJ’s brie mango crisp thinger. Most pert nipples? Geno. Best cummerbund/belt/fannypack/apron? ME!

Oh, and my favorite new DJ? Ernie’s hot-ass boyfriend, DJ Mike Biggz. Who played R. Kelly for me. And lots of other great hip hop. Excellent DJ. Highly recommended. Ernie, meanwhile, gets the best goodbye hug award. Oh, Ernie also gets the most sweaty drunk award (that’s a fan MJ and I made him from his Bloggie award).

Best (car) butt to follow home? Leila, who I have recently renamed “Leiga” for her propensity to arrive several hours late for every occasion.

If I met you at the party and haven’t mentioned you here, it’s because I hate you. Hee hee. No actually, it’s because my memory is like zee Swiss cheese: finely aged and full of holes. Leave a comment and remind me.

Late Saturday Night Over Tea
I stayed at Leila’s humble abode, and chatted into the wee hours with her and her boytoy, Ryan. We talked about poop and marriage. I got to sleep in a fantastic little loft that reminded me both of the bed at my parents’ house, and of Dre and my loftbed in Olympia. I slept like a dream.

Gluttonous Sunday
Leila and I were up at an ungodly hour (before 10am!) and went to a fantastic breakfast at Kate’s Kitchen. I parked on Waller and Fillmore, a couple doors down from my old house. I got all nostalgic and bored Leila with stories of my old roommates and how they became strippers and coke dealers. At Leila’s recommendation, I ordered a dish known as “French Toast Orgy,” which was a mountain of French toast, fruit, honey, yogurt, and granola. The waitress very kindly let me take home the bill so that I can continue to laugh over the fact that it says “Fr Orgy 7.50.”

Then it was back up the Richmond to grab Steve, then back to the Haight to pick up our Seattle friend, Owen, who was visiting SF. We headed to Dolores Park, which had moved itself from where I thought it was. I got us lost, a call to Leila got us found, and we found excellent parking and met up with Vera and Philo and Philo’s pal Wendy for the inagural meeting of the SF Hooping Club. We hooped in the park (see Vera’s pictures here and my fave of Philo’s here) for a couple hours while the sun shone down and it was so much fun I almost wet myself. Look at Philo go! Look at Vera casually chilling with her hoop, like she’s been at it for years. Leiga and Ryan joined us eventually, but only just before Steve and Owen and I decided it was time to head back south to LA.

The trip home was uneventful. We did not run out of gas again, thank god.

All ‘n’ all, a great trip. Fast, fantastic, and fun.