Ukulele Lady: An Epic Post for an Epic Day

I GOT A UKULELE! It's so cute and tiny and easy...well, almost easy. On February 10, I'm going to be performing in an all-new festival at the Eureka Theater. It's called Meant to be Seen, and it's going to be featuring writers who feel that their writing works best when performed or read aloud. I'll be reading my essay "Modeling for the Ugly," and also doing something that involves a lot of costumes and the immediate purchase of a ukulele.

SUNDAY MORNING

Yesterday was a banner day for me. I got up early to go see the theater, which was exciting because the SF Sketchfest is playing there right now, and I was hoping to catch a glimpse of my beloved David Cross. Alas, no luck. We talked about the show and what we were going to do, and I always get all riled up in the early planning stages of anything. It's the actual doing of anything that's problematic for me. My friend Adam and my teacher and friend Cooley then accompanied me to the Ferry Building, where I wanted to look around and buy a fancy cupcake or something celebratory. First Cooley insisted on buying us sausages on sticks. Then he forced us into an oyster bar, where we had a surprise oyster feast featuring a variety of raw oysters, and the most delicious cooked oysters ever! I didn't know what I did to deserve such activities, all before noon. It was a very nice treat.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON

Then I came home, took a nap, decided I needed a ukulele, stat, and put one on hold at Guitar Center. I called Peter and said, "I need a ukulele!" and he, being the kind and generous soul that he is, said, "Ok, let's go!" Thus continued the day of people buying me unexpected things. We got on our bikes and headed down Van Ness. Outside of the Mitchell Brothers' porn theater on O'Farrell, we stopped at a stoplight. A man was wandering in the middle of the crosswalk, holding a bag of sour cream & onion chips and eating what appeared to be a breadstick or a pizza crust. The light turned green, and as we slowly rode across the street, the breadstick man HIT ME! ON THE HEAD! He reached out his fist and kind of punched my helmet. It scared the shit out of me, not because it hurt, but because somebody hit me. It lasted all of one second, but it really confused me. Who hits girls? Who hits anyone? Peter was ready to choke the offender with his own breadstick, but I felt it was best to move on. But basically, my lasting impression is: what the fuck?!

Stuff like this just solidifies my need to be a member of the Baywood Park Sailing Club.

But now I'm nice and cozy with my ukulele, not wearing any pants and looking straight into your eyes, and I'm hoping that as long as I never leave the house again, no one will hit me and I will become a strumming genius. I think it's a good plan.