Last night was my first night as a bartender. When did married men become attractive? I feel repulsed by this.

As I played fetch with Parker, I heard a man yell, "Hey, Natalie!" I looked up at the apt balcony, and there stood Creepy Maintenance guy. He continued shouting, "I'm Sean. The maintenance man." I never gave "Sean" permission to know my name. What makes him think I care about his existence. Not to be mean or anything, I just don't like the idea of a creepy stalker having a master key to my apartment and rifling through my underwear drawer.

Speaking of underwear, I cannot manage to keep my underwear drawer organized. At 24, you would think I could fold panties and socks in an orderly fashion and keep them from spilling over the dresser. Nope. My March resolution is to neatly fold my grannie panties and thong underwear.

I'm sure Sean would be more than happy to help arrange my underwear drawer.

My morning was quite exciting. Parker took it upon himself to dig out a huge piece of raw chicken out of the garbage bag and fling it into the living room. The street to the work parking lot was blocked by three huge fire trucks. The card-swiper for the parking lot wasn't working and now I'm having stomach pains.

What is it about firefighters that is such a huge turn-on? Is it the altruistic factor or their buff pectoral muscles? I mean, I don't like police men and they supposedly help people and have decent builds (at least the young cops). Maybe because firefighters don't write out tickets for trespassing and public display of nudity.

As I was getting stamps from the lovely Building Management lady, she asked about my dog Parker. She inquired, "How is your baby?"

"Oh, he's doing just fine. I just picked him up from the kennel. He was in there for eleven days!" I replied. A strange UPS man started laughing as I told this short story. I wondered why he was chuckling at my non-funny tale about claiming Parker at the vet's.

The evesdropper UPS man goes "I thought you had a real child and kept him at the kennel."

Um, first, do I look old enough to be a mother? Sometimes I feel like I look sixteen and other days I'm too Asian for people to even care about my age. Second, it's not laughing matter if a mother keeps her child in a kennel. It's serious business, because you damn right I would shove my kid in a cage if I had to. It's called tough love.

Now, stop shouting or else you ain't getting no dinner!

Um, so the janitor doesn't know what a cheese stick is and he wants my personal number. No.

Going to California has made me realize that I'm not as liberal as I thought I was. It's like after being forced to think a certain way, I had no avenues to rebel but to turn to conservatism. I have never seen so many hippies, vagrants, or poorly dressed people in one area. It was strange to see not obese people, but pear-shaped individuals. The freeways in Cali are autrocious and dare I even say worse than New York's? I can only speak about Berkeley, Palo Alta, and the Mission and in conclusion, I must mention, California is not as perfect as it seems. If I had a choice between dreary, cold, dirty New York and sunny, chilly, luscious California, I'd pick the East Coast. West Coast blows.

I have a new found admiration for P. Diddy. In the words of Lil' John: YYEAAHH!

I'm flying back to hillbillyville tomorrow morning. I must say, California was not the bag of chips I thought it was, it's more of a fun pack of cheetos.

Saturday night, we went down to the Mission. The mission is this Latino-esque downtown area in San Francisco. It's apparently the current hot spot of the bay area. All I can say about it is, don't wear low slung jeans with your ass crack hanging out. Vagrants are not afraid of yelling obnxious things or stumbling upon you with stanky alcohol laden breath. One bum in particular gave me a little treat of a quote to take home: "MM..I want to break it off on that crack of yours!"