"You have the right to remain sexy, sugar."*

Buried at PhotoCasket.com
Friends of freak magnets, be warned: it is contagious.

My girl Tabitha has a theory. She thinks that I look too approachable - that I don't scowl well enough. Hearing that came as a bit of a shock; I've always thought that I could scowl with the best of them. I'm a New Yorker, you see. Bitchface is my birthright. The genome for world-class scowling should be stamped all over my DNA.

Well, then. As far as New Yorkers go, I must be defective.

I went to San Fransisco to visit Tab for New Year's. Like many of my girlfriends, she claims that weirdos only approach her when I'm around. The last time I visited her was certainly memorable for both of us.

We hadn't seen each other for a while, and I was the one who owed her a visit, since she'd stopped in LA last summer on her way to San Diego. So I headed up to San Fran to have fun and enjoy some girl time.

We had just finished walking around the huge new Westfield Mall downtown, and had worked up a post-retail therapy appetite. Tab had made reservations for us at O'Reilly's Holy Grail on Polk Street. Side note: If you ever get the opportunity to dine at the Holy Grail, order the Gaelic Steak. The pepper rub and whiskey sauce are TO DIE FOR.

We had just received our drink order. Tab got the house red, while Yours Truly imbibed a Jameson & ginger ale. As we toasted our friendship and the start of a new year, we noticed a rather intoxicated gentleman stumbling towards our table. Mid 30's, scruffy, in some kind of sports jacket and baseball cap.

He stopped abruptly and leaned in towards our table. "You look greeeeaaat," he slurred, leering at Tabitha.

"Wow, that was a new one," I joked.

"This only ever happens to me when I'm with you," Tab fixed a faux-accusatory glare on me as Tony the Wasted Tiger staggered away.

"Hey, you do look great," I offered lamely. Way to blame the victim.

After our exquisite meal, we walked (or, more accurately, rolled) out onto Polk. Tab's car was in a public parking garage across the street. We stood at the intersection, chatting as we waited for the light to change.

There was a disheveled, drunken man standing on the opposite corner (a different guy than the one in the restaurant). He appeared to be homeless, but I could have been making an assumption, since he was such a mess. He was staring at us with an exaggerated grin on his face. I smelled the potential for trouble, since we would be walking right towards him when the light changed.

The light turned green, and we started across. Conveniently for us, a police car was approaching the intersection on our side of the light. As the car got close, Homeless jumped out into the street and hailed the cops inside.

The car stopped short, about 20 feet from the intersection, to avoid hitting the dude.

"Hey, cops!" Homeless shouted. "Hey, cops!" He gestured towards us. "Those are TWO HOT WIMMIN!"

Uh, yeah.

"My God," Tabitha shook her head. "My God. Wow."

Even the cops didn't know what to do. Arrest us for being hot? Issue a citation for inciting some vagabond to attempt vehicular suicide? They just looked at us weakly as the guy, who apparently had made his point, walked off.

Never a dull moment, hanging out with me.

*Quote from Austin Powers: Goldmember.