Yeah, so, I’m ready for you to air your grievances now.

“Oh my god! You know what we should do? We should all wear our Ugg boots and then go to Fisherman’s Wharf.”

“OMG! We should, like, totally, do that.”

“Yeah, yeah, like, that would be waaay cool.”

“Let’s celebrate our coolness by getting drunk at Bubba Gump.”

Yeah, so, I guess the “street punks” are getting really aggressive in the Haight.

In the past week I’ve read two articles about these aggressive “street punks” in the Haight, who are demanding money from residents and generally harassing them.

This must have started in the past six months, because when I lived there I almost never had a problem. Well, not a real problem anyway.

I lived on the corner of Sloppy Drunk Street and Clueless Stoner Avenue, also known as Haight and Ashbury, for more than a year. I had my problems there. It got really loud at 2 a.m. when the bars closed. Sometimes I would come home to find a sloppy drunk pissing on my building. But I never encountered the problems that Haight residents describe in these articles.

Two weeks ago, a Haight Street resident got into a confrontation in front of his house which degenerated into a nasty fistfight on the sidewalk. When people rushed to help, one of them says she was warned, “Call the police, and I’ll kill you.”

The resident ended up suffering severe bite wounds and a gouged eye. The street punk was arrested, but no charges were filed.

But it didn’t stop there. The dog owner brought his friends back, sat on the steps of the house, called out the name of the man who lived there and threatened people who went into the house. The resident is moving.

Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with people? Who is sitting around thinking, “You know what would be fun? Let’s go to the Haight and harass people for money? It beats working, am I right, fellas?”

My biggest annoyance with Haight was the “homeless” kids or the faux-homeless, who would ask me for money every day. They would always use Homer as a gateway for talking to me.

“Homeless” person: “Hey, that’s a cute dog. What’s his name?”
Me: “Homer.”
“Homeless” person: “He’s really cute. Do you have any money you can spare?”
Me: “No, sorry. If you need money so bad why don’t you sell that Toyota Corolla I saw you park in front of my apartment?”
“Homeless” person: “What?”
Me: “Have a good day.”

The most annoying incident was when I was dragging a load of old clothes to Goodwill. I walked past two girls, maybe 19 or 20 years old, sitting on the sidewalk. It was very cold, and it was pouring rain. I was soaked.

Faux-homeless girl #1: “Hey, we can help you carry your clothes for some money.”
Me: “No, thanks. I got it.”
Faux-homeless girl #2: “Can we go through the clothes before you drop it off?”
Me: “Yeah, sure.”

Despite the cold weather they, not surprising, didn’t even take a second look at a jacket that was in the bag. Instead they pulled out a Hooters T-shirt, which right now I wish I hadn’t gotten rid of. I could definitely wear it ironically with my one fake boob.

Faux-homeless girl #1: “You are getting rid of a Hooters T-shirt? Why would you do that?”
Me: “Because I don’t wear it … and it’s a Hooters T-shirt. … Are you sure you don’t want the jacket? It’s cold and raining.”
Faux-homeless girl #1: “Nah, no, thanks.”

Yep, just what I thought.

Maybe the city can work on some sort of identification card, a certification if you will, for the homeless. I want to help people, but I want to make sure I’m helping the people who really need it.

Homeless person: “Can you spare some change?”
Me: “Let’s see some ID.”

Homeless person whips out an identification card.

Me: “Yep, everything seems to be in order. You are officially homeless, a card-carrying homeless person. Here’s some cash.”
Homeless person: “It’s a pleasure doing business with you.”

I was hoping to find a big, poofy dress that would look great with a bird on my head, but I couldn't find one ...

Yeah, so, I said yes to the dress.

I went to a bridal shop in Concord with my mom, my sister Michelle and my niece Lorelei. I wasn’t planning on buying anything. We thought I’d try a few dresses on for fun. See what shapes I liked, what shade of white looks good, stuff like that.

I walked into the shop with almost no idea what I wanted but plenty of ideas of what I didn’t want. Nothing poofy. Nothing princessy. Nothing with a lot of bling. I knew I wanted something vintage looking. I had two other things that I mentioned to the salesperson, but I can’t write about that here because the groom-to-be reads the blog.

I didn’t give the bridal consultant much to go on, but Suzie said, “Oh, I know what dress to get for you.”

I tried on a few other dresses first. Lorelei picked out one that was — of course — poofy with bling. The gown was simple on top, but then low on the waist there was this bezazzled utility belt thing.

“You look like a superhero,” my mom said.

“I love it!” Lorelei proclaimed.

I was surprised how well some of the dresses fit me. I figured I’d look like a jackass in all of them, but most of them fit really well. They made my waist look tiny and my stomach completely flat. I felt like a supermodel in some of those dresses, an unfortunately dressed supermodel, but still …

So anyway, I tried on a few other dresses, before I tried on the one Suzie thought was The Dress. But when I tried on that dress … it was my dress. My dress! I had to have it. I loved it instantly. It was like the lights dimmed and “Endless Love” started playing.

Every dress after it was met with a “I love the other dress.”

I figured I would ask the store to hold it for me, so I could move some money around and then pay for it. But my super, fabulous mom and sister weren’t having any of that and paid for the dress! We all started crying in the store. It was a “Say Yes to the Dress” moment; also known as a “chicks are weepy weirdos” moment. I have the most amazing family EVER!

So, yeah, that’s done.

Yeah, so, I live here.

When I was recovering from my mastectomy I got the most wonderful random email from Julie from I Live Here: SF. We had never met before, but she had read my blog and wanted to wish me a fast recovery.

I checked out her websites. She takes the most amazing pictures. I emailed her back, thanked her and told her that she takes beautiful pictures. Then she asked if I would be interested in participating in I Live Here:SF, in which she takes your picture and you write an accompanying story about your life in San Francisco. My immediate reaction was, “I’m too scared to do that,” which is why I said “Yes, please.”

It was an honor to participate, and I think Julie is amazingly talented. I have written on this site before about how difficult it is to photograph me. I am so grateful to Julie for the lovely photos and for the opportunity to share my story and do something that scares me a little.

Click here for the rest of the photos.

Yeah, so, mighty, mighty good man David and I have found a place for our wedding!

Hunting for a venue is tough work when you are on a budget.

If you go for the outside locale, which is usually the cheapest option, you are facing the possibility of an uninvited guest in the form of bad weather crashing your wedding. Plus, there’s the added fees for tables, chairs, permits, etc.

We didn’t want a country club. We didn’t want a hotel. Some restaurants would have been a nice spot, but they couldn’t accommodate my family’s overwhelming need to dance. And, if they could accommodate us, we couldn’t afford them. Some of the places we looked at were too high school multi-use room looking. We didn’t want to get married in a room that made us feel like we were at the senior prom.

But, we did it! We found a place, and it was the first place recommended to me by good buddy Tiff when I told her we were getting married. I should always listen to good buddy Tiff. She knows her stuff.

Verdi Club is awesome. It’s got a really cool art deco look and a fun vibe. We can’t wait to get hitched and celebrate with all our family and friends.

There are a ton of little details to think about. I was thinking about what song I would like to walk down the aisle to. I thought the theme from “Rocky” would be awesome, but David gave it the thumbs down. It makes perfect sense to me. I’m a 39-year old woman with one boob, and I’m getting married. If that’s not an underdog story I don’t know what is.

Yeah, so, a few weeks ago Brighton introduced DH and I to this yummy restaurant, Plant Organic Cafe, and I couldn’t wait to go back and review it.

Here’s my UpTake review of Plant Organic Cafe. Mmmmm.

Yeah, so, I passed my genetic test.

Of course, by “pass” I mean failed. And by “failed,” I mean, I tested negative for the gene mutation BCRA 1 and BCRA 2. If I tested positive for those genes it would mean I’m genetically predisposed to cancer.

But I’m not.

Suck it, cancer!

Yeah, so, I think we all had a little too much fun at Erika’s birthday bash on Saturday night.

Pictures don’t lie. Also, I was horribly hung over the next morning.

"I can feel St. Elmo's fire burning in me." - Adam Sass

Here's the picture for our wedding invitation.

Ow my balls!

At this point in the evening, I was showing off that breast cancer did not ruin my nice rack.

Then I started rockin' out. I don't know what song it was but I will guess it was The Killers' "Mr. Brightside," because that song always makes me rock out. Weird, I know.

Yeah, so, last night good buddy Kate, mighty, mighty good man David and I went to the movies.

There were six previews before the movie; two of which featured scenes of men getting hit in the crotch, a third preview was for the dreaded “Chipmunks” sequel, and a fourth one was for a Glenn Beck special Christmas performance.

By my estimation, this means society is more than midway through its transformation into the one depicted in “Idiocracy”. Seriously, I think one of those movies was called “Ow My Balls!”

Also, way to misjudge your audience, AMC Van Ness. A Glenn Beck preview? Seriously? In San Francisco? I think I speak for the entire audience when I say we’d rather sit on a knife than watch a Glenn Beck Christmas special. I kept waiting for the scene where Glenn Beck gets hit in the balls but it never happened.

So anyway, squirming through those dreadful previews was worth it. “The Fantastic Mr. Fox.” is, well, fantastic. Director Wes Anderson took Roald Dahl’s children’s novel and transformed it into a “Wes Anderson” film with quirky characters that are not “too quirky” and terrific music. It’s a wonderful movie. It’s smart, funny and – yes – heartfelt.

I haven’t been to many movies this year, but – so far – “The Fantastic Mr. Fox” is my favorite. Actually, now that I think about it, some of my favorite movies this year have been animated: “Coraline,” “Up, ” “A Town Called Panic” and “Mr. Fox.”

After the movie, we went get some of the best damn Indian food in San Francisco, and then went to a bar for drink.

David: “If you had to see either ‘Faces of Death’ or the ‘Chipmunks’ movie, which would you see?”
Me: [Silence]
David: “I love that you have to think about it. Hmmm, watching people die or singing chipmunks?”
Me: “It’s a tough choice.”
David: “What if you had to see either the Glenn Beck thing or the ‘Chipmunks’ movie?”
Me: “Definitely the ‘Chipmunks.’”