I managed to humiliate myself again.

Yesterday, with the weather beautiful and all, I went out to the city. I started drinking early and often. I let people buy me drinks. I knew I was in trouble when I let some gay guy spit his margarita into my mouth. I was drunk dialing by eight O'clock. By 8:15 p.m., I collapsed on a corner of a street near 17th and Cole. I recall vomiting, and people walking by and asking are you all right? "Yes. I'm okay." Some girl insisted on calling an ambulance. "I'm all right." Then nothing. Black. I only awake when half the San Francisco fire department came buy. "I'm all right." I said, unable to lift myself off the sidewalk. "I just want to go home."

Next thing I know, I am on my way to the emergency room. "We have an intoxicated female, in route to Davies," I heard the EMS guy say over the radio. "I'm male," I said weakly. "Okay, honey. Anything you say. We call 'em like you present."