There were already hundreds and hundreds of people milling about everywhere, clustering around the barricades, through which you could get a glimpse of the Hot Secret Service Guys doing security things. The president himself was, of course, not anywhere near there. He was in the back of the bookstore, far away from view.

They were calling the 100s to get in line. They hadn't gotten far at all! And everyone around me was a 500 or a 300. And I was 3,221.

I wandered around for a bit. I definitely could not catch a glimpse of Clinton at all, from anywhere. The closest I got was a guy leaving the bookstore who had similar hair. I saw former mayor Willie Brown shaking hands with the crowd. (Actually I wasn't sure who he was, except that he was clearly political, black, and not Jesse Jackson. "I think I saw the Rev. Al Sharpton!" "Maybe it was Willie Brown?" "Yes! That's who it was. I knew he looked familiar." "They don't look anything alike." "Willie Brown makes more sense. It must have been him.")

After my inept celebrity sighting, I wandered around looking at the ground, hoping to find an 800-level ticket laying on the ground somewhere. I didn't see one. I did see a lot of people selling buttons, registering voters, holding John Kerry campaign signs. It was an exciting atmosphere and although I wasn't anywhere close to meeting Clinton, the sense that he was nearby was electric.

I did some aimless things, wandered around some more, and debated what to do next. I had plans to meet friends in three hours. I had no chance of my number being called unless three thousand people jumped into the San Francisco Bay immediately. So I decided to get a cup of coffee and call it a day.

I was standing in line behind two women, when one of them went over to a stranger and said something I didn't quite catch, then handed her a ticket. She came back to her friend and said, "You should do that too! Bye!" and left. Oh my-- the woman had just given away her number! I could have an 800 ticket after all! (Even 2,500 would have been an improvement.) I smiled perkily at her and said, "You should take pity on me, because I'm number--" say it with me "--3,221!" "Oh, do you want this?" she said. She handed me her ticket. It was number 229.

229!

"And I think they already called the 200s, so you better go. We just couldn't stay." I thanked her as profusely as two seconds will allow, and ran all the way around to the back of the building where the line was. Half an hour later--after shoving through a by-now-insane crowd while waving my ticket like Charlie Bucket, and being searched by Hot Secret Service Guys--I was shaking Bill Clinton's hand.

It was not like meeting a celebrity, really. I've met or seen enough of them in Los Angeles that it's a familiar sensation. The vague surreal feeling that someone on your television is a lot smaller than you'd expect them to be. But my first impression wasn't a celebrity from television, but that someone long dead had walked off a piece of currency and come to life. He looked not quite real.

And as this article says, it was over very quickly. We said hello, he shook my hand, he signed my book. He is tall and has incredibly sexy hands and a firm handshake. But I walked out of there with the biggest smile on my face, and a tremendous sense of my own good fortune.

Also this weekend I got a chance to see my sister, who was in town for Gay Pride. I will share a couple of photos and just say I adore my little sister. I wish I had gotten to spend more time with her, but Pride weekend is all about the lesbian cavorting and I am too old and stodgy to cavort with lesbians. At least the way those girls do it!

And on a random note, here is why I love my dentist. While I was having a cavity filled the other day, he actually said the following: "Just sit back and relax, precious. Enjoy the trip. Listening to good music, breathing nitrous oxide..." I sort of laughed, with a mouth full of cotton. He patted my arm. "Can we get you a cocktail?"

Finally, as soon as I can figure out how the hell to pay for a plane ticket, I am officially going to Journalcon. Looking over the list of attendees, that makes me quite excited. A lot of fine folks who I met in Austin and am thrilled to see again, and some friends I haven't seen for considerably longer.

I'm going to be on a panel, I think focusing on the blog, which as you probably know, is about weight loss and therefore very popular. In my head I am calling the panel "Weight Loss Weblogs: How Fat Is She Really?"

This is probably not its actual name.