Having Borat moment: my nightmare before Christmas
In living the life as a professional nomad – a very pleasant term for a homeless person with a laptop and a nice change of clothes - I apparently stumbled over the border of decorum, and fortunately a friend stopped me in my tracks. Let me explain. I get hunger attacks – the kind of sugar low that some small, highly strung women complain of. Sometimes I don't honor the call of the calorie. I suffered dehydration while crossing the Yucatan in Mexico in 2004, not because of lack of water, but lack of sufficient calories to balance my electrolyes. It's called "not looking after yourself." Hey I gotta eat! I arrived at the Berkeley Bowl Market right on closing time, Dec 24. I locked my bike, bolted past the doorman and made a bee-line for the brown rice sushi-to-go just inside the door. The doorman yells, "Miss! Miss! We're closed!" so loudly and emphatically I imagined big men in blue overalls hoisting me by armpits out into the parking lot. I was forced t