Anti-Tsunami

Today the weather was simply gorgeous. Hot and sunny, without a hint of humidity. It was like a Beach Boys song. I am donning a hot face tan, which makes me look healthier, despite the potential for melanoma.

I checked out my new office at GGU today. It has a couch and a floor to ceiling window; it’s the equivalent of the junior partners’ at my old firm. I ordered a fancy diploma frame for my J.D. diploma. And, I will soon go plant shopping. This will be my first pet in SF. My benefits are swank, and I get life insurance. I am making Delia the beneficiary. I don’t think she’ll try to dispose of me. I met the guy I am taking over for — an older classy law graduate himself — in introducing me to colleagues and staff he referred to me as his "replacement" which was generous. He’s going back into private practice.

Then, I waited on line to get a social security card, something I’ve been meaning to do for a while. Have you ever been to the SSA offices? They are dank and somewhat scary. I never thought about the type of people that go to those offices — primarily the mentally and physically infirmed. I felt very elite being there, which does not make me a good person. I could tell that the woman behind the plastic divider breathed a refreshing sigh when she saw me in my Lucky jeans, asking for a replacement card, as opposed to a crackhead prostitute.  The stories I was hearing were quite interesting. This is a great place to find the subject for a postmodern ethnography. And, I thought about who might have had my SSN before I was born, and who will have it after me, and whether they will think of the same thing. I think they will be from Florida, unless the whole place floods.

I was a fervent consumerist today. Many-a-gift-card have been burning a hole in my wallet since my law school graduation; from Marshalls (which I was brief with), Pottery Barn, and Virgin Records. I bought some boxer briefs, and a bunch of CD’s that I lost in my move from North Beach, including new Duncan Shieks, and George Michael. At Pottery Barn, I bought one of those worldly ethnic CD mixes. The sales girl was quite flirtatious. She asked if my companion and I moved out to SF together, and sold me egg candles at special below-bargain basement prices. Joanna always tells me I should hit on people who work at these retail stores. But, I feel sort of weird about it. They are probably brilliant and well-educated, but I sometimes make poor assumptions. I also think it puts them in a compromising position. Lastly, I bought some Crest Whitestrips, and I am resolute to redeem the rebate on them. Am I the only one to follow through on such an endeavor?

I had coffee with Jill at Cup-a-Joe. Until she came, I was wrapped up in my book. I can’t believe I am reading for leisure. Am I me? Anyway, I love Jill. We had such a good talk about life and work and stuff. We re-explored the importance of being grateful for everything we have, which is so much. It’s fun to bitch about life, but when push comes to shove, we have two legs, good looks, and enough money to eat…very well. It was a chicken soup for the soul talk that neither of us wanted to end. I saw her new office too. Very nice. Offices are important.

Then, Joanna got a job offer! Err, two job offerS! I am so happy for her. Both are in the South Bay at prestige boutiquey places doing exactly what she wants to do. I hope her office is splendiferous too.

When I came home, I saw my drivers license had arrived. Not a great picture. Notably, the little pink donor sticker was staring at me in the eye. I am evil. After watching the autopsy on TV, I can’t compel myself to affix it. I just can’t. I know I probably won’t know about them cutting me up like a Boston Market rotisserie chicken. But, it freaks me out. Cremation all the way, baby.

All-in-all an auspicious day.

So I really wanted to take this introductory singing class at American Conservatory Theatre, which started last Tuesday. The next class starts in June. This class is a steal at $100 for 11 weeks. I attempted to enroll a few months ago, but, alas, I was first on the waitlist. A couple of my friends are in the class and told me a few people didn’t show up to the first class, which was verified when I went to the second class. When I arrived, the teacher was rude as hell. She said my name was not on the waitlist and that I needed authorization to qualify for the class. So I scurried around various offices looking for some guy to "authorize" me, to no avail. I called this morning, and though I was pissed, I left a "kill him with kindness" message for the authorizer. Three hours later, I received a  down and dirty message. The dud basically stated that I had a wrong and warped perception of the system and that as soon as the class starts, the waitlist is null and void. He lectured me, condescendingly, that I should not rely on the representations of my friends in the class. He was such a bitch. Anyway, you have no idea! This situation made me realize that there are other professions filled with jerks with chips on their shoulders. It also reminds me of why I stopped theatre and singing in the first place: the diva factor

Andrea and I tried this awesome burger joint called "Joe’s Cable Car"
at Mission and Silver. The burgers are excellent at 30 calories an
ounce. This dude Joe grinds the meat fresh every morning. The only
thing that pissed me off about this place is that when I attempted to
order an 8 oz burger that Andrea and I would split instead of 2, 4
ounce burgers, the waitress said that because he wants everybody to have their own burger, Joe would charge us a $4 penalty for sharing. Bullshit. It’s not like Andrea and I were going to eat our burger like "Lady and the Tramp." We were going to cut it in half.  If it’s a sharing charge, name it as such. Do not attempt to label it as liquidated damages for an improper burger shape.

So, I always thought my mom was a dork for listening to easy listening stations, but my stereo (care of Westlaw Rewards) is quite fickle. The CD player rarely works, and the stations it picks up are limited. One station that comes is quite clearly is KOIT — easy listening — and I secretly love it. I listen to it all day and all night. I know all the songs, and every song is good; Marvin Gaye, Lionel Richie, the Breakfast Club theme song, it’s so easy to listen to.

Everybody has been telling me to go away for my vacation. I am so satisfied. I don’t feel the need to go anywhere. In Patheticut, I used to go to NYC, Boston, D.C., Montreal, Philadelphia or anywhere else where the opportunity arose. That was fun, but I have so much outside my door, that I’m cool with day trips and visitors. I feel like I’m still mastering my environs. It’s a hobby in itself. With that said, Liz from Mac and I have planned a day trip on Friday. Cindy bought me a card stack of Bay Area getaways and we’re going to pick a card and whisk ourselves away to somewhere new and exciting. Maybe I’ll sneak the card for the geothermal hot springs on the top of the deck.

On my vacation, I have been getting back into Starting Over. I am ridiculous. I also read the Macalester alumni magazine I received today with less interest than usual. Perhaps it’s because I need to shift my allegiances a bit (?)

Tonight we went to Zeitgeist - my favorite biker bar - and celebrated Brendan’s 26th birthday. It was a fun crew. I smoked a lot of cigars and we had a good time. Funny that I came to San Francisco, land of heteroflexibles, to make friends with the most guyish guys around. I guess that’s sort of rebellious.

Saturday night went to a "black and white" themed birthday party in the Mission. Smoked strawberry tobacco out of a hookah, which I had actually never done before. Hung out with the the people I went with. Nothing wrong with that. Then, we had late-night Mission-styled food and I FINALLy got some sleep.

Easter! I am an agnostic Jew, but I did it, and I liked it.

I started out the morning with a Paul Revere-inspired farewell exchange with my mom; I used a blanket I waved outside the window, and she flashed the lights in her hotel room in the Holiday Inn.

Then, we went to church. I know church is a pejorative to most — especially to the Jews. But, Glide Memorial is an inspiring, all-inclusive social justice/personal growth enclave. The music is also incredible. It makes me respect religion. There is such an energy there. I doubt it’s a messiah, per se, but whatever it is it feels good. Everytime I go, which is not often, I am filled with joy and optimism.

We then found our inner-child. Jill and Chris inspired the idea with their pet names, which have reverse-anthropomorphized. Basically, Jill is a bunny, and Chris is a bear (not of the Castro variety). I am a shark. After we find our inner animal, we find a day that corresponds to said inner animal, i.e. bunny = Easter. Then, we celebrate the inner animal’s birthday. For example, for Jill’s bunny birthday, we went to Dolores Park and had a picnic. We bought a kickball, colored muppet pictures, and ate Lunchables, PB + J on Wonder, and Capri Sun. In the background were the Sisters of Pertpetual Indulgence a transvestite entertainment group who were hosting a "Hunky Jesus" competition. How fun is that?

After it started to downpour, we went to Cindy’s for Easter dinner. Everything turned out perfectly. The food was simply outrageous: spinach and artichoke dip, perfectly glazed ham, a salad replete with strawberries, gorgonzola, and jicama (what is the difference between gorgonzola and bleu cheese?). I prepared the mashed potatoes, which turned out better than normal. I perform best under pressure. For example, earlier this year, I beat a cocky friend of mine at billiards after he condescendingly lectured me about how to hold the cue (Notably, I am very bad a pool, while he is mediocre). At the dinner, the food around me was so amazing that I couldn’t have my mashed potatoes be anything less than stellar.

Then, I returned home with a rude cabbie. I stayed up late talking to Laith. We discussed many interesting topics, i.e. cloning, plastic surgery, and  whether Laith would have considered being my roommate if I were a midget or "little person". He doesn’t think so. Very sad, no? We also discussed the impending masquerade party that is to occur at my flat in about 2 weeks. Alex’s script is nearly complete and I will be playing a judge. Supposedly, our apartment is going to look like a bedoin fantasy, with draped fabrics and candles galore.

My vacation is going splendidly, especially because my life is exactly where I want it to be. It’s cosmic. I am in the right place, doing the right thing, and having the time of my life. This improves family relations. Delia and Basil’s trip was wonderful, and they finally view me as an adult. I think for once my mom views me as older than I view myself, i.e. my mom thinks I am too old for Urban Outfitters furnishings and thinks I should rent my own apartment. Relatedly, for the first time, I paid for many of my meals, etc. Mom and Basil are leaving tomorrow and they haven’t annoyed me for days. The weather, as always, is blue, breezy, and balmy.  I have basically been eating and walking, which are my favorite activities. Yesterday we walked over 12 miles; wandered through the mansions of Pacific Heights, window shopped in Cow Hollow, did the tourist thing at Fisherman’s Wharf. We took the ferry to Sausalito. On the ferry, a seagull hovered directly over us for the entirety of the ride. In Marin, we ate ice cream, shopped art galleries, and walked across the Golden Gate Bridge. Delia was scared, but such a good sport. It was breathtaking. I kept on thinking - what if I became suicidal for a split-second? Luckily, I am not, and I don’t think the fall off the bridge would be a pleasant one. We returned to SF, walked through the Presidio and ended up at a great little fusion place appropriately called "Fusio."

At night, we threw a surprise party for Laith. I am usually a bad liar, but I executed this one skillfully. He was shocked. The cool part is I didn’t even drink, but I did smoke a delectible Cuban. The Russians were there, care of Sascha, including my favorite smoking buddy, Strauss — which means "ostrich" in Russian. (As a side note, Russian Jews know how to live — they have wonderful nicknames, plentifully consume good vodka, and dark rye bread.) We sang testosteroney karaoke, arm-in-arm, and thought of and said words we haven’t said for 10+ years. Deeming these words is  liberating. (Please add any such words to my comments sections). I haven’t said any of the dinosaurs, i.e. stegosaurus, in that time, which says basically nothing about me. We also contemplated our ideal grilled cheese sandwiches — my favorite idea was grilled gruyere or muenster and prosciutto on a baguette dipped in dijon mustard. We also planned an elaborate cheese and chocolate fondue festivity. Then, we cuddled the whole night through. Human contact is good for the soul.

Today, I was exhausted. We did dim sum in the morning, and sampled cheeses and other delicacies at the Ferry Plaza Farmer’s Market, watched "Million Dollar Baby," and did the Castro. During the day we witnessed the requisite fight on the MUNI, this time between the F-Line driver and a passenger. Delia was a little scared. We ate at Lisa Loeb’s favorite dining spot: Home. AND, they played Lisa Loeb songs while we were there. If you didn’t know this, I have a gargantuan crush on Lisa and resent Dweezil.

I found the "Million Dollar Baby" immenseley boring and disappointing. I honestly can’t believe it won so many awards!The acting was fine, but the script SUCKED.  It dragged on and on, and was absurdly melodramatic. Obviously, you’re going to be affected when a one-dimensional protagonist is paralyzed after she is punched by an evil minority boxer. Then, her leg is amputated, her family abuses her, and she bites off her tounge. This is cheap pity — gag me. Basil enjoyed the fight scenes, but IF I wanted to watch fights give me pay-per-view and I’ll do the real thing. Caveat: I did love GLOW ("Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling") as a child. Anybody remember that?

I am really glad to see blogs of old friends popping up on friendster. It is such a nice way to feel connected to you all. Please continue to share!

I snapped out of it. I officially love my mother again and no longer find her annoying. I got out my Marshalls and Sonicare-rooted aggression by walking her up Cathedral Hill — which is at a 70-degree angle. (Also, my mom took back the Sonicare and bought me hot Lucky jeans instead, which only helped matters.) Watching Delia stride up the hills in agony was therapeutic. While I may be evil for deriving pleasure from her pain, the pain is ultimately good for her. Legit?  No, really we have been having so much fun! I swear in the last 2 days we have easily walked over 20 miles. I am going to have a firm bum. The week’s weather started out awful and was supposed to stay awful, but it has been gorgeous. Now, I am really excited for her
wedding on Memorial Day weekend.

Yesterday I took mom and Basil on a whirlwind tour of SF — to the Castro, Mission, Dolores Park, and SoMa (including Julie’s). Today, we did Oakland, power lunched with my friend’s mom there, and walked all around Berkeley, through Cole Valley, and did dinner in the Upper Haight. I honestly love walking and eating more than anything. And, I love being outside, and urban beauty. Tomorrow we go to Sausalito and Alcatraz.

Everywhere we go, a new fun friend of mine joins us, which is really fun. My mom really enjoys my friends, which makes me so happy. Friends are very important to me — now more than ever. My sister’s friends aren’t as interested in my mom. They’re more interested in money and status. Thus, to compensate for my sister’s friends’ aloofness, my mom really appreciates that my friends take such an interest in her. This, in turn, make me appreciate them more.

On that note, I don’t mean to brag, but I think I have objectively stellar friends. They make me happy. If you know me, you know that I am a ranker and taxonomizer. Lately, I have been interested in characterizing my friends as a cohort. For example, I have friends who are not part of my core group. I label their groups as "aloof, Ivy league hipsters" or "hyper-masculine, blue-collar, poker fanatics." This prompted me to analyze how my group would be characterized by a third party. I think we are all education-oriented, entrepreneurial, vulnerable/no front, and funny. Please comment.

What else? I passed my driver’s license exam today. I was really nervous about it after the whole bar fiasco. It’s amazing how that exam can traumatize you. CA is uber-strict with licenses. They make you re-take the test every four years. Yikes.

I might go to SoCal: LA and SD with Liz next week. I want to taste the sea, feel the heat, and see some new environs, including that zoo.

I think my new job is sort of hard-core. I keep on getting e-mails re: staff meetings, and black-tie events that I am hosting. I am excited and nervous, but mainly excited.

I am really excited to start new hobbies. I want to play tennis, do capoeira, wine tasting, voice lessons at ACT, work out, try sculpture again, take spanish lessons, and brew my own kombucha.

Life is fun, no?

Last night my mom, Basil and I chatted from 11 PM to 3 AM and drank and smoked and it was great. I found out that my mom has the same philosophy about mortality that I do — analogizing death to pre-birth. This was creepy.

Today was characterized by rain and muck. The weather blew. I mean it. It was a windy rainy Hell, and SF’s main attractions are outdoors. Rain = mall, which = unhappy Andrew, especially where you + discount stores, i.e. Ross, Marshalls, and Loehman’s.

I have no tolerance for my mother, and as I age it’s getting lower, not higher. I mean, I totally love her and I thought I had her down to a science. But, she has this uncanny knack for annoying me. Whoever is reading this could do or say exactly the same thing she does and the effect would be innocuous. But, when Delia does it, my blood curdles, and my heart palpitates.

Let me give you some snippets from my life the last two days:

(1) My mom — a Puerto Rican living in South Florida — cannot deal with rain or cold. Today it was raining. Everytime a droplet came into contact with her body it was as if she was participating in some sort of war or some genocide, of which she was a part, had occurred.

(2) Then, there is the whole Marshalls issue, which has plagued me my entire life. I hate Marshalls. My mom knows this. This is because of her. To get my gourd she always insists that whatever city we’re in we go to Marshalls. When I try to find a substitute (to somehow prove my point that Marshalls is not Mecca), she always retorts that Marshalls is somehow superior.  (This is sort of akin to the fact that when we backpacked through Europe, we had to eat Chinese food and find bars that made Manhattans in every city we went to. In Prague, we went to frikkin Friday’s.)

(3) Also, she has this warped obsession with appearing "classy." She is trying to convince her fiance that their 1.5 million dollar condo is not enough for them and that they  "need" a 2 million dollar house. Jeez — for what!? I think it’s because she grew up poor that she cares so much. The good part of this is that I’ve almost convinced her to purchase one of those new Lexus Hybrids.

(4) Relevantly, she saw my apartment and almost puked. She thinks I am living in some sort of slum. I mean, my carpeting is a little stained or whatever, but the place is totally fine, has a great view, and is in a great location. She was supposed to stay here one night, but bought an extra night at a hotel because she was so disgusted by this place. If you’ve been here you’d know that her reaction is an overreaction.

Honestly, nothing terrible has happened. Tomorrow is a new day and I am just going to suck it up and enjoy her visit.  It’s totally doable.

On a positive note, we found my mom a very nice wedding dress. I stopped by my new workplace and it was very cool. We had two excellent meals — San Franciscans must go to House of Nanking and order the Salt and Pepper Calamari. Wowzers. And, we saw Born Into Brothels, which I very much enjoyed (though my mother couldn’t get past the alleged "smell" of the theatre, which I did not perceive.) We were supposed to go to this awesome underground transvestite event called "Tranny Shack" that happens every Tuesday, but with the rain the trek was too daunting. Another Tuesday.

OK - that’s all. I feel better.  Yay for blogs.

PS - My dad had eye surgery today. He said "I love you" to me yesterday. That always scares me.

Last night we had an excellent night of Improv — saw Lila’s new cast. It was a sell-out show, which  was very invigorating. It’s fun to sell tickets for a sell-out show; you feel like a winner. We celebrated afterwards by going to Julie’s, which was sad without Laith, and which was taken over by many under-age gansta thug types. This is not the usual scene for Julie’s, which is usually populated by old rich married men and their mistresses. Anyhow, as a result of the change of scenery we brought some key people back to my place. We had some interesting discussions. One of the cast members studied in South Africa and did the same spelunking and rafting trips as me. We also deliberated, without reaching consensus, about what’s the most intimate: sleeping with, kissing, or cuddling with somebody. I think kissing is nothing. I could kiss just about anyone. Sleeping with somebody is second. Cuddling is the most intimate. I wouldn’t cuddle with someone who I really didn’t know or respect. Alas, the night was capped with grade-A cuddling.

Today, I was retroactively frustrated by my mom. I felt really spoiled for being so annoyed. For X-Mas, she bought me this hoity-toity Sonicare toothbrush, which I have told her a million times I have no interest in. I mean this is a deluxe electric toothbrush chiming in at over $150. I can’t think of a bigger waste of money. It’s like me buying her a gold-plated encylopedia of liberal arts colleges.  I tried to return it at a bajillion places on Polk St and Union Square, all to no avail. I left her a sort of mean message, which brought me back to when I was a vindictive teenager. I realized that if that is the most frustrating thing going on in my life right now, my life is pretty frikkin amazing.

Tonight I was supposed to see a movie premiere for "Disarmed" about a woman without an arm. Instead, I cuddled and fell asleep and slept right through it. Adeel is back in town and we watched Ray on pay-per-view.

I loved resigning. I think I pulled it off well, though I looked a little too happy to leave. All the paralegals told me I had a contagious glow about me. There are certain individuals I will miss a lot. It was 8 months of my life. But, I am looking forward to being respected and to not conjuring strife. I have a farewell luncheon on Monday, and then I’m totally done.

I am on my first 2-week vacation in 3 years. Last night was jam-packed with theatre. We saw a new improv group — an offshoot of Lila. Afterwards, we went to Esther a rock-opera at the famous (and haunted) Cafe du Nord. It was erotic and put me in touch with my Jewish heritage. These are two things that have never before been coterminous. My mom will be here next week. Exciting! I love showing people around, taking them to the best hole-in-the-wall Indian restaurant ever, and just being a tourist in my own city. The second week, perhaps Laith and I will go down to SoCal or Mexico or something. I need an adventure.

Today was a lovely day. One of those days where you seek to accomplish a host of shopping tasks, none of which work out, but which leads to a host of misadventures. We found a new restaurant — Blue, where they have excellent salads. I have missed excellent salads. I am trying to integrate lots of salmon into my diet. Anyway, we bumped into Esther; the second time we’ve done so in a week. I love bumping into friends. It makes me feel like I live in a little bumblefucky town where I know everybody.

I have lost a lot of weight. Today I tried on Diesel jeans in the Castro. I told the queeny sales guy I wore a size 36 and he tittered and said, "No you don’t. You are a size 32-33." He was right — I am! I don’t remember the last time I was this size. I felt even more attractive when Joanna and I walked down Market St. and this homeless woman asked Joanna (my pimp) how much she wanted for the "tall guy", i.e. me. We also were almost attacked by a preppy-looking psycho moon-walker on meth on Polk Street. Maybe this is not PC, but Anglo psychos somehow seem more psycho to me.

So, I had a little vicarious adventure. A friend, who shall remain anonymous, sought a massage at a late hour on Sunday. I had been told that these Thai massage whirlpool places were really brothels, but I had to know the truth. Were they?

So, a bunch of us pooled our funds together to subsidize the so-called massage. Andrea and the friend walked around the Tenderloin - a part of town not as savory as it sounds. It turns out the code word for an erotic massage is "happy ending." Anyway, when the female accomplice asked whether the parlor had "happy endings" the respondent, a Chinese Heidi Fleiss, freaked. (We caught that conversation on tape.) Anyhow, they worked it all out. It is true — if you give the right tip, you’ll get a soothing Shiatzu that ends with a bang. I don’t know how it works with the ladies. Maybe this calls for further investigation…

Anyway, so you know I have been mistreated in my vocation. I feel dispensible, uninteresting, and somewhat untalented. To euphemize — it’s been humbling. As of late, I’ve been criticized for being too well-adjusted, too scholarly, and too balanced; things I used to consider good qualities. After consorting the other night with a friend of mine who does predatory lending law for a living (and enjoys it), I realized I could never do what he does (unless I were Hindu and had a bunch of other lives to live). It’s not me.  Alas, today I was offered the position of my dreams. I received the call at work right in front of my boss and I was speechless. I will be running Alumni Affairs at Golden Gate Law School. Now, law school is justified (sort of). They said I could start whenever I want. I am going to try to construe a vacation out of this. Delia is coming next week, so perfect timing.

Anyway - life is a hoot. Jill tells me I need some new stories. Let’s make some.

Let me preface this with a disclaimer: I am obviously not violent and am very much opposed to bombs and beatings. I believe violence leads to nothing good.

With that said, even though my work says that I am "too nice" and I wouldn’t "go for the juggular" every so often I get this urge - this physicalized impulse - to be violent.

The last time I had a physical altercation, aside from the time I was almost mugged in Union Square, was in 4th grade when Mike Korman wanted Johnny Quihano to be in our exclusive group we called "the Lost Boys." Our signature outfit consisted of biker shorts and Bart Simpson slap bracelets. But, we were cool. Really. Anyway, I was offended by the proposition of adding Johnny to our elite ranks. To me, he was only good for stealing his mother’s menthol cigarettes. So, at his suggestion I clocked Mike in the mouth and split his lip. He dabbed the blood and then everybody said "cool."

Modernly, the only time I feel violent is when I am in a position of subordination, where someone is asserting power or rank over me, and I feel like I have to remain subdued. For example, today I produced a document with a typo *gasp*, wherein I wrote "fundal weight" as opposed to "fundal height." A person who shall remain nameless explained to me over about 15 minutes that centimeters measure height, and not weight. In my Ally McBeal world, my head would have spun and smoke flew my ears. I wanted to run around the office like some sort of primal banshee. Maybe there’s a big global parallel (?)

I often don’t think gender is relevant. I often identify more with women, but that usually pertains to the ways men treat them. (I have the inside scoop on that — I feel like a sort of gestapo.) But, this feeling reminds me — along with my "package" — that I have more testosterone than estrogen, and that this is relevant.

There’s also this older paralegal who’s been here for 3 months, who is like this 60-year old version of my friend Brianne. I just realized it today. I love her now that I drew this parallel. She is someone I can vent to, and I hadn’t had/need that.

OK - thank Allah for the weekend! I need that too!

PS: I had a dream about my high school Spanish teacher the other day and she made the best taco pie. So, I e-mailed her and got the recipe and made it for dinner. It is stellar - but VERY unhealthy. Try it:

Ms. Gonano’s Taco Pie

2 rolls of Pillsbury crescent rolls
1 huge bag of Dorito nacho cheese chips
3 cups shredded cheddar cheese
16 ounce container of sour cream
2 packages of taco seasoning
1 cup water
1 jar of taco sauce
2 pounds of ground chuck

Fry
meat until brown.Drain the grease. Add taco seasoning packets and the
water and simmer for 10 minutes. Set aside. In large rectangular baking
dish,undo the crescent rolls to form a pie crust.Smash dorito chips and
place half of bag of chips into baking dish.Add one and a half cups of
the cheese. Then add the meat mixture.Spread the sour cream on top. Put
the rest of the doritos on top,followed by the rest of the cheese.
Bake uncovered for 30 minutes at 350 degreees.
Serve with taco sauce on top.