Last Weekend

Let's see...it started with a two-hour lunch on Friday followed by an exhaustive tour of the unimpressive Great Mall of Milpitas. What were we thinking? Actually, if asked, the finger would be pointed in my direction. I had heard about the Great Mall, and since we were over that way, I thought it would be interesting to check out. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I'm not going to waste any time here, so let's just say that I was better off not knowing about it.

Saturday was chore day. And then we went to Yoshi's to see the Tom Harrell quintet. I had never been to a jazz club before, and—you know, I'm beginning to think that staying at Rancho Relaxo has nothing but new experiences for me; I seem to be recording things that I "had never done before"...anyway—so we went to check it out. Tom, honey, loosen up a little. He stands on stage like a wind-up doll who's become unwound, eyes closed, lips in a perpetual pucker waiting for his part to come along. Head lowered with his chin on his chest. Arms at his sides. Trumpet clasped in his hand. We were all like, dude, no more drugs before a performance. Other than that, it was really nice. I love live music and the experience watching musicians play their instruments. It reminds me of being part of a band and orchestra in high school. I like that memory.

Sunday was Pride in San Francisco. I was roused at nine o'clock and told to be ready to leave for the parade. What? I didn't know we were going. Phyllis' daughter has just come out (of the closet that is), and she wanted her mother to go to the parade in her place. So we went. I was dreading it the whole ride in to town, but after I got there, I remembered how much fun it can be. And aside from this being a precursor to the Folsom Street Fair in the sense that it gives those who need it the opportunity to prance around in nothing but a studded dog collar, literally, I liked looking and being looked at. I forgot how cool it was.

And now it's the beginning of a three-day week. Woo hoo. I can't wait. This will be the "Lost Weekend" where anything goes. Hmmm.

Oh, and Netflix is the coolest thing I've found so far. It raises the potential for shut-in status that much higher. I love the Internet.

And another thing: I am getting sick and tired of seeing grown men with hairy chests and arms and legs shave off the hair because it doesn't look good. Who the fuck said so? And why has our society suddenly become so anti-hair? I've seen those stupid infomercials that peddle hair removal cream and who appeal to both men and women now. And just last night, watching Malcom in the Middle I watched the father shave off his chest hair as if it would make him look more sexy. I can understand, to a degree, why women would want an easy way to shave their body hair, but for those men who have body hair, why do they want to shave it off?

Now, as a gay man who is very proud of who I am, I must protest! I simply adore men with hairy chests. It's so much more fun and sexy and arousing. I am not into the smooth bod look. It's boring. I would even go so far as to say hair all over the place: chest, face, arms, legs, butt, and back!!! The more the better! You wouldn't believe how proud I was as a teenager to look down my chest to see hair growing there. It felt like I had finally grown up and become a man. You couldn't pay me enough to remove it! In fact, when I was in junior high school, I was teased because my legs were hairy before anyone else's were. At the time I was mortified, but now I can't be more proud.

Why must we always be told what to look like? Why must a group of narrow-minded ignorami be in charge of what looks good? I mean, have you seen some of them? All lipoed and botoxed and bleached and plucked. That's attractive? Look at the photo spreads in any "mainstream" gay magazine like Out or the Advocate. All of the guys are young, nubile, and devoid of hair...not to mention personality. What happened to the rugged, weathered, good looking, handsome men who were once models? I think they are much more representative of men everywhere. It's ridiculous. I want au naturel. I want to see what people really look like. And besides, if you shave your chest hair instead of waxing it, I'll bet it itches like hell when it grows back...and those are your just rewards.

Leave the hair alone, fellas. You look better with it on than you do with it off. Not a very convincing argument, I know, but my two cents, nonetheless. And I realize that this is the way of the world. I'm just here to tell you that I fucking hate it.

FDA rules nicotine water an illegal drug that can't sell

But would ya wanna drink it?

That's just gross. I know smoking is bad enough, but nicotine water? Who the hell thought up this little gem? It reminds me of this kid I knew in high school who was always dipping chewing tobacco and spitting in a Big Gulp cup. It was a nasty sight, and that's all I can think of now. Thanks ever so.

Yay! It's Friday!

I feel like I have so much to say, but I don't know where to start...and watch, it'll just end up being a paragraph.

Went out to dinner with Harry again last night. I miss him too much. It's like, I know we're better off as friends, but there is still an attraction there, and I just have to grow up. We went to the Y afterwards for a swim and soak. I hadn't been to the Embarcadero Y in about two years, and while nothing had changed, it felt odd. Perhaps it was just the flood of memories that I have when I think of that place. I haven't been there since the car. (Long story.) The people haven't changed, either. The same guys are cruising the same guys in the locker room. Puh. Lease. I am so over that. I need to start working out more, though. I have been maintaining 205 for the last year, at least. It's not my ideal weight by far, and I am seeing that more and more when I look in the mirror. And besides, the National Institute of Health or the Surgeon General or whoever else wants to chime in all say that because of my height and weight (5'9" and 205#, respectively), I'm obese. Yeah, well phhffffft to you, too. As I said, I carry it well.

And I have less than three hours before the beginning of a lost, four-day weekend. I just don't know I am going to do with myself.

And I have just about a week before (one) I turn 31, bleccch; and (two) I set off on yet another road trip. Make that the third in as many months. I'm not used to that. I'm going down to LA, as I must have said before, to visit Ken who will not only be down there for a couple of weeks, but who will also be moving down there later this year. Can I just say "bite me"?

Why? Why do you have to move so far away? I am so sure. You want me to move down there, too, don't you? Well, I just don't know if I can do it. Last night, as H and I were walking back to BART from the Y, we were both commenting on how lovely and cool and misty it was. The fog had descended on the City and released it from the miserable heat summer brings with it. Ken and I made the same remark when we had dinner on top of Macy*s, outside, at night last week. If you don't like the rain, fog, and cool weather of San Francisco, then why do you live here? Don't complain about it. Go live somewhere else! My original point was that I think LA is too hot for me to handle all the time. I live for the cold summers and rainy winters of San Francisco. Anyway.

There, I think I've said all that I have to say for a while. I'll try to check back in over the weekend. It might not be that easy, though. We'll see.

Lost and Found

Well, let's see. Where do I start?

We had planned on a huge, blow-out weekend at Rancho Relaxo. We were going to lounge around in our PJs all weekend, drinking, eating, watching movies non-stop. It started out OK, but by Saturday, I think we were all so sick of seeing each other in the same clothes for the third day in a row that we ended up scattering to different corners of the house. In fact, in the whole four days, I don't think I was drunk for longer than an hour at a time. Oh well.

I managed to see some good movies during this time, however. We had wanted to do a black-and-white Fourth of July, so we started with The Bad Seed which was atrocious. I couldn't stand it. The acting was so over the top, and that little bitch should have died for sure. Whatever. Then we watched Imitation of Life which had me bawling my eyes out by the end. I love that. The list goes on to include color flicks as well, mainly because we couldn't find the B/Ws at any of the Blockbusters in San Mateo County...and that's sad. So, we watched The Others which was surprisingly good. I didn't know what the fuck was going on until the last ten minutes of the movie, and it was certainly an eye-opener. I liked it. A really cool twist on a common theme. And then, of course, we had to watch Gosford Park, which I completely adore. Clive Owen is just divine. This time, we watched it with the subtitles on so we could understand the English speaking English. *blush* It made a difference! At least I knew who the main characters were and what their real stories were. It was awfully hard to figure it out in the cinema.

Friday, I went out for most of the day. I needed some fresh air and a change of scenery. So I drove into the city to look for some shoes, but couldn't find the ones I wanted. Go figure. I ended up going to Hillsdale Mall in San Mateo to get the stuff I needed. I spent entirely too much money, but I walked away with some early birthday presents for myself. It feels good to be a consumer, although I must admit that I'm just too concerned about wasting money. I probably shouldn't admit that, though. I'm not stingy. Oh, fuck it, whatever.

By Saturday, however, I was in a mood. I've been staying at the house for almost two months now. We all get along pretty well, but lately, I've realized that I have absolutely no privacy at all. I don't have a room to myself. I don't have a closet for my clothes. I don't have anywhere in that house to go to get away from them if I truly want to be alone, which happens from time to time. I have to leave the house and drive somewhere if I want to be alone. At least living back in Oakland, J knows when I need my space and vice versa. R&W came down into the family room/bedroom to commandeer the tele for some more old movies, and I asked if I could use his office to work. He was surprised and shocked that I wouldn't stay and watch movies. I told him bluntly that I wanted to be alone for a while, and he was offended. "Did I do something?" he asked all innocently. I said, "no, I just need some time to be alone."

This all follows a brief discussion that we had a week or so ago. We were talking about this living situation, and he asked me if I was happy living there. I told him that I didn't really feel like I was living there because I was sleeping on their pull-out sofa, and living out of suitcases. He said that he could buy a portable cabinet/closet for my clothes if I really wanted. And, because he had such gall to suggest it, I said that I really wanted my own room. He was confused and said that there was nothing that he could do about that. I mentioned that his sister, the travelling nurse, receives a stipend each month as a housing allowance, and that if she wanted to stay in San Francisco, she could get her own apartment. He was startled that I mentioned that, and frankly, I thought he would have been outraged that I suggest such a thing. But he was calm, and he replied that she only had a month left on this tour before she would return to Virginia for another month before returning for her next tour. So if I wanted to wait a couple more weeks, I could have the privacy of the room for a month, but then I would have to move again because she's coming back at the end of August. How do you like that? So, even though he has proclaimed that I am family, and that I am the little brother he's never had, it turns out that blood is truly thicker than water.

I'm not asking for any special favors, here, OK? I'm trying to understand where he's coming from. And after that peaceful transaction, I know that he is the kind of person who likes to have his cake and eat it, too. And at the same time, I am torn because I have an apartment in Oakland that I miss (a little), and all of my things: my computers, my books, my shoes! For the duration of the year, I'll be working in Palo Alto, which is a fifty-five-mile commute from Oakland, in one direction. From Rancho Relaxo, it's only 15 miles. (I'm sure I've said this before.) And now that I have a new car that can handle the commute, I also have a lease that limits the number of miles I can put on the car in one year (remember: I'm averse to wasting money). It disturbs me that I would put...hang on...math in progress...over 11,000 miles on the car in the first six months that I've had it!! Perhaps the lease isn't the best way to go. Is this too much drama? Tell me, Mary J. Blige....

So, I don't want to drive 110 miles a day to and from work, but I'll drive 750 miles down to LA and back in a weekend! I can't wait for that. But hang on, I'm not finished.

So, Saturday night, Buddy inhaled a foxtail up his nose and had to be taken to the vet for extraction. He started sneezing something awful, and though it was cute for a while, he started coughing up blood. So they took him in and got it fixed. He came back all drugged up and bumping into the walls. That was even more cute.

Sunday was bad. No one talked to each other. We were all, I don't know, sick of each other? Fed up? Bored? I couldn't really tell. For me, personally, a four-day weekend is just too long. Saturday and Sunday alone sometimes drive me nuts. I get stir crazy. I know I could find stuff to do, but I just feel constrained or something. I hate working during the week, and I don't like having to be at work for six to eight hours a day, but sometimes it's better than being at home. Uh oh, these are signs of a troubled domestic life, right? Don't start.

And yet, I know that R and Phyllis have talked about this, she hasn't changed her opinion of me. I'm sorry that I haven't given her credit for that. She apparently understands that sleeping on the sofa is not the best situation...or maybe I just haven't read her yet. Oh, whatever.

So the Fourth was a dud. I didn't even see any fireworks. The barbecue was good, though.

LA is a great big freeway

I'm finally here. I only took about five and a half hours. Traffic was good, the car practically flew! I was so happy to have no problems. Now it's time for a great weekend.

And by the way, happy birthday to me!

Home Again

I made it home from this journey in an astounding eleven hours. I know, it sounds off considering that it only took me about six hours to get down there in the first place. I have a very reasonable explanation:

Sunday night, we went out to Micky's in West Hollywood. There we met a friend of Ken and James. He invited us back to his place to talk after the bar closed. We stayed there until about 4:30 a.m. Then we went back to the hotel. We got there just as dawn was breaking. I went to bed at 6 a.m. and woke up at 9:30 a.m. I checked out at 11:30 a.m. So, in a word, I was tired for most of the day.

Plus, it was hot. In fact, by that time, I had gotten used to seeing temperatures over a hundred degrees on the car's thermometer. So, I was drinking lots of water. And my poor unfortunate bladder was not happy about it. Normally, I can hold gallons before making pit stops (I know, TMI, but it's integral to the story here). Not so on this day. The rest stops were spaced too far apart from each other, or else I was drinking too much too quickly. I had to pee like a yard dog and there was no rest area in sight.

When I did finally find one, and after I had taken care of business, I was sitting in my car, resting my body from being so cramped up, and I promptly fell asleep. For three hours. In a rest stop. In the hundred degree heat (windows open of course). So when I did wake up, I was already late. Not that I had a time schedule or anything. I had expected to be home a lot earlier than that, however.

So I sped down I-5 going as fast as I dared trying to make up for lost time, and I pulled in at 10:30 p.m. How about that?

And then, when I walked in the door, Reuben, Wayne, and Phyllis had a cake, candles, and party favors waiting to surprise me. There's a big Happy Birthday banner hanging in the foyer and everything. They waited up for me to get home so they could surprise me. I thought that was really nice.

I had an awesome weekend. I saw a lot of the area and even found a few spots I wouldn't mind living in if I ever decided to move in that direction. I will have to make more trips down there to get used to the area before I would make such a leap, though. It's huge, LA, and it would take a lot to get myself accustomed to the area. Not to mention time enough to memorize the street map of the area.

That's all for now.

Scary

I had a dream last night that has been haunting me all day. Maybe if I post it here, it will leave me alone.

I am driving down a desert road (probably because of my road trip, but I've learned not to analyze my dreams anymore) and I come to a four-way intersection with a stop light. There is a convertible of now-unknown make in front of me. I was cruising along at a good pace before the light, and I am now pissed because I had to stop so I give the light the finger. One of the passengers of the car in front of me happens to see my finger and lunges out of the car at my passenger-side window. I can hear him screaming at me, threatening to kill me because I flipped him off. I plead with him to forgive me because I was only giving the light the bird, not him. Then I notice his appearance. He's tall and stocky, wearing only a speedo. His body is covered in what looks like blood blisters or broken capillaries. His hair is shaggy and curly and long. His eyes are golden with oval shaped pupils, almost like a snake's eyes. His travelling companions are similarly featured. I am tempted to roll down the window so he can hear me more clearly, but I am sure that he will reach in the window and grab me if I do, so I don't. I look forward to see the car gone and his other two "friends" advancing on my car. I see that the light has turned green, so I speed off away from them.

There was something else in there about watching Buffy while I was taking a shower with the TV right in the shower with me. Buffy and the cheerleaders from Sunnydale High were out to stop a maniac who was killing in Sunnydale...no big surprise there. Cordelia picks a group of girls to go with her to fight the creep. One of the cheerleaders chickens out and says "why don't you take Buffy instead?" Buffy pipes up and says "I'd love to." But that was more entertaining than scary because a) I love Buffy, and b) Buffy knew she'd kick ass soon.

Funky as shit what my head does to me when I'm asleep.

News: Report: Mac users outsmart PC users

Gotta love this. Although most days, I'm using a PC. It sucks being trapped in Windows World.