Friday was fun. I went to Red Lobster with my boss, Nell; her partner, Coraline; and our senior analyst, Ricky. I gave Coraline a Sarah Palin bobble head, since she's a fan. It was a totally enjoyable time.
Saturday was sweltering. I just sat in my room after having bought a new fan since the old one broke, and sat there sweating like a crackhead.
Then there was Sunday and the attendant Crushing Sunday Evening Depression. And last night's Crushing Sunday Evening Depression was aided by a cavalcade of downer TV programs that I shall list for you here now:
1. "The Five People You Meet In Heaven" A poignant, tearjerker of a flick based on the book of the same name, "The Five People You Meet In Heaven" is the story of a curmudgeonly amusement park maintenance man played by Jon Voight who dies, and how the story of his life affected so many others, including his disease-stricken wife who died prematurely; an old army buddy; and the legions of people and their children whose lives he'd saved in the park by all the rides he'd fixed. Very charming movie, even though you're in tears for most of it.
2. "Culture of Hate: Who Are We?" This is a documentary about the white power youth movement in Lakeside, California, a podunk, piece of shit, cowpie, cowboy town near San Diego where I had the misfortune of going to middle school. Revealing, interesting, and altogether sad, it's the sort of thing that makes me so afraid of the world outside of San Francisco.
3. "The Grey Zone" Why this gruesome Holocaust film adapted from the play of the same name was playing around midnight at night, I don't know. But it's about concentration camp prisoners who basically served the Nazis in the systematic cremation of the other prisoners. Really grim stuff with some pretty unsettling scenes.
Aside from that, I heard from Gideon again after a nearly two-week absence. He's been crazy busy with work. We are hoping to do a dinner this Wednesday where I plan to pop the question, but his schedule is ungodly. So we'll see.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
G.I. Jews
Friday night saw the girls and I at Tres Agaves in SoMa, with scrumptious Mexican edibles and tequila drinks. I'm not a fan of tequila, per se, but their mixed drinks--which have long names that are in Spanish, and are expensive--really did the trick in masking it, and working up a fiesta of a buzz.
After we'd parked, Sarah and Roze got into a big old tiff because Sarah, who just announced to us that day that she'd married her boyfriend during her recent trip to the Dominican Republic, was reneging on attending a party later that night where Roze's ex-boyfriend of one year who hasn't spoken to her since their break up would be at, as well as their mutual friend Selena who was mortally pissed at Roze. (My friends' drama is virtually better than anything network TV could produce, and without the commercials. Loves it.) Sarah had to depart fairly early on, but it was coolness hanging with Roze, Dascha, and J So, all former co-workers with whom I still manage to keep in touch. I like that.
We then packed it in, I went home, and who else, but Costella phoned up, and we hung out the whole rest of the night. I was pretty much tanked for the rest of the weekend, and I have to say, I felt like I'd been beaten the hell up with a baseball bat from my workout. I don't know why it's a three-day recovery process everytime, and I know it's supposed to be that "good pain" where you know your muscles are rebuilding, but it fucking hurts like fuck.
I had Monday off, thankfully, and forced myself out of bed at the crack of noon to go to the post office, go grocery shopping, do laundry, and buy some household amenities before calling it a night.
I don't know why I'd forgotten to mention it, but the weekend or so ago when Gideon and I had gone to see "Julie and Julia", and then come back to his house for a nightcap, we were sitting out on his balcony, overlooking the bay as he smoked a cigarette, and we saw a shooting star. I don't mean to get all schmaltzy and corny, but fuck, it was a cute moment, for Chrissake. And you can guess what I wished for.
P.S. What the fuck is Tim Gunn doing sporting dyed blond hair. Go back to the silver, Timothy!
After we'd parked, Sarah and Roze got into a big old tiff because Sarah, who just announced to us that day that she'd married her boyfriend during her recent trip to the Dominican Republic, was reneging on attending a party later that night where Roze's ex-boyfriend of one year who hasn't spoken to her since their break up would be at, as well as their mutual friend Selena who was mortally pissed at Roze. (My friends' drama is virtually better than anything network TV could produce, and without the commercials. Loves it.) Sarah had to depart fairly early on, but it was coolness hanging with Roze, Dascha, and J So, all former co-workers with whom I still manage to keep in touch. I like that.
We then packed it in, I went home, and who else, but Costella phoned up, and we hung out the whole rest of the night. I was pretty much tanked for the rest of the weekend, and I have to say, I felt like I'd been beaten the hell up with a baseball bat from my workout. I don't know why it's a three-day recovery process everytime, and I know it's supposed to be that "good pain" where you know your muscles are rebuilding, but it fucking hurts like fuck.
I had Monday off, thankfully, and forced myself out of bed at the crack of noon to go to the post office, go grocery shopping, do laundry, and buy some household amenities before calling it a night.
I don't know why I'd forgotten to mention it, but the weekend or so ago when Gideon and I had gone to see "Julie and Julia", and then come back to his house for a nightcap, we were sitting out on his balcony, overlooking the bay as he smoked a cigarette, and we saw a shooting star. I don't mean to get all schmaltzy and corny, but fuck, it was a cute moment, for Chrissake. And you can guess what I wished for.
P.S. What the fuck is Tim Gunn doing sporting dyed blond hair. Go back to the silver, Timothy!
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Won't you please now stand and give a hand...
...to the Nefarious Forces That Keep Me From Getting a Good Night's Sleep:
1. The Evil Dreams: Last night, for example, I was being chased by this ragged gang of homeless freaks, and was leaping from roof to roof of these dingy downtown warehouses trying to escape. Nice.
2. The Fucking Queen Across the Way: This dude should be in the theatre for his ability to project and parlay the most insipid of gossip at 8:00 am every morning. It feels like he is actually in my room when he starts going at it. The kicker is that he once bitched to J Co about the ambient blue aquarium night light I keep on in the kitchen, calling it a "strange blue light" that kept him up. I've since put a black backing on it, but am tempted to tear it the fuck off and light up the night. Bastard.
3. The Things that Go Bump in the Night: I suppose it's just the inevitable fate of someone who lives in an old school SF apartment building, but what may to some be someone just closing a door hard is like a hammer to the head when you're trying to eek out those last few bits of sleep in the morning. Sheesh.
4. Sugar, the Kitty Cat: The most forgivable culprit only gets a free pass because she's cute. And because she poops. In my room sometimes. So the moment she meows at 5:00 am, I'm up and opening the door. Even though it's more often than not just because she's bored and wants attention. Rat cat.
1. The Evil Dreams: Last night, for example, I was being chased by this ragged gang of homeless freaks, and was leaping from roof to roof of these dingy downtown warehouses trying to escape. Nice.
2. The Fucking Queen Across the Way: This dude should be in the theatre for his ability to project and parlay the most insipid of gossip at 8:00 am every morning. It feels like he is actually in my room when he starts going at it. The kicker is that he once bitched to J Co about the ambient blue aquarium night light I keep on in the kitchen, calling it a "strange blue light" that kept him up. I've since put a black backing on it, but am tempted to tear it the fuck off and light up the night. Bastard.
3. The Things that Go Bump in the Night: I suppose it's just the inevitable fate of someone who lives in an old school SF apartment building, but what may to some be someone just closing a door hard is like a hammer to the head when you're trying to eek out those last few bits of sleep in the morning. Sheesh.
4. Sugar, the Kitty Cat: The most forgivable culprit only gets a free pass because she's cute. And because she poops. In my room sometimes. So the moment she meows at 5:00 am, I'm up and opening the door. Even though it's more often than not just because she's bored and wants attention. Rat cat.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Pills 'n' bill, booze 'n' snooze
You know it's going to be a rough day when you wake up and the first thing you look forward to is taking a nap at lunchtime.
Do the extras in sitcoms who have to, like sit and talk in restaurants and cafes in the background, actually have scripts that they're reciting, or are they just having a silent, completely improvised conversation?
On now to a list of some of my favorite characters found on the Muni bus in the mornings:
Laotia: Laotia is a slim, non-descript woman who, I think, looks like she hails from Laos. I have no proof of this, nor know specifically what Laotians looks like. I just assume. When I see her waiting at the bus stop in the morning, I know I'll be relatively on time to work.
The Dutch Tranny: The Dutch Tranny is a male-to-female transexual who just, well, looks like she's of Dutch origin to me. She dresses very hippie librarian-ish, and could really use some moisturizer. I can't tell you why, but when I see her, I feel like she looks like Hansel and Gretel's babysitter.
Senorita Mujer: Senorita Mujer is a little Latina woman, probably somewhere in her late 20s, early 30s, who dresses to the 9's (or to the nueves), with her hair in a Spanish senorita de la villa style, and full make-up, and always carries a faded designer bag with her lunch in it. She's probably only a housekeeper, but I love the effort she puts into her look.
Monchichi Man: Remember the Monchichis? Those little animated monkey-like critters with the shirts that would say what their particular emotion was at the moment? There's this little retarded man who bears a striking resemblance to them. In fact, I think he works at my company. There's something kind of endearing and sad about seeing him board the bus with his little metallic lunchbox and bad clothes, on his way to work.
G'night, Jeanette Macdonald.
Do the extras in sitcoms who have to, like sit and talk in restaurants and cafes in the background, actually have scripts that they're reciting, or are they just having a silent, completely improvised conversation?
On now to a list of some of my favorite characters found on the Muni bus in the mornings:
Laotia: Laotia is a slim, non-descript woman who, I think, looks like she hails from Laos. I have no proof of this, nor know specifically what Laotians looks like. I just assume. When I see her waiting at the bus stop in the morning, I know I'll be relatively on time to work.
The Dutch Tranny: The Dutch Tranny is a male-to-female transexual who just, well, looks like she's of Dutch origin to me. She dresses very hippie librarian-ish, and could really use some moisturizer. I can't tell you why, but when I see her, I feel like she looks like Hansel and Gretel's babysitter.
Senorita Mujer: Senorita Mujer is a little Latina woman, probably somewhere in her late 20s, early 30s, who dresses to the 9's (or to the nueves), with her hair in a Spanish senorita de la villa style, and full make-up, and always carries a faded designer bag with her lunch in it. She's probably only a housekeeper, but I love the effort she puts into her look.
Monchichi Man: Remember the Monchichis? Those little animated monkey-like critters with the shirts that would say what their particular emotion was at the moment? There's this little retarded man who bears a striking resemblance to them. In fact, I think he works at my company. There's something kind of endearing and sad about seeing him board the bus with his little metallic lunchbox and bad clothes, on his way to work.
G'night, Jeanette Macdonald.
Monday, August 17, 2009
The sun'll come out manana
I hit the bottle a bit too hard Friday night, and ended up on the brighter side of crap Saturday. Still, I had enough alcohol energy in me to do two loads of laundry and run several errands including going to the bank, buying some new work shirts, some under-eye cream, and some self-tanner.
Speaking of which, the gals at the Pure Beauty in downtown San Francisco rank right up there with some of the stupidest salespeople in America. The one chick, this pretty little girl with widely-spaced eyes, was daydreaming, gazing out the window when I walked in, and didn't greet me or offer to assist me. Fine, no worries. I usually hate it when salespeople assault you right off the bat anyways. But then I go and ask her where the self-tanner is and she says to me, "Self-taaaneeeeeer?" in elongated, sorority girl syllables, as if she's never heard the word in her life. Nitwit. Much like the girl I ordered an omelet from that morning, who said, "A veggie omelet??" as if she'd just returned from the marijuana moon. Like seriously, the chick was baked.
But I rallied my defenses, and made it through the day, and finally BART-ed over to Berkeley to see Gideon. He, his roommates, couple Jonah and Gina, Gina's parents, and myself went to see "Julie and Julia". TOO adorable. I had a smile plastered on myself the whole time, even though we were in, like, the sixth row.
Then I spent the night with Gideon and had the most wonderful night's sleep on his thousand thread count bed. And awoke the next morning feeling like someone had pummeled the shit out of me. No, it wasn't due to a night of rough sex, but my muscles finally recovering from the gym three days later. I guess because I hadn't had a good night's sleep Thursday or Friday night, my body took the opportunity Saturday night to recover. So, like an old man, I creaked out of bed, kissed my man goodbye, and hobbled on back home to catnap my Sunday away.
Bliss.
Speaking of which, the gals at the Pure Beauty in downtown San Francisco rank right up there with some of the stupidest salespeople in America. The one chick, this pretty little girl with widely-spaced eyes, was daydreaming, gazing out the window when I walked in, and didn't greet me or offer to assist me. Fine, no worries. I usually hate it when salespeople assault you right off the bat anyways. But then I go and ask her where the self-tanner is and she says to me, "Self-taaaneeeeeer?" in elongated, sorority girl syllables, as if she's never heard the word in her life. Nitwit. Much like the girl I ordered an omelet from that morning, who said, "A veggie omelet??" as if she'd just returned from the marijuana moon. Like seriously, the chick was baked.
But I rallied my defenses, and made it through the day, and finally BART-ed over to Berkeley to see Gideon. He, his roommates, couple Jonah and Gina, Gina's parents, and myself went to see "Julie and Julia". TOO adorable. I had a smile plastered on myself the whole time, even though we were in, like, the sixth row.
Then I spent the night with Gideon and had the most wonderful night's sleep on his thousand thread count bed. And awoke the next morning feeling like someone had pummeled the shit out of me. No, it wasn't due to a night of rough sex, but my muscles finally recovering from the gym three days later. I guess because I hadn't had a good night's sleep Thursday or Friday night, my body took the opportunity Saturday night to recover. So, like an old man, I creaked out of bed, kissed my man goodbye, and hobbled on back home to catnap my Sunday away.
Bliss.
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