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!