Why are Mondays so gross? Like, they just really truly are.
Anyways, I had Friday off, and applauded myself for getting up before noon and *gasp* going grocery shopping. It's the oddest thing to be out in the morning and not on my way to work. The familiar City blocks I passed draped in the morning sunshine and filtered through cityscape shade made me feel like I was in a foreign country.
Saturday, I met up with Roze and Dascha at Osha to celebrate Roze's new job. I'm so happy for her and glad that she will be leaving her current intern job with its thankless twelve hour days, and moving on to something that is paying her bank!
Sunday, I got up from a nap around 4:00 and went into the hallway to see Brandon, a man, and a woman. The man and woman kind of stared at me, and I kind of just assumed they were Brandon's parents. I passed them in the hall as I made my way into the kitchen, and heard the man and woman speaking in Spanish to one another. Which really confused me because Brandon is Indian. It turns out, he hired some cleaners and that's who they were. Which was wonderfully coincidental as I'd contacted Merry Maids for a consultation, and these folks cost far less and did a bang up job. So nice to have a clean place!
I am getting my first facial on Thursday. The excitement is overwhelming.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Take me to the magic of the moment...
I did a random Google search for Fag Friday the other day, which was a weekly party at the End Up for about 11 years, before moving to Pink in the Mission, and discovered it had ended in 2008. I mean, it's not like Pink and The End Up aren't still there, but that particular party, which had been around longer than most and had the same promoters at the helm since its inception in 1996, is over.
I can remember going to Fag Fridays in the early 2000s, when Ruben Mancias and David Harness were their primary DJs. It was this brand of soulful diva house the likes of which I'd never heard before. Much slower than the hiNRG techno I'd always loved growing up. It was also the kind of music that you couldn't easily find at the record store or even necessarily online since they were white labels or original remixes by David or other SF DJs.
Fag Fridays was where I met my ex Sean. It's also where I've had many crazy, wonderful adventures and good times. They still have a Friday night at the End Up, though. It's not the end of the world. I'm just being dramatic. And it reminds me of how sometimes, I kind of hate change. It feels like dandelion petals floating up into the air and out into the wind away from you forever. But I'd better get used to it since the older you get, the more change you have to face.
No wonder old people are always so cranky.
I can remember going to Fag Fridays in the early 2000s, when Ruben Mancias and David Harness were their primary DJs. It was this brand of soulful diva house the likes of which I'd never heard before. Much slower than the hiNRG techno I'd always loved growing up. It was also the kind of music that you couldn't easily find at the record store or even necessarily online since they were white labels or original remixes by David or other SF DJs.
Fag Fridays was where I met my ex Sean. It's also where I've had many crazy, wonderful adventures and good times. They still have a Friday night at the End Up, though. It's not the end of the world. I'm just being dramatic. And it reminds me of how sometimes, I kind of hate change. It feels like dandelion petals floating up into the air and out into the wind away from you forever. But I'd better get used to it since the older you get, the more change you have to face.
No wonder old people are always so cranky.
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Bad, bad, bad
Monday night around 3:00 am, I suddenly heard this pounding on the roof like people were running across it. It scared the bejeezus out of me, and immediately woke me up. I went to our front door and looked out the peep hole to see if the fire escape door was open. Due to my sleepiness, not having my contacts in, and the fish eye view of the peephole, I really couldn't tell.
Yesterday, however, my neighbor confirmed that some guys were scaling the rooftops, and he'd shined a flashlight on them to scare them away. Yup, rooftop thieves, looking for a top floor fire escape door to enter and break into apartment buildings. It's the second time it's happened in the four years I've lived here. And I had a hard time getting back to sleep afterwards. I have this terrible fear of my apartment being broken into, my laptop stolen, my social security card taken, and Sugar catnapped.
I am also dealing with these new contact lenses that, while they give me better vision, also feel kind of like mini-sand dollars stapled to my eyes. That is, they hurt.
Our refrigerator broke over the weekend, and all the food went bad. I spent Monday night last night tossing everything, but they wheeled the new one in today. I say new as in it was the most current, not that it was new in condition. But at least it works. Unfortunately, our slumlord landlord denied my request for a rent credit since we had to toss all the food in the fridge.
So I am tired, my eyes hurt, and I don't have a lot of food at home. This all equals unhappiness, and when I am unhappy, I don't go to the gym because I cannot take that amount of self-punishment. Hopefully, I'll get off my duff and go today.
Not good. Not fun. Not a single thing.
Yesterday, however, my neighbor confirmed that some guys were scaling the rooftops, and he'd shined a flashlight on them to scare them away. Yup, rooftop thieves, looking for a top floor fire escape door to enter and break into apartment buildings. It's the second time it's happened in the four years I've lived here. And I had a hard time getting back to sleep afterwards. I have this terrible fear of my apartment being broken into, my laptop stolen, my social security card taken, and Sugar catnapped.
I am also dealing with these new contact lenses that, while they give me better vision, also feel kind of like mini-sand dollars stapled to my eyes. That is, they hurt.
Our refrigerator broke over the weekend, and all the food went bad. I spent Monday night last night tossing everything, but they wheeled the new one in today. I say new as in it was the most current, not that it was new in condition. But at least it works. Unfortunately, our slumlord landlord denied my request for a rent credit since we had to toss all the food in the fridge.
So I am tired, my eyes hurt, and I don't have a lot of food at home. This all equals unhappiness, and when I am unhappy, I don't go to the gym because I cannot take that amount of self-punishment. Hopefully, I'll get off my duff and go today.
Not good. Not fun. Not a single thing.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Way laid, yo
Saturday I brunched with Mandypants at Catch to celebrate her acceptance into nursing school. I'm so proud of her and happy that she's beginning this new chapter in her life, though I probably won't see her again for a year since it's an accelerated, hardcore program. We then segued to the Look Out for cocktails overlooking the 'Stro, and had a grand old time.
Sunday I had a nice long chat with LM catching up on gossip, commiserating, and talking about SF. I really hope she and her hubby can get out here to visit sometime soon. Of course, once she's here, she'll probably never want to leave!
Then this morning, I had to go to a doctor's appointment and they did all these blood tests that have left me feeling nothing short of airy all day. I mean, I ate and everything, but I have just felt thoroughly out of it. One wonders if while extracting blood from my veins if they didn't inject a little heroin in there somewhere. Oy vey.
Sunday I had a nice long chat with LM catching up on gossip, commiserating, and talking about SF. I really hope she and her hubby can get out here to visit sometime soon. Of course, once she's here, she'll probably never want to leave!
Then this morning, I had to go to a doctor's appointment and they did all these blood tests that have left me feeling nothing short of airy all day. I mean, I ate and everything, but I have just felt thoroughly out of it. One wonders if while extracting blood from my veins if they didn't inject a little heroin in there somewhere. Oy vey.
Friday, March 19, 2010
Razmatazz dreams
Now that I've seen "Precious", I have to fight the urge to scream out "PRECIOUS!!!" everytime I see a black girl on the street. It's really hard, you guys.
My new favorite meal is brown rice with vegetables. I realize this is Noemi's diet in "Showgirls", but my take on it is vegetable melange topped with red tomatoe hummus with pepper. Totally savory, you guys.
When I think of Facebook, I pronounce it with an Italian accent, like Fah-chay-book-uh. You guys.
My new favorite meal is brown rice with vegetables. I realize this is Noemi's diet in "Showgirls", but my take on it is vegetable melange topped with red tomatoe hummus with pepper. Totally savory, you guys.
When I think of Facebook, I pronounce it with an Italian accent, like Fah-chay-book-uh. You guys.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Girl smack talk
Girl insults are a riot because they attempt to incorporate an element of reverse psychology in their every effort. Whereas guys will be straight up derisive, use foul language, and consign vicious names upon their target ("Faggot!", "Bitch!", "Asshole!"), girls are a bit more indirect with what I feel is a much less effective, yet altogether hysterical, outcome.
Let's review, shall we?
1. "Oh really? Really? Really?"
This is the classic set up line before a girl delivers the blow. It's meant to be a sort of Are-you-ready-for-this-because-I'm-about-to-deal-a-most-deadly-blow? line, but it is actually just a rhetorical expression of little value.
2. "Maybe you just feel bad about yourself/insecure about your own relationship/etc."
What better way to attack someone than to infer that their attack is actually an attack on themselves. Because...wait...What?
3. *complete silence*
I was once at a party where my roommate and a friend were talking about music to put on their radio show, and another chick, who was actually a staff person at the radio show but who my roommate and her friend didn't care for, made a suggestion on what to play. My roommate and her friend completely carried on their conversation as if she hadn't said a word, and it was like a glacier wall of silence had been dumped on the radio chick. I actually give this tactic props because when you ignore someone who's speaking to you, it makes them look like they are talking to themselves and are therefore insane. Choice!
4. "Sweetie..."
When a girl starts off a statement with that sarcastic "Sweetie" or "Honey" like they're some sort of New York drag queen, you know the rest of the statement ain't gonna come out nice. It's almost endearing to hear a girl talk this way because I would normally expect that kind of language from...well, a New York drag queen.
5. "If that's how you feel, then I feel sorry for you."
The number one, absolute BEST girl insult is not a bad word, not a personal insult, but the complete 180 queen of responses, which is to say that you don't hate the person, but that they clearly hate themselves, otherwise they wouldn't be so nasty. A recent and enjoyable example of this insult was on the season of "The Real World: Sydney" where the pretty, white Christian chick was attacking the only ethnic person on the show name Parisa, and she used this very same insult. J. Co and I busted up laughing, and it became a house catch phrase for many, many months.
Personally, I think that calling someone a sad, stupid sack of dog shit is a mighty effective way of hurting their feelings, but that's just me, yg.
Let's review, shall we?
1. "Oh really? Really? Really?"
This is the classic set up line before a girl delivers the blow. It's meant to be a sort of Are-you-ready-for-this-because-I'm-about-to-deal-a-most-deadly-blow? line, but it is actually just a rhetorical expression of little value.
2. "Maybe you just feel bad about yourself/insecure about your own relationship/etc."
What better way to attack someone than to infer that their attack is actually an attack on themselves. Because...wait...What?
3. *complete silence*
I was once at a party where my roommate and a friend were talking about music to put on their radio show, and another chick, who was actually a staff person at the radio show but who my roommate and her friend didn't care for, made a suggestion on what to play. My roommate and her friend completely carried on their conversation as if she hadn't said a word, and it was like a glacier wall of silence had been dumped on the radio chick. I actually give this tactic props because when you ignore someone who's speaking to you, it makes them look like they are talking to themselves and are therefore insane. Choice!
4. "Sweetie..."
When a girl starts off a statement with that sarcastic "Sweetie" or "Honey" like they're some sort of New York drag queen, you know the rest of the statement ain't gonna come out nice. It's almost endearing to hear a girl talk this way because I would normally expect that kind of language from...well, a New York drag queen.
5. "If that's how you feel, then I feel sorry for you."
The number one, absolute BEST girl insult is not a bad word, not a personal insult, but the complete 180 queen of responses, which is to say that you don't hate the person, but that they clearly hate themselves, otherwise they wouldn't be so nasty. A recent and enjoyable example of this insult was on the season of "The Real World: Sydney" where the pretty, white Christian chick was attacking the only ethnic person on the show name Parisa, and she used this very same insult. J. Co and I busted up laughing, and it became a house catch phrase for many, many months.
Personally, I think that calling someone a sad, stupid sack of dog shit is a mighty effective way of hurting their feelings, but that's just me, yg.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
People are stupid because...
They make excessively ornate requests for their cappuccino/express/coffee orders.
They hold up the line counting out exact change.
They think of themselves before thinking of everyone else when they should think of themselves and everyone else.
They drive to the grocery store in gas guzzlers, but bring their own bags.
They jump to conclusions and blurt out responses before thinking things through.
They say, "I borrowed him the money" instead of "I loaned him the money". (nod to "Judge Judy")
They talk on their cell phones when they're on the bus.
They are loud when they should be quiet.
They speak when they should think.
They talk to children like they're retarded munchkins with a hearing problem.
They think Christmas is religious holiday.
They like to make generalizations about themselves that are inconsistent with their actual behaviors.
They don't know how to use commas.
*****
Feel free to add on!
*****
They hold up the line counting out exact change.
They think of themselves before thinking of everyone else when they should think of themselves and everyone else.
They drive to the grocery store in gas guzzlers, but bring their own bags.
They jump to conclusions and blurt out responses before thinking things through.
They say, "I borrowed him the money" instead of "I loaned him the money". (nod to "Judge Judy")
They talk on their cell phones when they're on the bus.
They are loud when they should be quiet.
They speak when they should think.
They talk to children like they're retarded munchkins with a hearing problem.
They think Christmas is religious holiday.
They like to make generalizations about themselves that are inconsistent with their actual behaviors.
They don't know how to use commas.
*****
Feel free to add on!
*****
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Requisite R.I.P. Corey Haim post
My first thought when a very attractive (or at at least formerly very attractive) celebrity dies is, "Gosh, it's such a shame he didn't have kids so he could pass on those beautiful genes."
A rather insensitive sentiment, surely, but that's what I thought when Jonathan Brandis died several years ago. It's what I thought when River Phoenix croaked in 1993. And it's the first thing that came to mind when I saw the headlines that Corey Haim had bitten the dust today.
That boy was a slice of hotness back in his day. Those lush little lips and those big blue eyes were straight up dreamy. And he remained just as hot, if not hotter, as he matured into his early 20s. There is this scene in "Prayer of the Rollerboys" where Patricia Arquette's character begins to, um, service him, and of course, we don't see the action, but I can remember it got my 13-year-old heart racing back in 1990.
He may have been a wash up, and the years of drug abuse clearly took their toll on his once princely appearance, but there was still that hint of the cutie within, even as he began to clean up. It's a shame on so many levels.
A rather insensitive sentiment, surely, but that's what I thought when Jonathan Brandis died several years ago. It's what I thought when River Phoenix croaked in 1993. And it's the first thing that came to mind when I saw the headlines that Corey Haim had bitten the dust today.
That boy was a slice of hotness back in his day. Those lush little lips and those big blue eyes were straight up dreamy. And he remained just as hot, if not hotter, as he matured into his early 20s. There is this scene in "Prayer of the Rollerboys" where Patricia Arquette's character begins to, um, service him, and of course, we don't see the action, but I can remember it got my 13-year-old heart racing back in 1990.
He may have been a wash up, and the years of drug abuse clearly took their toll on his once princely appearance, but there was still that hint of the cutie within, even as he began to clean up. It's a shame on so many levels.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Goat herders.... Really?
To all the straight people in the world: God loves you, He really does. But sometimes you bug the fuck out of me.
Tonight was meant to be a fun night, and 96% of it was. I met up with old HR alumni Tammy and Frida, and we had a grand old time drinking away, discussing Frida's new baby, dishing about former co-workers, and revealing heretofore unknown gossip. But as Tammy continued to drink away, she got it in her head to call some gay boy friend of hers and invite him to the bar. Prior to this, we had all given a summary of our love lives (Frida: Happily married. Tammy: Between two boys. Myself: Gave it a shot last year, laying low for now). She kept texting and calling him urging him to come. Then she told him that her friend Frida and a gay boy were with her.
"Let me jump in the shower," he texted back.
I was so not in the mood nor feeling cute enough to meet some random gay dude who considered this a potential romantic situation. To make matters further grosser, Tammy told me that the guy was a fundraiser for the Republican party. Yes, he helped get Arnie into office. This was enough on a fundamental level for me to realize that this was not someone with whom I wanted to be intimate. I mean, my boss and her partner are Republican, and I love them beyond belief. We can amiably spar about our political differences in a fun-spirited way, but I cannot bed down with someone who not only believes in but helps fund a political party that, at its core, believes gay people should be shipped off to an island and blown up.
There is a tendency in some people to try to match make. But when that is taken to action with gay guys, it's like you know one gay guy from work and one gay guy from whatever, so surely they must want to know each other and fuck and marry and adopt little African children and live happily ever after! Because they're both gay, right!
Gay people still go through the same courting process as straight people. There's still the complexity and the rough road to getting to really know one another. I know that in the gay community, sexual mores are a bit more relaxed. But that is not universal. And it is certainly not the case with my ass.
So despite my repeatedly trying to tell Tammy that it wasn't worth inviting this guy, he gets all pampered up, we're there forever, and he finally shows up as Frida and I are ready to leave. I kind of felt like a jerk, but I didn't set up the situation to begin with. And the whole Republican fundraiser thing did not exactly get my dick hard.
So we departed, although Tammy and Frida both tried to convince me to stay, and Tammy even said in my ear as I was getting my coat, "You're coming back, right?" and I had to say no.
Kinda don't like when happy hours end on an indecorous note.
Tonight was meant to be a fun night, and 96% of it was. I met up with old HR alumni Tammy and Frida, and we had a grand old time drinking away, discussing Frida's new baby, dishing about former co-workers, and revealing heretofore unknown gossip. But as Tammy continued to drink away, she got it in her head to call some gay boy friend of hers and invite him to the bar. Prior to this, we had all given a summary of our love lives (Frida: Happily married. Tammy: Between two boys. Myself: Gave it a shot last year, laying low for now). She kept texting and calling him urging him to come. Then she told him that her friend Frida and a gay boy were with her.
"Let me jump in the shower," he texted back.
I was so not in the mood nor feeling cute enough to meet some random gay dude who considered this a potential romantic situation. To make matters further grosser, Tammy told me that the guy was a fundraiser for the Republican party. Yes, he helped get Arnie into office. This was enough on a fundamental level for me to realize that this was not someone with whom I wanted to be intimate. I mean, my boss and her partner are Republican, and I love them beyond belief. We can amiably spar about our political differences in a fun-spirited way, but I cannot bed down with someone who not only believes in but helps fund a political party that, at its core, believes gay people should be shipped off to an island and blown up.
There is a tendency in some people to try to match make. But when that is taken to action with gay guys, it's like you know one gay guy from work and one gay guy from whatever, so surely they must want to know each other and fuck and marry and adopt little African children and live happily ever after! Because they're both gay, right!
Gay people still go through the same courting process as straight people. There's still the complexity and the rough road to getting to really know one another. I know that in the gay community, sexual mores are a bit more relaxed. But that is not universal. And it is certainly not the case with my ass.
So despite my repeatedly trying to tell Tammy that it wasn't worth inviting this guy, he gets all pampered up, we're there forever, and he finally shows up as Frida and I are ready to leave. I kind of felt like a jerk, but I didn't set up the situation to begin with. And the whole Republican fundraiser thing did not exactly get my dick hard.
So we departed, although Tammy and Frida both tried to convince me to stay, and Tammy even said in my ear as I was getting my coat, "You're coming back, right?" and I had to say no.
Kinda don't like when happy hours end on an indecorous note.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Mr. Munchkinbutt and the Giggle Fairy
On the way to work today, I passed a girl who looked like Heather Small from MPeople. You know, all Africanized bouffant to the sky? Loves it.
Whenever I remember that I ever used non-bank ATMs, I cringe in horror, shock, and disgust. A $2.50 service fee plus "any fees your bank may charge"? Not on my watch, Vivica Rose. Better to trot your ass on down to the Walgreens and buy a pack of chewing gum or a cupholder, and get some cash back STAT.
I have the urge to watch this episode of "Jem and the Holograms" where Stormy's diary is stolen by the Misfits, and her secret thoughts about her friends are revealed. And as sweet revenge, she writes a song called "Dear Diary" that somehow makes it alright in the end:
Whenever I remember that I ever used non-bank ATMs, I cringe in horror, shock, and disgust. A $2.50 service fee plus "any fees your bank may charge"? Not on my watch, Vivica Rose. Better to trot your ass on down to the Walgreens and buy a pack of chewing gum or a cupholder, and get some cash back STAT.
I have the urge to watch this episode of "Jem and the Holograms" where Stormy's diary is stolen by the Misfits, and her secret thoughts about her friends are revealed. And as sweet revenge, she writes a song called "Dear Diary" that somehow makes it alright in the end:
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