Prideful times

Friday night, I met up with Roze and Victoria at Tsunami near Mission Bay. The food was excellent, but the service blew. Roze and I got there first (in her awesome new ride), and had to tell the maitre d' and waitress about three or four times that we were a party of three. Then people who got there after us were seated first. We waited at the bar for Victoria, and as the bartender was shaking a drink, the glass broke, shattered, and ice went aflyin'. We weren't harmed or wet, but he didn't have a sense of humor about it at all, or even offer us a free drink because of it. Then the waitress fucked up our bill, charging us each half instead of splitting it three ways. You'd think these people were novices, but oh well.

Then it was off to Supperclub, for which I felt terribly under-dressed. Or, well, just not as interesting or fun as most of the other attendees: hipster alterna-homos and drag queens. But I was there to see Lady Kier, and determined to get through the predictable shock rock drag queen quartet, and chicken costume-wearing freak whose performance including throwing eggs at the audience (I kept the crate) to see my girl.

And just as I was getting fed up and wanted to leave for the End Up, there she was at the bar. I quickly grabbed Dascha who'd met up with us and had a camera, and approached Kier. I told her I loved her, she flipped around and struck a pose with me, then tended back to her drink before manning the booth and spinning some funky shit.

Saturday, Zeke came over with a friend to drop off a copy of the lease and the move- in check. He appeared to be a bit buzzed in honor of Pride, which was all well and good and made me think, This'll work. We exchanged the papers, and I sent him on his way.

Sunday was the Pride festival, and Dascha--who is moving back to Connecticut in August, so this will be her last Pride--met up with me at Powell, and we jointly trekked to Civic Center. She had unwisely neglected to bring a to-go drink, so we had to stop off at a corner store for some Southern Comfort and Diet Coke, but once we got there, we hung out at the hip hop stage for a time, desperately tried to find LG to no avail, then realized were at the wrong stage because the Backstreet Boys were at the main stage.

We hightailed it over there in time, barely seeing them through the crowd, but sang along to "I Want It That Way". They sang their two songs, got ten bucks apiece, probably got a couple free gay blowjobs somewhere along the way, and went home. Everyone was happy.

I am somewhat recovered, and back in high stress mode at work. I wish I could fast forward through the next two months because they're not going to be fun.

La week in review

Two out of three of my roommate candidates showed, and both were cool. They expressed interest in the room and appreciated the low rent, and I decided to go with Zeke. I'm not exhaling, though, until his credit check clears and the first month's check has cleared.

I went to the North Beach Festival with Dascha, Sobina, and two of their guy friends on Saturday, one of whom Dascha swore was secretly queer. We whiled away the day drinking on Washington Square, hit up a bar, did a little Italian spot for dinner, then went to another bar where Dascha, Sobina, and the other guy ponied up $100 for secretly queer boy to kiss me. Which he did. And which was nice. Then we danced in the downstairs club 'til the cows came home.

The ex-boyfriend of a good friend of mine suddenly died last week. It's a shock to say the least.

My poor 60-something grandmother is in the throes of divorce. Thirty years of marriage gone kaput. Terrible. I sent her flowers for her birthday to cheer her up.

The most trying of news is that one of the people on my team at work is resigning, just as we're about to work on the annual bonus program. It was sort of long in coming, and I'm happy for him that he's moving on to another stage in his life, but I am a little nerve-wracked. It will all be fine, I know. But in the meantime, I'd like to just clone myself, and let the other dude do all the work while I stay huddled in bed for the next few months.

Aaaand the cat's in the cradle and the silver noob...

Roommate interviews tomorrow. After a few appletinis and still charged from "The Real Housewives of New York City" reunion part 3, I did a little sprucing up and redecorating around the house that ended up quite nicely. Will do some final touches today, buy some flowers, and cross my fingers.

The three hopefuls are:
1. Zeke: Gay guy who was the first to bite, and had a colorful, fun, and vibrant response to my ad. He seems to be the most promising candidate, but words can be deceiving. We'll wait until we meet in person.

2. Sally: A self-described 39-year-old wild child, she seems like fun, but I worry about the fact that she smokes (though she insists she would do so outside) and, well, that she describes herself as a wild child. I'm fucking getting old. And my current roommate is barely around, so it's like I have the place to myself. And I'd kind of like to keep it that way.

3. Paul: The sparsest of responses was from this dude who works at a law firm, but has a degree in music. Interesting. I always have one person who really doesn't spark my fancy, but who I interview as a back up in case the most fascinating people fall through. Enter Paul.

Everyone gets a half hour to impress me. Then I want to climb to Parnassus Heights and have frozen margaritas 'til the cows come home.

In my amazingly small, yet quaint, apartment, Sugar has managed to recently find a new place to post herself. And it's on my desk.

My desk has upon it the standard lamp, laptop, and little flake flower stem plant, but also the following random ephemera:
a box of Band Aids
a curious remote control
a foreign letter opener from my grandma
An envelope for an iTunes giftcard
an itunes giftcard
a small photo album book
two ballpoint pens
one felt tip pen
a multi-purpose screwdriver
a CD on how to start or install your computer or something
an unused iPod
an omnipresent bag of pretzels
a box of Crest whitening strips
cocktail straws
a roll of scotch tape
a bottle of hand sanitizer
a roll of paper towels
a bottle of whitening mouthwash
a bottle of water

Cats really can acclimate to just about any habitat, yes?

Oil schpeels

One of my most favorite words which I rarely get the chance to use is "churlish". It means vulgar, surly, or intractable, and sounds like your about to spit a loogie at someone.

There was a meeting where a contract was being negotiated, and this one woman said to the other party, "There is a solution for your chronic unhappiness." I so want to use that phrase in real life some time.

Deodorant may cover up the stench of your sweat, but how can it possibly be good for your underarm pit skin? Especially if you're putting it on everyday? I mean, it's not like a lotion that absorbs into your skin and moisturizes it. It's something that covers up a smell. You don't spritz perfume up your bum after pinching off a loaf, so where did we get to this practice of applying deodorant every bloody day?

Stress mess or Tex Mex?

I've got the annual bonus program, wage increase implementation, and a potential strike at work, and at home, a new roommate to find. It never rains, but it pisses poor on ya. Not much I can do about the extra workload, but as for finding a new roommate, I am going to just make the minimum payments on my credit cards this month, and make sure I have enough to cover Brandon's half of the rent. Not the preferred avenue, but it puts my worry wart prone mind at ease.

I saw a woman on the street today with a puppy dog umbrella. That is, it had these painted, realistic looking puppies painted all over it, with those dead black eyes. Gross.

I fidget a lot. People who see me probably think I'm a crackhead.

And 'cause all good things must come to an end

Brandon just let me know he'll be moving out. It's been pretty much close to heaven having a roommate who's barely here, so I'm sure gonna miss that. I have that same combination of trepidation and excitement that I always get when a roommate moves out, and I go on the hunt for a new one. Could it be someone fun who I'll hang out with? Will it be someone chill who's easy to live with? Or will it be a nightmare roomie? It's a gamble despite one's best efforts, but time to gear up. And that includes the usual top to bottom cleaning of Casa Fiesta. This'll be the fifth roommate in my nearly five years of living here.

Have you ever known someone who's such a saint that they totally make you feel like a piece of shit?

I was watching "The Goonies" the other day, and noticed how many times they use my least favorite phrase: you guys. And it's derivative: guys. Never bothered me back in '85 when I first saw it.

When is the last time you saw a pay phone?