Hometown for the holidays

The luggage is unpacked, the post-vacation melancholy is hovering in the air and the cat is atop his tower with visions of cat treats dancing in his head.

In spite of booking a hotel with two separate rooms--one for grandma, one for me--so I could steal away unnoticed and retain my privacy, I was lassoed in with the family for most of the trip. That's not a terrible thing, but I only got to spend one night with VPA and Aaron at Babycakes, a new cupcake and sweet drinks bar in The Crest that replaced a coffeeshop. This was partly my fault as I got there just two days before Christmas eve, so there was not a chance to hang with Renee and Rachelle, whom I have not seen in ages, because they, like most everyone else, were with their respective families. So we did the usual kind of banal stuff, going to Horton Plaza, Hotel del Coronado, Balboa Park and Seaport Village.

My sister's new little baby had colon problem, so was in intensive care the whole time. She and my mom were pretty emotionally exhausted and it was a bummer that I couldn't see and hold the little guy, though God bless cell phones 'cause they've taken several pictures. His surgery was today and it went well, so we're hoping for the best.

I seemed to have spent a small fortune, primarily on food, as I treated everyone to dinner a few times and discovered just today that I paid for grandma's valet parking for the duration of her stay. So much for getting that one credit card bill down to a decent balance, but it's got a low interest rate and hell, it's the holidays.

I drank like a fish, too. I am also approaching this fact with the same sort of laissez-faire attitude as my finances, but am reminded by my encroaching girth that it will be of necessity to do the four days a week at the gym routine I had been so committed to the first three-fourths of this year.

I still have another nine days of fun and freedom to be had in the City. Tifferbee's birthday is next week, and I'm taking her to the chi chi French restaurant across the street and possibly cocktails at the Top of the Mark. Any chance to be bourgie, I'll take it.

VPA will be in town on the thirtieth, so we will most assuredly do Martuni's.

Twenty fourteen has been a good year, but they've all been good years for the past several years. I just keep waiting for some awful, fucked up thing to happen like an earthquake or heart attack or a car crash to wipe it all away. But thus far, I manage unscathed. Twenty fifteen will likely be somewhat tame as I need to commit to paying off my debt (weren't we just in this pickle?), but am already looking forward to next Christmas where we'll have baby Jay and my other sister's new baby with us all. And VPA and Mark are potentially aiming for November for their wedding. Tremendous.

I shall now go collapse in a vodka-soaked heap on the divan.

Ovah it

I need only look at the number of Uber charges to my credit card for the past two months to realize that they've been fairly stressful. Last week, I actually had a repeat driver who remembered taking me to work before, if that tells you anything.

It's the busy time of year, so it's to be expected, but it's still been rough. I sleep in late on workdays and end up having to catch an Uber into work so I'm not (too) late. Sometimes I even take one home. And with the exhaustion and migraine at the end of the day, I've been skipping the gym, sometimes going as little as once a week down from four times. This contributes to a cycle of me not getting tired enough from the gym to have deep REM sleep so I'm refreshed the next day and full of a sunshiney sheen of endorphins on the weekend.

Plus, of course, it means I'm getting fatter, too.

Although on that front, I've substituted one of my meals during the day with a big salad topped with veggie chicken nuggets. So hopefully, once I'm back on track, I'll see some results, so help me God.

They say people are happiest in the time leading up to a vacation, so I always like to have something planned even if it's months away. I'm visiting Dr. 90210 in November which will be a nice plus and a quaint little vacay away from work. And for Christmas, I'm planning to go down to SD along with my grandma and my sister and her family to spend the holiday with my baby sister and her new baby who is due in December. I'm going to put everyone up in a hotel, so while we'll be together, I'll still have some level of personal time and space. I haven't been back since 2008. With any luck, my high school homo buddies VPA and Aaron will be in town as well. It has been well over ten years since the three of us have all been in our hometown together at the same time.

This, too, is a hallmark of getting older--when you start measuring shit in increments of decades. Jesus H., Martha.

Give me one moment with thyme

It was ten years ago this month that Sean and I broke up. I was far more interested in partying than in a relationship with someone who was so different from myself, and who I often felt like I had to parent. Opposites only attract when they compliment each other, not clash.

I was fast asleep well into the afternoon one day having crashed after another wickedly inebriated night, and slept right on through his graduation even though he had tried to rouse me. When he got home, he exploded, and it got physical.

We, of course, decided to break up, but he let me stay in the apartment, in part knowing that I had bad credit at the time and would have trouble finding a new place. That made for a bizarre next couple of months, culminating in him meeting and dating an acquaintance of mine who was a renowned rice queen.

Flash forward to the present, and things are almost magically perfect. Yes, I am still single--perpetually so, it seems--but I live in a quaint little rent-controlled adobe downtown, make more money than I ever thought I would and am generally pretty damn happy. My credit has since improved, too, but the relationship with Sean sure hasn't. Our last communication was an email from me to him threatening to take legal action after he'd threatened to call my boss because he kept getting calls at the apartment for me.

Tifferbee moved in last weekend, and it's been just fine and dandy. She's already steam-cleaned the carpet and offered to do some household jobs, which is just ducky since I am not the handy type. I'm hoping it continues wonderfully on.

Rapeshacks and rodeos: a review of the East Bay

Contrary to the title of this blog, it wasn't all that bad.

I went to the wedding of my dear friend Roze this past weekend. In Pleasanton, one of those vapid suburbs of the Bay Area that is so unlike SF itself that you wonder how it can be associated with it. But I went with M-Sen, and while it took us a good thirty minutes to get out of the city proper, we fun times criticizing the vast green hills, mega churches, trucks towing livestock, anti-liberal bumper sticks, and yes--the rapeshacks situated atop grassy hills and rodeos advertised along the way.

Roze was beaming and happy--a state I soon found myself in courtesy of the open bar. We had good times with the Russians, stayed the night at the Sheraton, and booked it the hell back home at the cusp of check out time. My heart rate finally slowed to a normal rate once I spotted the Transamerica Pyramid.

The day I got back also happened to coincide with the move out date of Hanna. On the surface and in truth, I've been supportive of her transition and wish her the best. (We're going out for her bday dinner this Friday, in fact.) But it has also put a wrench in my carefully woven financial plans for this year.

So instead of letting things sit as they are, I've put my ass on Linked In, and started looking for a new job. Or, to be honest, a job that will pay me more so I can renegotiate my current salary. Which seems like a rather dastardly tactic, especially given how good I have it and how great my boss is and how terrific my retirement and paid time off is...but, one must look out for oneself. I've had two bites, and will be exploring them. Sue me.

In addition, I met up with Tifferbee Friday night at L'End Up, wherein she had much news to tell me. She'd gotten a part time job at a law office that fit perfectly around her school schedule. However, her new living situation had proven less promising. I opened up that I had a free room, but reiterated several times through the Grey Goose cosmos that it would break my heart if we heralded strife as roommates and our friendship suffered as a result. She suggested marriage-type counseling, as I recall. But we agreed to review the sitch under more sober circumstances at a later time. That may mean the extra rent is taken care of with the bonus of an amiga in house, and, if things go as hoped with the fake job hunt, an additional bump there.

I don't if things will all pan out quite so conveniently. But we'll see. I feel like fucking Scrooge McDuck or something.

To everything, turnt, turnt, turnt

Disneyworld was a blast and a half, as was flying for the first time in first class. Although on the flight there, the dude next to me straight up took out his laptop and had gay porn on there. Why one wouldn't think to minimize that shit before going into public, I don't know.

We did all of the worlds except the water world ('cause daddy ain't goin' shirtless in public anytime soon). I muchly enjoyed Expedition Everest, which was like the Matterhorn on crack; and the Rock 'n' Roller coaster, which was like California Screamin' in the dark. The weather even behaved itself. It didn't get muggy, I wasn't swallowed up by the swampland, nor attacked by crocodiles nor subject to any electoral shenanigans. Hurrah, says I.

My sister's wedding was on Saturday in Hawaii, and I was not there for varying reasons. One of them was that the event would be attended by our abusive ex-stepfather. My sister and he are apparently still close, my other sister is his biological daughter, and my mom thinks I should get over it in so many words. It was the cause of so much stress and strife that when it came down to my not being able to go because of work, it ended up working out in my favor.

On Friday, I was enjoying a Cosmo and some YouTube when I got one of those long texts from someone that you have to actually open your phone for to read. It was from Hanna, and it was letting me know she would be moving out. She'd found a place on our block and spontaneously signed a new lease. My blood ran cold for a moment as I'd been Mr. Moneybags this past year spending money like I had it. But I've known that she could move out anytime, and of course support her and am happy for her. I'll need to shift some things around financially and proceed a bit more prudently instead of like Paris Hilton on a shopping spree, but it's all manageable.

It also means the larger room will be open and accessible again, which is going to thrill Shazam the Magical Acrobat cat. When he's not ripping through books and papers in my closet, he is literally trying to drill through the bedroom floor. I caught him in the bathroom sink pawing at it as if it would give way to some new, exciting passageway to Wonderland. It will be the next step in my evolution as a crazy cat person to buy one of those cat mazes and install it in the room.

To all acquaintance be as fraught...

Twenty thirteen came in and slid out like the nice, clean surface of a bar of soap with one painful dart jabbed in for good measure.

After Hanna moved out in late 2012, I, for the first time in my life, lived on my own. I was initially frightened at the prospect because having a roommate means having someone who is there to help in case you have one of those "Help! I've fallen and I can't get up!" moments. But it was... kinda nice. Sure, it was odd having the larger room empty and actually accessible for the first time since I've moved into my apartment. I can remember the times when my old amiga J-Co lived with me, and we'd have sleepovers and long weekends with friends aplenty. But with Hanna's departure, it became "the larger room" instead of "my roommate's room", and the potential for a future opium den-esque meets zen sanctuary began to germinate.

Then about March of 2013, I got a panicked text from Hanna stating that her roommate was moving in the boyfriend, and had asked Hanna to move out, and would it be okay if she moved back in with me. I chewed the idea around for a moment--Hanna was a dream to live with, barely around and nice as all get out. And her portion of he rent meant more moolah for me. So the deed was done, and she moved back in, and it's been just lovely.

In matters of the wallet, I had promised myself that I wouldn't make any other major purchases or take any big vacations until my credit cards were all paid off. After spilling a cocktail on my laptop and having to buy another in February, I was briefly set back, but rallied forth, and eventually succeeded. I then immediately went about a month later and applied for a few new cards.

Not always the best choice when it comes to your credit report, but hear me out.

With a higher income and good credit history, I got on board with credit cards that had higher credit limits, points and 0% introductory offers. Plans are already in place to pay them off before said 0% introductory offers expire, so go me with my bad financially sound self.

One night in July, I woke up from a nap, went to the kitchen to get myself a drink, came back into my room, and saw my beloved cat Sugar lying still on the floor, eyes glazed and tongue out. I had always known the day would come, but not so soon. She was about 8 1/2, and was a loving constant in my life. I had never felt grief like that before. A month or two later, I found a video I'd taken on my camera of her eating cat nip that I'd totally forgotten about. I still watch it from time to time.

About a week after Sugar died, I took a long, quiet walk to the SPCA to adopt another cat. Much as I loved my little Sugar Bunny, I wanted a different temperament, so I adopted one of the few male cats they had--the wily snowcat Shazaam. And it's official: we're in love.

To close out the year, I flew my mom and myself to Vegas to visit Petula, Jo and family. We haven't all been together in ages. I won big on the Willy Wonka machine the very first night, and verily lost it all on the second. Although my family is talkative as hell and I got a little stir-crazy on day two, it was nice to see them and nicer still to hit the reset button on my psyche. When I got back home, I appreciated the fuck out of my beautiful Frisco Disco.

New Year's resolutions are painfully trite--I'm adding an additional day at the gym each week and removing Thursday as a cocktail-eligible day in the hopes of curtailing the vodka gut. The flights are scheduled and the hotel is booked for a trip to Disneyworld in March with Lavern and Ashley. And last night's trip to the End Up broke my mysterious and misplaced year-plus long streak of having not gone out clubbing.

Good times... good times...