Kiss from a rose off which the bloom has fallen

The high I had after I'd gotten back from the wedding has pretty much faded away, a happy memory now tucked away. VPA sent a lovely card with he and Maybellne in their wedding gear on the cover sharing some love and saying, "Even though we don't talk as much anymore, you are still my best friend, and when we see each other, it's like time has stood still." Very sweet.

I have the sensation of hovering between something that feels like that nauseous dreamstate you are in when you're sick and you've swallowed several spoonfuls on Bennadryl. I just looked at my last entry and see it's now been two and a half months since my boss talked to me about my promotion, and it still hasn't happened. I'd hoped it would come through before she left on her two week vacation, but nay. The last I heard, she said our VP had told her she'd "worn him down," and he'd agree to it--but only after I did one of our stupid Talent Plus interviews which measures your strengths in particular areas of personality.

In fairness, it makes sense to run one of these on a member of leadership, but time's atickin' and my bills are abuildin'. I hate that my life has become so focused on becoming debt free again, but that's where I am. And when and if this promo comes through, this will probably be the last big windfall I'll have for awhile. My boss has about six or seven more years until she retires, and I'm not even sure I want her job. So if I score myself a big increase, I really want to use it to pay down debt and not incurr a whole lot more.

Easier said than done when you have an addiction to La Mer and Perricone products like a motha.

Speaking of mothas, I'd hope to take mine to Europe for her sixtieth birthday, but as things are currently shaping up, I don't even know if that will be feasible. But if it doesn't, her sixty first will be just fine. Provided ISIS hasn't nuked the continent, Europe will still be there, I suppose.

I am at least doing my best to do at least one fun thing a month. This month I got two in: going to the Marengo on the Alley for L-Ha's birthday and doing liquid brunchies with Tifferbee at Maven last weekend. Since I apparently no longer go clubbing--and I cringe using the word as a thirty eight year old--a fun time out here or there with friends is a must.

Soldiering on, partner.

Reach for the stars...then reach for the snooze button

The wedding was a hit, and I had a blast.

I packed up Shazaam and dropped him off at the Wag Hotel, then, in a first, started packing up my clothes the night before since I knew I'd be awaking at the crack of dawn to BART to the airport. In trademark fashion, I forgot one critical item: my under eye cream. This was so not cool as we drank to abandon the night before the wedding, and I did have to take pictures as a member of the wedding party.

In any event, the airplane ride there went well with an Amy Schumer comedy special and a few other movies to tide me over. The dude next to me, who was relatively hot, had long legs and was a bit cozied up next to me, but I was practically thrilled to have the male physical contact. I did have to use the bathroom at one point, which was like being in the seventh circle of hell for a few minutes.

I arrived in DC, and cabbed it to the hotel. When I got out, I saw someone holding a bag with an animated Michelle Obama on a trapeze a la "Moulin Rouge," and thought, That's freaking hysterical. I looked up, and it was none other than VPA. We hugged and he said, "We're running behind," which was something of a relief, as I thought I'd barely make it in time for the rehearsal.

VPA's groomesmaids were Pejorative of the End Up, Fabiola of UC Berkeley, and Gretchen, his cousin. After the rehearsal, which was basically just us parterning up with another member of the wedding party and walking down the aisle to our seats, we had dinner and dranks in the President's Lounge at the top of the hotel. Our table, consisting of Pejorative and his man, Fabiola and her adorable America Farrera-like sister, and myself, was unquestionably the most raucous and fun, and we had a delightful evening, peppered with a few visits from Aunt Beatrice, VPA's Aunt from SD who had bonded with tequila that night and through the next.

Sometime before midnight and after I'd slammed back several cosmos, none other than Cora arrived. I gasped as I hadn't seen her in some five years, and went up to give her a hug. Whatevs. Let bygones be bygones.

The next morning, I met up with Aaron, and we had breakfast and trekked around the area for awhile before decompressing back at the hotel. My suit looked pretty damn good on me--and, perhaps more importantly, still fit. And it was off next door to the venue. I met up with Fabiola and her hysterical husband Darnell, and soon, the ceremony was underway. It is a rare thing to see VPA get emotional, but he did as soon as he and Maybelline started down the aisle and everyone stood for them, as well as during his vows.

Then it was the afterparty with booze flowing and hijinks ahappenin'. Not once did I even worry about possibly spotting Sean and Darryl, and to the best of my knowledge, they weren't there. After a few choice quotes from Fabi that immediately went onto FB, I finally tuckered out, and went back to my room.

The next morning, several of us went over to VPA's and Maybelline's to shoot the shiz and hang out, and giving myself my usual three-hour cushion when traveling, I eventually headed back to the hotel around 2:00, giving big hugs all around and genuinely regretting that I had to go.

The plane trip back was less whimsical, delayed by thirty minutes at the airport and seemingly several more once en route due to the damn weather. I was so depleted by the time I got back and picked up my luggage and discombobulated by the time change, I gave up bothering with BART and forked over for the fifty plus dollar cab ride home. Then I Uber'd over to pick up Shazaam, and tucked in for a full night's sleep.

I don't think I could have orchestrated a better time if I had the power to plan it all out myself. One of my co-workers mentioned how I seemed to "look good for a Monday" the day I got back, and I've no doubt that it was due in part to the great time with great people. I really wish I had another vacation in the works. If my promotion goes through and the cash flow increases, it's a possibility, but we'll have to see.

*bud ump Drumpf*

I hightail it out of town to DC on Friday for VPA's and Maybelline's wedding. I'm of course jazzed to see my best amigo marry his sweetheart, but know of at least one person going who will put a mild damper on the event: my old roommate, Cora, whom I basically severed ties with after asking her and her boyfriend to move out some five years ago. I haven't really spoken to her since, but she FB'd me yesterday asking if I'd already booked my room, and I was like, "Yup. See you there!" I should probably take a cue from the Real Housewives of Whatever, and just let bygones be bygones. And I'm sure I will. I was just hoping it would be all or mostly people I'm looking forward to seeing.

That also brings us to the couple so not-of-the-hour, Sean (my ex) and Darryl. A part of me sincerely hopes that can't scrounge up the cash to both make the trip and book the hotel, but who knows.

I do know that Aaron will be there, and his flight home doesn't leave until late on Sunday, so we have pledged to go day-drinking together. After all the sister side stank-eye I'm going to be giving at the wedding, Lawt knows I'll need a liquid respite. If nothing else, I'm just happy to have a little break in my normal routine, a bit pricey though it is.

And speaking of prices, mine might just go up! My boss spoke to me for a second time about promoting me to a supervisor position. The first time, I declined because I just didn't feel I had the bandwidth. But last week when she asked me again, and after I had realized I was pretty much already doing the job, I was all in. She has to review it with my VP, and we didn't talk money, but I'm hoping for something that will silence the credit card lambs a bit. I just can't bear to be without my La Mer and Uber.

Holiday times as maximum drive

I just got back from Vegas visiting the fam, and am a bit melancholy now that I'm back home on my own. My cousins Krista and Jim were able to join us, and I haven't seen them since 1999 when I graduated from college, and my grandma brought them with her. They were, like, eight and ten, and I remember them asking, "Can we stay with you?" when my grandma was getting ready to depart, and I said, "Sure, if you want to help me pack," to which they said, "Yeeeah!" immediately inciting a scolding from grandma.

I also got to meet my new niece and nephew, who are both adorable-pie.

We tossed back Crown on Christmas day, I lost a good eighty bucks at the Cannery, and came home with a bunch of gifts I really didn't need. The best gift was that it was the first time since probably the '80s that this entire part of the family had been together. (AWWWWwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww...) I kind of teared up a bit when I got in the car to head to the airport, and back to SF.

Prior to the trip to Sin City, I've really been making the most of my Winter Break. I trekked down to fucking Sunnyvale with Senna to visit Roze and her new baby, and nearly got trapped in San Mateo, as the Cal Train had to stop there, and all riders had to deboard and take a bus to the next station. It was a real Syrian refugee moment.

I saw a matinee of "Krampus" where I was the only person in the theatre, which was awesome. Can't say quite the same about the movie, but it was cute nonetheless.

I've been to the gym twice, which beats my previous record of once during the Christmas vacation. I'm trying to mobilize to go today, so we're holding out hope.

It's odd going from a packed house full of people and four to five small, hyperactive dogs to my quiet little Buddha temple apartment with my white ghost of a cat peering at me with big eyes from atop his cat tower. I love my solitude and the peace it provides, but a little human interaction every so often is kind of nice. Just a little, though.

I guess that's why they call it Blue's Clues

Last week, one of my beloved co-workers, Dale, retired after thirteen years. He was an older gay guy who was one of a kind, always helpful, and genuinely joyous and caring of people.

I didn't always think that though.

When he was first hired and came into my office to introduce himself, he did that thing where you move your chair to the right of a person to more aptly command their attention. I read about that as an interview strategy. Somehow or another, I just never bought into his brand of cheeriness.

But as time went on and I got older, I realized he was the real deal, and a role model not just as a platinum standard of HR service, but as an older gay man who was a class act. I teared up something fierce, and couldn't even get words out when we hugged goodbye.

Meanwhile, work plods on, I can never seem to catch up, and I continue to not so patiently wait for my boss to promote me into the role we have talked about me taking for some time. It may only involve a piddly five percent increase, but like I always say, something is better than nothing, and anything to help further deflate my credit card debt is appreciated.

My grandma told me my cousin Christa and her daughter will be joining us for Christmas, which I think is just lovely. I haven't seen her since she and her brother Jim came with my grandma when I graduated from college sixteen years ago. We've also decided to just do a gift lottery type thing this year, which my wallet will most certainly like. Plus, more to waste spend at the casinos!

I'm going to relish these next six to seven weeks of winter and vacation holidays as much as I can, and hope for more crisp, cold weather. Chill times in chilled weather, y'all.

Unchained soliloquy

I've booked a flight for Vegas to visit the family for Christmas, and will get to meet my new niece and hopefully nephew, too. It feels mildlly pathetic that the only trip I've taken this year will be for Christmas to see family, especially since I will probably have a mini-break down by the third day, but any vacation time is a good time.

Then in March, I will be off to DC for VPA's and Maybelline's wedding. My best friend joining in matrimony with the best man for him. I have every hope of slimming down some by then as I suspect my ex (who is the boyfriend of a friend of VPA's now) will be there, and living well and looking better than you ever did before are the best forms of revenge, says I.

We are in month two of my living solo, and I have to tell you, I did not realize so much nudity would be involved. I mean, it's been hot for the past couple of weeks, and whereas in real life, I don't even wear shorts, while inside my home with no one around, I went from going shirtless to going full on pantsless. Still keeping the underwear on, though. So I have to pay an extra $700 in rent. At least I can wander 'round the house in my birthday suit!

And in other news, I started reading the Bible. I was moved after watching a YouTube series of a guy who'd had a near death experience and claims to have gone to heaven. He recounts several episodes during his life where God talked to him. It sounds endlessly hokey, I know, but it drew me in. Maybe it's just that so little else has been going on in my life that I thought I'd just try something new that's been around for some two thousand years. I don't know for sure yet.

I mean, I was following another YouTube channel of a guy who also claims visits to primarily hell, but occasionally heaven, who also seemed legit. And then the inevitable subject of homosexuality came up, and he claimed we 'mos are not destined to inherit eternal life, though there seems ample evidence that this is not what the Bible says.

So I figured I'd start with the source material. I try to read about a page a day. As blasphemous as this may sound, it started off pretty boring--just tracing genealogies--but then it starts to pick up. I guess the best stuff happens when Jesus enters the picture.

I've gone from being a kid who just blindly believes there is a God because that's what you're supposed to do, to a young adult who, if asked, would have said he was an atheist or agnostic, to a moment in college where I could say I believed again. I don't know what it really means to be a Christian since most people who claim this title do no truly seem to follow in Christ's footsteps and practice any sort of true compassion or kindness that isn't self-serving and solely in the best of interest of those like themselves. But I'm willing to read what is supposed to be the Word of God, and see if it speaks to me.

Seasons of lurve

Ten years ago, I packed up my stuff in boxes and bags (some of which, yes, were trash bags as I couldn't afford anything fancy), and moved from Treasure Island to my place on Nob Hill. I remember the last trip I made hauling my stuff to the new apartment, I took the 108 Treasure Island bus across the Bay Bridge and to the Transbay Terminal. I think I had less than ten dollars on me, so I took a cab from there, but had to stop about a block or two from the apartment so I could afford the fare and a dollar tip.

It took awhile before the apartment felt like my own, since I, in essence, inherited it from VPA. I've had a total of seven roommates in that ten years time, the last of which was Tina, who moved out yesterday. Although the additional rent I'll have to pay will pose a bit of a burden, I was in all honesty excited about having the place to myself, even if only because I can have a wank with my bedroom door wide open, and walk to the bathroom naked in the morning to take a shower.

It's the little things.

I used to refer to the apartment as Casa Fiesta, particularly during the time that J-Co lived here, and she would have friends stay over the weekend. Friends who would eventually become my friends, like Tina. Now I refer to it as My Very Own Buddhist Temple or My Little Shoebox in the Sky. When I tell people I live in Nob Hill, I quickly have to qualify it by saying, "but not the nice, ritzy, upscale part." I may live a stone's throw from the Fairmont and the Mark Hopkins hotels, but these are not posh digs, just a place I call home.

I remember when I first arrived at the apartment to do roommate interviews, it seemed so small. But such is the case with most apartments in SF. And it's not like a boy and his cat need a lot of room. Plus, less space means less to clean.

As the dot-com 2.0 wave has hit the city, and new luxury apartment building are being built on every other block, I have sat back and realized my little rent-controlled chateau is something to treasure. I've always told VPA that if I met someone and he wanted to move in to a place together, I would have him sign an air tight palimony agreement reimbursing me the significantly increased rent I would end up having to pay if I moved into a new place and had to pay market for it. I love this apartment probably more than I ever could another person. It's the longest I've ever actually lived in one place in my life. And with the nominal rent increases every year, I could conceivably live here until I die, and I plan to do so.

So from age twenty seven to thirty seven, I've lived happily ever after here, and hope to forevermore. What an amazing decade. Here's to several more.