Whirlwind weeks, world weary days, and whoopee! times

In the big ole basket of bullshit and brass I've been dealing with for the past several weeks, there've been some ups and downs, and never a dull moment. My first time at the helm of the company's annual bonus program has gone off well. We'll just cross our fingers and hope everything gets paid correctly and there aren't any errors attributed to my ass.

And last weekend, I interviewed a record four candidates for the new roommate after just two months with Zeke. Before I get into that lot, though, as an interesting, if not perturbing side note, I received a call last week from someone in a local area code saying they were going to rent to Zeke, and asking for a tenant reference. This was odd as he'd told me he'd lost his job and would be moving back to LA. I guess I should have noticed the red flags when he moved in and didn't want to buy a couch off of my old roommate because "it would be a pain to move out". And at one point early on asked, "And I just have to give you thirty days before I move out, right?"

Whatevs. Most everyone I interview for the place is wowed by the size of the room and the low rent. And this story does have a happy ending, not the least of which is that after this next roommate moves out, I'm most likely living solo.

A breakdown of the cast:

1. Joya - A rather sheltered girl who when I sat her down to interview her, asked about ripping up the carpets, retiling the bathroom, and painting the walls. Clearly someone who came from a rather cushy background, and wasn't suited to City life. Next!

2. Larry - A guy into animation with an easy laugh and an easy face to look at, he was a total charmer, and we seemed to hit it right off. Sugar ran laps around the room like a lunatic, so I knew he was a keeper. Unfortunately, though I offered him the place, he instead had a friend moving up to the city and decided to room with him. Drats.

3. Nessa - A chick from Singapore whose English had a cute British tinge to it, she seemed to be gathering her bearings in the city and taking it all in. She was talkative as hell though, and it was during her interview that my hangover really started to kick in. Still, she took the second place trophy at the time.

4. Hannah - I nearly didn't interview Hannah since she couldn't come on Saturday, but took the time to meet her on Sunday, and was glad I did. A 20 year old stylist who was nothing but sweet, called me "an awesome guy", and who Sugar literally dug her claws into and almost didn't let go. She also included those twelve magical words in her email response to the ad: "I won't be home very often because I work all the time." Loves it. She just signed the lease and dropped off the move-in check, so we're a go on that front.

Mr. Alterhausen is in town and living it up Frisco Disco style. I cocktailed it with him and Debelah at Lime last night, Shazam-ing the tunes played by the DJ, drinking it up, taking ridiculous pics, and the like.

It has been cemetery weather the past several weeks, like in "Silent Hill" when it's the limbo dimension with washed out gray everywhere, as if you're dead. Only I feel not so much dead as overly catalyzed and ripe for a nap

At da club, rub a dub dub

Remember the "Pac Man" cartoon show from the '80s? Lately at work, I feel like I'm in a perpetual state of being chomped--like when the ghosts would chomp Pac Man, and he'd be incapacitated.

Last weekend, I noticed Sugar's right eye was slightly closed, and had a gauzy film over it. So I scheduled a vet appointment for today, and thought it would be fun to take her out for a walk the couple of blocks to the place.

Talk about an idiot maneuver.

Cats like the familiar, they like to hide in underneath things, and be in a position where they can attack/escape if necessary. So big tall-ass building, roaring cars, and the like, are not fun to a cat. I thought at any moment she might wriggle out of my grasp, rip my face apart, and bolt. But after ten strenuous minutes, we made it to the vet, she was diagnosed with an ulcer in her eye (because sleeping and eating all day are truly, truly stressful activities), I got some ointment for her, paid the $146 bucks (!), was given a cat cart to tote her home in, and trekked back to Casa Fiesta.

I need to post the roommate ad on Monday, but before I do, I'm going to start a petition: No More Will Ferrell movies. I'm asking nicely.

Not for all the E in China

I am still without a right contact lens, thus making everything somewhat hazy, like I'm drunk without actually feeling intoxicated. Or like I'm in a dream. Which makes it seem like nothing really matters because it isn't real. This can't be constructive. A second follow up call to the optometrist is due next week. It's been a month since I ordered a new one.

Enrique Iglesias's "I Like It":

I like the jam.

I like the new Bieber-inspired 'do.

I like the continued absence of the eye mole.

Go on with ya llikealbe self, Ricky.

At one point you were a carefree child who said what you thought, before you became who you are today.

Metalocolyspe vs. Aqua Teen Hunger Force vs. My Little Pony

Zeke moved in a few days ago, and I've seen neither hide nor hair of him. Just his house slippers at the door and the emptied contents of the vacuum in the trash. Kind of nice living with someone who works nights.

Work has been hectic and a half now that the annual bonus program is in full effect, and I'm managing it on my own. I'd rather be in the thick of it, though, than in the months, weeks, moments leading up to the craziness. That precursor time is what really makes me nervous. Being in the eye of the storm at least means we're almost over the hill.

(That was way too many metaphors mixed up in one paragraph.)

If you're someone's first boyfriend or girlfriend, chances are you won't be the only boyfriend or girlfriend they ever have.

I miss playing Uno.

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.