Thank God it’s Friday!

But I still want it to be over. Well, not the Friday, just the work part of Friday. Friday, starting 6 pm and onwards, is actually my favorite day of the week. Saturdays are nice, too, but Fridays give me the glass-full outlook. And, oh hell!! If there’s ever such a thing as glass-empty, it’s Sunday. I hate Sundays.

Though this Sunday might be more exciting than others. Leather, whips, chains, buttless chaps, all kinds of fun at the Folsom Street fair with Lele! (Which reminds me: I need to find a whip). I borrowed a cool digicam from my friend (cause mine sucks), mainly at Valancy Jane’s request (hey there, Valancy Jane!), but I suppose Sascha would like to see Lele and I getting arrested, too. Or at least handcuffed...

(I forgot about this entry for a couple of hours and am just returning to it.)

I now have work sitting in front of me, but I’m choosing you (and that means you). I’d rather bore you, than bore myself. I need to stay productive-looking, so I will keep these stacks of papers in front of me, waiting to be dealt with, until about 45 mins from when I get to leave. Then I will deal with them.

And after that, I will meet my friend Rohna, and we'll walk over to Opera in the ballpark, where it will rain and I’ll freeze my ass off, but I’ll feel cultured. Who knows, I might even run into a cultured guy (maybe even straight, next-to-impossible as it might be). I’ll feel all high and mighty for about 42 minutes, after which I’ll want to fall asleep but I won’t be able to cause it’ll be so goddamn cold. But hey, I’ll be doing something other than just going to a bar with friends on a Friday night. I’ll just bring the bar to the Opera. In a clear plastic container.

Magnetic Poem of the Day

my precious
pickled genius
you ferment me

Uh… umm… uh oh.

So apparently Doug is coming to the lunch for the Marketing Manager this afternoon. It also happens to be at Samovar, a place we both went to together for the first time and loved. Hmm…

I swear I’m over him. Even if it may not always sound like it.

Ha ha ha!

Jacob/Guillermo’s name is actually Alejandro. Or Alex.

On the other hand, I may have actually convinced Lele to let me take him to the Folsom Street Fair on a leash. You know, to make up for the other night.

Magnetic Poem of the Day

understand my translucent mind
manacle conscious grace
break experience
confess memory
and prostitute new thoughts

Magnetic Poem of the Day

she desires silent grammar
a strange play of words
a certain full-page voice
the dictionary heart
the manuscript brain


he is almost a poet
but finite
clichéd

"Are you still pissed at me?"

So last night, my roommate Renu convinced me to go out to Medjool with her, our other roommate Sabba, and some friends. I was kind of in the mood to stay at home and read my book (Love in the Time of Cholera) or watch rest of Season 4 of The L Word. I was just not really in the mood to go out, but then I got all dolled up, put on my brightest red lipstick, and walked the 1 1/2 blocks from my house to Medjool, just so I wouldn't be a party pooper. It was, after all, a Saturday night.

It turned out to be a great night for Medjool. It wasn't cold at all, and of course, the heating lamps were on. I was being social, talked to a bunch of random people, some of the crowd I was there with, and even a really cool couple who were visiting from New Zealand. I was having such a great time being out on the roof deck, in fact, that I had no desire to join everyone else downstairs, inside the bar, where the dance floor is. Medjool turns into a massive club on Saturdays and I've only been there once for it. Usually, I stay upstairs, but this time, Sabba convinced me, more so because I was trying to avoid a guy (Renu calls him a "cock-blocker"). Every time I run into this guy, anywhere in the city, he does not leave me alone, and acts like he's my personal body-guard, if not my man. Needless to say, I have absolutely NO interest in him.

Sabba and I got down to the mezzanine, where the rest of our crowd was, and we were standing, overlooking the dancefloor, and then at some point, I'm not sure why since I wasn't planning on getting another drink, I headed over towards the bar. I was doing whatever it was I had walked over to the bar for, when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around. It was Lele.

Lele:
Are you still pissed at me?

Me:
Yes.

Lele:
Why?

Me:
Why do you think? You should have called when you said you would.

I told him all over again about what a jerk his friend was to me the night of the game, after we dropped Lele off at the Caltrain station, and he told me all about how he's been really sad because he thought he'd met a really cool girl and now he'd screwed it up. He had screwed it up, I told him.

Lele:
But I e-mailed you to apologize.

Me:
(Rolling my eyes) Really? Cause I didn't get it.

He gave me the rest of his spiel about how he sent me this e-mail from NY and apologized for being a dick, but of course I didn't believe him, since I never saw this e-mail. He told me how his friend, Jacob/Guillermo, finally called him after ten days and said he forgave Lele, but that Lele had better never pull something like that again.

Lele:
I thought when you wished me happy birthday on Facebook the other day, it was your way of saying you forgive me.

Me:
No. It was my way of saying you lied to me about your age. You said you were 32, but Sascha said you're 27.

So he pulled out his license and of course, dark as it was in there, I couldn't see it. I tried to get into the light and finally he found a perfect spot and pointed to where it said DOB: 09/19/1975.

Lele:
See? I wasn't lying. So will you hang out with me again? Please, please, pretty please?

Me:
I don't know. I'll think about it.

Lele:
C'mon I've been feeling really awful.

He says this with a very extremely fake, extremely pained look, which I can't help but laugh at. He clasps his hands in front of me, dying for forgiveness.

Me:
You're a dork.

Lele:
What? Why am I dork? That's not nice.

Me:
Well, you are.

Lele:
Ok fine. I'm a dork. Will you hang out with me? Please? Give me a hug.

So we hug and make up.

Kind of.

Not really, but kind of.

For now.

Sascha: Here's the thing.

When other people don't understand me, you do. When other people don't understand you, I do. But when I don't understand you? I know you're just being a girl....

Boxes, Boxes, Everywhere

So, I recently had two new roommates move in. Two chicks. It's been a long time since I've lived with girls. It's not as bad as a I thought it could be. Just that I realized that sometimes guys, who are notorious for not being clean and tidy (sorry, guys), can be cleaner and tidier than women. The girls have now been here for two months, but neither seem to be a big fan of unpacking their boxes or cleaning, and our place still looks like they JUST moved in.

I guess it's partly my own fault, because in my posting on Craigslist, I said I wasn't looking for clean-freaks. I didn't realize those words would attract all the people who hate to clean. I mean, after all, I never thought of myself as a clean freak. Until now. My last roommate, the clean freak, who prompted me make a point to say I wasn't look for another one, was seriously obsessive.

Brad:
(While vacuuming) Oh hey. So the cleaning lady is coming in an hour. It'll be about $25 each. Cool?

Me:
(Confused) Uh... ok.

Brad vacuumed, mopped, scrubbed, wiped all the way until the cleaning lady came. Then, the cleaning lady (who probably thought we must have way too much money to throw around if we hired her to clean a place that was already clean), vacuumed, mopped, scrubbed, wiped, and left. Meanwhile, I was out chain-smoking on the patio, drinking my coffee, reading my book, basking in the sun. When I came back inside, Brad was again vacuuming. When he saw me, he smiled and said:
Didn't she do a great job?

Me:
(Confused) Yeah...

That was one extreme. This is definitely the other. My new roommate, Renu, said she thought it would only take one of us to clean the entire place in two hours, tops. I looked at her incredulously, and said:
Ummm... I don't know about you, but it would take me two hours just to clean the kitchen.

Renu just looked at me, and I suddenly realized, to her, I was Brad.

A Little Bit Louder Now!

As if they could fucking get any louder now.

Yes. I'm up at 3 in the morning cause my neighbors are screaming their heads off singing along to that song.

Did I mention the Tracking Device?

Yes. Tracking device.

So, Stantec, the daddy firm, even though it's 6000-people stronger, for some reason has a higher premium for the same insurance we had as Chong. Not that anything about this acquisition has been "convenient", but here's what they did: They increased my salary by the $450 more I will be paying for health insurance being a Stantec employee, so that there would be no difference in cost to me. But here's where they screwed me (and every other sensible person in the firm):

The $450 they added to my salary only covers the cost of the health insurance premium if I join their wellness program. If I don't join the wellness program, I will be paying twice as much. Now, you're probably thinking, "What's wrong with joining a wellness program?" Nothing, if all it entailed was trying to stay healthy. But EVERYTHING, if you don't want to live in A Brave New World.

To join the Kersh Wellness program, you have to let them test your blood, weigh you, take your blood pressure, etc., AND consent to wearing the Kersh Activity Monitor (KAM), a.k.a. tracking device, that you must keep on your body at all times to measure how many calories you're burning, your level of activity, etc. (so basically, the next time I have sex, they'll know)(though, if I'm not wearing anything, I'm not sure where I'd attach this KAM). Then, there is a docking device that comes with this KAM and you sync your device to your computer and it automatically loads your latest points to their website. You must keep your activity level within certain parameters to keep your premium down.

Bush. Patriot Act. KAM devices. What's this world coming to?

Magnetic Poem of the Day

she will take over your words
and whistle away disgrace
again and again

I could be nice…

...and ask him how he feels about both of us going to the farewell lunch for the Marketing Manager. I could offer to skip lunch if he’ll skip the happy hour. I could be nice and care about whether it makes him uncomfortable...

But I won’t. Apparently I’ve been too nice to him, lately.

Magnetic Poem of the Day

release steam
burn friend down

Magnetic Poem of the Day

my obedient elaborate genius
better manipulate the dictionary
plant a word
wrench grammar
imagine how strange the poets manuscript

"The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things" - J.T. Leroy

I saw a movie tonight with a new friend, Urmila, who my roommate introduced me to. The movie was called, "2 Days in Paris," and it was directed/produced by Julie Delpy who was also in the "Before Sunrise" and "Before Sunset" movies. We figured it would be somewhat similar and since we had both liked those two movies, we were excited to see this one. It turned out to be entirely different from the other two (which were directed by Richard Linklater, who also did "Waking Life" and "A Scanner Darkly"), the only similarity being they all took place in Paris.

The movie was hilarious. The entire audience was laughing out loud throughout the movie. It was crude, it was funny, it was endearing, it was frustrating, but really, above all, it was realistic and it made you think about relationships and how misunderstandings come about, out of insecurities, leading to failed romances. The last scene, though, showed the two main characters having their big blow-out, that one big relationship-breaking blow-out, where you say everything, EVERYTHING, and which is the turning point for many couples. It goes one of two ways only: You either break up, or you stay together. The part that really hit home, was how people, when feeling vulnerable, act out of defensiveness and end up ending a relationship they didn't really want for to end. How, even at that last moment, we can push someone away who we actually really intended to pull closer.

The last time I had one of those big blow-outs, however, I ended up getting back together with someone when I shouldn't have. All that honesty can make you feel closer to the other person. But really, what's the use of honesty when it comes so late in the course of a relationship? You can shock a dying person's heart and manage to revive him/her, but you cannot use last-minute honesty to revive a dying relationship. He cannot say, "You don't laugh with me the way you do with him (insert male friend's name here)." You cannot say, "I never felt like I could say whatever came into my head, the way I can to him. He doesn't judge me." He cannot nod slowly, in understanding, and say, "You mean, I never accepted you for who you are." You cannot say these things and think that now that you've put them out there, things will change. They don't. We tried.

There are certain things that should come naturally in a relationship. We have to learn to recognize it when they don't, instead of dragging on a relationship that will never work. It's just that it's too easy to let your heart lead you instead of your brain. We have to be honest with each other, because if we leave it to our hearts, they'd really rather be duped.

Acquisitions Suck!

My company, a once-prestigious architecture firm, one of the largest in Northern California, owned by three-time president of AIA, Gordon Chong, is getting bought out by Stantec, a Canadian engineering giant, and will cease to exist as of Monday. We are not happy. Suddenly, we have dress codes (me and my miniskirts were frowned upon this past week when their HR was visiting us), there are rules as to what we can swap over e-mail (apparently not drawings of urinating penises, and certainly not conversations about blow-jobs), and what sites we can go to on the internet (they block Facebook- and even eBay, much to my manager's dismay). They're screwing with my paychecks, making me pay more for insurance, and rendering me ineligible for bonuses. They're taking away six of my vacation days, and giving me five sick days, instead. We're told this is all very exciting, yet none of us seem to understand exactly how or why.

At the end of the day on Friday, my manager, as he was walking out, waved to me and said:
See you on the other side!

Me:
Or not.

Manager:
(Laughing nervously) How're you gonna manage that?

Me:
Hey, (I stuck out my palm, fingers outstretched) I've got five sick days!

"I'm going to pretend I don't know you."

At Momo's, the favorite spot for Giants' fans, before and after games, Lele and I stood trying to figure out what kind of a practical joke to play on his friend who was about to join us. At the last minute, just as Guillermo or Jacob or whatever-his-name-is walked in, I pulled away from Lele and said:

I'm going to pretend I don't know you.

I sat down on a barstool and started talking to the fat guy behind me who seemed a bit incredulous that I was speaking to him. So incredulous, in fact, that he stared at me like I was out of my mind and stopped talking mid-sentence. But I guess I wasn't even paying attention, because I don't recall what he was saying before he stopped. Anyway, that got really boring, really fast, so I turned around to face the bar again just as Jacob/Guillermo turned to look at me. He smiled. I smiled back.

He walked up towards me and said:
Are you here by yourself?

Me:
Yeah, I was at the game with my friends, and we were supposed to meet up here. (I turned around to look back at the entrance) But I guess I lost them. And my phone's dead.

Jacob/ Guillermo:
That sucks. So you can't even get in touch with them. Well, you could hang out with us.

Me:
(Shrug) Ok. So, were you guys at the game, too? Awful game, huh?

Jacob/Guillermo:
Yeah.... (uncertainly)

He bought me a drink and we proceeded to flirt; he honestly, me not so honestly... Meanwhile, I ignored Lele, who was being all manners of narcissistic. I threw a couple of dirty looks at him as if he was out his mind, raised my eyebrows, and basically put forth that I did not find him charming. Jacob/Guillermo started to ignore Lele, too, as he realized I was willing to talk to him.

I don't recall that we talked about much other than Lele. How he was a writer, too (this, when I told Jacob/Guillermo that I was a writer), and how he looked like a frat boy, and how maybe he'd done a line or two of coke earlier, because he was just a little too hyper.

Then, Jacob/Guillermo said:
Let's go somewhere else.

Me:
There's nothing around here.

Jacob/Guillermo:
I've got a car. Let's go to 111 Minna.

Me:
Yeah right. I don't even know you guys. I'm not getting into a car with you.

Lele:
(Jumping up and down) Lets go lets go lets go! (Pulls out his cell phone for the 17th time) Dude. That homo from the bathhouse keeps text-messaging me.

Me:
Why did you give him your number?

Lele:
I gave it to him before I realized he was a fag.

I stare at him. Then I turn to look at Jacob/Guillermo:
Are you guys gay? I mean, are you a couple?

Jacob/Guillermo:
No! I mean, I don't know about him, but I'm totally straight. Do you want me to kiss you to prove it?

I glance at Lele and say:
No. That won't be necessary.

Lele:
Come on! Lets go! (Turns around in circles).

So I get into the front seat of Jacob/Guillermo's two-door and we get on the road. We even find parking right in front of the bar, but Minna's closed. I suggest Harlot, which is just a block away, and, agreeing, Jacob/Guillermo takes my hand and starts walking. I turn around to look at Lele, who seems to be having a good ol' time, laughing, jumping up and down. But it's just a dead night, because even Harlot's empty.

Jacob/Guillermo:
I have to use the men's room.

After he leaves, Lele says:
Ok. We have to tell him now. As soon as he comes out. Because I have to go. I have a flight at 8:30 in the morning.

Me:
WHAT???

Lele:
(Jumping up and down) We have to tell him, we have to tell him.

Jacob/Guillermo:
Tell him what?

Lele:
Umm.. I have something to tell you. (Glances at me) We have something to tell you. (Pauses) We know each other.

Jacob/Guillermo:
WHAT???

He turns to look at me and I shrug sheepishly.

Jacob/Guillermo:
So this was all a joke? This whole time, you guys knew each other?

Me:
Umm... yeah. He's the friend I went to the baseball game with.

Jacob/Guillermo:
(Eyes ready to pop out, turns to Lele) She's the girl you were with earlier??? The one you were at the game with?

Me:
(Slyly) I thought you guys were at the game together.

So we laugh. He still can't believe he was punked. He offers to buy us more drinks for getting him like that, but once we get to the bar, he starts sulking.

Jacob/Guillermo:
Wow. I can't believe this. I though we had a connection, you and I. I really thought, wow, this is happening. She's cool.

Lele:
She is cool.

Jacob/Guillermo:
Yeah... but I guess you two are an item.

Me:
Umm... (I laugh. But it's more like a snicker.)

Lele:
Well, I have to go now. But you guys hang out. Have fun.

Now I'm incredulous, thinking You want me to hang out with this guy I don't even know, who's half interested in me and half pissed, while you jump on a train to go home? But I'm quiet.

We get into the car again. At the Caltrain station, Lele jumps out of the car, gives me a hug and runs to catch the train. I'm not so sure how I feel about being in the car alone with Jacob/Guillermo, but I give him my address and we get back on the road.

Jacob/Guillermo:
Wow. I still can't believe it. I thought you were into me. (Shakes his head.) How would you feel if you were in my place?

I think about it and say:
I guess I would be pissed.

That seems to be enough to give him permission to start getting pissed at me. I apologize profusely. I tell him he seems like a great guy and I had fun hanging out with him. But he's having none of that, he's just seething. I can almost see the smoke coming out of his ears and his nostrils and his eyes start getting all crazy and bloodshot and I think I need to get the hell out of this car.

He slams the door behind me and drives off. I pull out my phone and call Lele, who says:
Hey, I got on the train. I'm happy.

Me, upset, practically in tears, (and just a wee bit inebriated), I can't even begin to tell him so I just hang up.

But he calls back and I do tell him. I have several words for him, a mile a minute, while he says:
but, but, but...

And I say:
I don't know why I trusted you. I don't even know you.

0 to 60 in 5 seconds and then BOOM!

Wow. I don’t even know where to begin. The last few days have been a mess.

Chong Night at the Ballpark Revisited

So I got tickets after all.

This morning, the Office Manager told me he had a pair for me. I told him I'd decided it was a better idea for me not to go. I thought that was the end of it, until an hour later when he e-mailed me and a couple of other people to say he had some cancellations and he was holding tickets for us if we still wanted them.

So I invited Lele to go with me. I figured he'll keep me distracted. And then I wondered if it was cool to do that. Would it hurt Doug to see me there with another guy? After much pondering, I asked the advice of another co-worker/friend who said, "You don't owe him anything. Besides, he's got a pair, too. How do you know he's not bringing anyone?"

Hmmm.....

Magnetic Poem of the Day

funny boy orchestra
plays electric girl night
transgresses music
and sparks inspiration

Perpetual Indulgence Vs. Decadent Mercy

Sunday Afternoon:
"...Uh... no. It's Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence," I tell Lele for the 5th time, as I walk him down the stairs of my flat. He prefers to call them Sisters of Decadent Mercy. I suppose decadence and indulgence are related, which can cause the confusion. For example, indulging can be decadent. You can indulge in drinking, decadently. And some drinks can be decadent in themselves, like my drink of choice: champagne. Either way, last night we only indulged ourselves in our greatest pleasure: absurdity. (Well, we did drink, too, but not enough to have brought on any moral decline. It’s just that we don’t have any morals to begin with.)

Saturday Night:
Dressed in our evening attire, (Lele: Baby pink ruffled buttondown shirt, supporting a belly made up of rolled up towels, tucked into his jeans. A cowboy hat, sunglasses, pink polka-dotted tie, flung over the shoulder. Me: Tuxedo-style black miniskirt, white button-down, black vest, fedora, sunglasses. Bright red lady-bug slippers.) we pour ourselves some wine in coffee cups and step out, arm-in-arm, to go to dinner at my favorite neighborhood Vietnamese restaurant.

At the restaurant, while we wait for someone to acknowledge our presence at the door and seat us, Lele stares at the food on the table next to us, asking the diners:
Are those caterpillars?

Me:
Really, Darling, I can’t take you anywhere.

Lele:
Darling, I take you everywhere.

Once seated, Lele orders our food, and the waiter, looking at me, asks:
Anything else?

Me:
(Leaning over to Lele) I would like another napkin, darling.

Lele:
(To waiter) She would like another napkin, darling. I mean, please.

The waiter glances at me, nods, and leaves.

Me:
(Loudly) You lie. You told me you were taking me to a French restaurant. (I look around, glare at Lele.) And this is not French.

Lele:
But Darling, the French came, turned the Vietnamese into slaves and made them cook. So here we are. It’s practically French. (Points to the two Vietnamese guys sitting next to us) Don’t they look French to you? I mean, gay, but French.

The Vietnamese dudes give us a dirty look and get up to leave.

Me:
(Exhale angrily) I can’t take you anywhere.

Lele:
And I take you everywhere.

On the way out, the waiter comes over to shake Lele's hand, telling him he must be a celebrity and thanks him for coming.

Later, as we walk up to what is probably the most well-known and popular karaoke bar in San Francisco, The Mint, all eyes are on Lele, who has by now bagged the pink ruffled shirt, cowboy hat, and sunglasses. He is only wearing his gray tank and jeans, and sports "nobbly" goosebumps from the cold, but of course, being Lele, he is not about to put on his shirt. We are greeted at the door by one of the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence (www.thesisters.org). I give her a big hug and the next thing I know someone's cupping my boobs. I'm a little discombobulated for a few seconds, thinking, Gee, that's quite forward of Lele, but actually, it's the Sister. The gypsy dress I’m wearing (I had pulled a Bollywood, and changed my outfit mid-evening) apparently gets me attention from guys, even in the Castro. Though, on second thought, I'm not sure if a Sister counts as a guy. Anyways, at some point I lose Lele, who can't wait to get inside where all the action is.

Sister:
Is he gay?

Me:
Nope.

Sister:
Are you sure?

Me:
Yup.

Sister:
Is he bi?

Me:
Nope.

Sister:
Could you ask him to come back out and take off his shirt for us?

But it's cold and it's hard to get Lele to come back out, so I join him inside. We sit down, order our drinks, pick our song (Sweet Caroline), and Lele goes up to put in our request. Meanwhile, I take a sip of my Cab, scope out the scene, check out the two bartenders performing their own version of the dance from Night at the Roxbury to a very unmemorable song. I check to see if there are any other straight folks here besides us, but since I have no idea about these things anymore, I give up and swivel my barstool to face the stage and almost choke on my wine. There is Lele, tank top pulled up to his shoulders, smiling as the Sisters rub his six-pack abs.

An hour later, our song still hasn't come up and Lele excuses himself to go to the men's room. I decide I can't swallow any more of my wine and stay sober enough to actually read the lyrics on stage if and when our turn comes up. So I'm waiting, waiting , waiting... waiting… Where the fuck is he? I look up and... oh yes. Of course. There he is, donning the ruffles and cowboy hat and belly again. Of course.

On the dance floor, I'm busy trying to make sure my gypsy dress doesn't flash anyone. I'm only half-dancing, pulling and tugging at my top self-consciously (Note to self: This dress is not made for dancing. Or really anything besides standing in one place, looking pretty) and suddenly everyone’s laughing and I turn around to see that he's done it once again. Lele is standing there looking at me, grinning, his ruffled shirt untucked, the pregnant belly lying very dead and very fake on the dance floor in front of him. So I walk up to him and start undressing him, as it seems that’s what the crowd wants. After all, this night isn’t just all about us. Everything's swell, until the boys of the Castro go beyond the hoots and whistles, and start coming up to the dancefloor towards us. At this point, Lele and I glance at each other, scramble to pick up all his clothes, and make a run for it.

Sunday Afternoon:
Ready to part ways, Lele and I stand at the bottom of the stairs, recounting our crazy adventures. We laugh one last time, he gives me a hug and turns to take a step out onto the sidewalk, and suddenly, one foot hovering over the doorstep he grabs my hand saying:
Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Where are my shoes?

Magnetic Poem of the Day

expose the random whisper
publish that precious mouth

Chong Night at the Ballpark

He wins tickets. I don’t.
Oh well. Not like I wanted to go anyway.

This marks another milestone:
We hooked up after the ballgame last year, thanks to Erik.

Saw it coming...

In e-mail dated October 30, 2006, before meeting at the Metreon to watch SAW III:

Erik:
As I just realized, these movies have all different landmarks for you. Saw 1 you were with Deon...Saw 2 you were single...Saw 3 you're with Doug.

For Doug's sake, I hope there's no Saw 4 planned. ;)


(SAW IV in theatres October 26, 2007)

I can't help it...

Office Manager/Friend:
What’s up with your hair? You look so Gone With the Wind.

Me:
I took the ferry to work to this morning.

OM/Friend:
But you live in the Mission.

Me:
Yes.

OM/Friend:
Alright, what’s the story?

(I tell him the story. He looks at me a few long seconds. Then-)

You know, I don’t even want to hear it.

Me:
You asked.

OM/Friend:
You have an uncanny knack for getting yourself into the strangest situations. I don’t even think I believe you any more.

Sascha: Will.

WILL LADY NIGHTSHADE EVER GET BACK TO AN ANXIOUS SASCHA?

WILL LADY NIGHTSHADE READ HER EMAIL?

WILL SAN FRANCISCO TURN INTO A GIANT MOUNTAIN?

-*-*stay tuned*-*-*

Strangely enough...

In the middle of being sad, hurt, and crying, I suddenly become aware of how nice it is to be crying about something other than failed romances and boys. Until I realize, that in a very indirect way, I still am...