On The Road (from LA to SF)

Lele:
Umm… Babe… Let’s switch off at the next exit.

Me:
Why? Are you starting to get scared of my driving now?

Lele:
No. I started to a while ago.

Me:
What? Why? See? I’m so calm. I’m even laughing, still.

Lele:
(Gripping his seat, tightly) I wish I could say the same.

Afreeka, Afrique!

This morning, we got our round-trip tickets to Casablanca. (Wow. It sounds cool just to say that!) I’m taking a month off work. This will be the first time in years that I’ll have had that much time off at once. At the same time, we’ll be so busy traveling that it will probably go by so fast!

Tentative itinerary: Head straight out of Casablanca to Rabat. Head to Tangier. Go wine tasting in Meknes. Fez. The Great dunes at Mirzouga. Marrakesh, Essaouira, Casablanca. Over all, spend about two weeks in Morocco. Fly to Dakar, Senegal. Spend a week on the beach, catch some live shows (perhaps even Orchestra Baobab). Take the train to Bamako, Mali. Go looking for Selif Keita and Tinariwen. Hopefully succeed. Fly to Timbuktu. Join a tour group to head out into the Sahara for the Festival in the Desert. Hopefully see Amadou and Mariam, Selif Keita, Tinariwen, Orchestra Baobab, tons of others. Bus/Drive back to Timbuktu. Fly to Casablanca. Spend a night or two. Fly to Madrid for a night. Be on our way back to San Francisco.

In between, will probably be lots of photography, making friends with locals, love, some nice hotels, some hostels, some camping, photography, some shopping for Moroccan rugs and tea glasses and lanterns and wine and just about anything else we can bring or ship back to the US, love, photography, photography, photography, bettering my Arabic skills, shopping, picking up bits and pieces of French, eating, photography, lying in sand dunes at night watching the stars, listening to awesome music, not wanting to return to the US, not wanting to return to work, not being able to wait to get back home asap, missing tofu, photography, making friends with other travelers, heat exhaustion, a fight or two with Chris, mad sex, photography, starvation, dehydration, camel rides, suntans, sunburns, forgetting things in hotels and not realizing until the next day or next week, awesome music, sand, sand, sand, love, photography, running out of places to charge my camera battery, eating yummy vegetarian tagine and couscous and hummus and olives, bad wine, good wine, being forced to drink funny-looking water, running out of toilet paper, having to pee in the sand, photography, debauchery in Madrid, hangovers, shopping for Spanish wine, running around trying to figure out ways to bring the wine back to the US, and coming back very tired, very dark, very gaunt, and very, very poor.

The trip of a lifetime!

When?

Soon!

61 Days

That's number of days before you must call to make a reservations at the French Laundry (I couldn't get one!)

It’s also the number of days before my wedding.

Wow.

Photographic Memory

I recently came to a funny realization. I have now owned 5 cameras in my life, and only one of them I bought myself.

Camera 1: My dad bought me my very first camera (in Saudi Arabia), a point-and-shoot (Canon?) back in 6th or 7th grade after he and I got into an argument over something. I was misbehaving, I think, talking back to my mother or something.

Camera 2: My dad also bought me my second camera (in Boston), a Ricoh SLR, back in Sophomore year of college. This was after we got into a fight because he wanted me to change my major from Psychology to something in computers.

Camera 3: This was the one and only camera I bought for myself (my first week in San Francisco), a Nikon CoolPix digital camera. This was right around the time I was started to do a lot of things myself, like buying a laptop without discussing with my dad (the computer expert) and moving to San Francisco for grad school (when my parents were hell bent against it- I just kind of announced it to them one day that I was moving).

Camera 4: Chris bought me a red Canon Elph 14.1 megapixel digital camera for our first official Christmas together. Three months later, in Guatemala, I lost the cable that connected my camera to my laptop, to download the pictures (which isn't such a big deal, because I can still upload pictures; it's just a little more complicated).

Camera 5: A few weeks ago, Chris bought me a Nikon D90 digital SLR. I was planning to buy one in a couple of months, before our honeymoon in Africa, this December. Instead, he decided to surprise me and texted me at work one day to say he’d transferred $x,000 to our account and I should go get myself a nice digital SLR. It is now my favorite possession in the whole wide world!!!!!!! Yippee!!! (Makes me wanna forget all 'bout writing and become a poor, starving, full-time photographer!)

"Seasick Yet Still Docked" - Morissey

Chris came back from Thailand/Burma on Tuesday and I think he’s slept more than he’s been awake :O) but during his waking hours we’ve played Scrabble, talked, walked, cooked, went to Santana Row, played with his sister’s dogs, did crossword puzzles, etc. We saw There Will Be Blood on Friday which was CRAZY and awesome, but the best thing about it? We finally managed to watch a movie at the theatre for the first time since we met, almost 5 months ago. Anyway, we both spent the weekend being sick (and a bit disoriented- I think there’s something wrong with my ear…) but the blue, sunny skies today help to make things all better.

Nothing much planned for this week, though a friend gave me a buddy pass to his gym which expires on Thursday, so I will probably head there- as soon as I can move without feeling seasick. Got to catch up with friends and roommates, who I’ve been not-exactly-ignoring-but-just-been-too-busy-to-hang-out-with.

Besides that, I’m still trudging through Love in the Time of Cholera, which I insist on finishing. Maybe this week…

The Le and the Le and I

Funny, today I feel like I’ve not been at work, but rather been playing hooky like a child, constantly sneaking out to see my boyfriend. We left together this morning; he went off to take a test, while I headed to work. We met up again for lunch, where we squeezed in every possible opportunity to kiss and hug and hold hands, but alas… the streets just don’t allow for enough privacy. I sent him off with my keys to pick up his car from my garage, and then he came back to return them. I ran out of my building, jumped into his car, and we drove half a block up to make out.

I had gum in my mouth and rather than one of us choking on it, Chris pulled down his window for me to chuck it out, but instead, wonderfully klutzy that I am, the gum never quite made it out the window. He got out of his car to look for it and I burst out laughing and almost peed in my pants when I saw it stuck to the door. Fortunately, he found that “adorable”.

Not that we wouldn’t have done all of that on a regular day, it was actually because he’s off to Thailand and I won’t see him for two weeks. But he’ll send me dispatches. And I’ll send some back.

"...Nothing Changes on New Year's Day" -U2

Yesterday, New Year’s Day, Chris and I woke up early, played a game of Scrabble- which I sucked at, considering I was still hungover from the night before- and then we stepped out to grab some grub at Pakwan. As usual, the meal was yum and the chai even yummier. Afterwards, we decided to just walk all the way downtown to the theatres and see if we could finally catch a movie together. (Almost 4 months of hanging out and we had not once made it to the theatres since something always came up). We got tix for Sweeney Todd but while we sat outside the Metreon with our Starbux watching the pidgeons and talking, waiting until it was time for our movie, the theatre filled up. By the time we got there, in time enough to catch the previews- my favorite part of going to the movies- there were no more seats together so we got a refund and decided to give up on our hopes to ever watch a movie together. Instead, we crossed the little footbridge over to Moscone and, jumping up and down, I pointed out the carousel. “Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

While we waited in line, and I sipped my Starbux cappuccino, one of the conductors of the carousel complimented me on my boots.

Conductor:
“I’m a boot guy.”

Lele:
“I’m more of a booty guy. Mmm hmm…” (while slapping mine)

I snickered and the conductor gave us a strange look, before he glanced at something behind us. When I turned around, there was a woman standing there looking at us with contempt in her eyes. I followed her hands down to where she was covering her little boy’s ears. I dropped to the sidewalk, laughing hysterically, Starbux spraying through my nose.

Lele:
(Walking away) Uh oh. We're already pissing pissing people off and we haven't even gotten on the carousel yet. Let's get out of here.

Me:
We’re fucking riding this carousel!

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized I'd forgotten about the kid, again. Shit. I turned around to see the woman get out of line in front us, pick up her child in her arms, and storm off.

It was our turn and we were going to get two rides. For the first one, we behaved ourselves on our camels (unless you count Chris’s attempt to make himself ejaculate by climbing up the pole). The next ride, though, we switched onto horses. When the carousel started moving, Chris jumped onto my horse. As we passed by, the conductor (a different guy this time) yelled out, “Only one person per horse!”

Chris made a spectacle of himself, trying unsuccessfully to get off from behind me, but after several amusing attempts, he gave up and slumped back in place.

Lele:
What now?

Me:
Just stay. Look!

I pointed to our reflection in the mirror at the center of the carousel. We made faces, stuck out our tongues, waved. Even the conductor was laughing. All the 5, 6, 7, 8 year-olds were turned around in their horses, watching us, while their moms, sisters, nannies looked at us like the naughty kids who should be sitting in the corner with a dunce hat. But at least part of them must’ve been envious… right?

Chris held me tight until the carousel slowed down, then we jumped off, grabbed hands, and ran as fast as we could without looking back.

"The Fire in My Loins"

From: clele75
Date: Mon Nov 26
Re: The fire in my loins

is all but extinguished. I’m a 75 year-old man with a large heart, and an even larger bank account.

I find you very attractive and want you to be my mistress. All you really have to do is bite me. Yes, that’s correct. I’m so old (been there done that) the only thing that gets me off (and that I can feel anymore) is when young hotties sink their teeth into my flesh.

As long as you don’t mind my wife (she sleeps most of the day) I think we have a win-win situation.

Your truly,

Geriatric and Jonesing


- – - – - – - – - – Original Message – - – - – - – - – -
From: LaPoette
Date: Mon Nov 26
Re: The fire in my loins

Being an extremely gorgeous woman in my twenties, I have received several similar proposals from men like you. One even had a Scrabble fetish. And liked to be molested in the middle of the street. Shrug. But you know, whatever gets you off. I am, after all, a very loving woman.

As you are well aware of, I am big on biting. My only concern is that men of your age tend to bruise very easily. And I suppose if I bite and you scream, and we wake up your narcoleptic wife, I would have to run really fast in my stilettos, and run the risk of (oh look, a pun) breaking an ankle or my jaw or dislocating my shoulder. Because of this, I think it is only fair that I be taken care of financially and be included on your will. (Your sleeping wife won’t need anything since she’ll probably sleep until she’s ready to die, and then probably die in her sleep). I also think that a car (a brand new hot pink Lexus will do) as a gift, would be very thoughtful of you. That way, it will be waiting for me on my way out. A private chauffeur would also make things smoother. For that, I will take a young, good-looking man, with hair on his head, and a thick wallet in his back pocket. Another thick… uh… wallet in the front pocket should be part of your selection criteria. In fact, I could make things easier by selecting him myself, if you’d like.

Do you have a big bed? I like big four poster beds. And do you know your cuff size? This will be part of my gift to you. It’s a surprise.

Also, how fast do you run? (uh… you know, just in case… it’s good to know how much energy my man has.)

Only yours,

Chrystale Diamante


- – - – - – - – - – Original Message – - – - – - – - – -
From: clele75
Date: Tue Nov 27
Re: The fire in my loins

Look I’ve had a completely unfilling life. If you do half of the things mentioned in your naughty little Email, I’ll knock off my wife so you don’t have to.

Cuff size? Hell, I want you to strap one on. Damn it! Why not just fasten my ol’ Lousiville slugger around your waist and have a homerun derby on my ass.

That’s right my azure-coiffed siren. I still got a lot of howl left in this bark. Bite off a piece of my sagging man boob if you have to. As long as you keep it fresh, you can have two flamingo pink Bentleys and the man toys to go along with it. But you must promise me you’ll let me watch when you use the Lousiville slugger on these unsuspecting hunks. (Gotta to relive them Army days.)

And one more thing—I’ve always wanted to be molested while playing Scrabble. I say we do it right in the middle of the fucking road.

Mercy, I already feel two decades younger. Now I just got to find that bat.

-Your Roaring Lothario

(but you can call me Grampkins!)


- – - – - – - – - – Original Message – - – - – - – - – -
From: LaPoette
Date: Mon Nov 28
Re: The fire in my loins

Dearest,

Well… now I’m not so sure. I like my men servile. In your previous e-mail, you sounded like the sweet gentleman who would gladly do as I asked, whatever I asked, if only I nibbled a little here and there, bit your lip hard, your neck, drew blood maybe a couple of nights… the submissive man who would open up his heart (and his checkbook), shower me with diamonds, and please my every whimsy, my every caprice. The kind of man they call “whipped”- but without the leather.

Here, you sound like a demanding tyrant. The kind of man who deserves to be whipped- with leather. Chained up to posts and slapped a few times, have his Louisville piece ground into him until he cries out for his mama. I already got me one of those.

I am, however, a respectful woman, with honor and will not agree to anything until a bank account is opened up in my name with a couple hundred grand deposited. I also think that before we begin this venture, we should have an agreement that you will not come anywhere near my property (which you will buy for me) on nights that I am not with you, i.e. you will stay away from my “man toys”. I will gladly film our… liaisons… for you to enjoy while you lie in your bed next to your ever-sleeping wife. (Have you checked her breathing lately? Is she alive?)

I look forward to hearing from you- and before that, I look forward to the little package that will arrive on my doorstep tomorrow morning from Tiffany’s, holding a beautiful watch- so that I may be on time to keep our appointments. I like this one: Watch

Until then.

Yours, C.D.

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.

"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.

"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.

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?

Bissap Baobab on Speed

I cross the street over to Bissap Baobab, wondering if he's the one standing outside, next to a bike. So not Sascha's type, though, I think. Luckily, as I get closer, I'm pretty sure it's not him. So I walk into the restaurant, and there, sitting at the bar, is Lele.

He's having a fit and half because:
I was at a cafe earlier and got myself a coffee. I liked it so much that I got up to buy another cup and I was told there were free refills, so I figured why not. But by the time I finished it, and started coming off the caffeine high, I was like, hmm... we haven't eaten anything, today.

I think to myself, This is you coming off your caffeine high? But I say:
We? You mean you and yourself? The Le and the le?

(The waitress comes with our food, practically before we've even finished ordering.)

Lele:
That was quick.

Me:
Umm... yeah, she was probably worried you might fall off your chair.

We move onto Medjool, because it's a beautiful night to be out on the roof deck, and we sit there talking about books and writing and cannibalism.

Me:
So if you could have your pick, who would you eat?

Lele:
(Looks around)

Me:
In a non-sexual way.

Lele picks a random man and then it's my turn but I don't see anyone I find appetizing so we move onto another bar.

After one more drink, Lele asks the waittress:
Can I dance on the bar? If I take my shoes off?

She says no, justifying it with some story about the last time a woman tried to dance on the bar and knocked over everyone's drinks. We decide that it's his turn to dare me to do something and then we leave leave the bar, get him a slice of pizza down the street on Valencia and walk around some before he walks me home.

Me:
Well this is me.

Lele:
Can I come upstairs for a glass of water?

(to be continued...)