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...

Are we there yet?

Apparently.

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...)

From 28

"i read today
almost two full pages
of a mystic poet
i laughed til i cried muito"

"You're Alright Looking, for a Slut!"

Me:
dude.

Sascha:
dude, what?
you have fun w/ lele?

Me:
lol.

Sascha:
tell me!

Me:
yes.
and then we made out.

Sascha:
haha! i fucking knew it.
if you hurt the man i will kill you and if he hurts you i will kill him.
just saying.

Me:
how did you just "fucking know it" ? cause i'm a slut?

Sascha:
(blah, blah, blah) and I know what he wants emotionally plus you're alright looking....for a slut.
I'm so happy i'm gonna be one of those grandmas pushing it along.
or maybe not.

Me:
(blah, blah, blah) Btw, you know that if I have kids, it wouldn’t make you a grandma? It would make you an auntie.

Because I said so

Me:
no matter what you do, you must not add ---- as your friend before consulting me.

Sascha:
ah...ok...

um....sure.

ah......why?

Me:
well cause i said so, of course.

Sascha:
why didn't you just say so.

Me:
i just didn't want to make a big deal out of it.

Sascha:
right.
obvious.

Plenty of Nuthin'

Sascha:
a bunch of stuff happening that i need to tell you about..
but i need to wait for the smoke to clear.

On another note my good friend lele is moving back to california
and i'm very sad about it.
however i think you should take him to besop beobop as my loss is
your gain.
l8r fel8r.

Me:
what's goin' down yo?
:O)
I hope everything's cool.
I emailed lele. he hasnt written back yet.

Sascha:
plenny my friend.
plenny.
all very entertaining.
;)

Me:
tell me the plenny
i will give you a penny
my heart is paining
and you find it entertaining
i'm insaning
what are you gaining?
the words are menny
let one or two be raining
i'm insaning
boy, i'm insaning

Sascha:
lol!
dude i have to talk to you.
maybe i'll call

The Onion Horoscope: August 21, 2007

You will fly into a psychotic, alcohol-fueled rage this Thursday moments after sobering up a bit.

Sleepwalking really does happen

Erik:
I had another sleepwalking incident last night. Weird. I woke up fully dressed at 3am (after I had gotten into my pajamas when Jose left).
I had put my hair up with product, turned on a pot of water for tea, set out some pistachio nuts in the living room, then waited in bed for my company to come. (I'm pretty sure I called my sister and told her to come over - that the snacks were ready). So I woke up to a hot apartment...went to the bathroom and I noticed the stove was blasting and I had evaporated all the water out of the teapot and it was pretty close to stuck on the burner. Then I realized that I had gotten dressed and ready to go somewhere.

Between Heartbeats

Make no sound, poet
you forget
I am one, too
we can read hearts
even as they lie
locked up in chests-
we can hear the truth

in a pause

I was looking for some desi roommates...

JoAnn:
I am not a desi chick, but my parents are from Taiwan (is that close enough?) and it sounds like we may be compatible roommates.

James:
If you have any interest in meeting Luna and I please feel free to give me a call anytime, 415-513-6409. Attached is a picture of Luna and I so you can have a glimpse of us. Thanks for your time, hope to hear from you.

(He forgot to attach the picture of Luna, his dog, and himself. I didn't even get a glimpse, to figure out if they might be desi.)

Geoff:
Alright so I'm not a desi chick. I can't really even imposture a desi chick though I'm good with walks and facial expressions.

Lisa:
Hi. I'm not sure what a desi chick is, however, I'm a responsible woman looking for a roommate situation.

Another Poet?

Wow. I'm a a poet, he's a poet, we're both poets. Life will be wonderfully poetic- and poetically wonderful...

Until we both realize there's more to life than making poetry. Together or separately. I say, "I'm just a hopeless romantic, and you're a cynic." He does not like that. "I'm a romantic," he says. He is pissed. And then uncertain. He thinks about my comment again. He wishes he was a romantic.

But he's just a poet.

Sascha: I just saw "Bend it Like Beckham..."

...And if you ever want to do something really really awesome for me is to invite me to your wedding (i know i know you will do this) but make it like an old school desi wedding that goes till the next day.

If I'm employed I may even travel to Pakistan for it!

Just sayin'

No pressure!