what was that?

maybe the bus/train is the most exciting part of the first day of my last semester adventure experiment. the unexpected lurks at every bus stop. you never know what kind of queens or hipster jesus freaks are going to get on. the four queens who get on at West Portal are not really surprising except that they're so young maybe thirteen to fifteen and so loud which is probably more insecurity than confidence but still it's working. there they are, copying LeBeija's walk from Paris is Burning right there on the moving train. taking turns to see who can do it better. talking about his ex-boyfriend and why those bitches always looking at me. faux-hawks and purses, and maybe a couple of anne taylor sweaters. that's san francisco on the M Oceanview. but on the 29 Sunset, watch out, some jesus lovers talking about meeting the lord, loving yourself, the lord loves gangsters but the devil is punking them and then they're punking other people, but the have amazing energy those gangsters, there's so much to learn, and more of the lord, and something about the father. what? is this for real? they're sitting behind me. the woman sitting next to be is rolling her eyes and laughing under breath. we all get off at geary and i've got to get a look at these comedians. not what i expected. they look like san franciso funky, not conservative and bland, but ratty/earthy. now i'm scared.

plaid

i found that jacket, but it hasn't changed my life yet. maybe tomorrow. at least, i didn't buy anything new, made of synthetic fabrics, or from a giant corporation. instead i bought from a high-end vintage store where they treat you well and the clothes are already dry-cleaned and actually smell good. it was expensive-ish, even on sell, but it's my money right? i mean the government's money. i mean my credit card company's money. I just wanted it. Something to do. Why do I have justify it? But now Indian summer is here so I won't see it again for six months.
Victor cooked so much food, six different vegetarian dishes from Spain. It goes on for a while eating and talking and drinking. it's nice. i get horny at some point during the meal, but then it passes and by the time that it's time for sex I sort of just want to go home. but i guess this is how people do things. eat huge meals and then have sex? i don't know about that. he probably doesn't always cook six-course meals. maybe we'll just eat macaroni salad next time and fuck over the dining table. i feel sort of un-excited about the whole thing, but that's probably not a bad thing. it may be fabulous thing. when i get excited about a guy it's usually because i'm hoping he will save me from oblivion. but they're never interested in saving me. i can't relax, i'm anxious, i'm worrying. always. it's getting worse as i age. god, i'm aging now on top of everything else. i might have said this before, but here it goes,it's like dr. nina simone says, we're all gonna die and die like flies. i find this comforting. victor plays a joy division song for me before i go to get on that bus. he doesn't play love will tear us apart but still i can't stop singing love will tear us apart.

something like that

all i want is a new warm jacket. if i had one my whole world would be like - bam! you know, like on. like stepping out the front door and like ready to hit it. pret-a-porter and all that shit. but i couldn't find the right one at any of those dung heaps in union square. i mean dung heap city baby. but where's all the dung beetles to take that shit away?? instead there's only tourists. the stores seem almost empty except for a few rich-looking tourists. and then my broke, but credit-infused, ass ready to throw down. lay down. roll around. smoke grass. and get back on that bus! but first some coffee in that underground cafe that puts me right to sleep. i haven't done anything today and it's really a weight on my shoulders. i still have to stop at trader joe's. frozen berries, cabbage, red peppers, multi-grain bread, two cans of cuban black beans, lavender dryer bags, vanilla soy milk. i still don't have anything to eat. i make grits instead.

walk on by

i'm sitting in the church street cafe. tired from walking all the way from 24th and Valencia, but excited about new purchases. ha! superficiality doesn't go away after turning 30, let me tell you! but a new wardrobe is part of my reinvention project so it has some meaning beyond meaningless shopping. and can we really escape consumerism in 2009? i don't think so, mama. but back to the cafe and more importantly, this neighborhood. this neighborhood is like flashback city, honey. there's that i guy i always see on campus with the big purse and for some reason is always giving me shade or thats what it feels like. he's looking at porn on his laptop right now. is that straight porn? i can't make it out from here. but watching the people go by on the street is much more interesting anyway. i'm drinking my coffee. the old ladies next my are talking about the word "mama" and its universality. i'm looking out the big windows. i feel okay. and then and then and then. there he is walking by. my ex-boyfriend. the one that i haven't seen in three years. the last time i saw i slammed the door in his face with a cigarette hanging out my mouth. that was when i lived in that crappy apartment on market street and had that horrible job and was still going to city college. i mouth the words oh my god. i laugh. there he is just like that. i don't feel anything but oh my god. he looks the same. same black hoodie. walking with a forty-ish white guy which is good because i have no pangs of jealousy. and then he's gone. oh my god. and then there's ron walking by and that guy that i almost had sex with on sixteen different occasions at blow buddies. i just couldn't decide. and then that other guy. i've got to get out of this neighborhood. where's that 22 Fillmore?

late night dining

the week of lunches

oh no! cat puke on my bedroom floor. thanks, tiger! i scream when i see it. it's just a shock, you know. thank god i bought those latex gloves. clean that stuff right up and finally i'm ready for bed.

`etoiles

i returned two half-used bottles of pro-biotics to the whole foods on franklin and california, no receipt required. $32.17, woo-hoo! i was elated as i bumped into yuppies in the crowded aisles, finding things to spend that extra cash on. grits - i've been missing those!, kiwis, enzymes - help!, gingko biloba - help!, cabbage, toilet paper, bananas, strawberry preserves, frozen blueberries, tomatoes, brown rice, dark chocolate with mint crisps - all for $37.07. so i'm really loving whole foods now, right? i mean as much as i can love such a hideous place. i used to work here, sort of, as a personal shopper, so i know what a mainstream masculinity machine it really is. but then, i'm reading the huffington post and there's an article about the ceo of whole foods and his op-ed piece against obama's heathcare plan and now i really loathe whole foods, no matter their return policy.

the professor comes over to see my pink room. everybody loves it. we go to this taiwanese place on clement for lunch. he orders beef ligament. so you actually eat that, i ask. what is it exactly? not really ligament, right? but yes, really ligament, and lots of people love it. they cook it for days, so it's very flavorful. i was thinking we were probably going to have sex later but do i really want to kiss a mouth that had just had ligament in it? no, but i do. the adventure, lady, the adventure. we go to green apple books and i find jean-philippe toussaint's The Bathroom. and then i have to go to the bathroom. the sex is fine and i'm alive.

routine

it's warm tonight on clement street. i just want to get out the house. headaches and naps and nightmares. neck pain, stomach aches, ejaculate. i finally do my sun salutations in the morning. all of my routines are askew since moving back. fuck i want some crack! no kidding, but maybe something sweet. the blue danube is too bright and crowded. same for toy boat. i need dark and dirty cafe. oily, sour, bitter, and blah. at the library i return a slighty read book in the after hours drop. two guys sitting outside with their laptops, the wi-fi is on all night. on craigslist, a human urinal is looking for dom piss tops. i think about responding. i mean, i am in the neighborhood, so maybe... i take Henri to mountain lake park, but then i have to go to the bathroom. what is it with me and lakes? walking past green apple books, i spot michelle tea's novel Rose of No Man's Land in the discount bin, marked down to $2.98 and finally, i feel like smiling. not because i'm happy that her book is unloved and unwanted, but because i just read it, a library copy, and it's funny to see it sitting there on the dark street, waiting to be discovered and for such an amazing price!

the zoo

Sitting on the steps on the east side of the building, my usual spot, waiting for lunch break to be over, counting down the minutes, the seconds, until I can escape the unsupervised teen aged hillbilly masses -- there's that one who thought that To Kill a Mockingbird was pro-racist when I started to describe the book to him, I hear you man, kill them all he said, and there's that one who's always shooting me with with a water gun, and that one who calls me sexy, thanks! Just a sampling of the really cool people that I go to high school with. I'm counting down the minutes until the relative security of the classroom where homophobic teachers are the norm, but still they won't let me be blatantly harassed in class, or usually not,anyway, it's more of an of off-handed harassment in which they participate fully with comments like doesn't it make you sick to see those men holding hands in Natchitoches -- I've never seen them but it is a college town and Steel Magnolias was filmed there so it is like gay mecca for Northwest Louisiana, or asking some other students if it's true that I'm gay, and they're all certain that it's true. This is Coushatta High School in Coushatta, Louisiana -- the other mecca of Northwest Louisiana, of backward thought, redneck style and the perpetuation of every negative stereotype of the South that ever was. That's why a crowd starts to form while I'm sitting on the steps, counting down the endless minutes, around two new students who just appeared seemingly out of nowhere standing uncertainly against the red brick walls. Brother sister, Jose and Rosa. You get the picture here- Jose and Rosa are from Mexico, the children of migrant workers here for tree planting season. Apparently, they're planning on sticking around long enough to have their kids go to school here, but what a depressing thought. Jose and Rosa are cornered now, pushed and prodded like petting zoo animals, real excitement for these hillbilly children who never get to go nowhere, never get to do nothing. I want them all to die except for Jose and Rosa. I already feel solidarity with the recent arrivals. They're the only Mexicans, and I'm the only fag. I'm sure we'll be friends. I have a hard-on unrelated to the recent arrivals and now break/hell is over. I rearrange my stuff discretely and proceed towards some version of education.

bib

high-speed internet is fabulous, but just a little too tempting. i wanna check this, look at that, once more, just once, and then again, and then in an hour, and once more before bed. and that's not including facebook. i only really like about three of my friends on facebook. i don't even know half of them and some of them i just down right hate. but i've got my pink room and i'm feeling happy-ish and it just different. i hope it lasts. maybe i'm not lonely anymore. could it be? moi, not lonely? i'm not lonely and not looking for sex. bizarre times for sure. i found a pink jacket at american rag to match my pink room. gotta pull that wardrobe together before the semester starts. statement of style, girl. statement of style. i want this semester to be different. i want to approach it differently. i don't want to miserable there anymore. maybe style will help. it's one approach. and well reinvention never hurt anybody. except maybe anne heche. i used to think what a crazy bitch. but now after reading about how she was abused by her father and her denies and trying to convert gay people to heterosexuality, i can see why she had a breakdown. i hate my family. sometimes. going to temple was fun-ish. i like going out with m. because there's no expectations to have a good time and no one pressures me to drink seventy-three cocktails. he doesn't drink at all and i do sometimes and only a couple max. i didn't drink anything at temple because i wasn't sure if my body was up to it. one screwdriver would have helped me loosen up though. i like the music and managed to dance a little but couldn't relax with all the people standing around just looking at the dancefloor. i need everything to align for me relax and have fun at a club. the perfect amount of people on the dancefoor-crowded, but not too crowded which means enough room to move around in but also surrounded by enough people that you don't feel like you're being examined. at least on cocktail. amazingly addictive music. mixed crowd. cute clothes. comfortable shoes. i was lacking a lot of those things at temple. but still, the bitch is back and she's pink.

the walls

statement of style

so i painted my room pink today. a new color, a new life. it's a happy color. the same pink you find on some houses in florida or some place like that. you can find one or two in san francisco, too. maybe that happy color will rub off on my personality. it's the first time i've ever painted my own room in any of the fifty odd houses and apartments i've lived in over the past thirty-one years. i guess i'm looking to settle in and stick around. and i never wanted to stay too long in any of the other places. except for when i lived by buena vista park. i lived there for three years, but my room was already a gorgeous shade of green so i never thought about painting. now i'm settling in and doing so in style. of course, of course, of course.