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.