The Jigtastic Journal of J. Na Na

Yest aft, Marie, Jo, and I hung out for the first time just the three
of us, and went atrekkn’ through Pacific Beach. Sadly, the experience
was marred by the onslaught of Spring Breakers (saved by the fact that
some of them were shirtless, tanned, hotties), and the fact that Jo had
to pick up her boyf at 6:00. But we chilled for the short time we
could, and it was… interesting.

You
know when there’s something you’ve always known or suspected in the
back of your mind, and then you find out it’s actually true? It’s like
having a gauze lowered over your eyesight, and things are always a bit
dimmer afterwards.

Anyways, we then went to Fashion Valley with
Jo’s new boyf, and Denny’s for dinner afterwards, rife as it was with
"Laguna Beach" rejects.

Today is Horton Plaza, thereby completing my tour of the SD mall scene.

With an orange pometini in hand, I spent yest afternoon trekking through The Crest, the gayborhood of old.  I expected something of a nostalgic spark to strike as I passed by the old clubs, cafes, and stores I was so familiar with as a youth, but I think I got my fill of that last year when I was here.

What was of note was happy hour time spent with the hot to trot Veelishis, whom I hadn’t seen in circa six years.  We started off at some esoteric, posh spot, then segued to a mixed country western bar (with real life antlers decked with lightbulbs)  where we had delicious lazy pears and the best mac ‘n’ cheese I’ve ever had in my life.

Today, I’m being guilted into seeing my great grandmother by Lavern, then it’s Horton Plaza and/or Pacific Beach with my sisters.  I can’t believe it’s already halfway over…

My second f’real day here saw me, Ashley, and Lavern head to the ultra
beauteous Balboa Park, a long-standing bastion of good ol’ SD history
rife with old Spanish-style villas, long green lawns, and bubbling
fountains.  We lunched at the Prado, and Lavern had her first mojito
(very anti-Christian to have not had one since their inception circa
2000, but what have you), then we went to the Spreckles Organ
Pavillion, where I performed many a concert back when I played flute in
the La Mesa Community Band.  Then it was across the bridge ( on which
we had to explain the concept of suicide to Ashley) bypassing the
leagues of hot, jogging army recruits, and on to the picturesque other
side of the park.

Tomorrow is The Crest (gayborhood or-ee-gee-nal), and after work cocktails avec Veelishis.

It was a quick, painless trip to the airport, and a quick, painless
(albeit dark) trip on the plane circa nine at night last night, but I
made it into SD sans incident and full of excitement.

Today
saw Lavern (mom), Ashley (niece), and I (J. Na Na Max Style) hit one of
my old high school/middle school haunts, Parkway Plaza. Don’t let the
name fool you; ain’t no airs to be had here. It’s your average suburban
mall, quite wonderfully empty on a Tuesday afternoon, except for, as
Ashley aptly noted upon entry, "There’s lots of oooold people here!"

I hope to lunch with Veelishis, hang with Juanita, and check out the old gayborhood, The Crest, as well. 

Vacations rock.

In our endless quest to rema–become thin, J. Co and I have committed to having stir fry for dinner every night.  Not only are there endless varieties, but it’s tres delish, and healthy as hell.  Plus, we always end up pigging out late at night (like you’re not supposed to) while engulfed in reality television.

Ms. Sugarkitty Diva Jones is getting along well.  Last night, she was the calmest she’s ever been, letting us pet her without getting too feisty.  It’s a long way from a month ago when she drew blood from my hand her first night here. 

SD on Monday.  I’m on cloud nine just thinking about it.

There’s no way to gracefully board and de-board a bus.  If you try, you’ll look even worse.  Just get on and get off as best you can.

J. Co and I (mostly I) downed one of those mega bottles of Chardonnay last night while watching "American Idol".  Then the new season of "Work Out" came on, and it was revealed that one of the trainers, the sweet, older gay guy named Doug, had died.  DePRESSing.  Then I woke up this morning with a wicked hangover to the tune of two Aleve. 

SD in five days.

I came home the other day and called for Kitty, but couldn’t find her anywhere.  Then I heard a meow from the closet, and opened it up to find her perched precariously atop a vertically-standing mattress, the result of an overly adventurous exploration, no doubt.  I rescued her, and saw on the floor a shoebox full of old cassette tapes, including some old mixtapes I’d made with titles like "Funk de Love", "Typique de Moi", and "Dream When You Think".

I pulled out one called "Dearest Heart", and was reunited with such cute tunes as "Xanadu" by Olivia Newton-John, "MmmBop" by Hanson, "Crush" by Jellyhead, and "DJ Girl" by Katalina.  Good times.

SD’s just six days away.  I’m ready as a mo’ fo’.

Do straight people not know how to drink?  While out on Saturday, there were hordes or young, drunk straight people, rightfully intoxicated in honor of St. Patrick’s Day.  But they were making complete assess of themselves, bawdily calling out to people on the streets, using the bars and poles on the Muni as a jungle gym, etc.  I mean, we homos certainly drink our fair share, but we just act slutty when we’re soused, not annoying.

Eating on the bus is gross.

Movies edited for television are anathema.  Cuss away and bare it all, I say.

All this pitter pattering around General Peter Pace’s statement that gays are "immoral" has not gotten nearly the response it should.  Barack Obama and Hilary Clinton should have tore him a new hole, blasting him for making such a backwards comment publicly in the fucking year 2007.  And saying it’s akin to adultery?  That would make the vast majority of Americans "immoral". 

What would the response have been like if he’d said all black people were stupid?  Chew on that, for awhile.

And while we’re on the subject, who in the hell invented chewing gum?  A rubbery, indigestible sponge you roll around in your hot, bacteria- and germ-infested mouth over and over and over again?  Fucking gross.

I’m fantastically tired, mildy irritable, quite hungry, and broke as a joke.  The sole consolation of the day is that it’s Thursday. 

I cleaned out my Hotmail inbox yesterday, and it was quite a trip down memory lane.  I have emails back to ‘99 when I first transitioned from my school email to Hotmail.   My college graduation pic with some old acquaintances.   Emails from people with whom I’ve since lost contact, but on whom I can still spy on Friendster and MySpace.  You can say what you want about MySpace, but it is kind of cool that you can still peek into the lives of former friends whom you still like, but with whom you don’t talk.  Not to mention all the new things you learn about even those closest to you.