The Jigtastic Journal of J. Na Na

It’s starting to creep up on me again–that urge to go back home and visit San Diego. It always seems to happen about this time of year.  Of course, I suppose it doesn’t help much that I’m listening to this online music station that’s playing a bunch of ’90s dance music like Corona, Hani, De’Lacy, Livin’ Joy that reminds me of high school and college… 

I do plan to visit soon since I haven’t seen my new niece yet, but I really want to save up to visit Mr. Alterhausen in DC so I can see New York.  I’ve never been, but it’s somewhere I’ve been dying to go.  Everytime I see a movie or TV show set in New York, I feel a pang of desire in my heart for the Big Apple.  And I feel that now that I’m 30, I really ought to branch out of my comfort zone and travel more.  San Diego is the most exotic locale I’ve traveled to recently, and it’s really not.

I still have the hope on hold of going to Ibiza for a couple weeks one summer.  The thought of traveling abroad, contending with the Euro, trying to rassle up those foreign language skills, and dealing with the culture on the continent is a bit scary, but somewhat exciting.  I only worry that I’d never come back.

But since they don’t have Brita or Vivarin there, I can’t see myself staying long.

Don’t we all agree that advertising has gotten just a smidgen out of control?  If it’s not ads that play before videos you plan online like cnn.com; or the pop ups that plague you whenever you go to any working website; or those screens that coat buses now with advertisements on them.  Shall we all just staple a slogan onto our foreheads for twenty bucks a day?  I don’t need that much help figuring out what I like!

I took Sugar’s collar off to give her the facade of freedom, and she quite enjoys it.  Only thing is, it makes her look like some wild beast, like the "Cloverfield" monster, all limbs and violence.

I think I’m going to ask God to be my valentine for Valentine’s Day.

I’m a touch overwhelmed this week, what with having to lead two orientations this week and contend with forty-some odd new hires.  Plus, one of the other Employment Specialists is out on jury duty until Friday, and it appears we’re spreading the workload evenly instead of giving it to the person who has the least to do at present.  It never rains, but it pours.

I’m seriously thinking of buying some white sage and smudging my room to get the bad energy out.  Last night was another bad dream where I was first assaulted in a public bathroom (double ew!), then was reading some horrible leaflet that Time Life had released about the destitute state of America in the past ten years:  it had a picture of the Twin Towers in the midst of their destruction; talked about people who had moved to the City, but then had to move back because they couldn’t afford to live there; people who had lost their jobs. 

I remember thinking in the dream, Jesus, according to Time Life, everything and its mother sucks apples. 

I just hope I don’t smudge out the good energy when I do it, so I can still occassionally have dreams where I’m flying over Disneyland-like landscapes with a balloon. 

So much fun.

From "Golden Girls"
Dorothy: "You’ll have to excuse my mother.  She suffered a slight stroke a few years ago which has left her, if I can be frank, a complete burden."

I began my celebration of the memory of the Reverently Black Revered Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. on Friday by heading out to Fag Fridays’ new venue at Pink in the Mission.  The place is hip, modern, and serves too delish pink shots, but it also seemed to be straight, or straight-ish in style, and nothing like the End Up.  Too, DJ David Harness, one of my favorite DJs, was not playing as promised, so it was vocal-less house music that never really piqued in interest.  I did get to dance with a drag queen, though. 

Sunday, I caught a matinee of "Cloverfield", and am still traumatized by it.  More than just a monster movie, it really encapsulates terror, tragedy, and loss without justification or reason, ending without any quaint explanation or sappy theme music, just the credits blankly rolling as everyone silently leaves the theatre. 

Then it was to the Sunday T-dance, which, it being a holiday weekend, I would presume would be packin’ ‘em in.  Not so.  Scant few revelers and once again, vocal-less crap house that was better suited to night than day.  Add in a $9 Long Island iced tea served in a tiny plastic cup, and you have one miffed quigga (queer wigga = me) aksking himself, What happened to my T-Dance?

Then Monday, I walked in the romantic rain down Van Ness.

Not bad.

I’m thinking of going to Fag Friday’s new venue at Pink.  My last few ventures to the End Up since it’s changed management have been mildly disappointing, and one of my fave DJs, David Harness, has stuck it out with the Fag Friday’s party.  Pink is in a mildly ghetto area despite its rosy name, but I feel like my clubbing experiences have been sadly lacking lately, both in quality and quantity, so we need to do something about it.

I’ve had the same PIN number for the past fourteen years.

Enjoy your three day weekend, wiggas!  And if you don’t have Monday off, don’t worry, I’ll still be enjoying mine!

"Come on!  Let’s not go back to the year of the flood!"
–Judge Judy urging a plaintiff to get to the point of his story

"Cloverfield" is probably one of the only movies…I guess ever that I anxiously want to see in theatres when it comes out.  The mysterious monster sounds pretty awesome, and I’d just like to see it live in the theatre.  But for Chrissakes, the Clovies (my special term for the nerd herd that has hearkened to this sci fi/thriller flick) dominate the IMDb boards with their snippity-ass comments and replies to anyone who doesn’t live there 24/7. 

Of course when you live in your parents’ basement, I imagine typing away at on IMDB boards as you work yourself into a dither, your bifocals all  fogged up and your pot belly churning with anticipation, is pretty much all you have.

Somewhere along the way in life, shouldn’t you be required to learn all of your city, state, and federal laws?  Otherwise, how can you in fairness be arrested and tried for breaking them?

Doesn’t having a camera phone essentially entail that you will at some point take pictures of private parts, either yours or someone else’s?

Everytime I open the door to a bathroom or an elevator, I’m afraid I’ll see a dead body.

It’s hard to believe that I have a valid driver’s license that was issued based on passing a behind-the-wheel test I took fourteen years ago.

The first signs of aging occur around the eyes…by which estimation I must have been born some time around the paleolithic.

I wonder how many times you sneeze in a lifetime?

I feel weary, tired, and sad today.

Weary because I had to bust my ass at a giant orientation this morning.  Tired because I had to wake up at the crack of dawn to get to it, as well as from being underslept from a reunion with a certain illicit amigo of mine I haven’t seen in ages this past Saturday.  And sad because my long lost half-sister way across the country is sort of on the outs with her family right now, and a bit down, so I feel for her.

I did buy myself some enticing cinnamon bread on my afternoon constitutional, though.  It beckoned to me in my world-weary state, and said, "Come on, have a bite.  Relish the mo’."

Not that I need one.  I really need to get that gym membership before things get royally out of hand. 

I can’t stand commercials for canned goods and cleaning products featuring hip housewives and happenin’ soccer moms dancing around like they’ve overdosed on Zoloft and Olvatine.  Fuck off with your Stepford Wife bullshit.

Why does gay always work as a punchline?  Fuck off and die.

I miss candy apples.