The Jigtastic Journal of J. Na Na

It was a low-key Pride this year, much like it was last year.  The Gang seemed to be more on the night shift, while I was more on the day shift, but I got to hang with the hot-to-trot Dascha for the festival Saturday, trading sips between her to-go bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade (deee-lish shit, by the by–tastes like liquefied lemon drops) and my 100 proof vodka-pear cocktail, while getting draped with Mardi Gras beads, taking pics with hot chicks (I don’t know why it was chicks and not dudes…), and generally chatting up a good time.

Then we segued to the ‘Stro, walking down sunny-soaked Market amongst the ‘mo’s, which included, if I’m not mistaken, a sighting of Dan Renzi from "The Real World: Miami".  Then we dined and drank at Harvey’s before Dascha was inspired to get a nose piercing. 

Usually not a good idea to mix drinking with piercing, but she’d wanted to get it done for some time, and it was discreet and becoming enough that even her boyfriend, who hadn’t wanted her to get it done, was fine with it.

Then we walked through the ‘Stro back towards Market, saw Perez Hilton at the Metro, went back too late to get a pic with him, and called it a night.

I have to say, though, I’m looking forward to this three-day July 4th weekend already.  I have a gabillion projects going on at work right now, and could use a spare day to chill.

After all the partying on the weekend, including a rare visit to the inconveniently packed Badlands in honor of Mr. Alterhausen’s arrival, I napped on Sunday, and took a walk along the piers purely sober on to Trader Joe’s.  It was beautiful out, warm with a cool breeze.  Let’s hope it’s likewise come Pride this weekend. 

I like the new Alanis, "Underneath".  It’s cheesy, but cheesy in a good way, like "Ironic" or "Hand in My Pocket".  We get that you’re talking about a relationship where the heart was at war with your political convictions, Laney, so you have to show yourself inside an actual, beating, human heart as juxtaposed with your bumperstickering, protesting, beanie-sporting self.  And the poster at the end that morphs from a peace sign to a love sign said it all for us if we hadn’t already gotten it. 

Good job, A. If I were still 16, I would’ve found it most profound and moving.  But good job, still.

I hate it when I get into work earlier than usual, and everone greets me with "oh" faces and says some crap like, "Wow!  What’re you doing here?!!?  Is something wrong?"  So I woke up a little earlier than usual.  It’s not like I usually stroll in at noon.

From "Anybody Out There?" by Marian Keyes (caveat: This is not a self-help book, but a wonderful "Sex in the City"-esque work of fiction by one of my fave authors)
The main character, Anna, was in a car accident with her boyfriend, and temporarily moved back home to Ireland to be rehabilitated.  While at home, she noticed each morning that an old woman would walk her dog to the front of their house and urge it to urinate right in their front lawn.  She later returns back to New York, tries to restart up her life, etc. but there’s this one funny part where her mother randomly sends her the following email (p.s. Helen is Anna’s sister, a garrulous sort who has just gotten a job as a detective spying on cheating husbands):

To: Magiciansgilr1@yahoo.com
From: Thewalshes1@eircom.net
Subject: The woman and her dog

Dear Anna,
I hope you are keeping well.  Just remember you can come home whenever you want and we will mind you.  I am writing in connection with the woman and the dog who was "doing his business" at our front gate.

I will admit that we all thought you were imagining things, as a result of the tablets you are on.  But I am not afraid to "step up" to the "plate" (what does that mean?  Is it a barbecuing term?) and say I was wrong.  Myself and Helen have watched her over the last few mornings and it has become clear to us that she is indeed urging her dog to "pee" at our front gate and I just wanted to keep you "in the loop" as they say.  As yet we haven’t identified her.  As you know she is an old woman and all old woman look the same to me.  As you also know your sister Helen has high-powered binoculars, which your father paid for.  But she will not give me a "go" of them, she says I have to pay her the going rate for her time.  I do not think this is one bit fair.  If you are talking to her, will you tell her I said that.  Also if she tells you any "scoop" on the woman’s identity be sure to let me know.

Your loving mother,
Mum
***************************************************************

Hysterical!!

Just because I’d never been, I took the 24 Divisadero bus up from Castro on Saturday to check out the area on top of that hill, the one up from all the bars and clubs.  I don’t know if that’s considered still part of the Castro or Noe Valley, but it’s got all the really beautiful houses–not just Victorians, but real, big, mini-mansion type cribs, with fantastic, sweeping view of the City.

In a way, it makes me sort of sad.  I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to own a house like that, since it would inevitably mean I’d have to have a partner who made a six-figure income, and that I myself would have to make a six-figure income, and we’d have to have the luck of making the winning bid on one of the rarely-for-sale houses in that neighborhood. 

Then on Sunday, I made the egregious mistake of combining coming down off of a hangover with watching "Rosemary’s Baby".  Mia Farrow was awfully beautiful back in the day.  But I can’t recommend her character quite as much.  At the end, when the goddamn film finally reaches its agonizingly long-awaited climax, and Rosemary discovers that her baby is the Anti-Christ, and she’s been lied to by her husband and deceived by her neighbors, I don’t know why she didn’t just take that little Satan spawn by its forked tail, hurl it off that highrise, and have a go with that butcher knife on that kooky old couple and her shitworthy husband. 

C’mon, Rosie!

I feel the difference.  When you change up your environment, it changes your outlook, wipes the grime away from everything so that you see it much more clearly; hits the refresh button on your browser; cleans out the crankiness in your emotional make up. 

I was on a crowded bus just the other day coming back from the grocery, and some big black woman kind of barreled down the aisle, and I just smiled in amusement instead of throwing an internal temper tantrum.  Clearly things have changed.

One of my co-workers, Bella, has not been so cheery lately.  She told me she wakes up in the morning, and just doesn’t even want to come in to work.  That’s got to be one of the worst feelings ever, since we spend most of our waking hours at work.  I told her she desperately needs to take a vacay.  Get out of the City.  Do something fun somewhere else.

Know when to lead, learn when to follow, accept when to let go.

I remember we had this writing exercise once in third or fourth grade.  The teacher handed out the instructions which went something like this:
1. Read all of the instructions from beginning to end first before doing anything.
2. Write your name at top right.
3. Circle your name.
4. Draw a star over these instructions.

Blah, blah, blah…Then the last instruction was.
12. Do not follow any of the previous instructions except number 1.  Leave this page blank.

It was an interesting exercise in reading through things thoroughly before taking action.  A problem I see others regularly encounter at work.

One of the cutest exchanges that occurred while in NYC which I forgot to mention was at a restaurant.  Mr. Alterhausen had ordered matzo ball soup and a Bud Lite, and a lovely Jewish woman came over to our table and said in that adorable New York accent, "You couldn’t be Jewish, could you?"  We had a great laugh at his un-kosher combination, and she went on to say, "I’ll have to remember that.  As a chaser."  Then her little old mother joined her as they made their way out and said, "I’m the other half of the comedy team."

How can you not love that?

I’m trying as yet to schedule a happy hour with my friend Rosa, who I haven’t seen in some seven years.  I actually befriended her through another friend while in high school, and it turned out Rosa had moved to the SF/Bay Area the same time I did.  We surprisingly haven’t hung out all that much, though, but I still consider her one of my oldest friends.  Hopefully she can get her butt over from Oakland to the City and get in some good drink time.

My eminent joy at being deposited back in my homo homeland was aptly evident Saturday morning when I awoke at the crack of the crack to go on a drunken power walk up to Twin Peaks, a well-to-do neighborhood overlooking SF (not to be mistaken for the creepy TV show of the same name).  Despite the misty, overcast skies, it was a joy to be at the highest heights of the City and take in such a gorgeous view.

Then yest, Melissika, J Co and I did the Union Street Festival, a good, drunken time in the sun, which I am still slightly suffering from this morn.