The Jigtastic Journal of J. Na Na

Everytime I walk down the street, I hear the Darth Vadar theme music in my head.

It’s been a bit hectic being back at work.  There are about a thousand things to do, a thousand new things going on, and people breathing down my neck to get them all done.  And to top it all off, I’m applying for a promotion, so it’s in my best interest to show I can keep my chill in times of stress and still look my best.

I kind of wish I had that magic whistle that Link has in The Legend of Zelda so I could be whisked away by a silver whirlwind that wouldn’t take me to Gannon’s Lair but to a far away mountain luxury mansion where I could watch “Golden Girls” all day while sipping on cocktails.

I am making myself a pink martini for the first time tonight.  I’d say I deserve it.

Actually it wasn’t that black nor fantastic, but a rather tame trip back home to SD compared to my previous two visits. It didn’t help that it was around 90 degrees the whole time I was there, and that my two high school chums Veelishis and Aaron were out of town and unavailable for happy hour consultation, but it was an otherwise okay time.

It began with a forced mass bday dinner at Home Town Buffet (not my choice) with my whole family, most of whom I haven’t seen in some time and for good reason. Not that it wasn’t amusing to some degree, and seeing my aunt put a “50 and over the hill” glittery hat on my mom and giving her an accompanying toy cane was truly the cherry on top. (It’s her new ringtone pic.)

We had a nice sit down dinner at Olive Garden with just immediate family later that week to commemorate Lavern’s 50th especially, which was nice, especially because I got to sit next to and terrorize my adorable 9 year old niece Ashlee, who is a hoot and who I want to adopt.

I had been so excited to see my new niece Seashell, but she wails with fear and panic whenever anyone who is not her mother or father tries to pick her up. Charming child. Still, she, Ash, Gavessica and I made a trip out to OB and PB to take in some beachside time.

I made a sojourn back to one of my favorite old haunts, The Boardwalk, a video arcade-type mini-indoor amusement park that I used to love to come to when I was 11 and throw away as many quarters as I could on Dragon’s Lair, Bubble Trouble, and Rampage. I’d worried about looking like some creepy pedo when I went in, but it was empty, and I played a few games (and sucked horribly at them) for old times’ sake before departing.

My sister Marie, now slimmer and sporting a very cool Amy Winehouse look (minus the crack-inspired facial sores), and I did Horton Plaza.

I made a visit back to the Vista Amaya apartments where we lived when I was 8 or 9. It looks so much smaller now. It was so peacefully quiet when I went, too, with little white wisps from the flowerbuds in the trees coming down like a veil. I think I only saw a few repairman about, and took a picture of the pool by which we spent many summers. It’s my cell phone wallpaper now.

And I have to say, traveling about the trolley between these destinations, I’d forgotten how many douchenozzles and drifters reside in the general La Mesa/El Cajon area. And how many female Prop 8 supporters sporting ’80s hair work there. Egh.

I did the Crest, which has become unexpectedly overrun by sushi restaurants.

My grandmother Petula came down, and the last day I was here, my mom, she, and I went to the Rosecrans Cemetery where all the SD veterans are, and put flowers on the gravesites of my grandfather whose funeral I’d missed in 2002, along with a few other relatives including my great grandfather (who’s name was Merwin–how cool, huh?). The cemetery is overlooking the Pacific Ocean, and is possibly one of the most peaceful, serene places in the universe.

I was, as always, utterly happy to get back home to Frisco where fags and dykes, yuppie Financial District scum, niggers, kikes, chinks, emo goth bitches, Academy of Art losers, pothead hippies, and tattooed wannabes all reside in peace together because no one gives a fuck about anybody being different because we’re all different. Home sweet!

I am really not a fan of any of my friends’ boyfriends/husbands.  I’ve realized this trend within myself, and I know I’m not the only one who feels this way.  And I don’t think it’s just because I feel like they’re “taking away” a friend.  I really don’t.  I mean, I like all of my sisters’ boyfriends/husbands, and they’re biologically related to me.  But when it comes to the mates of my amigas, I’m just like, Whatever, why are you here?

I’ve begun waking up in the middle of the night coughing away like some aged asthma sufferer, but I have the nagging suspicion that it’s not so much phlegm as it is Sugar’s rampant cat hair catching in my throat and nose.  I’ve been trying to clean the blades of my fan, which has collected swatches of it in the air.  That animal is lucky that she’s cute, ’cause she really toes the line.

I now can’t remember why on Earth on made my flight reservations for 11:00 am on Saturday.  That means I have to wake up around 8:00 am to get to the airport around 9:00.  And yes, I’m one of those freaks who likes to get to the airport 2 - 3 hours early.  After I had the BART surreptitiously shut down on me when there was a fire the time I was supposed to get to the airport for my first trip back to SD in five years, I now err on the motherfucking side of caution………..you guys.

Five days and counting, you guys!  It’s always fun going on vacation.  It makes the work week feel like the last week of senior year.  As in, you don’t really care!

You know how people compare things to “like learning to ride a bike”?  Well, had someone told me that all you need to do is keep pedaling, and that as long as you keep moving forward you won’t fall over, I think it would’ve hastened the process. 

In my many drunken power walks through SF, I often have to use the potty at various restaurants, stores, and bars.  And I have to admit, there are a lot of nice public bathrooms in SF.  Comforting pictures, sometimes candles, plushly painted walls.  It might be cool to do a whole pictorial of them in a magazine or something.

My newest nickname for Sugar is Pumpkinbutt.  ‘Cause you know how when a cat sits on all fours and their haunches stick out, and it makes them look like they have a big ass?

Whoever decided to make the fuckin’ Love Parade and the Castro Street Fair in the same weekend was a cruel motherfucker. 

This actually goes on record as being the first time I’ve been an active attendee of the Love Parade.  Usually I just emerge up out of the Muni subway with loads of grocery bags and find myself in a throng of hyped up and high, brightly clad straight folk.  And while we missed the parade itself, Dascha met up with me, poured herself a Jager-avec-Coke on the street, then we strolled down Market to Civic Center.

I have to say, the Love Parade puts Pride to shame.  They’re both in the same location and feature plenty of colorful, happy people, but the Love Parade rather takes the cake.  Firstly, there aren’t people hawking free samples of shit every two steps you take.  But there are dancefloors in every quadrant of the area.

Dascha had an enjoyable time using up all my silly string as, despite the fact that I’d donned devil horns for the event, I didn’t want to harass or attack anybody with the ostensibly toxic stuff.  Fun times.

Then Sunday, I met up with LG and hit up the Castro Street Fair for the first time in several years.  Hasn’t changed an inch.  Although you do get a bit nickel and dimed everywhere you go.  As in, you get off the Muni and they ask for donations.  You go into a bar and there’s a fucking cover (puh-leeze, Mary).  We watched the drag queens do a medley on stage, danced a bit on the dancefloor (What is with the theme of these deep house records with absolutely no vocals?  What the eff, you guys?  I thought we were over that), laughed with fellow fags watching the Tina Fey impersonation of Sarah Palin in the Midnight Sun, narrowly avoided my vile ex Sean, and even made a surprise call to Mr. Alterhausen to hear his remix version of Mariah’s “We Belong Together”.

And can I just say, special applause to me for still managing to make it to Trader Joe’s blitzed off my ass Saturday, keep the kitchen clean after it had been ransacked, and mop and scrub the floors and vacuum the carpets on Sunday.  You’re damn straight, I make the most of my weekends.

“We got to improve black and brown relations.”
–Ice Cube, “Next Friday”

I’m tempted to skip “Ugly Betty” tonight to watch the Palin/Biden debate.  It may prove to be far more entertaining.  What I love most is that she’s been “cramming” at McCain’s ranch these past three days for the debate.  Super.  The potential future vice president of the United States of America (or as Mr. Alterhausen calls her, the Alaskan Anti-Christ) has to study and bone up on on current events like some eleventh grader before a history exam.  I don’t know whether to be amused or nauseous.

One of the joys of working in HR is presenting a papersigning/benefits orientation for all newly hired employees every week, which includes taking pictures for ID badges.  You would think that the photo being taken was going on match.com or MySpace given the grief and pickiness with which these folks–and I’ll be straight honest here, it’s mostly women–fret over how it looks, at what angle it’s being shot, and the lighting.  I mean, it’s meant to *identify* you, not score you a date.  That’s it.  And most people will not be looking at the picture of you on your badge.   They’ll be looking at you.  And your badge will just serve to *identify* you by name and job title.  Do you see where I’m going with this?

I don’t know what kind of mathematically deficient haze I was operating under, but I honestly thought I’d be broke as a joke with my paycheck this week due to a stale debit card charge suddenly popping up last week (thanks, macys.com!).  But when I went to do the math–and I did do it over and over and over again–I’m actually quite good, and completely up to par with my bills, which is extraordinarily rare.

It must have been the same daze that had me realize just a day or two ago that I’ll be in San Diego in two weeks, visiting Lavern for her 50th.  I guess the trips back to the Diegs aren’t quite as monumental anymore since I’ve gone twice in the past two years, but this may prove to be as yet a special visit since my mom and middle sister are considering moving to Vegas.  Hard to think that I won’t have a homebase back in my hometown.  Will have to make the trip worth it.