The Jigtastic Journal of J. Na Na

I am so abominably tired just out of pure exhaustion working on this project at work, but I just found the Big Hits of the ’90s Video Station on Yahoo! and it’s keeping me afloat with fond memories.  Surely the Vivarin isn’t.  I been poppin’ ‘em like M&M’s and they’re not doin’ squat.

I’m growing a bit of scruff to change up my look.  God knows I can’t grow more up top so figure this to be an adequately attractive substitute.

Isn’t it funny how when you were little and got a boo boo you mom or dad would kiss it to make it all better and it actually did make it feel better?

The insanity of work was such to a point that I had to sadly renege on a happy hour last Friday with Roze, my old co-worked who recently left.  Sucks vag, true enough.  But I was able to recoup with some lovely time at Lime last Thursday, easily one of my favorite bars in the ‘Stro with its bright chic ambience and delish menu of drinks, with Mandypants.  I think we made a breakthrough while discussing her hateful boyfriend John.  Fingers crossed, you guys.

I hate hot teenage boys and am not afraid to admit. They should all wear bags over their heads when in public.

Whenever I see an old Russian couple on the street–which happens more frequently than not in San Francisco–the theme to “Schindler’s List” slowly begins playing in my head.

It may only be January, but I’m enduring enough drama both personally- and professionally right now to last me the whole year. In a way I’m kind of glad. Things were going so smoothly and swimmingly for the past month and a half, that I was just waiting for the bubble to burst. And in essence, it’s all pre-meditated drama that I knew was forthcoming.

Still, it reminds me of that scene in “The Matrix” (the original one–you know, the one that didn’t suck) where Agent Smith is telling Neo that the original version of the Matrix was this ideal world, but humans rejected it because it seemed too fake. Then he said that mankind defines itself by its misery.

Well, no, but nothing good lasts forever. And I would rather be braving the storm rather then waiting for it to hit.

The details aren’t as important as how I’m coping with it. Not with complacency nor with frustration, which are both just ineffective. Especially frustration. I can’t think of a more circulatory emotion. Rather, I just do what I can, play my part, and realize I’m one cog in the wheel of a bigger machine.

Pleasant, yes?

My director uttered the L word at yesterday’s staff meeting.  Not Lesbian–Layoffs.  Yup, these bleak economic times have inevitably affected our company.  I’m on pretty safe footing since I’ve been here for a long time and am a stellar performer, but one never knows.  Plus I just got this phat raise with my promotion, and I would be heartbroken if they took my cashy cash away from me.  I was just getting ready to plan a trip to Miami.

Odd how saying something is of a mature theme and saying someone is mature have distinctly different connotations.  Mature themes are usually sexually graphic and/or violent, lewd possibly, crass even.  Mature people are emotionally- and mentally developed.  Wise, you might say.  I myself like to think I am graphically uninhibited, cursorily violent, usually lewd, often crass, and quite emotionally- and mentally developed. 

Aaron, one of the three high school chums with whom I’m still in contact, will be in town this weekend, and I am thinking midday cocktails at the Lookout.  Nice view of the ‘Stro.  And fabulous catch up time.  Haven’t seen him in some eight years, and we seem to keep missing each other when we’re both in the same town.

I double-fisted in the new year’s with LG at the End Up.  So much so, that at one point I had to dash outside and buy a tunafish sandwich at the nearby gas station ’cause I was so hungry.  I even had a two minute nap up on the balcony at one point.  But hey, a brotha gossa party it up.

Hawthorne was spinning, and while I generally love his stuff, it was much more clubby and less house-y that night.  But he mixed in a remix of Keyshia Cole’s “Love”, one of my absolute favorite songs in any form.  As well as what is arguably my favorite track of 2008, “Daylight” by Kelly Rowland, right after the countdown.  I wish I would’ve had the energy to stay for the 12 - 2 set since it was classic/funky house, and I’m all about the classic shit–I did stick around long enough to hear “The Bomb” by the Bucketheads (soooo 1996!)–but I was bushed as can be.

I called us a cab, but you could barely get through to Yellow Cab, so we just caught the first one that was available.  (I soo hope Yellow Cab doesn’t blacklist me for that.)  Then we popped back to Casa Fiesta, ate like hogs on high while chatting it up all loud-ass like in the kitch before hittin’ the hay.

Unfortunately, LG is such a snorer that I only got passed out sleep, and not any genuine REM sleep.  Since he’s still on Ohio time, he was up around 8:00 as was I, and we did brekkies at Squat and Gobble in the ‘Stro.  It was foggy as could be, with barely a soul out except for older gays.  We were served a delicious omelet breakfast by the hottest Latino thug waiter while discussing script ideas for a cracked out version of “Priscilla, Queen of the Desert” while laughing our asses off.  Then that was it.

Not a bad way to break in the new year.