The Jigtastic Journal of J. Na Na

Friday night saw the girls and I at Tres Agaves in SoMa, with scrumptious Mexican edibles and tequila drinks.  I’m not a fan of tequila, per se, but their mixed drinks–which have long names that are in Spanish, and are expensive–really did the trick in masking it, and working up a fiesta of a buzz. 

After we’d parked, Sarah and Roze got into a big old tiff because Sarah, who just announced to us that day that she’d married her boyfriend during her recent trip to the Dominican Republic, was reneging on attending a party later that night where Roze’s ex-boyfriend of one year who hasn’t spoken to her since their break up would be at, as well as their mutual friend Selena who was mortally pissed at Roze.  (My friends’ drama is virtually better than anything network TV could produce, and without the commercials.  Loves it.)  Sarah had to depart fairly early on, but it was coolness hanging with Roze, Dascha, and J So, all former co-workers with whom I still manage to keep in touch.  I like that.

We then packed it in, I went home, and who else, but Costella phoned up, and we hung out the whole rest of the night.  I was pretty much tanked for the rest of the weekend, and I have to say, I felt like I’d been beaten the hell up with a baseball bat from my workout.  I don’t know why it’s a three-day recovery process everytime, and I know it’s supposed to be that “good pain” where you know your muscles are rebuilding, but it fucking hurts like fuck.

I had Monday off, thankfully, and forced myself out of bed at the crack of noon to go to the post office, go grocery shopping, do laundry, and buy some household amenities before calling it a night.

I don’t know why I’d forgotten to mention it, but the weekend or so ago when Gideon and I had gone to see “Julie and Julia”, and then come back to his house for a nightcap, we were sitting out on his balcony, overlooking the bay as he smoked a cigarette, and we saw a shooting star.  I don’t mean to get all schmaltzy and corny, but fuck, it was a cute moment, for Chrissake.  And you can guess what I wished for.

P.S. What the fuck is Tim Gunn doing sporting dyed blond hair.  Go back to the silver, Timothy!

I hit the bottle a bit too hard Friday night, and ended up on the brighter side of crap Saturday.  Still, I had enough alcohol energy in me to do two loads of laundry and run several errands including going to the bank, buying some new work shirts, some under-eye cream, and some self-tanner.

Speaking of which, the gals at the Pure Beauty in downtown San Francisco rank right up there with some of the stupidest salespeople in America.  The one chick, this pretty little girl with widely-spaced eyes, was daydreaming, gazing out the window when I walked in, and didn’t greet me or offer to assist me.  Fine, no worries.  I usually hate it when salespeople assault you right off the bat anyways.  But then I go and ask her where the self-tanner is and she says to me, “Self-taaaneeeeeer?” in elongated, sorority girl syllables, as if she’s never heard the word in her life.  Nitwit.  Much like the girl I ordered an omelet from that morning, who said, “A veggie omelet??” as if she’d just returned from the marijuana moon.  Like seriously, the chick was baked.

But I rallied my defenses, and made it through the day, and finally BART-ed over to Berkeley to see Gideon.  He, his roommates, couple Jonah and Gina, Gina’s parents, and myself went to see “Julie and Julia”.  TOO adorable.  I had a smile plastered on myself the whole time, even though we were in, like, the sixth row.

Then I spent the night with Gideon and had the most wonderful night’s sleep on his thousand thread count bed.  And awoke the next morning feeling like someone had pummeled the shit out of me.  No, it wasn’t due to a night of rough sex, but my muscles finally recovering from the gym three days later.  I guess because I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep Thursday or Friday night, my body took the opportunity Saturday night to recover.  So, like an old man, I creaked out of bed, kissed my man goodbye, and hobbled on back home to catnap my Sunday away.

Bliss.

You know it’s going to be a rough day when you wake up and the first thing you look forward to is taking a nap at lunchtime.

Do the extras in sitcoms who have to, like sit and talk in restaurants and cafes in the background, actually have scripts that they’re reciting, or are they just having a silent, completely improvised conversation?

On now to a list of some of my favorite characters found on the Muni bus in the mornings:

Laotia: Laotia is a slim, non-descript woman who, I think, looks like she hails from Laos. I have no proof of this, nor know specifically what Laotians looks like. I just assume. When I see her waiting at the bus stop in the morning, I know I’ll be relatively on time to work.

The Dutch Tranny: The Dutch Tranny is a male-to-female transexual who just, well, looks like she’s of Dutch origin to me. She dresses very hippie librarian-ish, and could really use some moisturizer. I can’t tell you why, but when I see her, I feel like she looks like Hansel and Gretel’s babysitter.

Senorita Mujer: Senorita Mujer is a little Latina woman, probably somewhere in her late 20s, early 30s, who dresses to the 9’s (or to the nueves), with her hair in a Spanish senorita de la villa style, and full make-up, and always carries a faded designer bag with her lunch in it. She’s probably only a housekeeper, but I love the effort she puts into her look.

Monchichi Man: Remember the Monchichis? Those little animated monkey-like critters with the shirts that would say what their particular emotion was at the moment? There’s this little retarded man who bears a striking resemblance to them. In fact, I think he works at my company. There’s something kind of endearing and sad about seeing him board the bus with his little metallic lunchbox and bad clothes, on his way to work.

G’night, Jeanette Macdonald.

Last night’s nightmare did not feature rabid homeless cretins or demonic, menacing aliens, but instead took place in my hometown of San Diego, during Pride, in Hillcrest, the gay part of town.  I was there with Mr. Alterhausen, Pejorative, and some random chick who was with us. 

Everything was fun and exciting, and we stopped off at some corner store on the street to pick up some snacks.  There, some shady fellowe offered to sell me five tabs of E for $40–a bargain, as those in the know know.  I bought them.  The girl we were with expressed disappointment that I was into that sort of thing.

But I went ahead and took one before realizing that it was Sunday at 10:00 pm, and I would have to be at work the next day.  I panicked and thought, Oh fuck.

Then woke up.

That’s not the first time I’ve had a dream where I’ve partaken of party favors only to regret it–in the dream.  And while I’ve had my fair share of illicit fun (see the early 2000’s, reference my early 20s), I’m not quite so keen on such activities nowadays.  I hate wasting an entire weekend recovering, and getting nothing done like some irresponsible lout.  And worse than that, coming in to work Monday like the living dead.  You’ll certainly never see a Just Say No sticker on my bumper, but the side effects of drugs tend to outweigh their benefit to me nowadays.

And while we’re on the topic, I’ve usually always hated the smell of pot.  It’s the stench of laziness as far as I’m concerned.  But Gideon and his roommates have a bong in the kitchen, and the house is always faintly tinged with it.  And considering it’s a beautiful apartment where fun times have been had, and I now associate the smell with Gideon, I kind of like it now.  Sort of like cookies baking in the oven.  Don’t hold your breath, though–the day I do a drug that makes you eat *more* is the day George Bush can form a cogent sentence.

……to the Nefarious Forces That Keep Me From Getting a Good Night’s Sleep:

1. The Evil Dreams: Last night, for example, I was being chased by this ragged gang of homeless freaks, and was leaping from roof to roof of these dingy downtown warehouses trying to escape.  Nice.

2. The Fucking Queen Across the Way: This dude should be in the theatre for his ability to project and parlay the most insipid of gossip at 8:00 am every morning.  It feels like he is actually in my room when he starts going at it.  The kicker is that he once bitched to J Co about the ambient blue aquarium night light I keep on in the kitchen, calling it a “strange blue light” that kept him up.  I’ve since put a black backing on it, but am tempted to tear it the fuck off and light up the night.  Bastard.

3. The Things that Go Bump in the Night: I suppose it’s just the inevitable fate of someone who lives in an old school SF apartment building, but what may to some be someone just closing a door hard is like a hammer to the head when you’re trying to eek out those last few bits of sleep in the morning.  Sheesh.

4. Sugar, the Kitty Cat: The most forgivable culprit only gets a free pass because she’s cute.  And because she poops.  In my room sometimes.  So the moment she meows at 5:00 am, I’m up and opening the door.  Even though it’s more often than not just because she’s bored and wants attention.  Rat cat.

*raises hand*

A fine, fun, rollicking weekend it was, replete with good times, strong drinks, and a fair taste of drama.

We kicked things off Friday with Mr. Alterhausen and Gideon at the Bubble Lounge in North Beach.  Good as a starter to a degree, its posh decor didn’t make up for the fact that the $14 - $16 cocktails tasted like they’d had pennies soaked in them before being served to us. 

But we chatted, chuckled, and moved on to the Bamboo Hut up the street, which was like a tiki party at a frat house.  Still, they had delightful smoothie cocktails and played your favorite hip hop hits from the ’80s and ’90s (a little Vanilla Ice, a little Humpty Dance…).

Still, enough was enough, and we hopped into Gideon’s ride off to the ‘Stro, and rode down Market singing along to dance hits courtesy of 92.7 in that wretched falsetto voice Mr. Altherhausen and I love to slip in to.  Fun times.

We hit up Toad Hall, which had a nice Mariah remix medley on when we arrived and drank it up.  Then, of course, of course, of course, who do we run into but my ex Sean’s boyfriend Darryl, who is a friend of Mr. Altherhausen’s from college.  He grabbed Mr. Altherhausen up in a bear hug, and I immediately retired to a booth with Gideon.   At that point, Gideon’s friend Bert joined us, and I, none too thrilled with the possibility of a run in with Sean or Darryl, decided that we should all segue to Badlands.

It was at that point that I neared my threshold, and after dancing for a bit, texted Gideon to come meet me outside, waited for him, and then grabbed a slice of pizza and split.  Gideon was none too pleased that I’d departed so unceremoniously and sent me a nasty text.

More on that later.

Saturday was uneventful, but Sunday, LG and I met up and hit up the Eagle Beer Bust, where we were joined by Pejorative, his new man, and Mr. Altherhausen.  An enjoyable time among the leather folk and their admirers was had by all.

I couldn’t complete my weekend without addressing the nasty text from Gideon.  And it’s not the first time he’s sent me one.  So I called him up and confronted him on it.  I told him I liked him very much and cared about him, and that I hoped he cared about me, too.  “Oh yeah!  Yeah! Of course!” he responded, to which I said, “Well, if you care about someone, you don’t say mean things to them, right?”  And he kind of went silent for a bit, but finally accepted what I’d said, and stated he wouldn’t send me any such similarly-toned texts again.

Our first fight.  And it was resolved well.  Soon we’ll have to have the official boyfriend talk.  If I can get through it without laughing.  It’s just such a goofy conversation to have.  What am I supposed to say?  “So, you and me, whadda ya say?”

Several weeks ago, Gideon and I were hanging out, and I noticed his watch.  One of the hands of the watch looked like a mini cross, and I began teasing him about it.  We had also happened, that day, to find a parking place in the crowded Haight during weekend peak time.

So the next day, I posted the following on his Facebook:

“One day, when you’re not looking, I’m gonna snake your Christ watch from you. I want the protection of Jesus and the corresponding parking luck!”

His friends apparently immediately began emailing him and asking him if he’d suddenly become a fanatical Christian. 

That’s one.

Then last weekend when we were having dinner, he mentioned how I always make sort of blasphemous jokes.  Like I’ll say something off color, then make the sign of the cross.  Or one of my favorite things to say is something to the effect of, “…by the grace of the Baby Jesus.”  So he asked me what my religious affiliation was.  And mentioned the reaction he received from my above FB comment.  I balked at the idea that I was some stalwart Christian, and explained my own spiritual beliefs as well as explaining how humor works.

Ya see, there are different styles of humor.  There’s that sort of “Seinfeld” humor where you point out something common in a unique, articulate and titillating way.  And there’s incongruous humor, where something is said that belies expectation or propriety, making it absurd, and therefore funny.  And that’s my favorite kind.

As an example, here are the things that are incongruous about my Facebook comment and the subsequent reaction of his friends.

1. A good, pious Christian would not threaten to “snake” someone’s watch from them.  Stealing is a sin, and the verb choice is especially incendiary.

2. There is no such thing as a “Christ watch” to the best of my knowledge.  There are crucifixes and Jesus figurines, but a Christ watch is not a known or recognized religious object.

3. Gideon’s friends know he isn’t Christian, so why would they leap to that assumption based on this flippant comment made by someone they don’t know?

4. Suggesting that a piece of religious iconography would grant you “parking luck” is inconsistent with a genuine sense of religious faith, which (at least theoretically) is supposed to be about the transcendent, not the corporeal.  A true Christian would probably find the remark offensive.

It is incongruous with what you’d expect a normal person to say, with reference to a non-existent item, and bearing a flippant tone, making it altogether absurd and—wait for it–funny!

At least I think so.

Fin.

I started off Friday evening with a drink.  Always a nice way to start.  Then Gideon picked me up, and we had pre-drinks at Sugar Bar, then on to our reservations at Absinthe for a little dinner date.  He said that everything was always so comfortable with me and we could always talk so easily.  Then we somehow got onto the status of our situation, which isn’t exactly a relationship yet, but which I hinted at was where it was headed, and he kind of concurred.  And then we agreed that the conversation had taken an uncomfortable turn, but laughed it off.

We then went to Marlena’s afterward, the only gay bar in Hayes Valley, where I lasted for about two seconds after some vile barley-based cocktail at Absinthe and a gin and tonic at Marlena’s that did me in.  Plus, he was enthusiastically playing some stupid dice game with fellow patrons and I was bored.  So we took a quick walk around the park holding hands, and he came back to my place for a nightcap.

After we’d settled in to sleep, Sugar, none too thrilled about sharing our room with a stranger, made her jealousy known by leaping up onto my stomach, coming right up on to my chest, and stealing sidelong glances at Gideon.  Silly kitty.

Gideon headed off to work later the next morning, and I met up with LG for a power walk down to the Marina.  It was a beautiful, sunny day, and LG was looking better than ever.  He’s now officially been back in the Bay Area for a year, and has definitely slimmed down since then.

Then Saturday night, I BART-ed out to Berkeley to be with Gideon again, and we watched TV like some adorable old couple before falling asleep in each others arms.  We awoke the next day and had a lazy Sunday before I had to head back home.  And this time, I’d warned Brandon in advance of when I wouldn’t be home in case Sugar needed affection, and I’d filled her bowl up. 

I don’t remember what I did Monday except sweat since it was so hot, but I got laundry and grocery shopping done, so that was enough.  And now, this post has officially become the most boring I’ve ever written, so I’m stopping.