SUNDAY. 11:44 AM. I break a near two weeks of silence. I still don't have much to say right now. But, I thought I might as well get the first June entry up before the whole month passes, and I've said absolutely nothing. I have just been keeping myself busy the last couple of weeks. I've been doing things that I enjoy and that give me some sense of solace, pride, and purpose.

• I have been getting out and exercising. I have been going to a local park and playing some tennis against a practice board. It's been a lot of fun. Thirty to forty-five minutes of forehand, backhand, and chasing the ball really gets the blood pumping. It's given me a lot more energy, and I'm pleasantly surprised that I can still hit the ball with some accuracy. I'm hoping to get my sister or my father in on playing some friendly tennis every week so I can have an actual partner.

• I have managed to secure some freelance editing and desktop publishing work. I am working with Beckham Publications Group again. I used to do a lot of work for them; it's a small press based in a small basement office in Silver Spring, MD. It's not a lot of money. But it's something in a time when something is better than nothing. Hopefully, I'll find some other freelance or seasonal work to do to tide me over till fall when I start teaching again.

• I spent the end of last week in a sewing frenzy. For three days (Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday), I sewed stuff for the Archaea adventure on Saturday. I made four pieces of garb -- three rather involved surcoats and a tunic. I also made a bunch of other miscellaneous accouterments for the game. My apartment looked like a fabric store exploded in it; there was stuff everywhere. But it was a lot of fun. I love being creative. I love designing things. I like turning design into actuality. And I like making things. There's something very soothing, something very comforting about creating. It obviously plays into my want to control things when things are not so easily controlled.

• A bunch of people I know have jumped on the www.friendster.com bandwagon. It's a website to link friends together with a "meet and greet and possibly date" twist; it's kind of like the old "six degrees" website. You can see who you're connected to via your immediate friends. If you're on Friendster, look me up. If you're not, think about joining. It's kind of fun, and it's really interesting to see the people other people know.

• I have stayed in for the most part. I'm low on cash. And going out all the time has really strained my wallet. Plus, I've really felt like being close to home lately. I've been reading. I've been battling ants, which seem to really like my kitchen (I currently have the advantage and hopefully will win the war). I've been pursuing my usual hobbies like gaming and watching cooking TV and playing online.

read | write

FRIDAY. 4:41 PM. Happy Friday the 13th! And near a full moon to boot!

In a little over twenty-four hours, I will be in San Francisco (once again). The last couple of days have been a strange mix of quiet, uncomfortable humidity, laughs, dinner at Plato's Diner, disappointment, languish, anticipation, sweat, and wonder. Up until today, I really wasn't feeling the nearness of my trip to SF. But, now, I'm starting to look forward to the Pacific weather and to getting off a long plane ride. I didn't sleep well at all last night. I think it's pre-vacation anxiousness.

I have spent most of today cleaning the apartment -- top to bottom, left to right. I want to leave the place as pristine as possible. Then, when I get home from two weeks away, I'll be able to just drop my bags and relax. There is a powerful satisfaction and relief to come home to a neat and tidy apartment. (I did sneak away for lunch at Chef Theo's (in White Oak) with Skinner.)

The day is almost done. I'm starting to gather my piles of things to pack. Laundry is almost done. Clothes are set out. My duffle bag is ready. I transferred a bunch of stuff to my laptop. All that remains really is assembling everything into one place.

I am not sure what I'm going to do about the flight. I am not afraid to fly. But I do dislike the "process" of flying -- traffic at the terminal, lines, waiting, cramped compartments, waiting, small children screaming at the top of their lungs, waiting, the teeming mass of humanity (and all of its smells and vapors and humours), more waiting, and the long boring ride. Part of me thinks I should just stay up really late tonight and just try to get some sleep on the plane. Of course, it'll be just my luck that I won't be able to sleep and I'll be horribly grouchy and unhappy the whole way there. I think the best course of action is to be a little tired tomorrow morning, bring some surefire reading (like Harry Potter or some such), a bottle of water, some snacks, and wear my most comfortable clothes and shoes.

Tonight, I'm going up to Potomac to see my sister and her a capella group Accidental Harmonies perform at a local eatery called California Tortilla. I think Ryan and Scott are coming along with me. It'll be neat to see my sister sing again. Afterward, I'm just going to head back home and hang out with the guys. It'll be relaxing and chill.

I leave tomorrow morning on a mid-morning flight. Hopefully, everything will be smooth and easy. I get into San Francisco nearly seven hours later (blah). My friend Lauren is picking me up from Oakland and then driving me into the city to Rob and Murphy's house.

I kind of just want to be there already. I want to skip all the travel muckety-muck. Bamf. Done. There. Ready to hit the town running.

read | write

SATURDAY. 6:29 AM. I'm leaving on a jet plane.

And a very happy Birthday to Dustin!

MONDAY. 9:53 AM. Monday morning. Of course, that's Pacific Standard Time. The weather's sunny, very mild -- almost cool -- and it feels very strange and at the same time very comforting to be back in The City.

I've been a little tired, a little groggy. I think it's partly jetlag and partly because I'm not sleeping very deeply (still adjusting to sleeping in someone else's bed).

The flight out wasn't too bad. I was up late-ish last Friday night. I guess I figured that if I was tired for my flight, I would sleep on the plane. Friday night, Scott and Ryan came by. We hopped in my car and drove up to Cabin John to see my sister and her old a capella group "Accidental Harmonies" perform at the local California Tortilla. It was fun, kind of surreal, and relaxed. We had dinner. Listened to three sets. Stopped by Dream Wizards, the premiere gaming store in Rockville, MD. And then went home. Back at the ranch, Scott, Ryan, and I sat around, talked about Archaea (I wouldn't be around for the next event, and Scott was running the adventure in my place), and had a few drinks while playing Lunch Money, a card game about violent, trash talking, Catholic school girls beating each other up on the playground -- makes a great gift and an even better drinking game!

After the boys left, I finally sat down to really pack. By the time I went to bed, it was near one o'clock in the morning.

Five hours later, I got up at 6 AM. I got myself cleaned up. Finished packing. Gave the apartment the once over. And then my sister and I drove up to Laurel to have an early Father's Day breakfast with my dad at the Silver Diner. After breakfast, my sister drove me to BWI airport.

There were surprisingly few airport shenanigans. I checked my bag and didn't even get asked if I had packed the bag myself or if the bag has been out of my possession. I went through the security check-point without a hassle. The metal detector operator thought my belt buckle would give me trouble, but even that didn't set off any bells and whistles. On the suggestion of my friend Scott, I wore my Teva sandals. I wasn't pulled aside. My "shoes" were left unmolested. Even my laptop didn't prove a problem. So, gathering up my things, I went merrily to my gate.

Overall, the flight was fine. Low on the screaming babies scale. Though long on the long flight scale. But high on the interesting people scale.

I did have the opportunity to imagine a brief flirtation. It all started in the waiting area at the gate at the airport. A young guy, tall, frat-boy-like, sat down in front of me; he pinged a little on my gaydar. We smiled at each other a couple of times. When the call was made to prepare for boarding, we ended up in line next to each other. I ended up talking to him and to a family flying together. No names were exchanged, but the conversation was light and engaging. The young man, I found out, was a student at Occidental College in Los Angeles; he just finished his first year and was returning for summer classes. Ah, youth. He's pursuing a psychology degree.

He ended up sitting in the front of the plane. I took a seat near the back. Aisle seat, of course. I like being able to stretch a little and to get up without bothering anyone. The small family sat across the aisle from me. They were on their way to Phoenix, where the plane had a layover. I think they were from Virginia Beach. When the seatbelt lights went off and the complimentary beverages and snack pack were served, the young man got up and headed to the lavatory (Who uses the word "lavatory" anymore? In this case, the airplane's facilities are best described by the word "lavatory." It's not really a bathroom (no bath). It's hardly a "rest room" because there's barely any room to rest in. The tiny hallow in the side of the plane with a vaccuum toilet and sink is really encapsulated by the word "lavatory.") The young man smiled at me and told me that he ended up in a middle seat, which he had mentioned was something he hated while we were waiting in line. Several times during the flight, he would get up and go to the bathroom. We would smile at each other. He would get a sparkle in his eyes; he's one of those people that had "smiling eyes." Alas, four hours later, he deplaned at Phoenix. And the flirtation was over. Maybe our paths will cross again.

During the flight, I also talked to the mother of the Virginia Beach family. She was very nice. Very polite. And she clearly had concerns about the flight. As we taxied for take-off, she reached into her purse and pulled out a small card. As we accelerated and begin pitching up into our ascent, she would hold the card and read it to herself. I caught a glance at the card. It was a bible verse. A Psalm. I couldn't tell what the number was. But she would read it silently. I could see her lips moving. Periodically, she would take out the card and read it to herself especially if we were encountering turbulence. For the rest of the flight, she read a magazine about Christian fellowship. She was very nice. Very polite.

Of course, I had to chat with the flight attendants. Getting up to stretch, I would head to the bathroom...I mean lavatory, which was located in the back galley. The two attendants in our section both talked to me, complimented me on my orange spikey hair. The male attendant was named B.J.. I think he's the first straight attendanat I've ever met. The female attendant didn't introduce herself and I didn't ask. They were very nice. Very polite.

I really like talking to people on long trips. It makes the time pass so much more pleasantly and quickly. I talked to the woman sitting to my left; her name was Whitney. She was an economics graduate student at the University of Maryland. She was heading to the Bay Area for work and to visit friends. Alas, when we stopped in Phoenix, she moved to a seat away from me. She was very nice. Very polite.

The only other highlight of the flight was a teenager flying with his dad, both had that "rigid" bearing that bespoke of a military life. The young man was carrying a bag from the U.S. Naval Academy. He was still in high school. I didn't talk to him. But I overheard as the "Psalms" woman was talking to them. He was very cute. I assume he and his father went on a school visit. I would pay money to see the lad attempt to climb the lard-covered Herndon obelisk with the rest of his shirtless, well-muscled plebe class. No, that's not gay at all. Yeah, yeah, it's tradition. It's a very good tradition. Yum.

I arrived in Oakland on time on Saturday afternoon. My friend Lauren picked me up. We must've been a pair -- me with my spikey orange hair and she with her long pink-streaked locks. It was good to see her. We waited forever at the luggage carousel before we realized we were at the wrong one. I got my bag and soon we were zooming over the Bay Bridge and headed to my friends Rob and Murphy's house in the Haight.

The rest of the weekend was pretty quiet. Saturday night, fighting the strong desire to go to sleep, I had dinner at We Be Sushi (a cheap, but yummy sushi place) in the Mission with Rob and Lauren (Murphy had to go to a work-related dinner and function in the South Bay). God, I missed having sushi. The three of us ate a whole lot for under $25. After dinner, Lauren headed back home. Rob and I walked from the Mission to the Castro stopping at a corner coffee shop, where I was teased (in a jovial way) by the coffee barista and got to ogle a lanky bright blue-haired boy with tattoos wearing a very, very small and tight shirt. Rob invited me to one of the showings at the SF International Lesbian and Gay Film Festival. We saw a short film Yossi and Jagger, an Israeli movie about two gay soldiers. Murphy made it back for the second movie. So, I was without a ticket. I decided to head back to the house. I called everyone I knew in the city to let them know I was in town. By the time I got home, I was ready to crash. I took a little nap and waited for Rob and Murphy to get home; we were to go out for a drink or two. But by the time they got home, after midnight, everyone was ready to just sleep.

Sunday, yesterday, was very lazy day. I got up around eight o'clock. I made myself a cup of tea. I took a few pictures of Rob and Murphy's house. the morning light was really good. They've been working on the inside of their house; it's very nice. The kitchen is amazing in all new tile and woodwork and granite countertops. I watched a little television. Eventually, the guys got up and we made a good, old fashioned country breakfast complete with scrambled eggs, sausages, and homemade buttermilk biscuits. I'm going to eat way too well here. The rest of the day was spent lounging around the house. I watched a marathon on cable about the U.S. Navy Seals. Rob and Murphy did some stuff for the house. Eventually, dinner time rolled around. Rob made a very good pot roast and Parker House Rolls. Murphy made his famous mashed potatoes. I made mohitots and old fashioneds to drink. Dustin came out to the city, and we had a very nice dinner. There was pumpkin pie, too.

It's really good to be back in the City. Walking around makes me very happy. I really just love this place. I don't feel like I ever left. There's a strange part of me that still thinks I can just head back to my old apartment. But I know it's been over a year since I've been back. The city seems a bit more subdued, more quiet, which I guess is a good thing. There are a lot of "FOR RENT" signs in windows. It makes me want to stay here. I love the sound of the Muni buses rumbling by; there's something about the sound of the electric engine and the twang of the overhead cables that makes me happy. I like walking around and seeing all the hipsters and grungy kids out and about. I like the sound of a skateboard rushing by on the street. I miss all the corner markets and the restaurants and the neighborhood bars. Most of all, I want and remember the years I lived here where (and when) I was the most self-sufficient, the most independent (both financially and emotionally), and the most myself.

It's very strange to be back in a place that you've left. I feel like a ghost, a memory. I feel like I'm just haunting the streets, the shops, and the rooms I used to inhabit. It's a beautifully sad feeling. Poignant. But pleasant.

I know I still have more to explore about this place. And I hope to reconnect with some old places and discover some new places. It'll be good to see my old friends. It'll be good to eat at my favorite hang-outs. It'll be good to drink at my favorite dives. It'll be good to make new friends. I'm looking forward to it. Maybe I'll hook-up with a blazingly intense and intoxicating vacation fling. The City is ready for me, I know. I'm ready for The City. Let the games begin.

read | write

SATURDAY. 10:42 AM. Happy summer solstice! Welcome to summer. (Remember this? Of course, the march of the seasons is hardly noticeable out here in San Francisco, where it's sunny and cool for most of the year. It's great. I like the weather out here. I do not relish going back to the East Coast, back to ninety degree, high humidity weather.

It's been nearly a week since I've updated. My friend Lauren chastised me (in a nice way) that I should write things down before I forget something. So, duty firmly established, I am taking this fine Saturday solstice morning to recap the past week.

(Scene: I am sitting in Rob and Murphy's computer room. They're behind me working on their renovation of the upper floor of their house. The sounds of Haight Street can be heard through the windows. Occasionally, one of the dogs will bark at something. I'm sleepy still. I haven't showered yet. Some decaf English breakfast tea is cooling on the desk.)

I do have to begin with a conversation that (in a tongue-and-cheek way) now epitomizes the crazy realization that all of the choices we make, the stoplight and landmark things that happen to us, and all the mistakes and triumphs and accidents all add up to who we are today, right now, just so. Take one thing out of the whole house of cards and everything might be completely different. This phenomenon has been dubbed the "House or Ed" axiom. Basically, last Saturday, after Lauren picked me up from the airport and so kindly shuttled me to the Haight, Rob gave us a little tour of the house. Standing in the brand new kitchen, Lauren half-grumbled that if she had just started saving money earlier, made a few changes in her life, somehow prepared herself differently, she could have a house of her own now, too. Of course, I told her immediately that if she had done things differently then she and I would probably not have become friends. Thus, the postulate was born. Would you rather have the house? Or Ed? Of course, she said she'd pick me. Rob didn't care; he has both the house and Ed. So, now, whenever the conversation turns to "what ifs," it is dubbed a "house or Ed" situation.

The early part of this past week was pretty quiet. I spent much of it just hanging out around the house. When I left SF, most of the people I knew were unemployed. Now, most are working again (which is great) or have left the area. So, during the day at least, I am left to my own devices. I have been going to the park in the mornings with Rob; Duboce Park is the dog park of the area. It is a thin rectangle of green with a playground for the kiddies, a street basketball court, and plenty of room for dogs to run and play. Not being much of a dog person (though my Chinese zodiac sign is Dog), it is interesting to watch "dog culture" in action -- owners, their dogs, how owners interact with other owners, how dogs interact with other dogs, how owners interact with other people's dogs. There is definitely a parent-child relationship with most, and most are very proud parents. I am still not very smooshy, gushy over dogs -- though I have come to like Weeza and Ripley a lot -- I have a clearer understanding of what it means to be a dog lover.

Since Rob and Murphy are in the midst of a renovation -- creating a master bedroom suite on the top floor of their house -- I have been witness to the design, decision, pricing, accessorizing, and (sub)contracting process. And when I can I try to lend a hand. I have already gone on a couple of trips with Rob over to the East Bay to the EXPO, a design center in the Home Depot family. I think one of the gayest things I have ever done is riding in a red, Mini Cooper S (with white bonnet stripes) with Rob and Murphy -- the windows down, the sun roof open, and Cher blasting from the sound system, everyone singing along -- to go to EXPO to pick out four thousand dollars worth of plumbing fixtures. It was hysterically fun. (Earlier that same day, they picked out lighting fixtures.)

Wednesday night, we had dinner at Blue, a very small, chic eatery in the Castro that serves traditional comfort foods with a slightly upscale twist. It was reasonable and pretty tasty. After dinner, we went to a screening of "twisted" shorts at the SF International Lesbian and Gay Film Festival. Right before the movies started, I ran into a guy I recognized; he was a film festival volunteer, and I saw him at the last previous showing I went to. I remembered him from The Cafe. But, interestingly enough, I remember him from Cobalt in DC. Turns out he remembers me, too. Sean (or Shawn) is his name. He's cute, but totally shady (or shy) whenever I run into him.

Thursday, I did my butch deed for the day. I helped Rob put up a near thirty-foot tall scaffolding in one of his lightwells so the plumbing guy (who is young and very hot) can work. Both Rob and I are afraid of heights, which proved to be interesting as we hauled up big unwieldy extenders and crosspieces (luckily aluminum is very light). It was fun, actually. A totally brand new experience. I guess it's the architect in me. I do so enjoy building things, and the scaffolding was like a big Erector set.

My friend Dave and his boyfriend Dave (yeah, it's too cute) came over late in the afternoon. I met Dave a few years back at the Pride parade down Market Street; he was standing next to me on the left. Since that fateful day, Dave has been a great friend to me. We just hung out and talked and watched bad (but good) television. (We even, as a committee, gave Rob a haircut; he wanted a high-and-tight and I was willing to give it a shot with the clippers. I got most of the cut done just fine. Then Dave had to smooth out the fade. The other Dave just supervised.)

Later that night, I went to the Friendster Exposed party in Sunnyvale -- basically a big meet-and-greet for folks on Friendster and their friends. Rob and Murphy came along. Dave and Dave (awww) also joined in the fun. We had dinner in Sunnyvale at Tao Tao (on S. Murphy, no website), a Chinese restaurant. Then we headed down the street to the Forum bar and club (also on S. Murphy, also no website). It's a renovated 1930's theatre turned into a swanky nightclub. The Friendster party was all right -- very straight meat-markety, very Silicon Valley. We could play "count the khakis." We met Lauren and her friend Heather, who has a knack for talking to strangers. For the most part, the party was just okay. Our little clique had fun, though. According to Lauren, it was better than the Friendster party in SF mainly because she had more friends to hang out with. There were a few cute people including one of the door guys (who was very straight, very football jock, and who recommended I come back down on a regular night because there would be a lot more good-looking women). I'm glad I went. Not exactly my target audience. But it was definitely an experience. Plus, I drank a whole lot.

It was really good to dance and hang out with Lauren. Her friend Heather, a former NaNo, was a trip and a half; she's great and also a blogger. It was really nice to hang out with Dave, who was kind and supportive and affectionate as always; it was very cool to meet Dave's boyfriend Dave (again, the cuteness factor is high), who is also very kind and cute and fun. After the Friendster shindig, everyone went home except for Rob, Murphy, and myself. We wanted to head on to "seedier" grounds.

We drove back up to the City (Cher a blasting) and headed to The Cafe. Thursday night is traditionally "women's night" at The Cafe. The crowd was pretty small. My usual bartender, Lisa, was not working (I don't even know if she still works there). There were more drinks to be had, a lot of dancing, and flirting with random girls and boys. By the end of the night, I had befriended a small circle of young women (they had to have been twenty-one or so); they were with only one young guy, named Ron, who was very cute. Ron, though clearly comfortable with this queer surrounds, was not gay. Somehow, though, the suggestion of two of his girl friends kissing came up. At first, they laughed and brushed it off. Seizing the opportunity and turning up my one mutant power of swaying heteroflexible men, I amended the suggestion by suggesting that if the girls kissed then Ron and I should kiss. The women were more than happy to seal such a deal. Ron shook his head and said that he didn't like guys. The women insisted and wanted our kiss to be first. Somewhere in the shuffle, Ron pulled close and we kissed full on the lips. He laughed and moved away. Then the girls kissed. Then the dancefloor was clearing, last call already half an hour old.

All in all, a good (and strangely typical) San Francisco night out. It was a profoundly good way to start the weekend.

Friday morning was very slow to start. In fact, the whole day was pretty sluggish. Can we say hangover boys and girls? But I managed to get out of bed. Lauren came up to the City. Originally, I was going to enlist her help to get some stuff I have stored in the basement of the R&M B&B (Rob and Murphy Bed & Breakfast), pack it for shipping, and take it to a UPS store or something. Alas, with the late start, there wasn't enough time to do that and go to the Winchester Mystery House. So, we just headed to the House instead. Located in San Jose, sitting against I-280 and nestled between a big movieplex and a shopping mall, the Winchester House is a gargantuan Victorian warren of rooms, strange stairs, hallways, Tiffany stained glass, and architectural curiosities. Started in 1884 by Sarah L. Winchester, heiress to the Winchester gun fortune, the House is a testament to fantastic wealth, curiosity, the psychic chic so vogue at the time, and a morbid sense of fear and penance. For thirty-eight years, construction on the house was done seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. Legend (perhaps truth) says that Lady Winchester built the house to appease the spirits of those killed by the Winchester gun. My favorite room in the whole house is the seance room (of course) where Winchester spent every night from midnight till two AM to receive the spiritual messages that told her what construction needed to be built the next day.

The place is a little "Disney-fied." The main house is still pretty much intact, historical, preserved. But the attached gift shop (a huge building), snack bar, and curio museum are a little tacky. The house tour was sixty-five minutes long and covered over a mile of walking and over a hundred rooms. It was a fascinating place. Though, I felt a little strange; twice I had the chills. It's strange to walk around a dead woman's house much less a dead fanatic haunted woman's house.

The highlight of the tour was our tour guide extraordinare -- Dan. Dan, Dan, he's our man. He was very cute, very sweet, and very young. It was very cute to watch him go through his memorized rigamaroll from room to room. At the start of the tour, he asked me if I was a fan of Einstein (because I had my Einstein face t-shirt on). We chatted a little. Lauren smiled at me. She felt he was definitely being flirty, and she marveled at the strange allure I have over (mostly) straight men. At the end of the tour, I asked Dan if he would take a picture with me for my website. He agreed (though I think he was a little surprised because I don't think anyone's asked him that before). Lauren got the camera ready. I stood next to Mr. Dan. And out of the blue, he puts his arm around my shoulders. It should be a very cute picture -- in the Venetian dining room no less. I told him I'd make him famous. Dan is only seventeen. Thanks, Dan.

After the Winchester House, Lauren shuttled me back to the City. We had dinner in the Castro. For some reason I wanted brussel sprouts. We ate at the very gay Pasta Pomodoro. After dinner, we shuttled down to POW! for a couple of drinks. I was hoping to get a few of the old gang together for a night at POW! But it was not in the cards. I did get to see a few people -- Jennifer, Christian, Joe, Terry. But the bar is lackluster. The age of POW! is over. In fact, Jennifer and Christian have sold the bar. Soon, a place that I had so many great adventures will be history. It's all right. Like Buffy, all good things must come to an end. I had an Antidote for good measure.

More to come. Pictures are here.

read | write

THURSDAY. 4:07 PM. Time seems to be chugging by at a good pace. My two weeks in the haven of San Francisco is drawing to a close. Already, the weekend is upon me. I've been keeping busy -- doing more, going more places -- and it's been fun, challenging, enlightening, and exhausting (but in a good way).

What's been going on? When last we left our intrepid, spikey-haired adventurer...

Part I

Last Saturday, most of the day was spent just hanging around the house. Rob and Murphy worked on the upstairs. There was lots of hammering and sawing of wood. Meanwhile, I just vegetated in front of the computer or the television. We had planned to go to a SF Fog Rugby primer day and social, but the guys were too busy. I was actually looking forward to it. It didn't happen, and I didn't want to go by myself.

Later that evening, the guys went off to a film festival movie. I made my way down through the Castro and into my old 'hood, the Mission. It was my friend and former neighbor Josh's birthday. I was headed to my old building at 2448 Mission for the party. Josh still lived there. I walked down 18th Street past my favorite park, Dolores Park. Every step I took, every breath I drew in, every mural I revisited filled me with nostalgia. The Mission was my home, my community. They were my streets, and my daily urban hikes of old would further stake my claim. Now I am just a visitor. It's bittersweet.

I followed 18th down to Valencia Street and hung a right. I looked into Leather Tongue Video where my friend Brendan used to work; he wasn't there. I walked up Valencia past the little stores and boutiques. I passed the New College. It was good to see places like Ali Baba's Cave (great, inexpensive Mediterranean food), Amnesia (grungy beer and wine bar), and La Rondalla (historic Mexican restaurant, great on Cinco de Mayo) were still there. I stopped into Borderland Books (sci-fi, fantasy, horror bookstore) to see if they had a used copy of the last book in R. A. Salvatore's Dark Elf trilogy. I met my first hairless cat, who was perched on the computer monitor of the cash register.

I headed further up Valencia and stopped in Mission Creek Coffee for a latte. It was my neighborhood coffee house. It's still there. It's still selling fair-trade coffee. The people are still colorful and friendly. I drank my coffee and read the Guardian.

Afterward, I crossed the street and stopped in at Valencia Whole Foods, where I used to pick up the occasional veggie or bag of thick tortilla chips or bit of cheese. I got some lemons and limes. I walked down 21st Street -- where I did my laundry at the Nice 'N' Clean, where I ate pizza made fresh by the slice at Serrano's, where I bought my monthly Fast Pass at the tiny money wiring place with no name -- and headed for Mission Street. I stopped at Mike's corner market for some soda and a bottle of tequila. Then I made the half-block walk down Mission to my old building. They had painted the exterior gate white. Roberto's Tax Service still held the lower storefront. I buzzed. It was strange to not have my own keys. It was strange to walk through the gate, the door, and climb the same old stairs I had climbed for over three years.

Practically nothing had changed in the year or so I was away. The hallway had the same sort of musty, vaguely smokey smell. The party was all right. I got to see a bunch of people I hadn't seen in a while, and I met a few new folks. I would stand at the top of the stairs looking over the knee-wall at people coming up. It seemed so natural for me to be there with my drink smiling to greet folks. It was like I hadn't actually moved away. There weren't totally new people in my old apartment. I was just on a really long trip. Now I was back. It was a good feeling, and I held on to it for as long as I could.

I got to see Dustin. I got to see Big Josh, the birthday boy, who got into graduate school in LA. I got to see Little Josh, who was so enthusiastic to see me. It was fun. I had a few to drink. Big Josh made this warm rum drink called "grog." Basically, it was a hot toddy but with a butch, masculine name. It was tasty, though. It tasted like cinnamon tea. A highlight of the evening was my first beer shotgun. I was valiantly successful unlike some of the other boys. I guess my gay genes helped me in any task requiring sucking, drinking, and beer. I was glad to see everyone -- the whole "clan" of folks. I didn't get a chance to talk to Big Josh much or anyone else for that matter. But sometimes parties are like that. Plus, I didn't stay the whole night. I had bigger and crazier plans in the making.

I left the party a little after midnight. Rob and Murphy finished with their movies and called me. They were headed over to The Cafe. Dustin actually drove me to the bar. The club was full of the Saturday night crowd. I found the guys. There were more drinks to be had. My favorite bartender Lisa was working that night; it was really good to see here smiling, cowboy hat-wearing face. She even bought me my first drink. We danced and hung out at The Cafe till it closed at a shockingly early time of 1:30 AM. I swear they keep kicking people out earlier and earlier.

Standing on the sidewalk outside of the club, we tried to think of something after-hoursy to do. There were a pretty fair number of cute lads out and about. I played my "tourist" card and started asking random folks about where to go. None of them had any bright ideas, but it was fun to be treated like I was special for being an out-of-towner. Eventually, Murphy decided that he wanted to keep dancing; so we headed to a big warehouse club in SoMa called Mezzanine (Jesse @ Mint). Self-described as the "newest" and "hottest" nightspot with "New York-style" decor, Mezzanine is one huge, thumping, throbbing sauna of half-naked men. You would think that I would totally love such a place, but it was okay. I mean I like to dance. I like to meet interesting people. And who doesn't want a little eye candy now and then (and then and now). But Mezzanine is for circuit boys, muscle queens, and after hours chic. It's like skins versus shirts. They are the skins (quite literally). I am most definitely a shirt. I guess if I had an Abercrombie body, I'd be grinding it up like Eric Neis. Then again maybe not. The whole security guys with flashy suits and velvet rope sensibilities are just not mine. But I had fun regardless. It was an experience. I danced -- in my own pop punk industrial way -- till I couldn't dance anymore. Then it was 5 AM and time to go home.

The Sunday after was a miserably slow day. I was tired. I was hungover. My allergies also decided to kick me in the head. Most of the day was spent in idleness.

Rob made gumbo. Dave and Dave came over. Rob and Murphy's friend Chip and Chip's friend Jeff also stopped by. There was wine and fancy crackers and cheese. Cream cheese and olive spread. We even used the good china. The food was good. The conversation was good and strange -- particularly the whole riff about Dreyer's (for the East Coasters, it's Edy's) Fudge Tracks ice cream. Some marketing genius got it completely, horribly wrong (or maybe the irony of chocolately schmears through vanilla was completely intentional).

Eventually, dinner came to an end. The guests departed. The dishes were left for the imaginary maid to clean up. And everyone went to bed. After a lot of food, a sip or twenty of wine, and some allergy meds, I was ready to crash.

Part II

I was woken up pretty early in the morning by the sound of tinkling glassware, a sudden crash, and Murphy's raised voice. I get up and stagger out to the dining room to see Murphy in a towel cleaning up a broken ice tea glass. It seems that Weeza (one of the dogs) had ventured up on to the table to gobble down the bread that had been left out. Murphy, in the middle of his shower, heard the sound of glasses clinking together and immediately investigated. He found Weeza red pawed. In her flight, she knocked over a couple of glasses breaking and spilling some red wine on the cream-colored chairs. It wasn't a pretty sight. Weeza was sent into time-out for a long time.

The rest of Monday was pretty good. My allergies were still waging war with my sinuses. And the weather was getting a bit warmer than normal. I did my best to carry on.

I had lunch with my friend Kara, whom I worked with at CompassPoint Nonprofit Services. I took the bus downtown and headed to Mission & 3rd. Like going back to my old apartment, walking up to my old workplace was equally nostalgic, familiar, and warmly surreal. The door guy didn't even stop me. I took the elevator to the fifth floor; the elevator had a new marble tile floor. I got to the right floor and the lobby of the office was mostly the same. The receptionist desk, where I sat for almost two years, had been rearranged. But signs that I had made were still up. Flyers I had redesigned for the company were still being used. I chatted briefly with the current receptionist. She told me I could go back to find Kara.

The sense of smell is so important to me. I am reminded of just how important when I go back to familiar places. They say smell and memory are inexorably linked. I can say they are absolutely right. The office smelled the same. And I felt like I was back at work. I walked around the floor and talked to former coworkers. It was good to see old friends, old faces. Everyone looked up and got that momentary glint in their eyes like they were getting an unexpected present. It made me very happy to be the pleasant surprise in their day. Everyone actually commented that they were glad to see me particularly since the organization has been struggling in the recession (and several people had been recently laid off). A little ray of sunshine -- that's me.

Kara and I walked to a little burger place called Zebulon (Natoma @ 2nd, no website). We had burgers and talked and caught up. It was really, really nice to see Kara. She's doing well. She's living it up in the City. And in a way I'm a little jealous. She's doing exactly what I want to still be doing. My time will come again. And I'm extra-special glad that she's happy and having a good time.

After lunch, Dustin called up to see what I was doing. We decided to go run around the city. I really hadn't spent a lot of time with him yet, and I wanted to get to talk to him and visit properly. He came over in the early afternoon with Alex G. (another former neighbor) in tow. First, Dustin had to show Alex Rob and Murphy's house, which Alex dubbed the "gay mansion." Then we decided to head out to Golden Gate Park. We went to the Strybing Arboretum & Botanical Gardens in Golden Gate Park. It was a really nice, sunny day to walk around the different plants, trees, and flowers.

After the park, I wanted to go see San Francisco State University. I had never visited before. I wanted to see what the school was like. I also wanted to stand in front of the English building and take a picture. The campus is really small. Chilly and windy, too. Summer classes were in session but there weren't many people around. There seemed to be a very large asian student population. We visited the math and physics building. We went to the student center with huge hangar-like doors; one of the first things I saw walking into the building was the rainbow painted door of the LGBT student group, which was very prominent and visible on the second floor. We then visited the Humanities building where a number of departments, including English, are housed. It was a large building and reminded me disturbingly of a hospital.

Dustin drove me back to the Haight. The guys wanted to do something else. But I was ready to take a nap or something. I was just feeling out-of-it. So I left them to their own devices. The rest of the evening was spent at home. Rob made a roast chicken with cornbread and cole slaw and mashed potatoes and gravy. It was like a mini-Thanksgiving dinner. I ate and ate. I have eaten way too well here in The City. Rob and Murphy have treated me quite well.

After dinner, I thought it'd be fun to head up to Trax (Haight @ Ashbury, no website), the only gay bar in the Haight. It's supposed to be full of alternative, grungy, punky boys. I wanted to go, but I didn't feel the confidence to go by myself. Alas, Rob and Murphy were down for the count. I called Dustin, but he and his crew were just hanging out. Apathy eventually took over. Then there was sleep.

Part III

(The update that would never end.)

Tuesday, Dustin and I planned to head to the North Bay and beyond. We were supposed to leave at 10 AM, but the unspeedy lad didn't come to pick me up till noon. But soon we were footloose and fancy free (what does "fancy free" mean, anyway? I guess if you were "FF" you were without the binds of a crush, an infatuation, an obsession, an object of affection, and you were free to be yourself).

I must reiterate: I love the Golden Gate Bridge. To date, it is still my favorite bridge. I just love its subtle deco lines. And the international orange makes me happy. Dustin and I crossed the bridge, and I sadly admitted that I have yet to cross the span on foot. I don't think I'll get the opportunity this visit, but I will certainly make it a priority in the future.

Dustin and I took Route 1 north along the coast. We made a quick stop at Muir Woods to see the mighty redwoods. It was my first time in the old growth forest. The trees are amazing. It's incredible to be reminded that there are things in this world that challenge human construction and understanding. Dustin was telling me that scientists still don't know how the redwoods draw water up from the ground, up hundreds of feet, to reach the upper branches. They are wondrous.

From Muir Woods, we wound our way along the very twisty Pacific Highway. The countryside is dry and sere with occasional patches of green, stream, and dairy farm. We made a small pit stop in Point Reyes to get some water and snacks. Then we drove the rest of the way to our intended destination: Bodega Bay. We stopped at the local visitor's center, a tiny little temporary building built in the parking lot of a local gas station. We tromped up the wheelchair accessible ramp and opened the door to see a lonely man at a desk surrounded by maps and pamphlets. I asked him two questions: Where should we eat? Where are the Hitchcock landmarks?

Taking the advice of Rachel Ray, I asked where the visitor center guy would eat. I wanted to local, good, and inexpensive. He directed us to two places: The Boat House and the Sandpiper. The Sandpiper seemed too chintzy, a local restaurant trying to be upscale. So we decided for the down-and-divey fare -- The Boat House. The Boat House is a little building built right along the main road; it is worn and faded and smells of fried foods. The walls are cheaply paneled with taxidermied fish trophies and lots of pictures of charter patrons holding their day's catch. The Boat House is a restaurant, a charter boat office, and a fishing supply hut. I dig any place you can get an order of fish & chips (which is what Dustin and I settled on) and live bait.

After some tasty food, we drove over to the nearby inland town of Bodega. I wanted to see Hitchcock's The Birds landmarks. We found the Potter Schoolhouse and nearby church. Both were creepy even during the middle of the day.

Dustin and I were going to head up to Napa, but the hours of driving wore us down. I wanted to see the vineyards. But I did see a few viney fields in Sonoma. So we decided to head home. Fighting bridge traffic, we made it home around seven. We had dinner at Kan Zaman (Haight @ Schrader, no website). Full of Mediterranean food, Dustin went home and I went to bed.

Part IV

(This is the last bit... really...)

Wednesday day, I met George for lunch at Mel's Drive-In (Mission @ 4th). I met George a couple of years ago during NaNoWriMo. It was very cool to see him. We chatted. We ate. We talked about life, the universe, and everything. I'm always surprised by how much he likes me -- I know that's a very strange thing to say (and I know he's probably wondering why I would say that as he's reading this). But, frankly, I am. One day we'll get a chance to actually have a normal, not-three-thousand-miles-apart friendship. Till then, the occasional instant messenger chats, emails, and reciprocal blogs will do. I am glad to know George. He makes me smile. Plus, his brother is a happening DJ in DC.

Wednesday evening, Rob and Murphy and I headed to South of Market to the SF Eagle, the historical queer leather & bear & biker tavern of The City. I really like the Eagle; everyone's really chill and unassuming (if a man in leather chaps can be unassuming). I guess relaxed is the best word. I have never been to the DC Eagle; I guess I'll have to give it a try and compare and contrast.

Before the Eagle, we went to dinner at Hamburger Mary's (called something else now, 12th @ Folsom, no website). We had salads all around. While eating, someone came up from behind me and put their arms around me. I turned to look and see a little punkish, grrlish, pixie-ish waitress hugging me. She smiles and suddenly says, "Oh my god, I'm sorry. I totally thought you were someone else." I was gracious and accepted her apology. It didn't bother me at all. She was totally embarassed. She said that from behind I reminded her of a lesbian she sees all the time at Rainbow Grocery. She said I had the same hair color, the same hair cut. I remained gracious and told her that it had been a while since I had been mistaken for a big dyke and I was due. We laughed about it. It's just so my life. No wonder I never get any boys. She would come by our table to chat while we ate. Her name is Julia.

After dinner, we walked down the street to the Eagle. The SF Fog were holding a fundraiser, a beer bust.\ (Again, there is beer. It must be a theme.) Early on, the Eagle was pretty quiet. There were a number of folks out on the patio. A few of Rob's teammates were setting up for the fundraiser. At 7:30 PM, we paid our $10 for all the Harp or Guinness you can drink. I got to meet a bunch of the rugby boys -- most were what you imagine them to be -- tall, broad-shouldered, muscular, heavy set. Some of them were cute. But they were definitely an interesting breed. When most people think rugby they think rough and tumble, masculine, aggressive, and straight. Now throw in the whole queer thing and everything is not what you'd expect.

The rugby boys definitely know how to have fun. And they definitely know how to drink beer. For a Wednesday night, there was a lot of carousing. It was fun. Everyone was pretty nice. There was a little flirting. There was a little petting. According to Rob, the rugby guys are pretty open and very friendly. They were. Alas, mostly with each other or with big burly men in tight jeans and boots. All I can say is that Rob was very much at home with them. Heh.

We were originally going to go to the beer bust for a little while, down as many pints as we could, and then head a film festival showing. But the fun of the night and the lure of foamy head kept us at the party. Did I already say it was fun? There was live music. The first band band was Ploughound (energetic pop, pop punkish, and queer). They were good. I love live music. I was the only one dancing; I guess there's not a lot of dancing at the Eagle as a matter of general practice. I got in with the three women groupies bobbing at the front of the crowd. I don't remember their names at all though. Tommy, the lead singer, came up to me after their set and told me he saw me dancing and thanked me for the enthusiasm. I even got a smooch. I can say I kissed a rock star.

The pints rolled by. At some point, they ran out of Harp. I drank way too many Guinnesses. The dark, narrow bathroom with the pee trough became less and less scary to me. And people became more and more friendly, smiley, and grabby. Murphy left sometime before midnight. Rob and I stayed though he wandered off for most of the night. Occasionally, I'd see him through the crowd being manhandled or manhandling. Eventually, the crowd began to thin. I ended up talking to this tall, brown-haired, sinewy guy who I thought was pretty cute. I don't remember his name. It doesn't matter anyway. He spent most of the conversation telling me how mean of a person he is. I guess if I were into SM that would be a good thing.

Rob left with a few rugby boys and headed to the Lone Star Saloon (Harrison @ 10th) -- without me. I had to call him on his phone to see where he was. Luckily, he answered. And luckily the bar was just down the street from the Eagle. The Lone Star was super empty. Rob and the guys had a few more drinks. I just hung out and ate peanuts out of a huge barrel. Sometime before last call, Rob and I left the Lone Star after looking around for his lost shirt. We didn't find it. He wanted to get something to eat. So we took a cab to It's Tops (Market @ Octavia, no website), a tiny little latenight diner. We had burgers. We chatted with the boistrous trio at the table next to us. Then we took a cab home.

I had a good Wednesday. It was the kind of day and night that I think most of life should be like. Lunch with a friend. A case of mistaken lesbian identity. Rugby boys. Beer...beer good (to quote Cave Buffy). But, alas, besides a rock star smooch and the occasional sportsman-like-I-think-you're-cool-as-my-brother arm over the shoulder, I struck out. And Rob said the rugby team wasn't particular. But I did leave with a lovely parting gift, a SF Fog t-shirt. Maybe I'll check out the DC Renegades.

read | write

SATURDAY. 11:37 AM. I really should still be sleeping. I was up reasonably late last night. But, the sun is shining. The weather has cooled off (finally) considerably from the high 80s and 90s it has been the last couple of days. I escaped Maryland to leave the hot, muggy weather behind. I guess it's just my luck that SF went through a tiny heat wave. But now it's over. The cool, breezy weather is back, and I'm glad. Very glad.

I've got to keep this entry short and sweet. (To be honest, I just finished the last entry a little while ago. It took me three days just to get everything down. And Layers says I need to break things up more so it's not like reading Moby Dick.) So much is going on. So much has gone on. I'm just trying to get the bits and pieces out of the flytrap I call my memory to get it all down.

Thursday, I had lunch with Nathan. It was good to see him. We had some very light and cool Vietnamese food at Sunflower (Valencia @ 16th, no website). It was delicious particularly in the hot weather. Nathan's doing well. He and his wife Slouch are moving to the East Bay. They want to have more room. They want to get a dog.

Thursday afternoon, Rob and I went to see Yes Nurse! No Nurse! (Ja Zuster, Nee Zuster), a quirky, very funny, very charming musical film in the tradition of Busby Berkley and general Dutch wackiness. I loved it. I really loved it. It's one of those films that you see and you've just got to own (as soon as it comes out on DVD). If you get a chance to see this film, run...do not walk...to see it. Plus, Waldemar Torenstra (who plays Gerritt) is very cute; I mean very cute.

Thursday evening, Dave and Dave came over for dinner. Actually, Big Dave, who is studying to become a personal chef, made us dinner. He cooked a five course Italian inspired meal. It was delicious. Very yummy. Dave is an excellent cook (or should I say chef). The wonderful menu consisted of:

Rob and Murphy provided an excellent selection of wines, of course. The conversation was light and interesting and questioning. Everyone had a good time. It was also Big Dave's birthday. Happy birthday to Dave! It didn't seem right that Dave slaved over a stove for his own birthday, but he loved it. It's what makes him very happy. All in all, a good and satisfying night.

Friday was hot again. Though it had cooled off just a little bit. Lauren came up for the day. We had lunch at The Grind (Haight @ Scott), a little coffee house and restaurant right across the street from the house. After lunch, Lauren helped me schlep the last remaining boxes I had stored at Rob and Murphy's. Then we went to get packing supplies to pack everything nice and safe. Then we schlepped the boxes to a Mail Boxes, Etc. for delivery. I had a small printer, an old computer monitor, and an electric keyboard to ship. We had to build a special box for the keyboard. The guy at the shipping place complimented on how well we packed up everything particularly the custom-made box. It's good to get that stuff sorted out.

Friday was Little Dave's birthday. Happy birthday to (the other) Dave! That afternoon Lauren and I met the Daves and their friend Mary at the Metreon downtown. We had dinner. Then we went to see Charlie's Angels Full Throttle. It was surprisingly fun. It was chock full of cameos, parody, goofy humor, tits and ass, pecs and abs, music, and a whole lot of action sequences. I guess that's what you get when you have a music video director direct a feature film. Definitely fun. I might have to go see it again just for its over-the-topness.

After the movie, we dropped by POW! for a few drinks. I met up with my friend Eric. It was nice of him to stop in to see me, chat, and drink before I left the City. After POW!, we drove up to the Castro (completely swollen with tourists and homosexuals gathering for the start of SF Pride) to go to The Cafe to dance. It was so crowded. It was so hot. But it was fun. I didn't stay out too late. I didn't drink too much. I think I'm saving myself for Pink Saturday (the traditional Pride block party in the Castro).

Another good couple of days and nights. More later (of course).

read | write

MONDAY. 11:00 PM. Eastern Standard Time. I am now writing from my apartment in Maryland. I have spent most of today on a plane or sitting in an airport. I'm dead tired and ready to go to bed. But, a quick update is necessary.

Well, my "vacation" is done. I'm back on the East Coast. And I already miss the West Coast. And I'm sure as the jetlag hits and wears off, I'll begin to process the whole experience in San Francisco. I'll hold it up to the experiences I've had here in Maryland. There will be some comparing and contrasting. And I'll think about it, talk about it, and write about it.

But before we get to that grist, let's talk about my last weekend in The City.

After the beer bust, dinner by Dave, shipping boxes, movie-going, drinks at POW!, dancing at The Cafe, Saturday was a day of rest. I tried to anyway. Saturday started off quite slowly. Rob and Murphy were slow to rise. Eventually, we headed off to the Castro for a late lunch. The streets were already teeming with people. San Francisco Pride was in full swing. We had lunch at one of my favorite little places, Nirvana (Castro @ 18th, no website), an Asian fusion place; it's pretty tasty and the waiters (gosh, strangely enough) are usually really cute. After lunch (I had some crispy samosas and a calamari-topped salad), we walked around the Castro going into all the kitschy, trashy, cheesy, pornographic places to window shop. Personally, I wanted to get a few things to "fag up" my backpack -- a few buttons, maybe a rainbow dangly thing, something San Francisco. It was a fun afternoon.

Saturday evening brought "Pink Saturday" -- the big block party in the Castro. Lauren drove up. Dave and Dave drove over. (Rob and Murphy had a concert to go to but would meet up with us later in the night.) We got a little gussied up and walked down to the Castro for dinner. The streets were already barricaded and a few hundred people were already congregating on the sidewalks outside of bars, on the street corners, and in the wide open intersection of Castro and 18th Street. There were a few costumed individuals, a few festooned with pink and rainbow, and a handful of garishly fabulous drag queens. The group of us decided to just have a quick slice of pizza or two.

After dinner, we hit up a liquor store. I bought some 20 oz. bottles of Coke and a bottle of rum. My backpack became a traveling bar. We mixed up a couple of very strong rum and cokes and just walked, talked, ogled, and drank. After an hour or so, the party really started. People started to fill in the empty spaces. The streets became one big dancefloor. Several stages began to pump out thumping music. And as the night fell, as the streetlamps came on, as the collective blood-alcohol content rose, as clothing became more and more optional, Pink Saturday had fully arrived. The energy was high. There was laughter. There was dancing. There was carousing. There was sex. There was definitely spectacle (which often included laughing, dancing, carousing, and sex).

And I think for the first time in a long time, I felt like I was part of the community. And I think I know why. I had brought my own community with me. I was with friends. I was with friends who not only wanted to be there with me, to support me, but who also wanted to be there for there own reasons and wanted me there to support them. It's a good feeling. I felt safe. I felt welcome. And with that security, I could range out and make connections outside of my group. Even standing in line for the port-a-pot, we talked to people, joked with strangers, and made new friends. This "Pride" was very different from the "Prides" of the past for me. It was good. I was happy. The night was totally fun.

It was in line for the john that I met a group of people from way up north in California. I met Jason (who was totally shavy headed and cute, and who reminded me a little of Billy Zane) and his boyfriend Joe (who was also cute...funny how that works). Jason offered me a drink out of his water bottle; there was some sort of orange juice concotion, which I drank a lot of. After breaking the seal for the second time, we rallied our troops. Jason and Joe introduced us to their gang of friends. Most of them were from Arcata, CA, the home of Humboldt State University. One of their friends was the wonderfully friendly and accepting Malia, a dashingly fabulous lesbian who was completely topless in all her dyke march glory when I met her.

Rob and Murphy eventually joined us as we took over the sidewalk in front of the Castro Walgreens. We continued to talk, drink, walk, and flirt wildly until the police kicked everyone out of the streets at 2 AM. Somewhere along the way, we decided to go to a little "after party" at some guys' house who were friends of somebody. The relationship wasn't exactly clear to me at the time. We walked up Castro street, past Market, past Beaver Street, and made a left on to Henry Street. We ended up in the basement apartment of two or three gay guys. I don't remember their names. It was nice -- gay casual, IKEA chic. I don't think the hosts realized how many people had been "invited" to their place. They were a little surprised.

We ended up talking, sitting around a full-sized air matress that was in the middle of their living room (very odd methinks). Eventually, Dave, Dave, and Lauren decided to head home. Rob, Murphy, and I were left with a room full of drunk, cute boys and one lesbian. What to do? What to do? Actually, most of the guys were partnered. There was a little bit of (sexual) tension in the air. The hosts were nervous about noise and the number of people in their little place. There was the strong potential for drama -- gay, drunk, lesbian-infused drama. But, at some point, it was simply decided that it was time to go home. Jason and Joe and Malia and that group went back to their hotel. Rob and Murphy and I walked back to the Haight. The drama was avoided successfully. (Though I did get a goodnight smooch from Jason.)

It was after 3 AM when Rob and Murphy and I got home. There were rumblings about eating. So, fried egg sandwiches were made. It's good food on a drunken stomach. Then it was most definitely time to go to sleep. Rob was supposed to march with the Fog in the Pride parade the next morning.

Sunday morning came way too early. Fortunately for me I avoided the hangover jackhammer. I might have been still drunk when I got up at 9 AM. Murphy and the dogs woke me up. I decided I might as well get ready for the day. After I showered and got cleaned up, Rob came downstairs. We got the dogs ready. And we left the house around 10 AM and headed downtown.

I have always wanted to march in the Pride parade, but I never really pursued the opportunity. I remember the year before I left SF, I decided that I would find a way to march in the next parade. Sadly, I left SF before I could. But this year would prove to be my chance. I got to join the gay rugby team as they walked, scrummed, tossed, and line-outed their way down Market Street. I wore my Fog t-shirt. And I helped Murphy walk the dogs safely down the parade route. It was a lot of fun. I got a lot of sun. And it's definitely a totally different feel to be in the parade as opposed to simply spectating.

I am glad I did it. It's another "first" for me. And it's another thing I didn't get a chance to do in The City.

After the parade, we walked up to Civic Center for the big Pride festival. Stages, vendors, organizations and their booths, and plenty of fair food and drink. We sat out on the grass for a while. We hung out with some of the rugby guys. We ate. But there was no drinking for me -- I totally could not stomach any more alcohol. I just didn't want it. Heh.

Late in the afternoon, I decided to go home. I wanted to get out of the sun and the crowds. I just wanted to rest and have some peace and quiet. Plus, the dogs really needed to go home, too -- they were a little too over-stimulated by the day. We got the car. We drove home. The dogs and I stayed in. Rob and Murphy went back out into the gay, gay wild.

Sunday night, I wanted to have my "last meal" in San Francisco. Lauren drove up (again). We met Rob and Murphy in the Castro. We decided to eat a small Japanese restaurant called All Season Sushi (Castro @ 18th), which shares its space with a very small "steam tray" Chinese restaurant. The sushi chefs were boistrous and cheerful (and Chinese since they spoke Mandarin). Our waiter, Simon, was incredibly funny, friendly, and bubbly; he even treated us to some miso soup and seaweed salad. Very yummy. The sushi was also very good. Overall, the whole restaurant experience from the crazy staff to the cute patrons to the tasty food was what made it so much fun. It was a good "last supper." (Interestingly enough, my last supper when I left SF the last time was also sushi.)

Near the tail end of dinner, Dustin (who had been on a camping trip in Tahoe for the weekend) joined us. It was good to see him one last time before I left. We walked up to see if we could get in one last groove at The Cafe, but the line was long and there was a cover (it's normally free). Lauren had a long drive home. Dustin had a long drive home. Murphy had to work the next day. And I had a very early flight. So we just called it quits.

We got home. I packed. I said goodnight and goodbye to Rob and Murphy. And everyone went to sleep.

I woke up at 3:30 AM. I took a shower. I finished packing. I cleaned up my room a little. And then I waited in the quiet of the morning for my Super Shuttle to come pick me up at 4:10 AM. It was exactly on time. I left my keys. I grabbed my bags. And I walked out the front door closing it quietly behind me. The early morning was peaceful. The lack of sleep made everything muted and numb. It was chilly. My bags were heavy. And as the shuttle drove around to pick up more passengers, I took one last nighttime look at the city I was leaving (again).

I'm left with the question, "Can a person have two homes?"

read | write