Index ∙ Older ∙ ReaderNotes ∙ Newer ∙ Newest ∙ DrewBear.Com
I went to the bookstore during lunch today with the intention of buying the next book in A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket. I found the whole series on sale for 20% off. Except for the newest book, which had just hit the best seller list and was 25% off. I ended up buying seven books. This is not a bad thing. I would have bought them anyway, and a 20% discount is nothing to scoff at. Reading at bedtime puts me right to sleep, especially if the author is British.I picked up the second season of Futurama on DVD while out and about yesterday. Only `cause the first season wasn't available at Walmart. I used to think that I fell asleep during the show because of the late hour that it airs. After falling asleep to an episode early in the evening yesterday, I now suspect the mind numbing plots and bad jokes just lull my brain into alpha waves or deeper.
I shall go use one of them now. Sweet dreams.
Dream last night.I was out camping with a group and heard some of them were off skinny dipping in some great swimmin' hole, and want to join them but for whatever reason didn't want to ask them where. I shadowed one through the wood towards the swimmin' hole, and kicked a rock loose that went tumbling down the hill. I looked down to try to grab or stop it before my mark heard me. I noticed I was on a cobble stone path, and the rock that I kicked loose rolled into a spot on the path that seemed just made for it and sunk in flush with the path. Fascinated with the stone path, I followed it up along the ridge. Sometimes where it twisted sideways and I had to walk alongside or scramble over brambles on either side. I came to a nice house with a big deck occupied by a half dozen nice big men.
I popped my head over the edge of the deck, was immediately noticed, and introduced myself. I was invited up on the deck and after some small talk noticed some nice mushrooms growing near a set of steps leading under the deck. The utterly observant host noticed me lookin' at the mushroom, and mentioned that there were many more mushrooms down along the steps.
I wandered down the steps to find a cavelike underdeck with thousands of beautiful mushrooms interspersed with the occasional lit candle. The view was wondrous. As I turned the corner at the bottom of the stair, I found a white marble sink and counter. Sort of workshop and bathroom at the same time. The wall that was the foundation of the house was also white marble and had a few buttons on it. I pressed one of the buttons and felt a warm wonderful feeling start and my chin and work it's way down my front and into a big basin before flowing out the openair side of the underdeck. I pressed another button to turn the flow off, and immediately started to fly upstairs to ask for permission to have a bath in the basin.
I stopped, hovering just beneath the bottom of the deck and realized I was dreaming. I couldn't manage to fly any further, and hopped over the stair rail and took the last few steps to the top. I told the folks assembled there that I was dreaming, and asked what parts of me they were, and what they wanted to let me know. As the first began to speak, my cell phone rang. It was a person I really didn't want to deal with anyway, let alone at such an important time, and politely tried to get off the call by explaining that I was with folks I needed to talk to and could I get back to him. The caller got very angry and accused me of lying and avoiding him. I got angry back and truthfully told him that I was tired of his negativity and walking around on eggshells all the time to keep him happy, and didn't want to spend time with him. I hung up.
Somehow the dream transitioned and I lost the deckfolk, the possibility of the warm bath, and the lucidity of the dream. Analysis welcome.
I guess I should post. I'm not up for it. Some HIV drama this weekend that I'm four degrees of separation from but still manages to piss me off. The dark of it is that Person A, who is a friend of mine and HIV-, had unsafe sex with Person B, who is presumed HIV-, had unsafe sex last summer with Person W, who is HIV+ and not real forthcoming about it, was a regular Saturday night date of Person Me, who is openly HIV+. Much drama ensued and as of yet unresolved. Person B confronted me at the fair and said a good many things that pissed me off. DrewBear translation: HIV+ people shouldn't be having sex--not even with other positive people, that there is no reason that HIV- folks should take any personal responsibility for their own safety, and that it's OK for HIV- folks to have unprotected sex because the burden for protecting them lies elsewhere.The moral of the story is that noone can protect you better than you--take care of yourself. We are all grown-ups, so we all know that men are pigs and [gasp] might not tell you things that would keep you from having sex with them.
It should be noted that none of the out-of-town boys in the pic are involved in said drama. I just thought it was cute that three of the six of them were on cell phones at the same time--didn't get a pic before white shirt stopped talking.
Too many things to do last night, and not enough DrewBears to go around. bbonfire, bearhug, and an old chauncel leather/cigar party were all last night. I opted for the leather/cigar party as those only roll around once a year and its an opportunity to mix with folks I don't usually see. Maybe catch the eyes of some LumberJacks, Pirates or Savages who will later sweep me away to their hidden worlds.I had hoped to wander out early enough to hop over to either of the other events, but didn't. Hopefully I'll make the next one around for them both.
Yesterday I wandered around Chinatown. If you have ever seen the Disney/Kurt Russell movie Big Trouble in Little China you may recall the heroes chasing the bad guys down a small alley into the middle of a gang war and into a plot of magic, demons and demipowers. Yesterday, I found some pictures of frames captured from the movie proudly displayed in the window of a building on Commercial St. Amazed that any of the movie was actually filmed on location, I started actively looking for the magical places.There are a few alleyways I ran across that I would love to see more of, but were subtly and cleverly protected by well placed fruit stands. I gathered by the defensive nature of the locals posturing that the alleys are public, but that I would not be overly welcome. It didn't seem right to even take pictures from the mouth of the alleys. Maybe after I explore the whole neighborhood more thoroughly, I'll go back and try for another look.
When I got home from work, I popped the BTiLC movie in and sure enough recognized bits and pieces of the real Chinatown. Much of the rest looked to be sounds stages.
I turn down an unfamiliar alley and then another. Secret doorways to hidden places line the street. An old man plays a bone flute on the sidewalk, I do a doubletake when I realize he is not homeless--just another wanderer. Crisp tweed jacket, a new backpack and a mischevious twinkle in his old knowing eyes as he sees me seeing him. I find wrong way corridors and hidden stairs. I follow each one to the next and once again lose my self in my home.So much squeezed into so little.
seven by seven
I could spend a lifetime looking and still not see it all.
One of the nice things about my new webhosting company is the extensive logs I have access to. I'm tickled that the San Francisco Department of Public Health is one of my top ten visitors. I've often suspected that their SF City Clinic division monitors my activities. I half expect them to assemble a team of big beefy Daddy bastards to chase me down and inoculate me on a regular basis in interest of the Public's health.
I get all tingly just thinking about it.
I had dinner this evening with SloppyJoe & Capy.
A pivotal mode of conversation was what exactly makes Japanese Bread Crumbs Japanese.
�Is bread Japanese at all?
Yesterday, I had another day in court. Hopefully the last one.The dark of it is that Sandy Orozco of Millbrae, CA sued me in Small Claims Court and was awarded $422USD. She had asked for $2500USD, which I believe is the maximum allowed in Small Claims Court in California. The insurance company had offered her $500USD no questions asked right after the incident, which she refused.
The long story is that last summer I was driving home from HomeDepot with a newly purchased 4'x8' sheet of �" thick particle board tied snugly in the bed of my truck. I caught some wind/lift under the edge of the sheet, and a chunk broke off. The prodigal chunk scuffed the clear coat of the car behind me and pushed one of the windshield wipers up out of sync. After enduring some drama about how horrible I am, we exchanged info and went on our way. The insurance company showed up that afternoon to look at her car, and fixed it almost immediately. (ie:buffed out the clear coat, and moved the wiper assembly back into place) Almost a year later, I learned from my insurance company that Sandy was suing me in small claims court for whiplash like injuries she claims to have sustained. She says that when the particleboard struck her car she was "literally scared to death," took her hands off the wheel, and smacked herself in the head hard enough to sprain her neck and injure her spine. Much info from late night TV lawyers and their chiropractic cohorts ensued. Fortunately the patient and just Referee saw through the bullshit and awarded Mrs. Orozco a settlement just big enough to not call her a liar, but to slap her in the face but good.
I feel oddly disconnected today. Like my soul isn't connected to my brain in all the ways it should be. I feel like I'm standing in the end of a warehouse looking out windows on the far end that are my eyes.I think strange wondrous thoughts. That if asked, I would probably describe my favorite color in RGB hexadecimal, and wondering how I can convert that to an analog value of wavelength in nanometers and intensity in foot candles. I would construct a database of photon wavelenghts emitted as electrons hop from shell to shell of every given element then write a partitioning search routine to determine which gasses need to be mixed to produce pure light in any given color.
I also noticed for the first time that I've been carrying the spare door key for my flat on 18th Street in my wallet even though I haven't lived there for seven months.
Funny that.
Things I did this weekend:
Took my first passenger on Tainn.
Brunch at Alice's with SloppyJoe and Capy.
Stopped at the Moss Beach tidal pools on the way home.
Laundry.
The new bear dance.
Things I couldn't do this weekend:
SVB Pool Party (Sunburnt)
Beemer Bash (Triple booked)
Ride with RedFireBear to Reno (Triple booked)
Gay Day at WaterWorld (Sunburnt)
Work on my website (servers were down or quirky)
Get kidnapped by LumberJacks. (damed if I know)
One day, DrewBear was kidnapped by a band of big burly lumberjacks. He mended their flannels and scrubbed their backs and made them pie. When it was bedtime, they stripped DrewBear naked, gave him a hot hot bath and tucked him in the middle of the communal bed. DrewBear slept in a sea of furry love.
I once again had grand aspirations of publishing my Palm calendar, but I can't figure out how to get the data of of the palm desktop in any usable fashion. Grrrrr.... At least I learned a few tricks trying.I had a nice and very much unexpected drink and dinner with Dakota Bob. He got me a frosted sugar cookie. Awwww...
I SO need to do laundry. Must Sleep.
�Is it me, or is the hurricane heading right for Pat Roberts? Wall of prayer my ass.Potluck tonight. I made Yum Nuer. (thai beef salad) The folks that had it liked it. It wasn't very pretty, so not alot of folks did. Leftovers.
I also had an opportunity to talk with Andy about the clownfucker incident on the bus Saturday night. �Scary! Seems it happened in front of him. �Ewww!
Must Sleep.
To the entity searching for "cigar gay bear cub" on the evenin' of September 12 that actually bothered to read more than just my sex page: I hope you find the one you're lookin' for.
I visited the Cove for dinner tonight. No tomato soup, but plenty else to hold my attention.I wandered in to find TheOtherDon having a dinner not-date in the front window. He is so nice to look at. TheOtherDon, not the not-date, who is also not a Don.
I also searched the walls for the picture NaylandBlake thought had been taken down, as discussed here. Picture is said cove pic, linked to a larger version. The picture hangs above the huge glass front fridge in back, and has been for awhile as evidenced by the dust on the top edge of the frame.
During my search, Kiwi James also revealed a secret of the Cove that I was completely unaware of, but delighted to know. It is one I will keep for now. Just to protect paradise from becoming a parking lot.
I rode out to Dublin yesterday for the Northern California Beemer Riders Club second Sunday breakfast. I was scared goin' in, and I had a good time. I'm lookin' forward to seein' the club folk again.Since I was in Dublin anyway, I popped over to the Arlen-Ness shop again to watch the men. [melt] They were out in force.
After I ran out of drool, I rode up to Sacramento for a coffee date with Chris. It went very well. The best first date I've had ina long time. It lasted a big longer than I thought. About 25 hours longer. We met at Tower Cafe, which was the original location of the first Tower Records store. Way Cool. We cruised over to Old Sacramento in Chris' `61 Imperial that evening. Old Sacramento is wicked cool old west lookin' boardwalks and the have a railroad museum with a Santa Fe Super Chief and everything. Way cool.
Lots of other nifty stuff too.
I got to see Bill in his underwear.The Gay Sportbikers Group also decided to ride to Guerneville today.
There are lots of woofy biker bears livin' up at the River.
I touched Wolf Sterling's bare ass. I made him squeal. I have witnesses. A hundred or so.
I am so disgustingly clueless sometime.
A Deputy Sheriff sat on my lap almost all the way home.
One of my friends became a clown fucker--or sucker as the case may be. I would have preferred to be farther than two feet away when it happened.
I went to the Eagle. I got overstimulated and had to come home. Too many men all wanting a piece of me. It was like I turned into FunkyBearMartin or somethin'.
I may have a new favorite thing. I will keep it a secret, or otherwise it won't ever be the same.
Someday her prince will come and the woodsman will marry me.
Dave Barry, a humor columnist for the Miami Herald, wrote an interesting column today. He happened to mention the telephone number for the American Teleservices Association, 877.779.3974, and has asked folks to call and tell them what you think about getting unsolicited telemarketing calls. Apparently they are getting such a large volume of calls that they put on a recording. It seems they still have to pay the charges for all the callers.Update:Certain Marmots who shall remain unnamed have cautioned that the ATA can and does log the phone numbers of callers, blocked or not. `course, chances are the ATA already has your phone number.
The website is running and findable on the new host, but my old POP3 provider, Network Solutions, keeps grabbing my e-mail out of the ether and hard bouncing it with permanent fatal errors rather than let it get to the new host. (Except for Sister Betty, who seems to be immune.)
Gee thanks, Network Solutions. Great way to insure I'll never do business with you again.
I'm switching my webhosting services today. Website and e-mail may be a little quirky `til the new DNS take control.
I'm on some sort of extended holiday staying in a nice hotel and havin' a great time. Harry Lit approaches me and tells me the Gay Men's Chorus is in town doing a series of benefits and ask me if I'll perform for one of them. Very flattered, I tell him I would be happy to. Immediately the clock starts ticking. Harry gives me a list of songs. I need to get dressed. My mother is nagging me that I'm running out of time. My bed isn't made and I need to make it in case I want to bring someone back after the show. Time compresses, I don't get to do ANYTHING to get ready and I end up running downstairs to perform. There is no Gay Men's Chorus, no band, nothing but a small platform against the wall near the fireplace in the livingroom of my childhood Illinois farmhouse. The music starts. The mic is a small black mag light. The small handwritten (my handwriting in my green ink) sheet of lyrics only includes the parts I thought I was going to sing. I don't know most of the songs.** It is painfully obvious that I'm not ready, but I'm doin' my best. A few kind souls write checks and shove them down my waistband. I'm dying up there. Then it occurs to me that the kind folks had shoved their donations in my waistband. Aqua's Barbie Girl ques up, I feel a rush of control and I think I'm going to do a few lap dances. I hop halfway across the room to the sturdy round wooden coffee table, slide dramatically in my stalking feet, and start belting out the song while flirting with the old man on the couch. I lift my right hand while dancing, bump into the lamp, and pretend like I did it on purpose--caressing the lamp while keeping eye contact with the man. Somehow my arm gets caught in the lamp and I sing the entirety of the song with one arm caught in the light--unable to move around or strip. Thankfully I woke up when the song was over. I woke up to a belly full of acid, a head full of snot, and a very dry mouth not used to being used for breathing, or quite possibly singing, in my sleep.I don't feel nearly so bad for telling all those other folks "no" for the past few nights.
**I don't consciously remember most of the songs, but it occurs to me that if they were playing in my head while I was dreaming, I must remember them on some level, or just made them up on the fly.
From this day forward, I shall not turn on the television after 22:00 on a "school night." Sure, I love watching Futurama but if I'm falling asleep while watching it, maybe I should be bedded down for the night. With all my chores done and my teeth brushed. Tucked between my flannel sheets.I've been having weird dreams the last few nights. They seem to have a recurring theme of folks asking me to do things I don't want to, me saying "no" and then feeling bad about it. For instance, not marrying the end of term pregnancy illegal alien Latina lesbian, who is about to be deported, so she can stay here with her partner and have the baby born a US citizen.
I decided to walk home tonight for the hell of it. Well, really because walking gives me endorphins. Endorphins make me happy. Happy people just don't kill their husbands. Except I don't have a husband. At least I'm happy.I saw this pic on the way home. On the ticket booth at the cable car turnabout at Powell & Market. Looks like more thugs imitating DAVe sticker art. I like.
I popped by the Cove for dinner and had tomato soup and sloppy joe while listening to Kiwi James process out load. He took a time out and taught me how to eat soup in the proper british fashion after I dribbled some on my t-shirt. I like listening. Then folks don't expect me to talk. I also like not spilling.
I chatted up Mark Hawgs on ISPQ. He admits I'm his favorite red. Booneville Dave and Gigolo Jeff are ridin' down to San Diego tomorrow to see Mark Hawgs and Tommy Rey. I am so. jealous. I would love to be down there ridin' with `em for the week. [insert something clever and red here]
This morning MUNI was "congested" and the Castro platform was packed full. I waded through the ranks of patient Buenians to my usual waiting spot aligned with the probable opening point of the first set of double doors on the first car. Also waiting there was a big blue eyed graybeard that I've been watching for awhile. A moment after falling into the usual routine of making eye contact, authenticating then going about my own business, I decided to break out of the rut and chat him up. Nice guy. I would venture to brand him `MUNI Guy', but some other denizen in my plane of existence already uses the moniker.
I went to a BBQ today. Lots of wonderful folks. Sometimes its a real kick in the ass to see so many folks all cool and chatty and coupled up. Especially after I've chased after a few and screwed things up. I need to learn to love someone or I'm gonna end up a lonely old spinster.
From FridayFive1. What housekeeping chore(s) do you hate doing the most?
Dusting. I got air cleaners thinking they would pull the dust out of the air, but no luck. Seems like dusting, especially in the city, is an endless chore.
2. Are there any that you like or don't mind doing?
I don't mind doing most of the "dry" chores--unless it seems like I'm the only one in the house ever doing them. I like to do the fix it stuff if I have the skill.
3. Do you have a routine throughout the week or just clean as it's needed?
As needed.
4. Do you have any odd cleaning/housekeeping quirks or rules?
Not really. I get pissy when the roommates leave stuff in the sink for more than a few hours--and get really torqued off when it seems like there is stuff in the sink every time I walk in the kitchen.
5. What was the last thing you cleaned?
I cleaned out the water filter reservoir tank right before I left for work.
Bad day all around.Sick--probably from getting some of the wrong water somewhere this weekend. I swear I don't know where it's all coming from. �How can more come out than goes in? Grrr...
Mixed news at my quarterly Dr. appointment. I'll be going off med-holiday. How well I respond to the meds will determine if or when I can go on holiday again.
Kinda funky that an earthquake was the highlight of my day.
I need some big furry bastard to keep me warm and put me to sleep. Big ham hand on the back of my neck.
I love tremblors.
I found out just how much I like riding with guys that really know their stuff. Take two truck drivers who also happen to be bikers that were kind enough to let Tom and I join them on the way home. That trip rocked.
Tony continues to amaze me. Getting to know him is much different than the him I'd extrapolated from his...ummm...`somewhat opinionated' BML postings. Great cook, generous and a very skilled and thoughtful biker.
It is hard to have stamina at 7600', but I did my level best anyway.
One glass of "Rainbow Punch" is enough.
The age old catch twentytwo. Blend in or Stand out. I chose blend this trip.
Even if you think you like someone, they can be so fucking annoying that you don't want to spend time with them.
I met someone in person who I have a big crush on. Turns out he's nearly deaf, all but blind in one eye and has wickedly bad sleep apnea. Now he is all the more endearing.
Tom thought it was silly for me to set up a tent. I have to put my stuff somewhere.
I just popped my camera in the cradle to pull up a picture to add to my entry. It seems I didn't take a single damn picture the whole weekend.
Index ∙ Older ∙ ReaderNotes ∙ Newer ∙ Newest ∙ DrewBear.Com ∙ diaryland