I suppose the Open House has technically begun, though I don't care to open our door to find out. I so wish I could be at my old job, being glad that I was there and not here. Maddy is somehow sleeping through it, but with the vacuum right above the ceiling it won't last.

High tide is at a quarter to two this afternoon, so maybe we can go out to the Wave Organ. We'd been planning on going to the nearby Exploratorium on Wednesday to take advantage of the first-Wednesday-of-the-month-is-free special, except they don't seem to be doing it anymore Whoops. (Didn't make it to the Yoko Ono exhibit, either, the admission for which is in fact the same as the regular admisssion at the Exploratorium.) I've been especially intrigued by an exhibit called The Tactile Dome, which involves being in a completely dark, changing environment for over an hour with only the sense of touch as a guide. Coooool. The next best thing would be a sensory deprivation tank, though I wonder if that would be a wise thing for me. Among the reasons I'm not smoking grass anymore is the way it accelerates and amplifies the bad thoughts; what's to keep them at bay when there's absolutely nothing external to distract me?

Speaking of my old job (which I was supposed to have returned to for a few days by now), Brian told me a few interesting things about it. In addition to actually being qualified, which always helps, one of the reasons I got the job is because the person who made the hiring decisions had a philosophy of hiring "interesting-looking people." Ah, the glory days of the tech boom, huh? He also confirmed that The Den Mother disliked Elizabeth and pressured her into quitting, as Elizabeth had suspected but could never quite prove. Later on, when I was given my own office, The Den Mother expressed concerned to Brian about the way I decorated it—apparently, she was concerned that it wasn't healthy for me to be by myself in all the darkness. She simply didn't get me at all. At least I was "interesting-looking" enough that she kept her distance.

1:27pm

The revelations continue. The landlord said that so far as he knows, the neighbors are moving out to be "closer to the action," in the case The Haight. Sure. Okay. Whatever works for them, Personally, I'm happy to be away from the action, even if getting to and from it can be tedious sometimes.

And, open house or no, the neighbors have also requested that Maddy and I not be allowed to go upstairs until they have completely moved out at the end of the month. I couldn't help but laugh when I heard that one. It's nice to know we creeped them out that much.

sometime after midnight

Why couldn't I have started earlier? Why couldn't I have had my shit together at fifteen?

Knowing intellectually that you can't achieve the impossible doesn't make it any less frustrating when you fail.

Before I went on, and I had the same thought I'd had on Sunday (which was amplified at the time by Jello's presence, admittedly): what's the worst thing that could happen? The answer, once again, was getting an erection. Not getting turned on, just looking like I am. Mind you, I haven't gotten a nervous erection in years—I'm simply not wired that way anymore—but it's not entirely outside the realm of physical possibility. And it would just figure, especially since I seldom wear bicycle shorts under my clothes anymore.

While the actual probability of an ill-timed boner is between slim and none, I am already beginning to more pragmatically fear that I'm running out of things to read, of stories to tell.

Maddy wasn't able to join me (her back and neck have been acting up, and she's saving up her going-out energy for the next few nights) but Embeth was there, as was (e) early on. (e), in fact, is guest-hosting the next Poetry Mission. I don't care what's playing at The Red Vic that night—I'm so not missing that.

After the show, I gave Embeth a ride back home. Ostensibly it was so I wouldn't have to walk the several blocks back to the parking garage by myself, but whatever the reason, it was nice to actually get to talk to her in person. Doesn't happen that often.

I didn't have a chance to try any on, but the Dharma at Valencia and 20th has cheongsams in what appear to be my size. Yikes. Maybe I'll get lucky and decide I don't actually like how I look in one and be able to easily talk myself out of it.

They're making a lot of noise upstairs, no doubt in preparation for the open house tomorrow. Have I said "eeek! loud strangers!" yet?

While our silly little show did technically win an award, I'm personally reluctant to call it "award-winning," as Charles and Annalee do on this party flyer. It does look like it'll be a great party, though, so if you're in San Francisco on Friday night and don't have anything else planned, come on by...

Today we're probably going to go see the Yoko Ono exhibit at the SFMOMA, then we have an editing appointment to work on kittypr0n, then I'll be heading into North Beach to see Brian at a party at his fiance's store. None of this should be mistaken for productivity in any classic sense of the word.

Probably like most other people in my situation, though, I just received a check in the mail from the EDD, a retroactive increase in my unemployment benefits. It doesn't make the anxiety go away, but it relieves the pressure a little.

Speaking of anxiety, I need to do this every so often:

Advantages to working at Le Video again: I can get caught up on all the movies I've spent the last few years wishing I'd watched before; free admission to Landmark Theatres, which includes the Embarcadero, Lumiere, Bridge, Clay and Opera Plaza, which is to say the best ones in town this side of the Red Vic and the Castro (and I'll probably get free admission to the Castro, too); I can dress however I please, without a name tag or any sort of uniform; potentially queer-friendly; rumor has it a new location is opening up across the street, meaning I could theoretically work in a less claustrophobic environment; and, as as retail jobs go, it's remarkably hip. I still get people saying, "You used to work at Le Video? Cool!"

Disadvantages: I've had literal nightmares about working there again; cramped and loud, and I really hate loud stores; lousy pay; working nights; the few times I've been in there recently confirms that if anything, customers have gotten worse; therefore, having to deal with unpleasant people; potentially not queer-friendly; the sense of being laughed at behind my back for being that particular kind of San Francisco pariah, a former dot-commer (tangentially, the lead singer for an eighties new wave band worked there in the mid-nineties); that inevitable first time an old coworker calls "Jeff," and/or the first pronoun violation, regardless of whether or not they knew me before; every name and pronoun slip thereafter.

So there you go.

sometime after midnight

Case in point.

There was a woman with small dog at Brian's fiance's store tonight. I had been talking to the dog, petting it and feeding it the treats the woman carried around.

Exactly what I was wearing is unimportant; suffice it to say it was plenty femme. Nothing masculine about any of it, plus I was made up. I don't really have much of a boi mode left at this point, but if I did have one, this would not be it. I'm still not entirely healed from zapping, but the only signs are some red spots on my chin.

Before she left, I went outside to eat the burrito I'd bought on the way. (Rice and beans only. I'm learning to order them without cheese.) As she's leaving the store, the dog comes up to me, looking expectant. Leading it away, the woman says, "Come on. He isn't sharing."

Ow.

In order to give him enough growth to work with, I hadn't shaved since Saturday morning. Friday morning would have been better, but two days is just about right, the net result being I was a bit furry on Sunday night at K'vetch and the video shoot.

But not noticeably, or else I'd probably be in the hospital right now. There were bikers in the bar before K'vetch began, and I caught the eye of one who bore a striking resemblance to Sam Elliott. He seemed fascinated by my height. Aren't they always? Thankfully, he was very respectful about the touching; when trying to get my attention in the first place (to let me know that there were extra selections available on the jukebox if I wanted to use them), I was sitting in a chair editing my piece, and Maddy observed that he looked like he wanted to tap my arm but quite couldn't bring himself to. He did get a close look, talked to me a little (ergo heard my voice), even had us stand side by side to compare our heights. He was holding a pool cue the entire time, and in the back of my mind was the possibility that he'd realize he was actually talking to a guy and that he'd teach me a lesson with said pool cue for fooling him. Maybe he did read me, but I doubt it, because if he had why would have been making such a big deal out of my height? Even at a dime a dozen, tall trannies would still be overpriced.

It's reading in front of my friends that I feel more nervous about—particularly (e), whom I was hoping would notice that I'd learned how to not pace incessantly. All in all it was a rather light turnout, and she was one of the relatively few people I knew, though Diane and Pam were also kind enough to come out. Lynn, Michelle and Rocco were all elsewhere.

I think Josie was there. Indeed, she may have sat right across from us, and whoever it was, Maddy complimented her on her tattoos. It didn't occur to me until later in the evening that it might have been her; she looked familiar, but I see so many people in so many places these days, I just figured it had been at another show or party or something and didn't consider that it might be a face I hadn't seen in five years. Maddy didn't recognize her at all, which makes it a little more likely. Ironically, I'd briefly considered reading about how I manipulated Edward Albee to get to kiss her. If it had been her and she didn't recognize me before, that would have done the trick.

Lynn and Michelle were both out of state (Michigan and Oregon, respectively), but Rocco was across town at Sacrifice with Chupa and Anastasia, among others. They were shooting a video for The End of the World's "Hella Hos," a song about the tendency of certain straight men to not understand that when they see two women together, odds are they aren't simply waiting for the right man to come along.

We joined them after K'vetch. I had decided my tale of an unattainable desire to vomit required me being in schoolgirl mode—really, can you talk about sticking your finger down your throat yet being unable to puke without wearing a short plaid skirt and wide fishnets? I don't see how—so I was already properly dressed for the video, and I fit right in with the dressed-to-the-nines Chupa and Anastasia and their miles and miles of perfect skin. I swear I did.

(I've been getting a lot of Betty Page comments lately. It's odd, but it feels more real than when Summer would frequently make the comparison when we first met. My hair's the same now as it was then, and I'm not so arrogant as to think I resemble her in the face, but it doesn't necessarily feel like people are just saying what I want to hear, either. Sara said it at Destination Unknown, for pete's sake, and it's not like I was the only girl there with black hair and bangs...)

In the final edit, Maddy and I may or may not be seen on the dance floor (me more likely than Maddy for simple height reasons), making out in a chair while a man tries to cut in, or dancing at the nearby Leather Tongue Video. It was a great deal of fun, though I have no idea where the video will actually be shown. It's hip-hop, but given its intense queerness I think it's safe to say it isn't exactly BET material—or the homophobic L.A.-produced show on before ours—which is why I was proud to be part of it.

sometime after midnight

Oscar. Watched. kittypr0n. Again.

Not "again" in the sense that he'd seen the episode already (it was a new one, featuring Miss Murgatroid and Agness on the soundtrack), but when it came on he settled onto the couch with Maddy and never took his eyes off the screen. Trust me, I checked, especially when he was watching Mina onscreen watching him onscreen. It was getting to be like a hall of mirrors.

Thankfully, he doesn't seem interested in anything else on teevee. Our guy has good taste.

Tom had been in Fresno shortly before we arrived, and in one of those acts of street crime which can occur anyplace at any time, his car got stolen from in front of my mother's condo. It wasn't even on the street, but rather inside the complex. Anyway, she bought him a new car. Not new new, but new to him, and probably a better one than he had before. She's not exactly rolling in money, either. (After buying it she asked my father if he'd pay for half, and he said yes. Kudos to him for that. I suppose it wouldn't be right to ask him if he's still feeling generous, what with my remaining student loans and all...) She also made room for us to park in her garage rather than out front. I'm not convinced lightning would have struck twice, but she insisted, and I wasn't about to turn her down.

She's also giving us a new bed. Again, not new new, but in far better condition and friendlier to Maddy's sensitive back and neck than the current hand-me-down we got from the landlord. It's currently in her guest bedroom (i.e. my room in the latter half of '93), and as part of her extensive home remodeling she's replacing it with a trundle-bed in a couch. Even used, she could probably sell it off for a couple hundred bucks, but she's letting us have it for free. Her boyfriend has even offered to drive it up here in a couple months when the weather improves. Ergo, she rocks. QED.

sometime after midnight

Jello Biafra was in the audience at K'vetch tonight. No pressure.

Withdrawal in disgust is not the same as apathy.

I mainly went to Asylum to see Shrike and wish her a happy birthday. Otherwise, though, I didn't feel entirely comfortable there. Not that I felt uncomfortable per se, but there weren't any familiar faces aside from Shrike (who was doing her own thing), and the music, while varied, wasn't doing much for me. The Velvet Underground's "Waiting for the Man," a song I dearly love, came on around midnight and I took it as my cue to leave. I just knew that if I stayed, that would have remained the high point.

Destination Unknown was more what I needed, a comparatively spacious club with pretty people dancing to pretty music. (I feel compelled to point out that I was wearing a slip I bought in a Fresno thrift store. I have no idea whether or not me being comfortable wearing lingerie in public is ultimately a good thing.) I got to talk to Shauna Rogan and Sara (who, as she always does, implored me to go to Death Guild more), and Perki congratulated me on the Best of the Bay thing. Dax wasn't there, surprisingly enough, but I suppose she needs to spend the occasional weekend in Vacaville. And, of course, it had a swell playlist. I think I have a new favorite club. Figures it would only be once a month.

Driving fast down a one way street
Lord of loving you dance so sweet
Going fast to hit the sky
Lord of love you don't ask me why

I said electricity
Let it rain all over me
Let the light be forever green
I'm playing with fire if you know what I mean
I need someone to help me
Turn it on

Yes, I'm neurotic about my weight. I have reason to believe it's genetic.