My Face for the World to See (Part II): The Diary of Sherilyn Connelly a fiction February 11 - 20, 2004

Friday, 20 February 2004 (ulkukatichol) 9:46am It's almost reassuring that Governor Schwarzenegger considers the same-sex marriages to be illegal. Having his support would have been too surreal. Although I'm still embarrassed to have him as governor. Speaking of such things, from his statement: The people of California spoke on the issue of same-sex marriage when Prop. 22 was overwhelmingly passed in 2000. I will abide by the oath I took when I was sworn-in to uphold California's laws. In all fairness, he's right; it is his job to uphold state laws. At the same time, those dim bulbs who passed Prop. 22 also voted you into office. Maybe there's a connection? It's been an insanely busy week. In addition to working during the day I've been occupied in the evenings, either visiting friends, at some kind of rehearsal, or both. Not much time for writing, and lordy, do I have a lot to write about. At least I'm finally making some progress on my opus about Saturday night, and I have permission from the Famous People involved to mention them. Although, as is always the case, I'm writing about myself, not them. 3:23pm Looks like I'll be keeping busy for the next few months. I'm scheduled to feature at Poetry Mission on May 27, and there's going to be a one-night revival of Night of the Living Dead on April 23. Provided they can get the entire cast, that is. Maddy and I are in, as are Sid and Nell. If it comes together, it'll be a very weird experience. Although the original run of the play was less than six months ago, it already feels like a very long time, because it was such a turning point in my life. I'd always been open to the idea of an restaging, but not quite so soon, let alone for just one night. But I'm going to be a part of it, no matter what. 9:48pm I rocked the house at Oral Fixation. That is all. sometime after midnight Chronologically, last Saturday occurred before last Monday. She put her arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. you're fun. We Are? Really? you are. You're Sure We're Not Too Boring? Too Square? We Aren't Dragging You Down? no, you aren't. Thank You. Thank You For Saying That. (Eileen Myles did it first, y'know.) Another Saturday night, another bloodletting. Almost. The timing was all wrong. Even more than blood, Danielle was wanting to watch our tape of that week's Angel, which we hadn't seen yet either. When it was over, we figured we should get going to Jackie and Shar's Valentine's Day-Slash-Anniversary party. The blood could wait until we got home, and doing it at the party was certainly not an option. Speaking of Angel, Harmony is rapidly becoming my favorite character. Go figure. I identify with her much more than I'd ever expected. Earlier in the evening, Danielle was sitting on our kitchen floor, organizing the scraps of paper on which she'd recently written a new piece. Oscar knows darn good and well that if someone's on the floor it means they want him on their lap, or at least intend to pet him. Those are the rules. (We put him in the bedroom last week when pointy things and blood were being used.) Never one for following rules, Danielle was mostly just annoyed. At one point, she shooed him away and absentmindedly said "Sit down, Julian." Julian is her dog, currently living with her parents many states away. It was heartbreaking. (And I know I've called Mina "Bridget" more than once.) She read me her new piece, and I read her what I'd written about the previous Saturday. I enjoyed that. Before we left, Danielle asked if we had warmer coat than hers. I got out my leather trenchcoat, which I haven't worn in a couple years now. She fell in love at first sight, immediately dubbing it "The Spike Coat." I must admit, it looked good on her, and she has Spike's peculiar gait down pat. Danielle's probably right—even if we'd left earlier like I'd originally planned, the parking in the Upper Castro neighborhood wouldn't have been any better. Besides, I would have had to circle for a half an hour even if it hadn't been both Valentine's Day and a Saturday night. I dropped off Maddy right away, and after ten or fifteen minutes dropped off the increasingly restless Danielle at the house as well. Love her to death, but patience is not one of her strong suits. By the time I parked and made it inside, Danielle was in the hot tub with Susie Bright, who was happy to see Danielle. (Or is it one word, hottub? That looks weird, too. Fuck it. It's a jacuzzi.) Shar Rednour, host of the party, was also in the water. We'd known there would be a indoor jacuzzi and pool, so we brought towels along just in case we decided to get wet. It now appeared to be the case, so I disrobed and got in. Before long, Maddy joined us. It was Shar's party, though not her house. Recent events mutated the party from the aforementioned Valentine's Day-Slash-Anniversary soiree to a celebration of their impromptu wedding. I'm sure there were many such rejiggered parties throughout the City. Danielle looks so much better now than when we met her, so much healthier. There are things Maddy and I noticed on that first night, are little details about her body and her skin which have improved since she's cleaned up, even down to changes in her fingers and nose. She wasn't bad before, but she's so much sexier now. It also helps that she doesn't hide her eyes behind her hair anymore. And now, in the equalizing presence of water...yes. I honestly don't remember the last time I was submerged in non-bathtub water. I certainly haven't swam since The Ex and I broke up in '99, and possibly not for a couple years before that. As for the last time I was nekkid in a jacuzzi...jeez. Probably not since that first summer of our relationship in '90, when her family seemed to be constantly out of town and we could use their pool and jacuzzi whenever (and however) we liked. We had an astonishing amount of freedom for teenagers. I'm not complaining, mind you, and we never got ourselves into trouble. Anyway, I only put my head under for a few seconds at a time, just to get used to the experience again. I was fully made up (I was experimenting with some eye makeup which Maddy said reminded her of a comic book character named Dawn), but that didn't matter. Or maybe it was the point, I'm not sure. Besides, that can be a good look, too, as I discovered after Erin's "crime scene" photoshoot last August. Danielle, on the other hand, is quite prodigious at holding her breath underwater, and she doesn't need to keep her mouth closed. I'd always thought I'd feel her fangs if she ever went down on me, but I didn't really notice them. Admittedly, I'm much smaller than the space between her fangs. As I was recovering, Maddy squirmed and smiled as she discovered that Danielle can use her tongue just as well below water as we've always suspected she could above. (What is it with me? Why can't I just write about oral sex with Danielle Willis? Why do I have to be so damn coy about it?) I'm a fairly cunning linguist, but exact reciprocation wasn't really an option for me—suddenly surfacing, coughing and gasping for breath, would have ruined the veneer of beentheredonethat-ness I was so valiantly attempting to maintain—so I kept my head above water. (Literally, at least. Figuratively is another matter.) Instead, I used my fingers, attempting to find a "wash-on wash-off" rhythm I could comfortably maintain on both Maddy and Danielle at the same time. I think it worked. The looks on their faces was wonderful. Danielle and I fixed each other's lipstick while still in the water, using her supply, a brand whose name escapes me at the moment but which is designed to stay on through the most inclement of conditions. It was quite possibly the femmiest thing I've ever done, and I was more than a little amused that it was initiated by someone who's mostly male-identified and whose testosterone levels are substantially higher than mine. So much so that if she doesn't shave every few days, her facial hair comes in thicker and darker than mine. Which looks pretty damn hot on her, I might add. She said she was reminded of the "Don't Dream It, Be It" sequence from Rocky Horror. She's evidently as bored by that part of it as I am, though—yeah, it's very important to the theme of the film and is all bacchanalian and stuff, but god, it's tedious. Instead, we sang the coda to "Wild and Untamed Thing" ("Frank-n-furter, it's all over...") while circling each other as best as we could in the small confines of the jacuzzi. How close I kept my clothes to the pool area goes to show how long it's been since I've swam. Let's just say they were way too close. And getting back into my vinyl pants with all the steam? Whee. Fun. I didn't put my boots back on until we were ready to leave, nor did I fix my makeup, beyond what Danielle and I did in the water. Suddenly, I wasn't caring so much about my appearance. Heck, I even wore my glasses. Danielle, meanwhile, put the Spike jacket back on and wore it for (most of) the rest of the evening. I never actually made it into the pool itself. Next time, I'll do a few laps. Annie Sprinkle and Carol Queen were also there. Like Susie, they've worked with Danielle before (she was in Annie's "Wild Cards" series and appeared on Carol's public access show in the nineties, just for starters), and were just as happy to see her alive and well. I just need to state, for the record, that Annie Sprinkle's breasts are even more impressive in person. I'm not especially fond of breasts (and don't even get me started on the use of cleavage as a marketing tool), but hers are just astonishing. They're like a natural resource, bountiful and organic. Where was I? Oh, yeah. So, I've crossed paths with both Annie and Carol before, and had even been introduced. I suspect this time they're more likely to remember me, since Danielle referred to Maddy and I as among the big reasons that she's been able to get back up on her feet. I'm not sure how true that is, but even if it's just a little bit, then I'm extremely honored. I often wonder if my existence is doing anybody a damn bit of good. (Maddy is always telling me in one fashion or another that I am, but, well, you know. Second opinions and all.) While I'm happy to be associated with Danielle, I'm also glad that I've been doing my own thing, that Annie, Shar and the others have seen me around. I don't want to be thought of as her latest tranny toy. Not just, anyway. I try to keep the fannish gushing to minimum, especially the generic "I love your work" type comments. Danielle, who has taken it upon herself to supervise and guide my "social climbing," agrees wholeheartedly. Having never met Susie before, though, I was compelled to tell her that The Celluloid Closet is one of my favorite documentaries (true), and that I find certain of her interview segments in it to be very touching (also true). I managed to stop myself before I started into totally geeky "like that part where you" babbling, though not before making a reference to her commentary on the Bound DVD. Poor Lynnee. He and Jenn were there, but he stuck mostly to the kitchen, avoiding the living room and pool area because he didn't want to get nekkid. Nobody would have expected him to take off his clothes, but he didn't want to take any chances. He's so cute when he's shy. While talking to Annie, and later Carol Queen and her partner, Danielle and I were lying on a large pillow near the fireplace in a position Maddy referred to as "spooning." Though we were fully clothed (complete with Spike jacket), Maddy said we looked incredibly hot doing it. Danielle has developed a nicotine habit. Makes sense to me, really, since she needs to do something with those compulsive tendencies, and, hey, it's not as bad as heroin or crystal meth. Mostly. I accompanied her on many of her frequent trips to the roof to smoke, and I actually found myself almost tempted at one point. Almost. It passed, and I don't expect it to return. I'll drink blood, but I won't inhale (firsthand) tobacco smoke. That's almost the same as having principles, right? Oh. My. GOD. Shar (I think) made an incredible tofu-and-peanut sauce dish. So damn good. There were assorted veggie plates, as well as barbecued chicken, but in spite of the events of the previous Saturday I wasn't at all tempted by the fowlflesh. In the kitchen, Danielle pulled Maddy down onto the padded booth next to the table and bit the right side of her neck. Maddy stood back up, looking very happy with just the slightest twinge of frustration (Danielle always stops short of breaking the skin), and Danielle pulled her back down and gaver her a matching chomp on the left. After Maddy stood up again, Danielle took my hand and tugged. I remained standing. Danielle let go, saying, you're not into that. I told her it wasn't more of a question of height ratios, what with me being taller (not much, it's true) and there not being much room on the bench. Always the problem-solver, she got up and and bit me. She went easier on me than she normally does on Maddy, since, while I'm discovering I am into it, it's true that I'm not quite as into it as Maddy. Yet. In any event, I was a little disappointed that the bite mark had faded by the time I went back to work. Danielle networked like the old pro she is, getting leads for new writing gigs. I think she understands that being clean has allowed it to happen, and that getting her career going again is worth staying sober. I hope that's the case, and it'll break my heart if it isn't. I'll do what I can, but it's up to her. She can twirl her hair like nobody's business. DJ Puss Puss was providing the music (like every queer event I've been to lately), and Danielle was inspired to take the Spike jacket off long enough to demonstrate her stripper moves. I tried to match her as best as I could, and a lot of her moves are not unlike my own own goth dancing, but, well, as with so many other things, she's an old pro. There's a reason the Mitchell Brothers kept her around for as long as they did in spite of the open antagonism between her and Artie. Her body really is looking great these days, and, as her and Maddy have pointed out, her build really isn't all the different from mine. Speaking of the Mitchells, Behind the Green Door was playing on the widescreen teevee which seems to be standard issue in everyone else's homes these days. My, how pr0n has changed. We still have the passes to the O'Farrell theater which Danielle gave us last summer, and she still very much wants to take us. I'm glad I was completely straight throughout the evening, not even so much as a puff of grass. And certainly no snickerdoodles. My big indulgence was three Shasta Twists. Unlike the last big queer party we attended, there was no threesome in the bedroom when we left, just someone crashed out. As I'd suspected would be the case, we were all too tired when we got home to draw blood. Just as well, since it's really not a good idea to keep using the same syringe, regardless of how much bleaching and boiling involved. Besides, a friend who has access to these things will be supplying us with a package of fresh ones in the next couple weeks. Not Tonight. But Soon, Okay? Finally, a kiss goodnight. Last | Top | Next

Thursday, 19 February 2004 (kicu: dichukitechal coverage) 9:05am Two reasons why my mom rocks. When I called her on Monday to tell her Maddy and I had gotten married, she said she'd been hoping we would. In regards to Bush being quote-troubled-unquote by the recent gay marriages, she wrote this: Bush is quoted as saying he is "troubled" by the gay and lesbian weddings in San Francisco. I just wish that he were equally "troubled" by all the lives lost in the unnecessary "war" in Iraq, and the lack of jobs in the U.S. and the list goes on and on about which he should be "troubled". We must get him out of office in November. I am so proud to be that woman's daughter. Really, though, the man's got a point. (He's the president, after all.) It is troubling to think that if Maddy or I were hospitalized, we might be able to visit or make medical decisions while certain tax-paying (and probably non-voting, unless a celebrity is running for office) American citizens disapprove of us a couple. I mean, if a total stranger with no experience or understanding of queers aside from the media and the ingrained societal belief that homosexuality is unnatural—although that Queer Eye for the Straight Guy sure is funny—doesn't think we should be married, well, who are we to go against their wishes? How can they be expected to sleep at night, knowing that sodomites may no longer be treated like second-class citizens? Is that fair to them? I don't think so. 12:10pm Sometimes, of course, City Hall just pisses me off. I've been called in for jury duty again, barely a year later, and once again under my old name. Feh. It really should be out of the system by now, and I fully admit I haven't been as proactive I should be about it. My brother Jonco, who knows a thing or two about the system, has said that since I haven't voted under that name in a few years it'll be removed from the records. No such luck yet. I wonder if the fact that I keep getting juried keeps it alive. So I'll fill out the "Request to be Excused" questionnaire again and explain what's going on, then contact the county clerk to see about the name getting removed altogether. Eventually I'll get old and die. The end. Last | Top | Next

Wednesday, 18 February 2004 (quoklochitical detrimentations) 6:58am I didn't realize until hearing Howard Dean's ostensible concession speech from last night that he had also been pillaging Harry Truman's legacy. Can't say I'm surprised. What does surprise me is that Bush has yet to condemn the the continuing queer weddings. Not that I can find on whitehouse.gov, anyway. It's a shame, really. If it had started a few days earlier, we could have asked NASCAR's Michael Waltrip, recent celebrity guest host of Ask the White House, what he thinks. He's no Dale Earnhardt, but he'll do. 11:39am Lynnee has invited me to feature at K'vetch in March. (The day after our Twilight Zone, in fact.) I am so honored. It's the first place I read in public, and while I've read there every month since then—except for the few times I couldn't make it, and the recent anniversary show when I was part of the feature marathon—it feels like a homecoming all the same. Which isn't the right word at all, but it's the best I can do. I guess maybe it means I haven't entirely worn out my welcome there. Kirk Read and Larry-Bob have also asked me to read at Smack Dab, their monthly open mic, sometime this spring. Yay for gigs. 1:22pm Speaking of giggery, while I can't complain about reality—I'm reading at Oral Fixation on Friday, and Lit at the Canvas the following Monday—it seems I'm also keeping busy in other people's dreams. In Matthue's, to be precise: i had this dream last night that you got onto def poetry jam and they were making a special exception because you don't write poetry, but russell simmons was so excited to have you that the episode said DEF POETRY AND SHERILYN'S TRUE-LIFE STORIES JAM Daaaaw. I hope I get a pair of official Def Jam Pants like his. Last | Top | Next

Tuesday, 17 February 2004 (the separation of church and hate) 6:38am To answer the inevitable (and understandable) honeymoon question: nuttin'. Even when we were done, outside City Hall with certificate in hand, we couldn't help but stick around join the crowd cheering on the other couples exiting the building. When we finally pulled ourselves away, we shared a salad at Blondie's on Powell. (Damn, but their miso dressing is good.) Then, to the Stonestown Hot Topic to look for more of the neat capri pants we found on a shopping excursion Saturday morning with (e). Finally, home to collapse in bed. Neither of us are fully recuperated, and my feet are still sore from standing on concrete and marble for eight hours. All the same, I just took Maddy to the bus stop for her first day at the new job, and I'm hoping I don't get too much static from The Boss about missing yesterday. We have plans with Rimma tonight. A Twilight Zone rehearsal is tomorrow, among other things. Life continues apace while the battle about what we did rages. (Be sure to know thy enemy.) 8:54am The Boss asked how yesterday went, and congratulated me. Whew. 10:22am How it looked yesterday, via sfgate. If you know to look for them, you can see the umbrellas. How it looked on Valentine's Day (800K image for fast connections or patient people), via shooter.net. Note the slight difference in the weather. See where the line goes off the frame on the right side? That was actually where we got into line at 8am Monday. For those unfamiliar with Civic Center geography, that's almost three-quarters of the way around the building, the opposite corner from the one shown in the sfgate picture. Oh well. It beats the rigmarole of a traditional wedding. 4:10pm The pictures. Me being me, I'm not crazy about them. Nothing to do with the photography itself, mind you. I wish I hadn't been wearing the beret, but it was to keep my head from freezing outside, and taking it off inside would have given me severe hathead. (Berethead, anyway.) I'd also hoped to perform the ceremony on the nearby steps both for the Eisensteinan possibilities (hell, we may have even been able to find a stroller to set loose) and so Maddy and I could potentially be at eye level with each other. No such luck, and a result, I feel like I loom over her. I hate that. She says she doesn't see it, but I do. Yes, I still have a complex about my height. Alas. And, as is the case with ninety-five percent of pictures of myself, I look...odd. But they're of Maddy and I getting married, damnit. I appreciate the pictures for what they represent, which is what matters. I'm happy they exist at all. Last | Top | Next

Monday, 16 February 2004 (last wave) 5:47am Considering the lovely weather we usually get on such overtly queer days such as Pink Saturday, I can't complain too much about it being cold and rainy as we make our way downtown. I admire hardcore mofos who've been camping out overnight. Still, I can't help wondering, what's newsom up to? why's he doing this? what's his angle? just a few months ago, the queer community was rallying against him... Meanwhile, I've decided the primary difference between dyke parties and fag parties: less fucking on couches and more vegetarian food. 8:30pm Tired. So very tired. Standing on the sidewalk for five hours in the rain (on and off, mostly on) and then a few hours more on the marble floors of City Hall will do that. But Maddy and I are married now, so it was worth it. Now, to sit back and watch the legal sparks fly. Last | Top | Next

Sunday, 15 February 2004 (slow circles) 8:42pm Maddy and I saw only saw Danielle for a few minutes this evening, but she demanded to know why I hadn't yet written about Jackie and Shar's party last night. I explained to her that I hadn't had time, which is true—most of the day was spent rehearsing my Twilight Zone at Spanganga—but that I would soon. She said she'd be bugging me about it until I did. She also assured me that I had her permission to go into as much detail as I want. I don't know how much of a chance I'll have tomorrow, though. There's no telling how long we'll be at City Hall. But I'll have my notebook, just in case. Last | Top | Next

Friday, 13 February 2004 (the play of the waves) 12:51pm Saturday afternoon. Maddy and I were considering going shopping in the Haight, but found we were having a hard time getting motivated. After all, it would involve going into the Haight on a Saturday, something we like to avoid doing if possible. There'd also been some talk the night before about Danielle going with us, but by the time she called ("Violet wants to know if you'll babysit me"), it was late enough in the afternoon to give us an excuse to drop the idea entirely. Besides, Danielle had some writing to do for Wicked Messenger, so we picked her up and brought her back to our apartment. While she's easily distracted—ADD plus years of heroin will do that—she got a fair amount of work done, even if it was "productive procrastination" in the form of writing an intro for an upcoming chapbook of mine. It was her idea, since it's going to be about the night we met. Inevitably, after a few hours the subject of Maddy's blood came up, as Danielle hasn't had anyone's any since going into rehab in October. (Maddy's account of the last time Danielle drank hers will be in published in the next issue of Morbid Curiosity.) To put it mildly, she was thirsty. Actually, I think "ravenous" was the word she used. The syringe was the same one used before to draw Maddy's blood, so there was a rather extensive syringe sterilization process. Danielle's engaged in some well-documented reckless behavior in the past, but she wasn't about to take any chances now, even though—or perhaps especially because—the risk was greater to Maddy. Lot of bleaching and boiling was involved. She also had Maddy stick her arm under warm water and do jumping jacks, saying they were both "old junkie tricks" to made the veins easier to find. God, no wonder junkies are so skinny. It isn't malnutrition, it's all the exercise. When everything was ready, they sat on the kitchen floor. I joined them when Danielle started tying Maddy off, figuring I might as well have a front row seat. After the needle was inserted and the desanguination had begun, Danielle put me to work pulling the plunger while she attended to something else. This made both Maddy and me a little nervous, as it was one more set of fingers involved, and I by virtue of my angle I couldn't quite tell when the syringe was full. Danielle could tell, though, and it all went off without a hitch. (Except for the apparently intense stinging when the alcohol-soaked cotton ball was taped over the hole.) She said it was a relief to be able to draw blood without having to play the vampire role for her tricks, prattling on about "eternal damnation" and the like. Danielle asked Maddy if she wanted some. Maddy nodded and opened her mouth, and Danielle shot some in. Sometimes Rome is your own kitchen floor, so I raised my hand and said, "May I?" Danielle turned the syringe toward me and I opened my mouth. There was a brief moment of anxiety as she moved the syringe towards my mouth, since it was a long pointy thing heading towards the relatively tender area that is my mouth, but she's an old pro, shooting it in well before there was any poking danger. Feeling Maddy's blood hitting the back of my mouth and pooling on my tongue was an understandably odd sensation. Certainly it was easier this way than it might have been drinking it from a glass, less opportunity for anxiety or doubt, if not as ceremonious. Just as well, really. Drinking blood shouldn't be ceremonious. It wasn't bad, though Maddy insisted I had an odd look on my face for a while afterwards, like I thought it was gross. It wasn't gross, and I'll certainly do it again. It's just that, since I'm not a lifelong bloodfetishist like herself or Danielle, it was a lot to think about. (Honestly, that isn't supposed to be a Concrete Blonde reference. If you want to make it one, go right ahead.) Typical, really. Drinking blood makes Danielle high and Maddy horny, but it makes me process. I'm such a fucking dyke. Danielle had decided to stay the night with us to give Violet an evening's respite, but she needed to get a few things from his apartment. What's more, it was also almost nine and none of us had eaten actual food since the afternoon, so we ventured out into the world. Danielle was in search of a protein shake. When she first used the phrase earlier in the evening, she was actually hitting on me, though I'm so dense I didn't realize it. When I did figure it out, I pointed out that my shakes are low in protein these days. (The following evening at Wicked Messenger, she vented her frustration on stage at how many similar hints she'd dropped which Maddy and I failed to catch. But it's an endearing naivete, I hope.) Other Avenues was closed, so we went to the scary Safeway on Fulton near the ocean. Its seediness was appealing, in an odd way. When we walked into the harsh light of mass consumer culture, I got a strong sense of transgression, like when I'm in public after taking a strong drug. While I wasn't feeling any hallucinatory effects, there was still the feeling of having broken a major societal taboo. i've just become even more different than you people. not better, not superior, just different. The extremely obvious irony, if that's the word, being that we look like vampires anyway, and Danielle's certainly gotten a lot of mileage out of it over the years. We're not vampires. Vampires don't exist. But, by gum, you willingly drink blood and your differentness factor can't help but spike right up. Tangentially, I'm told that after we visited Danielle on Thanksgiving in rehab, she was given a urinalysis test. It evidently isn't something they do after just any visit, especially not a mass one like Thanksgiving, but the we were a special case. Presently, we went on to Violet's to get Danielle's stuff. After we left his apartment, I got a hankering for fried rice from the Panda Express down the block. (We were on a block of Fillmore with more than one asian restaurant, all of which were open, and yet Panda Express sounded good. Sometimes I'm not as alt as I'd like to think.) Unfortunately, my intended a la carte order transmogrified into a full meal; the person behind the counter didn't realize I only wanted rice, and when she asked me what I wanted with it, I didn't argue. It wasn't exactly the munchies, but I was hungry nonetheless. These places have a notoriously shoddy vegetarian menu, usually offering little else than overcooked veggies steeped in grease. Ugh. There was an eggplant and tofu dish, and Maddy suggested orange chicken. Surprising myself a great deal, I ordered the chicken. So, I fell off the wagon. Danielle is convinced that it was the blood that turned me back into a carnivore, however temporarily. A romantic notion (she gets those a lot more than she'd ever care to admit), but I'm not buying it. Especially since it wasn't very good. It didn't gross me out, but that's probably because between the breading and the sauce there wasn't much actual flesh; a rare steak surely would have had a different impact, and I wouldn't have eaten something like that anyway. When there were samples of a similar orange chicken a few days later at Trader Joe's, I wasn't at all tempted. Of course, the taste of my girlfriend's blood had long since left my mouth. 4:42pm God. I don't think I've ever really understood the concept of the male gaze, at least being on the receiving end of it, as I much I have in the last half hour. I was running some errands in Sausalito, and I swear, it seemed like every time I turned my head there was a guy staring at me. Yeah, I know, be careful what you wish for, but still. It was...unnnerving. Though it could (and does) happen anywhere, I'm learning to hate this town. That said—if you're in the Bay Area, need some printing done and want to support an indie business, go to Joanne's Print Shop at 2000 Bridgeway in Sausalito. Phone number's 415-332-1344. They deserve the business. Tell 'em Sherilyn sent you. Last | Top | Next

Thursday, 12 February 2004 (a.m. world) 9:46am I started this diary (or blog, if you prefer, though I really don't) on February 12, 1999 at c0g's suggestion. (Is it me, or are we almost far enough away from that year that it's starting to sound mysterious and futuristic again?) One would think that five years of (almost) daily writing would have sharpened my skills, but as this entry demonstrates, one would be wrong. Maybe by 2009. Meanwhile, just to prove that everybody's doing it now: my brother Jim's blog. It's just...wow. The notion blows my mind. I'm sure we all know someone who would never, ever do such a thing. And yet. Resistance is, indeed, futile. 12:57pm Yay. Maddy found a job, one that she's actually going to enjoy. It's similar to mine, except she's getting paid decently right out of the gate (as opposed to below minimum like I was), and her new boss doesn't think he's getting ripped off if she's not working every single second. Best of all, we're DINKs again. Combined, we're still making less than my salary at CNET, but that's okay. We don't need much. Last | Top | Next

Wednesday, 11 February 2004 (silence echoes) 10:19am Wow. Is there anything you can't find more information about at en pee are dot oh are gee? 12:29pm According to Scott Thorson's book Behind the Candelabra, Liberace lost his virginity to a Green Bay Packer. That factoid never fails to make me happy. Last | Top | Next