The temple was packed, and the cantor who introduced the show mentioned that she was happy to see such a big turnout for new music. The cult-like following of The Kronos Quartet notwithstanding, given the average age of the audience (we were definitely among the younger minority), she probably has a point. When I go to a classical music concert, especially if I'm paying for it it, I wanna hear something new. I can listen to Mozart for free at home.

sometime after midnight

Woke up next to Vash this morning. Spent a few hours after work at Jezebel's Starbucks (she was there, but she was working and I was writing, so we didn't interact much). Had dinner with Zuki at Ananda Fuara, followed by drinks and dessert while she read the rough draft of my story about the night her and I met.

Damn. Maybe Storm was right.

I did pretty well considering how tired I was, having been at the Power Exchange until half past four in the morning. Not one of my better nights there, in some ways, but I think I've learned my lesson. The right clothes for the right job.

We woke up at half past three in the morning, acknowledged the time, and went back to sleep. Oh well. We missed the party, but at least I'm well-rested for an allnighter at the Power Exchange.

I spent most of the afternoon at the Three Dollar Bill Cafe, home of the Queer Open Mic. Got a Medialoper article for Monday pounded out. I took New Year's week off, but I'm determined to stay on on track. Damnit. From here, I'm going to see Duck Soup again before the rest of the evening's festivities commence.

Tonight, Vash and I are going to a housewarming party at Steven Leyba's new place. I expect fireworks.

In spite of my less than pleasant experience there on Xmas Eve, which was just not a good night by any standard, I decided to give Daljeet's another try on New Year's Eve. Called and asked if they'd gotten in the pants I'd liked, PVC "rocker" jeans by Shrine, in size 36. The guy laughed and said no. When I asked if he ever carried them in that size, he got cranky and said that he didn't have them in stock right now. Deja vu. Was he ever going to? He said that he was unlikely to get them above 34, and I quote: i can never keep the larger sizes in stock, because when i get them, you big people just buy them right up. you take advantage of me. I repeated back what he said so a shocked-looking Vash could hear it and to give him a chance to defend himself (he didn't), then said: yeah, the nerve of us fatsos, buying your clothes and keeping you in business. we can't be trusted. And hung up.

We went to Leather Etc., where I got a couple pairs of 36 on sale. Fuck Daljeet's.

2:41pm

Then there was the day in early 2000 when we decided to go into Good Vibrations, the old location at 24th and Valencia. I don't recall what brought us there. Maybe we were still attempting something resembling a sex life, which had hit several emotional roadblocks upon her moving in with me, or she was attempting to show that she was comfortable with sexuality. After all, her self-described guttermind had produced a number of published erotic stories (thus giving me the false impression that she was okay with the subject), so the most user-friendly sex toy store in town shouldn't be a problem.

I'd learned to recognize her discomfort quite well over the past few months, exposed as I was on a near-daily basis, and it was palpable from the moment we stepped in. We looked around for a minute or two, her not saying a word. Then I picked up a vibrator, switched it on, and turned towards her. That was the kicker, and she ran out of the store. We drove home in silence, and she didn't step foot back in until later that year. I don't remember if when she got out of her catatonic state I got yelled at for making such a blatantly sexual move on her in public with everyone watching—but if I didn't, it would have been one of the only times I didn't get punished for an infraction, real or imagined.

Vash and I met in a sexual context. She first saw me at a Good Vibrations(!) reading which Loren had brought her to, then invited me to read at an erotica show she organized the following year. Hearing her read a highly perverse piece at the Queer Open Mic intrigued me all the more, and it at another erotic art show which she curated that I decided that I was going to date her. We engaged in major PDA the following Friday at the Folsom Forplay party, and again later that night at the Cat Club before she suggested going back to my place. The Black Light District was not in the best shape at the time, but the fact that the living room floor needed to be vacuumed didn't keep us from spending some quality time on it before moving into the bedroom.

I met Jezebel at the Power Exchange, as well as Storm and Zuki, not that I've gone out yet with Zuki or am expecting to a second time with Storm. Not everybody's comfortable there, and that's fine. But it's a pretty good barometer. The point is, I'm not going to let myself be fooled again. And if does happen—I am, after all, barely human, and frequently make mistakes—I'll extricate myself from the situation a hell of a lot faster.

10:29pm

Vash and I went to see Children of Men tonight. As the audience filed in next to us, a thin girl with glasses brightly said hello to me. I looked at her blankly for a moment before realized it was Michelle Tea. Duh! She told me that she really liked the piece I submitted for her fashion anthology. She can't say for sure that it'll make it in—it's not entirely her decision, for starters—but it has a strong chance of being published. And if it doesn't, that's okay too.

Vash is even less of a moviegoer than I am these days, and this was our first time going to a googolplex together. During the commercials for video games and previews for movies based on video games, such an insult after paying ten dollars for tickets, I read aloud to her from the first chapter Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking. Helped us keep our sanity.

There is no safe place. Got it? No such thing. Wherever you are, there is always the risk of intrusion, invasion, violation. Even in your home. Especially. A home is the most unsafe place of all, because it presents an illusion, a false sense of security. It can change at any time. You have no claim to your own piece of ground. The moment you declare it yours, it begins to slip away. Nothing is permanent, and nobody is forever, least of all who you are as a person. When you change, don't fight it, don't overanalyze it, don't pat yourself on the back for how brave you are. It's meaningless.

True then, truer now.

Continued ant incursion last night combined with the nerve-frazzling sound of kids running and screaming back and forth. Managed to temporarily fight back the ants. Not a damn thing I can do about the sound from above.

After getting home from the Power Exchange around five in the morning, Vash and I were back out of bed at half past eight. Engaged in our coffee-beverage-and-bagel ritual at the blessedly open Sea Biscuit, hit the store for supplies, then returned to my place so she could make cookies for Loren's annual New Year's Day party. It's all about the ritual(s).