KrOB joined Ennui and I in line outside the Castro. He officially invited me and whoever else I bring along hostwise to do the Bad Movie Night thing to his Drive-Out Theater on Monday, February 4. We'll be riffing on Speed. Because, you know, we'll be on a bus and all. So it's appropriate. (I'll bet my archnemesis doesn't get asked to do Bad Movie Night on a bus!) (There. It's out of my system.)

Rifftrax Live was a lot of fun, of course, just like before. I think I should be able to squeeze a Medialoper article out of it, which is a good thing, since I have one due a week from today.

I finally rewrote the Bad Movie Night blurb to something that's a little more me, and made a header graphic for July which I'm stupidly proud of. It's obviously a detail from the Cloverfield poster and a replication of the font, but still, I'm happy with how it turned out, and I've never denied being a bottomfeeder.

I talked more individually with Jessie about the book, and though she's only read the first fifteen pages or so, her feedback is already helpful. Her and I then went inside to the bar, since I figured, what the hell—it was pushing eleven, I was doing to be driving soon, so why not sample their Bloody Mary, if such a self-consciously hip/tough/alt/biker bar would even make such a thing. If not, I'd fall back on my usual fallback beverage, a White Russian. (I blame Maddy for those.) They did in fact make Bloody Marys, and at seven bucks, it may surpass the Orbit Room as the best in town. It was brimming with chlorophyll in the form of stringbeans and olives (no celery, but what are you doing to do?), and best of all, they went heavy on the horseradish and hot sauce. Every sip burned the back of my throat, which in addition to the salad, is a hallmark of a Bloody Mary.

We left a little while later, doing the standard round-robin of hugs on the street outside Zeitgeist. Ennui left with Jessie, and I drove Jack to his and Ennui's apartment. When we got there we sat outside in my car for a while and talked. I briefly considered trying to find a non-metered place to park and asking if I could come upstairs to crash, and he surely would have said yes. He was considerably more schnookered than I was, and I was driving just fine. It was mostly laziness in not wanting to drive all the rest of the way home, and Ennui's bed is still so much comfier than mine, even if Jack's in it and she's not. I assume, anyway, that he sleeps in it when I'm not there, or at least when she isn't. I guess it depends if his boyfriend is there as well. In any event, I'm sure he wouldn't have minded, but I decided against it. Didn't want to create any expectations that I wasn't prepared to fill, at least not at that moment. And not on only one Bloody Mary. Which doesn't mean that I'd have to be drunk, but, well.

As I drove home I received a text-message from Ennui, a simple sweet dreams. I reflected on the fact that she was with Jessie, but still took the time to do that, and how easily I feel like I'm fitting into what's actually a rather complicated dynamic. So soon after another one failing miserably, it was heartening to find myself in one that actually works.

I went straight home after work on Wednesday and changed. I've been feeling terribly drab lately, and constant exposure to my archnemesis isn't helping. (Which makes no sense because their aesthetic is entirely different from mine and mostly involves earthtones and hoodies, but there's no accounting for self-image.) I haven't worn makeup since New Year's Eve, and since it's been chilly I've been dressing more for warmth than style. This is a wise approach when has recently been waylaid by a cold, but it was starting to cut into my self-image something fierce. Hell, I'm not even sure when the last time was I'd shaved. Since before New Year's Eve, easily. Not that it shows beyond a few hairs on my upper lip, and a blonde fuzz on my cheeks, far less than some girls I've dated. (I'm not attracted butches or trannyboys, but I find femmes with a hair or three around her lips or on her chin to be hella hot.) So I shaved, but on the full goth battlegear, and put on a better-looking skirt than the long velvet one I've been sporting, and switched from my Penny Lane coat to one of my fashionable-in-a-different-way shiny black Chloe coats. As has been the case since 1999, dressing therapeutically involves ratcheting up the gothitude.

From there I went into the Mission and hooked up with Jezebel. I'm really glad that her and I have reconnected as friends, that I've been able to move past the icky stuff, and that she was patient. Gives me hope. Anyway, we went to a graboid-feast of a retro diner in her neighborhood called Saint Francis Fountain. It was pretty good, and may be the only place in town I've seen that sells egg creams besides Miller's Deli on Polk. (Vash and I went to Miller's the day before xmas eve, walking there for dinner after spending an hour and a half at The Hot Tubs. We went back to the Black Light District, watched The Office, and went to bed with the curtains open and moonlight streaming in. It was a wonderful night, the memory I'm trying to keep the most. Remember the good times. ) I didn't get one, though I did order the Reuben. Not bad, though not as good Miller's or Saul's in Berkeley. Wouldn't expect it to be, either.

I got to rehearsal a little late, but it hadn't started yet anyway. Meliza is also in the cast, and I gave her a ride home afterward. We brought each other up to date on our lives, the similar paths that me and her and seemingly the entire fracking universe followed at the end of 2007. That year was rough on all of us. But it's over. It's really, really over. Everything's over, and starting again.

Tonight, I'm going to Rifftrax Live at the Castro with Ennui. Rifftrax Live is Mike Nelson, Kevin Murphy and Bill Corbett riffing live on a movie, making it Mystery Science Theater 3000 live and Bad Movie Night's godfather and like going to church for me. Ennui and I saw Rifftrax Live for our first date back in May, and I imagine we'll go next time it happens.

Ten Commandments rehearsal tonight, and then I'm probably meeting up with Ennui and others at a boozehouse to help celebrate her last day of work.

My landlord wrote last night to tell me that he'll come down after he does some research on soundproofing. Yeah. I suspect that after he realizes how much it'll cost—and at the moment I refuse to even consider paying for any of it, because it's not my fault, goddamnit, all I ever wanted was peace, and they took it away—my options will be to deal with it, or leave. I know better than to think I'll win this battle, but I'm seeing it through to the end.

I'm not altogether healthier, just healthy enough to be out in the world, and I'm pretty sure I'm not contagious anymore.