I do not look. I do not even look around to see if anyone else reacts. I'm listening, however, and don't hear anyone respond, nor do I hear them say anything else to get their target's attention. But it wasn't me, right? It wasn't their way of clocking me, was it? Surely I'm just being paranoid.

Things are unsettled at work. I don't have any reason to believe my job is in specific jeopardy (even though I've screwed up a lot this past week and started a few fires), but people I love continue to drop like flies, and there are rumors of big huge scary changes in the not-so-distant future. Some of them may even result in me no longer having my cherry location with big jungle tree.

Going to Safeway after work reminded me of how much, much worse things could be, how goddamned blessed I am to be where I am. Even going head-to-head with the foul little troll is worth it.

While deep in the aformentioned consumerist Hell (and, being a consumer who gets happy when their favorite pickles are on sale, I deserve to burn), their Big Brother voice announced that this is the most magical time of the year! Oh no no no no, it isn't starting already, is it? I swear, I go through this every year, the autumn xmas fear. I wish I could get more into the holidays, honestly I do. Hell, sometimes I wish I could just watch whatever's on teevee and enjoy mainstream movies, too. Living in this world looks like it's so much easier when you can play along. I'm sure it isn't—all I have to do is look at Maddy's brother-in-law to see how miserable a Norm can get—and I'd like to think that I have the advantage of being open to a broader range of experiences. I suppose that just means there are that many more things to be bummed about.

I am looking forward to the latke ritual with Vash, and just spending the holidays with her, wherever we end up. That's something.

9:21pm

I should learn how to waltz. That'll make things different, swing the gates wide open, make me the golden girl once again.

11:04pm

As the insecurity and loneliness are starting to build back up, based on nothing in particular, Vash calls, just to talk. The girl's timing is impeccable.

I'm guessing the dream was partially inspired by Saturday afternoon. I was looking out Vash's front door when I saw a woman with two small children approaching. I mostly closed the door, leaving it open just a crack. As they passed, one of the kids tried to open the door, which was terrifying. Invading children!

I was at the door in the first place because I was keeping an eye out for the tow truck. Seems Vash and I managed to lock both sets of our keys inside the trunk of her car. as an unintended consequence of a not-quite-foolproof plan to safely transport the cake she'd made for Maddy's show. Not only were my keys (which include a key to her car, since I drive it quite a bit) in the trunk, buy also my bag containing my cell phone, wallet, pretty much everything. Thankfully, Vash, still had the keys to her house, so we weren't completely fucked. We went back inside and called AAA, only to discover that both of our accounts recently expired, and we'd need to renew them for roadside service.

All fine and good, except, well, our credit cards and such were locked in her car. Making me promise to renew my account as soon as I could. They showed something resembling mercy and sent out a truck anyway. When the guy finally arrived and used the gouda wedge and snakey-coathanger thing to open her car, the alarm predictably started blaring. So, all she had to do was pop the trunk, get her key, and turn off the alarm. Except that her car doesn't have a trunk-release dealy in the front. (Do cars made in the last decade have those anymore? I haven't seen any for a while, and I've thought they were a bad idea, ever since some of my stuff was stolen out of Burnout's trunk in '98 during the Patti Smith show at the Fillmore. It's about as secure as a hatchback.) As it turns out, her car has a wormhole from the back seat to the trunk, and she managed to get her keys just as the alarm stopped blaring.

All throughout this, even during the initial moment of oh FUCK when we realized what happened, we kept our shit together. No panicking, no blaming, no biteyheadedness, just recognizing the problem and working to solve it. Her hand was shaking when she was on the phone, and lord knows when I spoke to them I went into my stressy tellthewholestoryrealfastwithouttakingabreath mode, but other than that, there was a minimum of drama. Mostly we just laughed, because it was pretty hilarious. It's good to know that we're compatible in a crisis.

This is going to be a better week, I think. Vash and I processed over a really excellent thai dinner on Friday night, got a lot out out, communicated, listened, acknowledged, dealt, healed. My fragility still scares me sometimes, but I'm feeling much more secure than before.

Maddy's birthday show last night was really good. I wasn't thrilled with my piece—it could have used a couple more drafts at least—but it was well-received, as was Vash's piece. Afterwards, we dashed over to the Roxie Cinema, Vash made up in a garish whiteface not dissimilar from my own look these days, where we'd somehow volunteered to work the sidewalk for Crash Cabaret, casually accosting passerby and generally acting goofy. It was an interesting experience (and I almost got beat up when I accidentally touched a passing breeder with a flyer) but I don't know if we'll be doing it again.

Ran into a friend of mine there who'd auditioned for the improv group the same night as me. She said she made it into the group. Considering that I haven't from them either way, I think I can safely concude I failed the audition. I'm mostly annoyed that they didn't bother to tell me; otherwise, I'm not especially upset. I'm not saying the grapes are not sour, just that I won't starve without them.

11:56pm

I'd intended to be in bed well before midnight tonight, honest. It even seemed likely, since I got home from Bad Movie Night (Knock Off) by a quarter to eleven. Then I realized that I simply had to have a Willie Nelson mp3 cd for tomorrow, and...

I also got the DVD of both the Twilight Zone episode I directed and the one I had a cameo in last May. Watching the latter drove home why I haven't passed an audition or been asked to play anything (gender-appropriate) in over two years, aside from the aforementioned cameo. It's why Saint Bernards are discouraged from being lapdogs.

3:37pm

I fucking hate Fleet Week, the weapons of mass destruction flying overhead. On the other hand, the influx of military is always a boon for the City's sex industry, and it surely accounted for the larger-than-usual-for-a-Thursday crowd at the Power Exchange last night, so it does some good. If Fleet Week is about patriotism, then I've never been prouder to be commie scum.

The tax payment finally went through. It hurts to see such a large chunk of change gone (the belt will be tightened accordingly), but at least it's over and done with, and it shouldn't happen again next year.

11:05pm

What I need to remember is that there is nothing I can do to change what's already been, that I'd still be hurting from the chill whether I went straight home or not. There is only this moment, right now, what am I going to make of it?

sometime after midnight

It should be as simple as that. But it isn't.

I think it's getting to the point
Where I can be myself again
It's getting to the point
Where we have almost made amends
I think it's the getting to the point
That is the hardest part

And if you call, I will answer
And if you fall, I'll pick you up
And if you court this disaster
I'll point you home

You think I only think about you
When we're both in the same room
I'm only here to witness
The remains of love exhumed
You think we're here to play
A game of who loves more than whom

And if you call, I will answer
And if you fall, I'll pick you up
And if you court this disaster...

You think it's only fair to do what's
Best for you and you alone
It's only fair to do the same
To me when you're not home
I think it's time to make this something that is
More than only fair

So if you call, I will answer
And if you fall, I'll pick you up
And if you court this disaster
I'll point you home.

But I'm warning you, don't ever do
Those crazy, messed up things that you do
If you ever do
I promise you
I'll be the first to crucify you
Now it's time to prove that you've come back here
To rebuild

Stephen Duffy and Steven Page,
"Call and Answer"

Doesn't mean it doesn't hurt when I'm called "he." (Rhiannon told me the other night that one particularly noxious regular insists on calling me "he/she." Not to my face, of course, and this was long after I had to take him aside and explain to him that I consider myself female and please stop referring to me as otherwise. I guess he didn't want anyone to think I'd fooled him.) It just means that there's no point in stressing too much about it, especially when there's no direct evidence either way. I'm not going to give them that much power over me. I'm doing my thing, and if they can't handle it, that's their problem, not mine.

Which doesn't I'm not going to be careful, and it doesn't mean I won't fight and defend myself if I need to. When I need to. Because I will, eventually. This is their world, not mine, and some folks are quite zealous about the borders.

In addition to revisiting Catherine and Dossie's bible for guidance in getting through rough spots, I'm reading Willie Nelson's The Tao of Willie . That's been helping.

From my notebook, written at some unknown point this weekend:

it has been suggested in some quarters (it's always some quarters, isn't it?) that my recent demon-wrestling regarding vash dating someone else is similar to what maddy felt during our not-so-well-fated attempt at opening our relationship. i don't believe that's the case, for a specific reason: i want this. that we would not be monogamous was agreed upon when vash and i started seeing each other, before we slept together, and i genuinely want it to work. maddy, though she agreed to give it a shot for my sake, never wanted it. (which is completely fair, and i don't begrudge her that, not even the nola xmas meltdown.) that detail makes all the difference in the world.

Does the fact that it's my story as well mean I have the right to tell it? Depends on who you ask.

The real shame of last night's date getting cancelled is that I had terrific hair. Granted, I'd be wearing it that way anyhow, and I think it's how it looked last Thursday. It's something I've been experimenting with for a couple weeks: high ponytails (like I had at Folsom) which are then subdivided into smaller ponytails, the net result looking not unlike ponyfalls. So I'd like to think, anyway, and my hair fu is not strong enough to wrangle in the real (fake) thing. Best of all, of course, is no charges of cultural appropriation. Yet.

Since my poor beleaguered laptop was showing signs of life, I attempted to take it to Java Beach last night to get some work done. By the time I'd settled in with my too-large mocha, it stopped working again. Some greasy hippie kids were coveting my table anyway, so I went back home. If I have to compose on my own computer in the comfort of my own home, then I guess I'm gonna.

Though I was chatting with both Vash and Embeth on Gmail, I was still quite productive. Chatting never really keeps me from getting work done, probably since I'm a fairly quick typist. That said, when I started chatting with Maddy in '99, my diary suffered because I was telling her things that otherwise would have gone into my diary, and for some reason I didn't think I could use the same material it in both places. Such a twit, I was. Anyway, my biggest distraction was Perdita, who refused to be anywhere but in my lap, and felt my hands could be put to far better use than typing. As I say, if I have to compose on my own computer in the comfort of my own home with the comfort of my own cat on my lap, then I guess I'm gonna.

Anyway, I got what I think is the majority of the story done. Not quite finished, not sure how I feel about it, and it requires some serious polishing, the majority of which will probably not be done by Saturday. It'll be what it is.

10:45am

Ugh. The tax return is filed, I have all the documentation saying that it was correct and the IRS accepted it, I selected Direct Debit so they could take it right out of my bank account, the transaction date was supposed to be October 2...and, they haven't done it. The money is still there. Take it! Rip the bandage clean off! I'm done!

2:06pm

A good friend has been wooing me to revive Rush Hour on the Event Horizon on her new pirate radio station. My feelings have been mixed at best, since in spite of its recent clean bill of health, every mile I drive in my car counts. Now that my laptop seems to died the last of its many deaths, it's really not practical for me to do a radio show. What, I'm going to use CDs? Or records, even? As if. Meanwhile, I still haven't heard back about the improv group, but it can't be a good sign.

The weird/great thing to me is, a sensation in which I still revel, is that I can do whatever the hell I want. I'm free to pursue these avenues if I so desire, successful auditions providing. There was once a time when every new thing I wanted to do was considered a threat, and I was afraid to even mention them for fear of backlash. And the backlash did happen, frequently. The blowup I'd expected when I originally decided to apply for a position on the old pirate station didn't happen, but when I mentioned that I wanted to DJ at the station's club a couple times a month (and late on Sunday nights, no less), sparks flew. It was random-leaning-towards-constant potential for explosive drama (dating back to the first time I tried to go to a club after December of '99, perhaps, or my attempt to maintain a regular friendship with Howard), and in retrospect, I wonder how my nerves handled it. I just kept going forward until I couldn't anymore, I suppose. It's a skill I've developed over the decades.

Last night at Java Beach, the girl behind the counter asked me how long I've been in San Francisco. That's actually a question I've been wanting someone out in my neck of the woods to ask me for a while now, since it allows me to announce that I've been in the City for twelve years, but more importantly, the Outer Sunset for eleven. Given how much I stand out compared to the strong hippie/surfer element out there, I sometimes wonder if they realize that I'm as much of a local as they are, that it's my neighborhood as much as theirs.

Anyway, the reason she asked is because she recognized me from Le Video. Seems we both worked there, though she started after I left, and remembered me from when I was a customer. I hadn't realized that I went there enough as a customer to be memorable five years later, but, well, as previously established, I'm hard to miss. I would have only just started to transition at that time, but I was no less peculiar looking then than I am now. We waxed especially rhapsodic about Pandora, who overlapped both of our counter tenures. Since I had my laptop handy (and it was working at that moment), I showed her the picture of Pandora and I in 1997. It primarily functions as my increasingly nightmarish "before" picture.

I hope I'm able to get my laptop up and running again tonight, because not only do I still have a lot of writing to do and can't compose on my computer at home to save my frackin' life (or meet a deadline), I have unexpected free time thanks to a cancelled date. A girl I met at the Power Exchange last Thursday was supposed to be hooking up with me tonight for a drink, but she ended up going out of town for work. She'd told me at the time when we made the plans that there was a chance she might have to leave but wasn't sure yet, so it's not quite the same as flaking. She also said she'll call me when she gets back into town on Wednesday. We'll see. As it happens, Vash has a date that night, and I already have plans to hang out with Embeth. It's all about practical distraction.

sometime after midnight

This is me rising above it.

In fact, as we were leaving, the bride thanked Vash and I for being one of the first people to really start dancing, to break the ice and get into it. I hadn't really thought of it in those terms, but I suppose that just goes to show how often unaware I am of how the rest of the world sees me. I kinda have to be, I suppose. I mean, it's like, I know—I wasn't unaware of the looks I was getting at the Pine Cone Cafe in Point Reyes Station this morning—but I have to let it not affect me most of the time. I wouldn't be able to leave the house otherwise.

It was good to spend the weekend with Vash. Probably won't be seeing her again until the show next Saturday, and not much besides.

For the last few years, September and October have been times of great shifts for me, of rearranging. This is not intentional. Just so happens.

sometime after midnight

and what about you? what do you need?