Anyway, I had showered after my workout and had put on a workout tank-top and some size-too-big jeans to check on the laundry room. I came back in and laid on my bed. Suddenly, I was inspired to take my dry cleaning to the dry cleaners down the street. So I ran that errand and walked around the strip mall to see what else was there. I hadn't really eaten anything since breakfast, except maybe some heirloom tomatoes from last night, but maybe I ate them later. The bagel place and this other breakfast place were closed, and I didn't really want Subway. I stopped at the liquor store and bought some tequila - a small bottle of 1800 Silver (it was clear) or something. I wasn't about to have that at that time, but I wanted some hard liquor at home anyway. Then I went to the place I had been sort of hoping I could avoid - Baskin Robbins. I feel like such a goddamn hypocrite (its hypo crite - I need to remember this now, one more spelling word, along with 'etiquette') for eating there, especially when it was John Robbins that inspired my vegetarianism. I didn't want the quart of sherbet, and I didn't want just the rainbow sherbet, so I got two small hand-packed 12-oz containers, one of rainbow and the other of the other kind of sherbet - something wild, I forget. Then I saw the chocolate fudge ice cream and got a kids size scoop of that. I took everything home, photographed, and ate my ice cream.
After I got home, I also slowly got ready for clubbing. I chatted with someone new, and he seemed pretty interesting, though I think he is kind of an introvert. Not that I don't want to meet him or anything, but, well, I'm not sure if he will be the distraction I need. I did my make-up, but wasn't sure if it was too much, so I took a picture and sent it to J(G). He said it was too much, but that he didn't like girls in make-up that much, or something. I knew it was a little silly for me to be asking his advice, since he is such a "guy," but I also figured that was why he was the best person to ask. Also, I just needed another pair of eyes and he was online. I've known him for long enough (almost 4 years now) and we've had enough conversations like this that I trust his judgment. I toned down the make-up and took a few more pictures of myself. At about 10 to 8, I was ready to go, and looking fabulous. F called to let me know he was heading out, and he was shocked to hear that I was too, but I had checked the BART schedule and knew exactly where I needed to be at what time to get to Civic Center at 9 sharp.
I drove up to WC and tried in vain to get a picture of the amazing sunset. This was one of those evenings where I really love where I live, if only for the scenery. True, I don't want to be in the suburbs, but the hills are really magnificent. I got to the BART with about 10 minutes to wait for my train. I walked down to the end of the station not covered by a roof. I saw a guy standing over there and wondered if he was watching the sunset. Well, maybe he was, but the sun had set. I made a video for a vlog I'm thinking about making, under a separate youtube account. The subject was my frustration - my utter frustration about my inability to be properly distracted and my inability to follow through that led to the need to be distracted in the first place. The train came, I rode it and wrote down what I wanted to say in my "donate to the AIDS Walk" thingy. I saw that F called me at about 8:48 or so, but I was on the train. I didn't call him until I got off the train and he told me he was at the UN Plaza. I got out of the station, but in the wrong place. I saw the plaza and began walking to a crosswalk. Random street people - guys, not attractive to me in the least - said things like "lookin' good, girl." The comments weren't lewd or threatening, but instead very flattering, and I knew that in my low-cut, form fitting, and well-cut top, perfect-size-jeans, and awesome make-up and hair, I did look good.
I met up with F and we began walking. I suggested getting a cab if the place was really far away, but he wanted to walk, and I was fine with that. We talked on the walk, through the Tenderloin. I told him about the last time I walked through the Tenderloin, four weeks ago, and how I thought I should be at least a little nervous, being the very white girl that I am, and all alone, but that I felt more like part of the local color, due to my pre-party activities, so I wasn't at all nervous. We made it to the club super early and got drinks and started talking. Eventually, we finished our boozing and started dancing. F doesn't particularly like hip-hop dancing, and I guess it isn't my favorite either (I don't know what is my favorite yet, though the last dance party at Pride was hella awesome (and yes, I guess saying hella makes me a true Northern Californian) and that seemed to be electronic or something - I'll have to get F's assessment). I danced and tried to find someone distracting to dance with. I found my new favorite pick-up line which is something like "I know you're looking for some skinny bitch, but I don't care". I used that to meet a guy named Kyle, and to my surprise, I actually told him my real name! I'm not sure why I did that, but for some reason, I just didn't want to be Sally. Not that I need to be someone else, I would just like to be more comfortable with stepping completely outside of myself. I kept dancing, and eventually, these guys showed up, and one can only be described as a muffiny-haired bachelor. Only true MSTies will know what I mean by that. I tried to hit on the guys, but well, haha - they seemed to into themselves or something. Then Kyle's friend approached me and we danced. I got what I sort of needed for the night, and tried to give him my number, but my pen wasn't working, and in the end, I realized that was for the best. That was soooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo for the best!
| I finally got out and F and I started for the BART station. He gave me a bit of a hard time about the last time I was out with him and I told him about how my memory of the end of the night was really spotty and that I was so not as wasted tonight. I mean, I was actually coherent and stuff. We got to the BART, and he vented a little about how white and asian girls have no rhythm. I confessed to not knowing if I had rhythm, but that I just kind of moved when I danced, and I was really just trying to have some fun. He told me a little more about Bootie at the DNA Lounge and I'm excited about that. We got on the Pittsburgh/Bay Point train and talked more, then F got off at MacArthur and I rode to WC. I realized that despite my distractions, I really wasn't distracted. I think I understand a little about how S feels about [censored] and why she does what she does, though I can't understand that particular attraction. We can't help who we're attracted to though, we can't help it, we can't help it, we can't help it. | Part of me wonders why I say these things on this blog, because despite this blog not being searchable by Google, and not linked from sites that I know [someone that makes me think "eww gross, why is he here?"] reads, I'm pretty sure he is reading, taking some kind of lame pleasure at my stupid romantic frustrations, unable to find joy in his own life unless he feels like its better than other lives. Honestly, I really could care less what he thinks of me, I think it would be more amusing to me than anything, but still, I wonder. So, whatever, I'll go on typing my thoughts. |
On the drive home, I discovered (re-discovered) the Kelly Clarkson song "Walk Away", and sang/yelled it rather emphatically on the way up Crow Canyon. When I got home, I played the video, which I also like a lot. Thats one of the videos that I think captures the communal, well, ownership [for lack of a better word] of the meaning of a song. It isn't just Kelly that feels that way, hell, she might not even feel that way, but there are people out there who are thinking "You need to know this situation's getting old and now the more you talk the less I can take, oh," and I am pretty sure I'm one of them. Not sure if I really want him to go though...
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