Better

My mother calls me to tell me about the three-inch-wide, deep-to-the-bone gash she got falling down the stairs yesterday and the five staples now holding her arm together.

As the conversations ends she says on the phone “Well, your father…” and then trails off.

She pauses, then says “Well, he’s home, so I have to stop talking now” in the tone of voice that means she needs to go do something so she should get off the phone but what she really means is that she wants to say something about him that’s negative, that might hurt his feelings, that might let him know we all talk about it and it’s actually a problem, that it actually has consequences for the rest of us. She couldn’t do that, though, because he could hear her and he’d be upset. Which is a code word, because everyone gets upset and what he does is more than that.

“Has he been grumpy?” I ask, which is another code word. It’s also a yes or no question. That way she can give me information without tipping him off, clue me in so I know what’s happening, so I’m warned when I come home this week after months away, so I can call my little sister and hear if she’s okay. So I’ll know whether or not to tiptoe when I enter the house.

“Well, he’s got this surgery coming up on Monday, and that’s a nervous thing. And he’s been worrying about that, and then I had to go and have something,” by which she means the gash and the staples, “and it’s a lot of pressure. We have the Christmas tree, and that’s done—thankfully that got done beforehand.”

By all of which she means, “Yes.”

I hear this and I remember being young, maybe seven years old and my sister was four, and we were sitting in the living room of the house in Massachusetts and my parents were putting up a very big Christmas tree. We couldn’t go out of the room because we shouldn’t be unsupervised and more because we didn’t want to miss anything, we wanted to know what was going on, we didn’t want to overhear it from upstairs.

My mother said we could stay there as long as we were quiet as church mice. Every time I had to help Daddy with a Project, I remembered that phrase, and I knew that I should be a church mouse and that Sis was better at it, which was why he always chose her to hand him the screwdriver or hold the flashlight.

And we were very young and we were sitting in little chairs I think, although we could have been on the floor, but we were wedged right next to each other on the right side of the wide doorframe, and I remember being afraid, and I remember Daddy yelling at us if we made any noise at all or if we asked any questions.

He was using a wire to attach the tree to the wall near the ceiling because it was a crooked tree and it wouldn’t stand up otherwise, and this was difficult and it was a Project, and if we interrupted he wouldn’t be able to concentrate and we weren’t going to help only make things worse, so we had to be quiet.

I remember being quiet, that day. And I remember the fear of what would happen if I made a noise and the equal fear of what would happen if I left and couldn’t keep track of what was going on in that room. And I didn’t like the quiet because I wanted to help, to make the Project over, to make it all okay, to contribute what I had to offer, to make it better. But I was quiet, I did it, I stayed quiet.

“So he’s just been worried about this surgery, but he’s being better now. He is doing better now.”

“Okay,” I say, because better is better. I’m thinking about how this all feeds into it, how we don’t name what it is. How instead we say why it is. How we talk about it only in terms of the causes, of him being stressed or angry or anxious, never in terms of what he’s doing, never in details or actions, never in terms of what it all means to us. We never talk about the fear or the sadness or the anger, not directly. We only all know it’s there because we share it. It’s always implied.

“He scared the dog the other day, scared her all the way down into my office,” she says. The office that is four floors down from the dog bowl in their San Francisco hillside town house. “Supposedly he was just trying to give her dinner.”

Play Piercing

When I was 18, or maybe 19, I went to a house party put on by San Francisco Sex Information. I had just figured out that I wanted to be involved with sex education and I was doing everything I could to meet people who worked with sex in a serious way. When my contact invited me to the party to talk about how I could help at the hotline, it seemed like a perfect opportunity.

Predictably, this party was filled with sex positive, polyamorous-or-close, kinky types. It was a group of people firmly entrenched in the community that today I'm a part of but was then just finding for the first time. I did what I like to do at house parties, flitting from one conversation and new acquaintance to the next. It was so novel to be around people who had a vested interest in sexuality.

Novel, and a little shocking. Someone pulled out an impact toy at one point that was shaped like a metal ruler, but thicker. There were a bunch of people passing it around and trying it out on themselves and each other, talking about how thuddy it was, versus stingy like a regular ruler. That was the first time I encountered those terms. There was a computer in the living room, and the screen saver showed photos of women in various stages of bondage and torture. I was sitting next to a woman and her play partner when they started talking about knife play and prostitution role playing. As cool and collected as I wanted to seem, I'm pretty sure my eyes were as big as saucers.

At that point, I was only theoretically interested in BDSM. I knew I had fantasies of being tied up, and I knew I liked spanking. That was about it. I had an open relationship with my boyfriend, but neither of us had yet dated anyone else. I'd never slept with a woman, though I knew I wanted to. I'd met kinky people, but my impression of them had largely been related to the fact that they were much older men leching in my general direction. I was pretty shy about it all.

I was telling a story to one of my new acquaintances (I don't remember who) about how I'd worked at the Renaissance Faire on my 18th birthday and a friend, to accentuate how popular this made me, gave me a pin to wear that said "Legal" on it. My new, kinky, poly party friend said "I bet you'd look great wearing just that pin and nothing else."

I was taken aback by this. The memory is fuzzy, but I might've had to ask him to explain what he meant, that the pin would be piercing my skin. I'd told him earlier in conversation that I was possibly interested in BDSM but hadn't explored much. I know he was trying to get a rise out of me. I said something along the lines of "Oh, I don't know about that," and tucked the idea away on my list of Really Kinky Shit that was probably only for special, experienced, and rare Heavy Players.

Fast forward to the other night, September in New York City. I did my first play piercing scene in the basement of the local BDSM club, tied topless to a bondage table and ignoring the people standing around to watch. Today I'm feeling the itch as the puncture marks from the needles and staples heal and I'm enjoying the bruises on other parts of my body from the rest of the play that we did.

It's funny how far we can come in the space of five years.

A Post of Two Cities

So, there are lots of things that are different between San Francisco and New York City. There's the weather, the size, the unique NY garbage smell, and SF's general sense of carefree liberalism compared to NY's angsty liberalism. Yes, they are both major cities with a serious leftist bent, but obviously they've got drastically different cultures within that.

Canvassing in New York City is also somewhat different. It's definitely the same animal, but perhaps a slightly different breed. It's harder to get people to smile at you as they pass by without stopping. They're way more in a hurry and used to be hassled. They've got the blinders on in a way that San Franciscans never did.

One major difference between the cities, both in canvassing and just in being on the street, is that I get street harassed a lot less here than I did in the West. I'm not really sure why. It could be because San Francisco, as Aviva suggested in the comments on that first post, has a more lenient attitude in general over what's acceptable public behavior. If sexual behavior in public is easier to get away with, does that make sexual harassment easier too? I don't know, but I can see the difference.

Now, I do still get bugged. People definitely hit on me when I'm in public, but it's so much more polite. It's still annoying, but much less so when someone says "Pardon my saying this, but you're very pretty," than when they ask my friend, "Hey, is that your girlfriend? I'd put that on my tongue," or just shout "You're hot" from their seat in a door frame.

I'm still not sure how to respond to street come-ons. I'm thinking calm honesty would probably be the best policy. You know, respond like I would if I was canvassing. "Thank you. It makes me uncomfortable that you say that, but thanks. It's weird on the street." I said something to that affect to a guy who wanted my number the other day, and it worked really well. He just said "That's cool, I understand" and walked away.

Has anyone had any successful rejoinders to this kind of stuff? I'd be interested to hear what works for you.

Word Vomit: My Life Since Graduation

I haven't blogged in a while because I've been feeling again like I don't know what to say. A lot has been going on in my internal life, and it's a little hard to pin it all down and have it figured out enough to share it with other people.

Graduating college and moving across the country (again) but this time moving away from upstate New York for good has been kind of hard on me. I'm missing my friends in New York, and I'm missing the two pretty awesome lovers I'd started seeing not long before I left (curse my timing), and I'm missing the admittedly stressful busy life I had there. I'm kind of reeling at the end of my college life, my mode of being for the last four years, and also to a certain extent the end of my childhood. (Or adolescence or whatever.)

I'm feeling the fact that my friends from San Francisco mostly don't actually live here anymore. I'm lonely.

The worst thing right now is that a major reason I came back west at all this summer was to be available to explore the relationship I started with S when I was here over winter break. We've been talking over the internet for months, talking about what we'd do when I got here and making all sorts of loosely imagined plans. I was very excited to see him.

For a variety of reasons, though, he seems not to be making himself available to me, and I don't think he wants to pursue the relationship anymore. Maybe he never did and my expectations were just too high; I don't know. I haven't had a chance to talk to him about it, as I think he may be avoiding me. We've only hung out with other people there. From small hints, though, it seems like he's no longer that interested.

I'm disappointed, to say the least. Even in the last few weeks he'd talked about how excited he was that he'd get to see me soon. I was very much looking forward to actually getting to spend time with him. Yet it just hasn't been happening.

I've gone on a few dates with other people, had a little sex. It's been pretty unfulfilling, and I know it's in the absence of doing anything to take care of my emotions. I don't even really have friends here. I don't have the possibility of a primary relationship, which is what I was so eager to explore with S. It's difficult for this transition to be so different from what I was expecting.

It's really hard for me to admit that I want to be in a relationship, that I want to really get to know someone, that I want to work toward intimacy. It feels so unhip, and I almost feel weak that I can't just put it aside until it's more convenient and enjoy the sex and the eventual friendships for now. As soon as I get anything going, I'll just be leaving again. Seems sort of silly to try and find closeness now, anyway.

My body's not letting me put it off, though; I'm feeling more and more shut down as I try. It's clearly time for me to do something differently.

I've been doing a lot of thinking and my conclusion is this: I'm not in a primary relationship (of any kind) and I want to be. So I need to start acting like that's the truth instead of ignoring it. Time to communicate what I actually need, to be clear with new partners. I want cuddles and talking in low voices and doing things together that aren't sex and comfort and familiarity with body and mind and someone to do things with and a partner in crime and someone to call me on my shit and the ability to fight sometimes and have it be okay. I want to actually get closer. I want love.

Easier said to myself than done. Now I have to say it to other people, prospects, and to encourage it to happen without forcing it. It's all such a delicate balance. I have to find that tightrope, though, and start walking it, because it's the right thing for me right now and ignoring it is getting me nowhere.

Road Trip

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When I was at home in San Francisco over winter break, I got together with a guy I'd been talking with online for some time. I met him once over the summer, but we'd gotten to know each other over the internet and have a lot in common. He'd been really sweet to me when I had a (serious, depressing) issue with a friend in the middle of the night and had no one else to talk to.

He's straight, but also works as a stripper at a gay male club in San Francisco. He almost never wears shirts, likes women's underwear, and is totally adorable. I like him quite a bit; he's such a delightfully queer straight man!

Anyway, we were just talking about great it would be to go on a road trip across the country, stripping our way from San Francisco to New York. We've got friends to stay with along the way and a great way to both fund and fuel the trip. I have no idea whether it'll actually happen, but I'd love for it to. Doesn't it look like fun?

New Year

I'm a few days late but I hope I'm not a dollar short. Happy new year, everyone.

I had a quiet new year's eve. I've got a bad track record with new year's eve parties so I just stayed at home and rested. I've been horribly boring for the last two weeks; recovering from my bad luck (two) weeks took longer than I'd hoped. It got even worse after my last posting.

I had one helluva time getting home. My flight out of New York was delayed and so I missed my connection to SFO in Cleveland. I had to hop a flight to Los Angeles on standby and Continental booked me a flight from L.A. to San Francisco on Alaska Airlines. All should have been peachy keen.

Of course, I found out as soon as I arrived that LAX is hands down the WORST airport I've ever been to. The terminals there aren't connected at all. They've just got separate buildings for separate airlines. If you, for instance, arrive on a Continental flight and are leaving on Alaskan in 45 minutes, you have to go outside security, find a different terminal on the other side of a parking garage and a bunch of construction, get your boarding pass in the regular chek-in line, go back through security, and find your gate.

"Oh, that's an Alaskan flight, it's in Terminal 3. Or is it 2? No, it's 3, you just have to go across the parking lot."

"You mean, outside? Past security?"

*Withering L.A. stare.* "Yeah, outside. Just go across the parking lot."

Right.

Of course, it turns out that my Alaskan flight is actually operated by American Airlines, in Terminal 4. (My parents found this out online and called to tell me as I was trudging across a parking lot to Terminal 3.) This is a problem because I'm travelling with my bunny.

Continental Airlines is the only major airline to allow rabbits in the cabin, one of the only to allow them at all. I get to the check in counter for American Airlines 20 minutes before my (delayed) flight is supposed to take off, and they won't let me on with the rabbit. American doesn't even allow bunnies in the cargo hold. I guess they're worried they'll get loose and somehow bring down the plane by chewing wires. Forget Snakes on a Plane, it's Bunnies on a Plane.

So Continental Airlines had effectively stranded me in Los Angeles. There were no flights to SFO on any airline that allowed my pet. My father had to fly down to L.A., rent a car, spent the night with me in a hotel, and drive us back up the next day. Oh, and they had lost my bag. It had been "scanned" in Los Angeles, but had then disappeared. They did eventually get it to me about four days later, but at the time we'd had neither hide nor hair of it.

All in all I spent 22 hours in airports and then had to make the 6 hour drive back up to Oakland airport to return the car, then drive home. It was all great fun.

Turns out, too, that I had bronchitis. Fortunately, the doctor could see me on Christmas Eve and I got all kinds of medicines, but it took almost all ten days of antibiotics for me to feel better.

Of course, things are much better now, but it's amazing what that kind of stress can do. I definitely reached a breaking point in Los Angeles and after everything adding up in the last few weeks I didn't want to do anything for about two weeks after I got home. This is unheard of for me. I didn't get bored with staying at home and reading and watching TV until a couple of days ago.

I'm going to try and make the best of my last week in SF. I definitely need to get out of my house. I've managed to put in a couple of shifts at the peep show, which was lovely. It's such a positive atmosphere. I'm looking forward to finishing my thesis rough draft (I'll post some of it here!) and getting back to school. Hopefully it will be a good year.

Dan Savage on The Colbert Report

Alright, I have mixed feelings about Dan Savage. In case you don't know, he's an openly gay and partnered sex columnist for Seattle paper The Stranger.

On the one hand, he is hilarious as fuck. I've read his column frequently and he's really funny. He's great on some issues, like gay marriage and being understanding of people's kinks. He even gives some good advice sometimes.

On the other hand, I think he often strong arms issues that need a more sensitive treatment. I don't want to be a mushy female feminist (sigh, stupid stereotypes), but in his quest to always be funny, he sometimes becomes a bit misogynistic. He makes no secret of his distaste for women. I mean, "he's gay so whatever," but I think it does affect the quality of his advice.

That said, I absolutely LOVE his recent appearance on The Colbert Report. He is delightfully funny and I think he even made Colbert a little speechless. If you've been paying attention, you'll notice that he says something similar to what I did about the old folks who voted for Prop 8. (He's not as nice.) Makes me feel kind of vindicated.



Go you, Dan Savage.

Election

I just don't know what to say or feel about the election.

I'm so so so so so so so so so so so excited that Barack Obama won. I'm just speechless about it. He's the first black president and the first Democratic president I can remember taking office. I was alive when Clinton made it, but I was small and I don't remember it that well. I'm a young person; the only elections I remember well were ones where George W. Bush won. This has been such an experience for me, and I'm so happy he's our new president.

I just can't even express it. It's huge.

And then there's Proposition 8.

As of right now, it looks like it's going to pass in California, adding discrimination against gay people to our state constitution.

Which is just devastating. Devastating.

I can't even convey how awful it is. It feels like the state which I count on to take care of me, to be a home when so many other places will reject me for my sexual orientation and my "lifestyle," is rejecting me, too. I really did think that we'd be better, that we'd be more accepting, more fair than the rest of the country. It's so sad that it doesn't look like that's going to happen.

I have no idea what's next, where we go in fighting for the rights of queer people. It's so important. We are PEOPLE, we do not choose our orientation, it is a part of who we are and doesn't affect other people AT ALL. It is simple hatred and homophobia that lead to this kind of legislation.

I have so much more to say about this, about how sexism ties into homophobia and how ballot initiatives in California are problematic. Right now, though, I'm going to celebrate for Obama and cry for California and go to bed.

There's time for our next move in the morning.

P. S. Proposition K probably won't pass either, and I'm sad but not surprised. I saw the way the rhetoric was going, and it wasn't in favor of sex workers' rights. Also more on this soon.

No on Proposition 8!

If you live in California (especially if you read this blog), you probably already know that Proposition 8 on the ballot next week is a measure which will add a clause to the state constitution stipulating that marriage can only be between a man and a woman.

Because the May court ruling decided that a law banning gay marriage was unconstitutional, they're trying to change the constitution. Woo, putting discrimination in the document that defines us as a state. That's just great.

Shine Louise Houston of Pink and White Productions, a great lesbian porn company, is donating all of the proceeds from her popular Crash Pad Series to the No on Prop 8 campaign for one day, TODAY, October 30th.

Basically, if you're a fan of lesbian porn for any reason or you want equality as a general rule, get your butt over there and spend some money! It's really good porn, and it's for a good cause. Maybe you usually get your porn for free, but think of this as donating with a tasty bonus. Mm, porn for charity!

I also want to reiterate my support for Proposition K to decriminalize prostitution in San Francisco and make known my vehement opposition to Proposition 4, which would dangerously require minors to report abortions to their parents.

Below are a few good videos and links for more information on all of these ballot measures. A lot of bloggers have written very eloquently about these measures, so I will direct you to them instead of trying to reiterate what's already been said.

This post on sex worker blog Bound Not Gagged is a very thorough explanation of the arguments in favor of Proposition K. It's really long, but even just the beginning is helpful.

Here's a great post on Feministe explaining why Proposition 4 would put teens in danger if they don't feel they can report an abortion to their parents. I also explains why the so-called "bypass procedure" written into the law is completely unhelpful and would actually serve to put teens through more stress than "just" their unwanted pregnancy.

Here are a couple of fun videos about the anti-marriage-equality proposition, via Sugarbutch Chronicles.





Lastly, this video gives me goosebumps all over. I don't know how anyone could say this is wrong.


Vote! Vote, vote, vote, vote, vote!!!!!!!!!!!!!

San Francisco Prop K: Decrim for Prostitution

I know I've written about this before, but the election is getting closer and I want to bring it up again.

San Francisco Proposition K is on ballots this year to decriminalize prostitution in the city of San Francisco. The initiative will stop police from prosecuting prostitutes or their johns, making it much easier for sex workers to report crimes against them without fearing incarceration.

This is a huge step in respecting the rights and protecting the safety of these workers. Sex work happens everywhere and it is simply within the rights of consenting adults to exchange sex acts for money.

Prostitution is not always coerced nor does it always (as anti-prostitution activists keep trying to tell us) involve trafficking. Decriminalization, even just in progressive San Francisco, will hopefully be a step in changing the shockingly negative dialogue about the women, men, and people in between who sell sex. Maybe if we can respect them as human beings and laborers, we can help the sex workers who need it and start to break down the stigma against those who don't.

To learn more about the proposition, check out the official ballot write-up of it on page 153, the Yes on Prop K site, the other Yes on Prop K site, and the article on the proposition from the San Francisco Chronicle. Here's a video of Sadie Lune performing at the SF Museum of Modern Art in support of the proposition.

Entitlement or The "Coolness" Factor

I've been trying to figure out what it is that draws me to certain people more than others. Being in San Francisco (I guess I'll be writing about that a lot, since I've just moved back to the East and I've got a lot to compare it with) was odd. I was surrounded by people who are progressive, alternative, queer, physically attractive, activist, etc. All the little cues that I'd usually notice and gravitate towards. You know, my "type."

And the gravity just didn't happen that much. I didn't feel that pull in anyone's direction the way that I do all the time here in the East. People my type were everywhere, I was practically spoiled for choice, but the chemistry I rely on almost exclusively to bring me to people didn't show up.

Coming back here, I realized what the difference is.

In San Francisco, the progressive people are cool. If they grew up there, they've been cool their whole lives, because being alt-y is the "in" thing there. They were kings and queens in high school. Here in New York, the alt people have had to struggle a little to be who they are. They've come through being picked on and seen as strange to earn some self confidence. They had to learn that being progressive is awesome. They chose it under duress, not peer pressure.

So that's not to say that I hate cool people. I am very much attracted to self confidence. There's a difference between confidence and entitlement, though. The people who grew up being cool (and doing whatever to fit in) feel like they deserve everything they get and some things they don't.

I don't like to be taken for granted. I grew up as weirdo, I got called a nerd, and then I got called a slut. All that fun stuff. And yeah, I was in the SF Bay Area, but it happened nonetheless. I identify with people who've gone through those things and come out on top. They tend to be nicer.

So it's entitlement that drives me crazy. I can't be drawn to someone who's just expecting me to fall at their feet. I need a little give and take. And here in New York, it's easier to find that in combination with the other artsy qualities I like.

San Francisco Prostitution Proposition

I just learned in the last few days that there will be a proposition on the San Francisco ballot this November to decriminalize prostitution.

I'm really happy to see this. I'm not an expert on prostitution, partly because I'm not a prostitute. I feel comfortable talking about stripping and criticizing that industry because I'm a part of it. Of course I can't speak for all strippers, but I do at least have some personal experience to draw from.

I do very strongly believe, though, that criminalization of prostitution is awful and stupid. It ties up needless amounts of money in punishing people (mostly women) who are simply trying to make a living. I won't call it a victimless crime because I know that's a controversial statement. Some would say that the prostitutes themselves are victims, and in cases where it's coerced (whether physically, culturally, financially, whatever) prostitution I agree. But that is not always. Some would say the clients are victims, and while I think that's a bit harder to argue, like I said I don't have the personal experience to draw from.

Criminalization also makes it really hard for prostitutes to report crimes committed against them. In a country where a judge will convict a rapist of "theft of services" after he and his buddies gang rape a prostitute at gunpoint, there needs to be a lot more protection for these workers. It's a travesty that we're not doing more to keep them safe. Decriminalization will make it easier for prostitutes to report crimes and hopefully make it harder to commit them in the first place by providing more sex worker support.

I know that I support decrim, but I'm not as sure about legalization. I'm curious what any of you think about that. I've heard a lot of support from the sex workers I know for decrim, but what would be the benefits of legalization, and the drawbacks? Opinions?

In any case, I am a San Francisco voter because I consider the Bay Area my home. So I'm voting yes on Proposition K. If you're a San Francisco voter, I hope you are too.

Communicating with the Rest of the World

One nice thing about being in San Francisco this summer was the sense of shared language and experience with the people I met. Granted, I was working in the sex field almost exclusively, but even random strangers I met in bars or through out-of-town friends knew what "polyamorous" meant. Relationships would come up and I'd say "I'm non-monogamous" and the response would be "Oh, that's cool."

Here in New York, however, the response is usually "What does that mean?" and "How do you do that?" and, subtextually, "Wow, you must be a sexual deviant extraordinaire."

Of course, I talk to guys in a strip club, but they aren't the only ones. And of course not everyone imagines I'm some crazy sex animal, but a lot of conversations get very awkward as soon as I mention polyamory, even if the other person's been talking about sex and their relationships for a half hour already.

I like educating people about polyamory, and it's really awesome when someone hears me and says "Wow, that's awesome. I never thought about that but it's kind of what I've been doing and I needed a name for it." Or when someone says "Good for you. Do what makes you happy," even if polyamory isn't for them. It gets taxing, though, having to explain every word that I would use to define my identity. Even "bisexual" isn't safe. ("Do you like boys more, or girls?")

The weird thing is that now I'm a senior, there's a new disconnect because the people around me are younger. I met a freshman boy in one of my classes, who was tall, cute, and friendly and followed me around for a while, to lunch and the post office and such. Sex and relationships came up in our conversation, and he's got a girlfriend who lives far away. He hasn't "asked her out" yet, but he also hasn't "messed around" with anyone else since the two of them hooked up. He's thinking he will "ask her out" soon, since she's coming to visit.

So when I try to say "yeah, I don't do monogamy" and explain all of that, I'm even one step further from his understanding. I mean, when I say I'm going to "ask someone out" I mean on a date. And if it goes well, we'll have sex. And then if that goes well, we'll do all it again. Months later, we'll talk about commitment and (not) being monogamous, etc. It's just a different mindset from 18 to 21. It was weird to have a language barrier in conversation with this person I otherwise got along with swimmingly.

So this year should be interesting. It's been my habit not to deal much with younger folks anyway, but I'm at a loss for what to do now that I'm the oldest one around. I want new people to play with. I know I can go off campus to find them and it'll be good practice for the real world, but it's so much harder. I guess I'll manage. Onward, ho!

G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S

Oo, Glamorous, Oo, foxy, foxy...

Fergie lyrics aside (yes, well all know she can spell), I'm living in this new house. With views like this from my desk.





I feel oh, so glamorous, sitting here writing about sex as I look out over the city.

I totally need to have sex looking out at this view, yeh? Something about shiny lights always makes me happy when I'm fucking. That and I love sex bent over a desk...

First Day of Summer

And boy can you tell. It's hot here. Really hot. And this is weird in San Francisco.

I'm freakin' boiling. It's partly because I'm babysitting the store front of the gallery where I volunteer. There is absolutely no air flow here, so I'm sitting in my own sweat, basically. Bleh.

I'm glad, though, on one front. If this keeps up until Sunday, when I have a day off, I'll get to go to the beach and it'll be perfect weather for that. It'll be crowded and jolly and probably saturated with sun and alcohol. My favorite kind of beach day.

I want to sit in the sand, drink beer, and feel a slightly cool breeze while I bake under my SPF 40 sunscreen. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.