Giving Thanks

I love to make bulleted lists, and Thanksgiving is the perfect time to make one. This year, here are the things I am thankful for:

• My best friend came into the bathroom when I was showering yesterday, sat on the toilet, and announced her "special time" had started. I am thankful I don't have "special time". I was also thankful that she didn't poop while I was still in the bathroom.
• Seriously, I'm thankful to live with my best friend, who still has the gift of making me laugh through anything.
• I'm thankful I have hair. My bald boyfriend is hot and all, but when I got that horrible haircut three weeks ago that I had to grow out, I realized that having hair gives you a lot more versatility with your look.
• I'm thankful that the nose hair trimmer that I bought at a 99-cent store in 1997 still works, despite the bottom end of it melting a little bit from leaking battery acid.
• I am very thankful to be home in San Francisco, where November days are as warm as June days, drag queens roam the streets collecting money for charity, men do their grocery shopping in leather shorts and vests, and the view from Twin Peaks still sends shivers down my spine.
• Tonight I went to my friend Alejandro's house to chat over a glass of wine. A friend of his who was raised on a farm in Kansas was visiting for Thanksgiving. I am thankful that his friend became the first person ever in my life to admit to having sex with an animal (when he was a kid on the farm). He said, and I quote, "Goats are tighter than chickens, because chickens lay eggs."
• I'm thankful for my new relationship. He is handsome, affectionate, empathetic, and very bright, and becomes my own personal porn star every time he takes his clothes off. And he wants to do me all the time. I'm very thankful for that. Every time actually.
• Like every year, I am thankful for my family. My mother and Bob, my sister, and my three nieces are the most loving multicultural homo-centric emotionally supportive mosh pit of a family that a boy could every hope for.
• I am thankful that I get partial usage rights of my best friend's convertible Mustang, even though its not air tight, which allowed a spider in today that came down on a string of web in front of my face while I was driving and caused a girlier shriek than should ever escape my lips followed by me opening the door and slapping at the air while I literally drove past a busy Safeway parking lot full of people looking at me going, "What the fuck?"
• Speaking of my voice, I'm thankful that God gave me that natural talent to sing, though I wonder why I can only carry a tune three octaves above my speaking voice. Seriously, I can belt a Whitney Houston tune. Just ask my poor poor roommate who wakes up to the big notes from "I Will Always Love You" first thing on Saturday mornings. Sorry honey. I'll try to sing like a boy next time.
• I'm thankful that about 10% more of California voted for gay marriage this year than in 2000 (48% in 2008, 38% in 2000). Hopefully within 8 more years I'll be thankful that another 10% finally made us equal citizens under the law.
• Back to San Francisco, I'm thankful that people here are naked all the time. Naked at Folsom Street Fair. Naked at Castro Street Fair. Naked at Bay to Breakers, naked at protests, naked walking down the street, naked in my window when I get interrupted from getting dressed by a good song and have to dance my naked ass off. Naked.
• I'm thankful that you read all the way to the last bullet.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone. xoxo

The Perfect Weekend

At the end of this last September, my friend Alex threw a jock strap and waffles brunch on the morning of Folsom Street Fair. My first thought was that it would be a bit strange to hang out in my jock strap with my group of friends and eat waffles, but he assured me that there would be enough guys I didn't know for it to be interesting. Sure enough, I met a bunch of great guys, including a couple of best friends named Michael and Andy from Los Angeles. They were very sweet, and when we finished our waffles at the same time, we decided to head to the fair together. My lover D and I put our clothes back on (seriously, we ate brunch in our jock straps), and the four of us spent the afternoon taking in the madness of the world's biggest S&M event. You would be suprised how quickly you bond when you see people get whipped or blown or fisted in the first few hours of your friendship. By the end of it, Michael invited us to spend a weekend with him at his second home in Palm Springs.

This last weekend, D and I took him up on his offer. D has been really stressed by work and I just run at a high stress level normally, so both of us were looking forward to a nice relaxing weekend by the pool. We flew down to Long Beach and then rented a convertible, hoping to unwind as we took in the Southern California scenery. Stupidly though, we underestimated the traffic, and our peaceful drive quickly turned into a frustrating nightmare of Orange County Friday evening traffic.

Three hours later, when we found Michael's house in Palm Springs, we couldn't get out of the car fast enough. Michael's neighborhood was dark, not a street lamp in sight, and I had to walk right up to the door to make sure the street number was correct. When I saw that it was, I opened the door and stepped inside. The house was gorgeous; a one-story glass and marble masterpiece with a stone fireplace in the middle and a shimmering pool through the sliding glass doors. By the pool was a group of men talking loudly and clanking cocktails. I got very excited, and started walking towards them. Unfortunately though, my eyes hadn't adjusted from the dark outside, and I didn't notice two shallow steps in the perfectly polished white floors. I stumbled a bit on the first one, and then hit the edge of the second with only half of my left foot. My foot bent inwards, and as my ankle went to the ground, I heard a snap, crackle, or pop. I stood there in shock for a moment, and by the time Michael made it inside to kiss me hello, I realized I had a problem.

D and I decided to skip our dinner reservations with the group so that we could go to the hospital. Halfway there though, we realized that we didn't want to spend the night in the emergency room. So instead we got Del Taco and went back to the house. The pain and embarrassment had exhausted me and I fell asleep quickly, but by the time the sun was rising the pain was keeping me up. At 7:30 D and I got up and went to a nearby urgent care facility, where after 2.5 hours we discovered that my foot did indeed have a small fracture. The doctor told me to go home and ice it throughout the day; 30 minutes on, 30 minutes off. On my vacation? Fat chance.

So instead of taking the doctor's advice I decided to get drunk and avoid the pain. The rest of the day was a drunken train wreck. It was Leather Pride in Palm Springs, and by early afternoon the entire house of guys headed down to the fair. Unlike Folsom Street Fair though, this fair was one block long in front of a strip mall that housed Palm Springs' only leather bar. The lack of excitement probably led me to drink a bit too much. In fact, I can't say I remember the end of the fair. I do vaguely remember getting back to the house around dusk, and passing out in the bed. I woke up and hour or two later, still drunk, to find most of the house naked and either swimming or running around drinking cocktails. Though D was perfectly behaved, I was drunk enough to pout my way into an argument, which I don't really remember though I think we both cried. I also don't remember how we made up, but by the time we left to the bar a bit later I had another drink in my hand and I just loved him more than pony and rainbows and kittens.

Our next stop was a bar, where Michael put a little bit of happy in everyone's mouth. Then we were at a leather dance party in a different strip mall from earlier in the day. Again, I don't remember much here, though I do remember being so trashed that I was sprawled out on a bench in the back of the club. When D found me I was probably rubbing my nipples with my eyes rolled back (I think I'm exaggerating), and then my next memory is barfing in the bathroom. Then more nipples on the bench. Then barfing again. Seriously, I must have looked H-O-T. And then finally, we went home. I don't exactly remember going to bed either, though I do vaguely remember standing over D and seeing that he was already asleep, so at least I made it longer than him that time.

I woke Sunday to headache and regret. But as I lay there in the quiet, I realized that there was no more party to be had. I could finally relax. I looked over toward D, and he looked so adorable. When I reached out and touched his arm, his hand opened and took mine, and he moaned in a tone that I know to mean "Good morning." I rolled over and pressed myself against his side, put my head on his chest, and took the time to let my thoughts quiet, to be at peace, and to be in love. The first half of the weekend was a complete disaster, but by the time we got out of bed for the last time early Sunday afternoon, I felt like I finally had my perfect weekend.