One particular instance; of many, when I used the Women's Restroom.

First, let me start by saying that due to space issues, most San Francisco businesses only have one restroom which is shared by both genders.  Regardless, the San Francisco By Area is a very open-minded progressive place and doesn’t target people under irrational claims backed by conservative mindsets.   So, I’ve used the women’s restroom or shared one with women many many times before, without any issues.

On a particular occasion, the Jewish Contemporary museum in San Francisco was hosting an Amy Winehouse cover’s night (July, 2015), to which I went in drag as Amy.  During intermission, I had to pee.  So here I am, six feet tall in a gorgeous black dress and a beehive.  I wasn’t comfortable going into the men’s restroom, so I opted out to use the women’s.  What I didn’t know was that a huge line had already formed before me.  So, as  I made my way past the two doors, I came upon a dozen or so women in line waiting to use the stalls.  It must have been quite a site.  I apologized and I said I felt weird using the men’s restroom in drag and that I hoped they didn’t mind.  One older lady said to me “You look like you belong here.”  I appreciated that.  

I sat down to pee.  I sat down with my six inch heels on and my panties around my ankles (yes, I even had panties on).  Now, I sit down to tee-tee at home all the time, but it was odd for me to have to sit down because I felt that I had to, but it was my compromise.  I’ve peed standing up before while wearing high heels; It’s nothing knew, but I sat down more so out of respect for the ladies, and because my beehive must have been towering over the bathroom stall.  I came out, washed my hands and left.  It was an episode that stood out to me from my evening.

The recent dialogue around the restricted use of rest-rooms based on gender in North Carolina brought up that particular Amy memory for me.  I didn’t go into that restroom to hurt anyone or take advantage of any ladies.  I am a gay man and have no sexual interests in women or their bodies.  I went into the women’s restroom because that night, I was a woman.  I was Amy.  And I felt more comfortable using the women’s restroom.  I felt safe there.  I felt welcomed.  I felt that I could retreat to do one of our most basic bodily functions in the company of others in the same vulnerability.   Period.   (I also recognize that my presence could have made some women uncomfortable, but I hope that the encounter and uneventful episode was on some level positive and educational for them too, as it was for me – especially now with this topic a flamed. 

Although for the most part I was welcomed into the women’s restroom, now I realized that, had this taken place in a different city or state, the outcome could have been an entirely different picture.  I am lucky to live in this place called the Bay Area, because we strive to make people happy; not marginalize anyone.   I really wish that the American conservatives would stop targeting sectors of the population and let people happy and free.  

Now, if a man is going to harass or assault a woman, it doesn’t have to be in a women’s restroom.  It will be wherever – criminals are everywhere and are determined to do their evil deeds; without putting on any makeup. 

Your Shit Online

The question about "How much should you share on social media?" has been around for years now.  There are stories with happy endings, and some with tragic ones.  And yet, our online behavior has not changed; if anything, because of the degree in which technology has incorporated into our lives, we don't even question our online reveals any longer.

So, that Saturday with the delicious carpet food, you shared with us about the dude who had become frustrated about the Goodling and shit.  If there was a moral that I took away from it that I could apply to my life, it was "If you don't want people to find your shit online, then don't post it". Period.

So, I met up with a friend to sing karaoke in Concord later that night at a bar.  It's a little dingy hole in the wall frequented by Walnut Creek frat boys and the typical East-East-bay white trash.  It's fun.  It's so dysfunctional that it's fun. 

At one point, I went to the men's restroom which has all walls covered with tiles.  Taped to there were several sets of paper mustaches, along with one dollar bill with "For a good time call (xxx) xxx-xxxx".  Because of the mustaches, I thought it was a clever way for the bar to promote.  And I liked it, so I took the dollar bill of the wall and brought it home.  Out of curiosity, I google the number to see if it was the number to the bar, but it turned out it was not.  So my next step was to plug into Facebook.  Bingo.  Hot sexy stud of a man.  But, things were not making sense until I realized that someone had played a joke on him.  So, I actually texted him and sent him a picture of the dollar bill along with a message that said "This was hilarious.  And clever".  Dude replied with:  "My buddy Thomas gives great head, call him at *********".  So, the joke went into deeper.

I plugged in Thomas' phone number into Facebook and was able to pull a profile, with so much information:  married, with kids, likes to ride dirt bikes and hunting.  His wife works at a college up in the hills.  So on so forth. 

Anyway, what is the moral of my story?  You have no idea how much of yourself you are divulging to the world, and how easily traceable it can be?  With a phone number from a bathroom wall, I was able to pull so much information on these two strangers and their lives.  So, yeah... if you don't want it known, don't post it. 

Alex

My cue to disengage should have been the minute “I’m a flight attendant” came out of his mouth.  Flight attendants are trouble; period.  I; however, didn’t really have any expectations and was simply enjoying the attention.  He was beautiful.  My complete cup of tea.  Handsome.  Flirty.  And his sidekick was hilarious – I may have liked her more.  Her and her exposed twatt. 

So, after Martuni’s he called for an Uber to come get us.  Ii didn’t come up for like 15 minutes.   While he fought with the driver over the phone, we stood at the corner and Hilary and I sang Amy Winehouse.  She’s a huge fan apparently.  The Uber wasn’t coming so we cancelled it and we walked up to the Mint and took my car.  The minute that we get into the car, the “flat tire” signal came on.  Really bitch?  Fuck.  I pulled over just to check the tires, but none were flat. 

The divine parking goddess understood my distress and saved me a spot right outside Badlands. Dude didn’t want to take his coat in so he left it in my car.  The bar was crazy packed.  They removed the dance floor corrals from before, so now the dance floor and the mob sort of expanded.  Everyone was drunk.  It’s really hard to go to places like this when you are drunk.

We got in line to get in, it was already like 1:15.  Paid our $3 cover.   Somehow, the minute we walked in, Hilary disappeared.  I was sort of looking for her, but dude was like “don’t’ worry about it.” – must be some form of unspoken BFF coding that had told him that she had left. 

Alex and I danced.  We kissed.  I could tell he was eyeing the other boys.  There were plenty of cute young drunk boys.  He kissed good.   I was simply enjoying just that.  Then he leans over, after two more beers which mostly ended up on the floor, and he asks me “What are you trying to do?”  I understood the question, but I pretended that I didn’t understand because it kind of caught me off guard.  He clarified his inquiry with “Are you trying to be a whore or are you trying to be good?” 

Part of this new sobriety cycle for me includes abstinence from poppers, pot and promiscuous sex.  I need to solidify my being.  I don’t need some external essence to be unbalancing  my focus.  With that said, if he had taken me home, I would have gotten naked and probably sucked him off or something… because you know how our morals and standards all get thrown out the window when we meet a hot man.   I mean, even at one point he took a long chug of his beer and he leaned closer to me and I thought he was going to kiss me and share the beer, and  I was like… Oh fuck it.  It didn’t happen, but the reality is that I probably would not have pushed him away with “I’m sober”, which I had already communicated earlier.

Anyhow, so I solidified my stance and I told him that I wasn’t trying to be a whore.  So, he kind of rolled his eyes a little and responded by telling me that he just got out of a long term relationship and wasn’t looking for anything serious; but that I was attractive.  Ummmm… Thank you?  He went to abandon his empty beer glass and I figured I’d wait for him on the dance floor.  He didn’t return.  I saw him from a distance talking to a cute guy.  Then they started grinding nearby.  This took no more than 30 seconds.  A few minutes later, the bar is getting ready to close and the lights come on.  Since I still had his jacket, I figured I’d hand it over… I should have kept that bitch!!  It was a nice jacket 

I stopped by and told him that we needed to get his jacket and to meet me outside.  So, I exited the bar  and stood there waiting for his ass while these packs of young queenie black gays were trying to pick fights with each other and the bouncers were trying to herd us down the sidewalk.  When he finally came out, he was with a different boy – cute, too young and totally drunk.  I gave him his coat, told him I wish Hilary had made it home safely and he ensured me she was fine and that he would send me video.  Video of what?  It was awkward and meanwhile, the little twink is standing by all territorial and shit. 

 

So, I got into my car with its “flat tire” dashboard light on.  Man.  I pulled off on Market outside Wholefoods to check the air pressure.  My left driver’s seat tire was at 24/32,  so I pumped it up – while some crazy cracked out person was yelling at me in gibberish and I could not understand a word he said.  Although, I think he was just really drunk and he had missed the BART and he was trying to find out if I was going over the bridge, but I didn’t even try to understand nothing.  I just wanted to get home.  So, I finished up and got back on the road, with my ego and my feelings being held together by the strings of the symphony. 

To end this story, while we were walking to the car, a homeless man passed us and Alex asked Hilary if she would fuck him for 100 dollars.  She said no.  So he raised it a little, she still said no.  Then he said, “fuck I’d do it for $20”.  Lol lol lol.  So, I said “I got a dollars!!”.  And we laughed and Alex said no, not for a buck.  And Hilary replied with “Why not?  You gonna do it anyways, might as well make a dollar!!”   That was funny; but I guess that was the moment when the night’s events were kind of foretold to me, so that when they happened, I wasn’t really surprised.  Maybe I was going to get fucked, for free – and I ruined that possibility by respecting myself… and I’m glad I did.  I’m beyond all this now, I am too “almost forty” to keep on playing the game. 

I feel bad that I abandoned you at Martuni’s.  That’s bullshit.  And I’m sorry.  I kind of lost my head a little. I was having and I wanted the night to continue.  But seriously Jose, I mean, they were both 27 and drunk as fuck.  I am 39 and sober.  Like, what real dynamic was there? 

 

I drank.

There are Two truths to be shared.  One:  I wanted to get vulnerable up on my soapbox and put this out there before word got out and you heard it from some another source.   Two:  I had been looking for an excuse to do it, or someone to enable it.   For the past two months, I had been surrounding myself with people, places and context that would facilitate and encourage me to. 

I drank last Sunday.  Two beers.  If you ask me what motivated me to do so, I would say that I don’t know, that it was entirely a conscious decision to drink and that it was uneventful and totally under “control”.  But in reality, all of the activity and turn of the clockworks and the grinds took place behind the scene, in a dark little place where the evil resides and orchestrates its wrong doings – deep, deep in the brain and the heart, or somewhere in between.   (However, I do know that the emotional stir began when my boss got unexpectedly terminated back in February; this event became the event that would snowball into a giant unmanageable emotional avalanche.)

Sunday, April  17th, was both a good and a bad day.  Good because the weather was gorgeous and I was in the company of good people.  Bad day because I opened up a tinny tinny door that leads to a “slippery slope”.  My first response was “eh”, you know.  It was nothing.  But I felt it; I felt the all-too-familiar evil stir from its slumber.  However little the alcohol may have been, it fueled it – it gave it the power it needed to begin to rise.  I heard it ask me for more.  I felt it stretching its stiff body.  I heard its bones pop as he began to move.  The only two things that kept from engaging it were my ego and the other alcoholic next to me who I watched transform right before my very eyes as he swallowed drink after drink – our conversation went from a “Hello” to hearing him describe the addiction-damaged relationship he upholds with his wife, which was literally a regurgitation of my very own story with my ex. 

So, now the challenge for me is to not only start from scratch with the calendar count of my days sober, but to take my sobriety journey to a deeper level.  It’s one thing to quit drinking and remain abstinent to it, and it’s another thing to dig deeper into understanding why you drank the way you did, and why you did the things you did and why you got the way you did when you got drunk.   And so, the next stage is for me to grab a better understanding of that underlying layer of the other me.

 So, here I am.  Day two of my new sobriety.  Do I get a chip? 

April 1st 2011 - It was no joke.

On April 1st of 2011, my then-partner and  I closed escrow on the house in Concord.  It was no joke.  A few weeks later after that we would be totally moved out of our apartment in San Francisco and supposed to be starting our new lives in our new home.  We had so many plans and had made so many resolutions to each other and ourselves - we wanted to change.  We knew shit between us was not okay and probably saw the house purchase as an opportunity to start a new - but in reality, it was more of a way of attempting to run away from our problems, not realizing that going to such a far away place from the city would only magnify our emotional states.  I know that I began drinking a lot more and I also started staying in the city a lot with friends; it was my way of dealing with the loss of San Francisco, but what I didn't see was that in this process I was also neglecting my home and my partner and we grew apart very quickly.  A year later, we separated and I set up on this other journey that seems to have started yesterday but that truly began 4 years ago.  Where did time go?  Where am I now?  Who am I?  Why am I here?  Where do I go from here?  Time has lapsed in such a way that I almost can't  account for it, because I really don't know were I has gone.  My ex is a total new person whom I can barely recognize and to whom I have little in common with.  Five years with him and then four without him and I still think about, even though separating was probably the best thing to do... You know, people find themselves in relationships that are simply convenient, not necessarily romantic or happy; but simply... functional.  I don't know what my relationship with my ex was.  Sometimes I want to label it as convenient, because it's easy to find some rational that justifies the failure; but when I allow myself to dig deeper, I remember the happy and meaningful moments and I then I have to be honest with myself and accept that I loved him dearly; more than I ever said and more than word could capture.  I have a history of self sabotaging, and I know that a huge part of my relationship failing had to do with my working to ruin it, because "I don't deserve goodness in my life."

Well, I didn't really know what I wanted to write.  But I needed to write something.  I wanted to capture that fact that I've been aware of the date.  My five year anniversary in this house.  Can you believe it?  I simply do not know what to make of it. 

Goal Setting Session with my sister - 9/12/99

My sister has always been my pillar, my inspiration, my motivator, my voice of reason and even my provider.  She has always come thru for us.  Of the many things we've been thru, there is one in particular that I will never forget; as it changed the course of my life:  My sister requested for my bother and I to meet up with her and discuss our short-term and long-term goals. We met for lunch and to take a look at  our plans on 9/12/1999.  The idea was to come up with goals in specific time increments.  Below are mine just as I captured them in my journal: 

1 Day - Write 10 things to do tomorrow.

1. Get up early (8 AM)
2. Clean Turtles Early
3. Have healthy breakfast
4. Go to work on time
5. Make lots of money and have fun
6. Go home and relax
7. Call friends and family
8. Think positively
9. Eat out with friends
10. Go to bed early.

1 Week

1. Start exercise program (Swim or Run)
2. Begin very healthy diet
3. Have 2nd Job lined up
4. Pay some bills

1 Month

1.  Gets HIV test done
2. See Doctor for health check
3. Go to San Francisco

3 Months

1. Loose 10-15 pounds
2. Spend December holidays in Mexico
3. November 15th - Party Hard!!
4. October 31st - Throw Halloween Party for Good Friends

1/2 Year

1. Move out of Reno
2. Maintain weight off
3. Focus on "Me"
4. Catch up with bills again
5. Get my own apartment

1 Year

1. Be back in School

2 1/2 Years

1. Trip to Europe & Asia

5 Years

1. Healthy & Beautiful
2. Have Volkswagen paid off

10 Years

1. Be graduated from College
2. Have no major debt
3. Have a house in USA

20 Years

1. 3 bedroom house in Mexico or small apartment in Mexico City
2. Small business (Restaurante Italiano)
3. Have lots of friends (Good Friends)
4. Be healthy

Dear Mimi: You're Fired.

No body got fired.  Relax.  It was something I said to the insubordinate.  But, before I get to the part about Mimi; which is the very end of the story, allow me to tell you about my Christmas Eve 2015. 

I was supposed to have today off.  Typically we work half a day on Xmas eve day and we are sent home early if the workload permits.  I didn't see the point of traveling the 27 miles and spending two hours and $12 on BART just to work 4 hours.  All along I had it in my head that I would just take the day off and have a four-day weekend.  I'm guessing somewhere along the line I decided that four days at home being the crazy cat lady (CCL) was a bit too much, so I decided to work today 12/24 and only be a CCL for 3 days.  To make the best out my "going to the city" day, I packed it with activities and errands.  Blood work in the AM, work, run, Mint, and a last minute Xmas Even mass.  And somewhere in there, I even had envisioned having a drink - yes, I had considered my relapse. 

The Blood work.  I was to fast.  The only thing I had had was a cup of black coffee before leaving the house.  I was extra grouchy on BART and looking for a person to victimize on Facebook; lucky for everyone, BART was nearly deserted.  This routine blood panel was supposed to have been done back in July, but I always forgot to either fast or forgot the damn form at home or my desk.  I finally remembered yesterday and made an early appointment.  I got there and the vampire lady only took two vials; very unusual and she didn't ask for a pee-pee sample.  I asked what was up?  My bladder was ready to burst.  She declined and stated that the doctor had not requested it.  I left feeling cheated, and I emailed my doctor and he reminded me that the paperwork had been given to me for a "quick" check on god-knows-what.  Anyway, all that fasting and running around and getting pocked for nothing.  I'm gonna have to do that shit again soon. 

After, I walked to work.  Passed many little places that were opened and were serving breakfast.  However, being the loyal customer that I am, I walked all the way to my favorite breakfast joint right by my office, only to find out that the fother-muckers did not open today.  I swore to Yelp negatively.  But, I will not; I understand.  So, I walked over to my 100th choice and got one of their super fat greasy dense burritos and made my way to our building, where not only were several high priority tasks impatiently tapping their foot waiting for me; but also a mass of children running amok thru the office.  My company brings in a poor desperate contracted soul that's willing to pretend to be Santa for 3 hours and listen to demands and expectations from mostly upper-middle class Caucasian and Asian children.  There was crappy food already at the office waiting for me.  I ate my greasy burrito and then I maneuvered my way thru the chaos known as children and reached the food table.  I ate donuts.  Yes, plural.  I ate donuts. Washed down with a glass of guilt and regret.  This was at 9.  I was to leave at 12.  But I was ready right then and there.  The following three hours were torture.

The run.  It had been raining all morning, but Tlaloc the God Of Rain was gracious enough to hold off the rain for an hour while I ran my six miles. I didn't really want to run.  This time it wasn't about my passion for running or the high and the endorphins; this time it was simply about balancing out the damn donuts.  The rain did not come, but the cold wind had no mercy and it made for a painful run. My balls were no where to be found.  I was more than thankful when I was done with it.  By this time, I'm hungry again and if the children had not eaten everything, I probably would have eaten more donuts.  When I got back to the office, the table was clean of any evidence  and the office was empty with the exception of the one particular overachiever still going at it. 

The Lunch.  Oh fuck, the lunch.  As you may recall, a few weeks ago on a Sunday, I made my way to the city to have lunch with my ex-roommate who we will refer to as Peter to ensure we don't damage his non-existent reputation.  That Sunday, I got up early, showered and took the train to the city to meet Peter at 1PM.  Some 10 texts and several knocks on his door later - no show.  He slept right thru our appointment.  I didn't have any desire of coming to the city that day, and so I just got back on the train.  As I reached Embarcadero station, I got a text from him "Hi".  Yeah, well:  FUCK YOU!!!  I thought.  You know, these lunches had gotten to be these events where I show up all clean and cute and he just rolls out of bed and puts on something covered in cat hair and cat puke and we go eat where he just bitches and treats the staff like shit.  I was so mad that he stood me that I swore to never meet up for lunch again.  I didn't answer his texts for about two weeks.  Finally one day I realized that I often destroy close and important relationships over stupid small things.  So, this is how today's lunch come about; it was our way of saying:  Bitch, I forgive you. 

Yes, Peter was on time today.  But he was not showered; he still was wearing the pillow on the back of his head.  But whatever, I thought.  I'm here for his company, not to take him out to impress anyone.  We went to a place in the Castro where our waitress was a young lady that used to be a boy and who has an attitude problem.  Now, Peter hates everyone and he ensures that his target knows. Well, I don't have to give you the details, but Peter got all transphobic and eventually we got ditched and our meal was wrapped up by another dude.  The food was okay.  The funny thing about these lunches is that Peter never has anything to contribute to the conversation - he suffers from depression and lives off of prescription pills and hardly ever leaves his room so technically if he doesn't pick up something from TV to talk about, he ain't got nothing.  It falls unto me to manage the conversation flow; and it's very exhausting.  Peter's situation has deteriorated considerably  since I moved out.  In the past 8 years he's lost a front tooth thru which food particles fly at you if he chooses to chat while he's chewing, so you have to be ready to either dodge the missile or cover your food (more work!!!).  He has lost a huge percentage of his vision due to diabetes, and he refuses to go see an eye doctor and get glasses. He has also lost feeling on his right toes.  It's a mess.  He allowed his insurance to lapse and so technically, he doesn't have a heath care provider.  Why am I telling you all this?  Because it's important to get a picture of what's going on with Peter and his apartment.

Peter lives with several other gay men in the heart of the Castro. He rents a place that he's lived in for over twenty years and is rent controlled and so his rent is like $25 bucks.  When I first moved in back in 2005, there was so much junk all over the hallway and he had told me that he was in the middle of painting, but the truth is that he is a hoarder.  The crap never vacated the hallway; I should have ran my finger along it to see that all this shit was actually permanently situated and covered in dust.  So in summary, Peter is a diabetic who suffers from depression, is a hoarder, is nearly blind, doesn't give a fuck and his roommates are douche-bags. 

During lunch, we started to talk about past roommates and the name of one who actually sued the property owner for multiple issues came up.  Peter then tells me that one of the accusations made by the roommate could actually have been true.  Let's call him Shawn.  Shawn was a prostitute, a drug addict, and a porn star.  Yes, I lived with a porn star ladies and gentlemen.  Anyway.  Shawn had claimed that there were rodents in the house.  I never saw one.  We had two cats.  How could that be?  But Peter tells me that they probably live in the walls, as he can hear them.  It makes sense, I mean; it's San Francisco, it's congested, and the buildings are all connected and these include several food establishments. 

After lunch, we stopped at Safeway and got some boxes of soda that were on sale for Peter to stock up on.  We walked to his place and I went upstairs to say hi to my kitty Mimi.  The place is much much worst now than it was when I lived there.  Peter's health and vision has deteriorated so much  that he just doesn't care anymore.  Before there had been certain level of maintenance; now there is none.  I went into the kitchen and met up with him there.  Mimi the cat was yowling and screaming with happiness to see me.  I was petting her when I saw in a crack on the floor what I had thought was a toy mouse that belong to Mimi the cat.  I went to kick it out of the way; but it jumped.  It FUCKING JUMPED!!  It was a baby mouse!!!  And Mimi was so busy with her devotion to me and I started to freak out and asked Peter for a  container, and then Mimi sees the mouse and she's like "Oh.  What's up?" and the mouse does not flinch.  Peter, thought it as a bug and he goes and  grabs a paper towel.  I looked at him and told him I couldn't deal with this and left the kitchen.  Apparently he picked it up with a paper towel and thru it outside.  Okay?  Outside.  I had to go.  But before I left, I went to Mimi and said:  "Guuuurrrlll!  You're fired!!'

We wished each other a merry Xmas and I got ready to leave.  I got to the bottom of the stairs and I see something.  Something flat. With a tail.  Someone had stepped on a fucking mouse and it was just there.  So, I screamed to Peter to come get it.  I don't know, my friends; this situation went from bad to really bad.  Not only is hoarding a fire hazard, but it is also a nesting ground for vermin.  And the fucking cat is in alliance with the mice.

The Mint. I am now walking to the Mint to go since karaoke.  It's about 3:30 PM.  I'm feeling devastated about lunch; about Peter's  situation and the transphobic behavior.  I'm tired from my run.  I'm craving alcohol.  I didn't know what would be going on at the Mint that early, and I didn't want to just go sit there and wait until time to get picked up to go to mass came about.  I knew that if I went to a bar, I would probably drink - Xmas makes me sad, and I act up by negotiating relapsing with myself.  Ugh.   On top of that, my cat Amy has a cold and I had NOTHING in my refrigerator to get me thru Xmas Eve and Xmas day until shit opens up again on Saturday.

So, it wasn't really that I went totally CCL today, it was more so that I pulled the plug on my afternoon events because not only did I want to come home and go get food, but primarily I was devastated from the earlier events and I seriously wanted to get drunk.  So I got my ass home.  I went to Trader Joe's and got the usual, but even then as I passed the red wine, I had my mini moment of "burning desire". 

I'm glad to be here at home now.  I do wish I had gone to the mass and listen to my best friend play the piano, but the way the day had unfolded, I felt that I really needed to get back to my safety zone and pull myself together. 

So, ladies and gentlemen, this was my Xmas Eve 2015.  Oh, and I did find the baby Jesus and he will be placed in between Mary and Joseph at midnight.