Sherilyn Connelly > Diary > February 21 - 29, 2008

My Face for the World to See (Part II):
The Diary of Sherilyn Connelly
a fiction

February 21 - 29, 2008


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Friday, 29 February 2008 (drifting like a satellite)

Last night's excuse for not going to the gym was spending the night with Ennui after the dress rehearsal of Ten Commandments. I hooked up with her (sorta) beforehand at Glama-Rama, where she was getting her hair cut and recolored. (The last time I was there, the artwork on the walls was very different.) Unfortunately, she was still in the chair when I had to head to the Dark Room to get ready, but it was reassuring to peek through the curtains a little later before the show and see her in the audience. I could sorta make her out in the audience when I was onstage during the play proper, but it's tough to see past the bright lights, and besides, you aren't supposed to be scanning the audience anyway. It helps that in my first play, Night of the Living Dead, I had to walk through the audience as they stood in the gallery and Spanganga and yet not be aware of their presence. It was good practice.

After the show we returned to Cassandra, first stopping for a beverage at a bar in her neighborhood. My idea, even. I'm now the kind of person who says wanna get a drink? So funny how things change.

We sleep together very well. Sometimes it's difficult with other people to find the right dynamic, whose arm goes where and such, but it always comes naturally for us.

This morning, she teased me about the fact that I wore my sunglasses while at Glama-Rama last night. Which is true. It's bright in there and my eyes are sensitive—indeed, I feel like I hadn't realized just how bright and glarey the world is most of the time, and these glasses give it a pleasing blue/gray tint, like it's about to rain, or like a James Cameron film—I also can't deny that I think they look good on me. So, yeah, they're an affectation. There's very little about my appearance that isn't.

So I tried to back in my office chair earlier today, and couldn't. The wheels didn't appear to be caught on anything, and while there was ripping sound from below I sorta figured it was the construction happening downstairs. I tried again, with the same result. Couldn't move the damn chair at all. I climbed out (more difficult than it sounds) and discovered that the metal cylinder thingy in the middle had pretty well dropped entirely and scraping against the ground. Even better, the metal cylinder thingy had ripped up the carpet, hence the aforementioned ripping sound. I immediately told Officer Dave that the security deposit on the building was officially gone, and he assured me I have nothing to worry about. Within ten minutes I have a new chair, one which is in much better shape than the other, comfier and better at rolling. Yay for little upgrades.

The destruction of the chair is still troubling, though. It probably has nothing to do with me personally, but it makes me feel big and lunky. I am big and lunky, truth be told, and Iike Lenny in Of Mice and Men, I often don't know my own strength. Or my own bulk, as the case may be. I don't want the bulk or the strength, I've never wanted it, but there's nothing I can do about my height or my bone structure, either.

And this isn't the first time I've demolished a chair, either. It happened in elementary school, in the fourth or fifth grade. I sat down in a chair, and bam, I fell to the cold flooer as the chair split into green plastic shards. There was much laughter, and I was more than a little embarrased. Even then I was taller than everyone else, and one of the least popular kids in the school. There were still a few kids that I looked down on for their perceived geekiness, of course. I did have one really good friend, someone whom I considered my best friend. I haven't had many best friends in recent years, though. Usually they've doubled as my girlfriends, such as Maddy or Vash. (Though Maddy and I were arguably closer in that regard, probably because we lived together and did a lot more things together, so we had more of a "partners in crime" kinda vibe.)

Anyway, though I was mortified and hoped the chair-breaking incident would be forgotten, that "best friend" of mine kept it alive. In some sort of end-of-the-schoolyear "memorable moments" sort of thing, he listed me breaking the chair as one of his favorite moments of the year. Which, in retrospect, was pretty fucked up of him. I was vaguely aware of the fuckedupness of it at the time, but wasn't really in a position to get mad at the one person who actually deigned to hang out with me after school. In a few years that would be a moot point, since as we evolved into high schoolers he started to hang out with the cool kids, and he dropped me like the social liabilitly I was. By our senior year, we barely spoke at all. Nothing new under that particular sun.

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Thursday, 28 February 2008 (endings)

Last night's excuse for not going to the gym was that I'd quite dumbly left my gym shorts at home. I had everything else I needed after rehearsal to go straight to the gym, but not that rather important bit. By the time I went back home and then returned the gym would have been closed (I reckoned), so instead I stayed at the Dark Room until after midnight, working on a much-needed update to my site.

There's something about tooling through the Outer Sunset late at night—that stretch between 40th and 46th where you're going downhill without stop signs—while singing loudly along with Dylan's "Where Are You Tonight? (Journey Through Dark Heat)" that's rather giddy-making.

there's a new day at dawn and i've finally arrived.
if i'm there in the morning, baby, you'll know i've survived.
i can't believe it, i can't believe i'm alive,
but without you it just doesn't seem right.
oh, where are you tonight?

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Wednesday, 27 February 2008 (people ain't no good)

Irony! So I went to check out the Gold's Gym in the Castro on Monday afternoon during lunch, and signed up right then and there. Three month contract, very inexpensive, and I know I need to start now, if it's going to happen at all. I also know I'm reaching rock bottom regarding my body image, and I have to start getting into shape before my mood takes a serious hit. On Tuesday afternoon I went home after work to gather up my various gym things (including the magazine rack The Ex gave me for Christmas in 1998, one of the most thoughtful and useful gifts ever), then to Ten Commandments rehearsal. My plan was to go to the gym after rehearsal and stay until they closed at midnight. Instead, a friend needed to talk, so I hung out with them until midnight. We also went to a restaurant where we ate food which was, To put it mildly, the antithesis of exercise. As I say, irony!

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Tuesday, 26 February 2008 (going in the canon)

Just sent this email to my landlord:

Subject: Litter in front of apartment.
Once again, they put a bulk item (a large children's toy) out with the trash, it didn't get picked up, and it's still sitting there now. Please ask them to remove it, and to not leave junk out front. Thanks.
Because, you know.

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Monday, 25 February 2008 (broken bar)

Friday after work, I ventured downtown to meet Ilene at the Jenkins Johnson Gallery for the Midnight Carnival exhibit. The photographer Chris Raecker took pictures of a carnival while in operation during the day (and as recently as the Fourth of July last year, judging from one of the backgrounds) and did some digital futzing to make them all noirish and stuff, black and white and moody and spooky. I'm a sucker for that sort of thing, so of course I liked it a lot. My favorite was The Claw, which reminded me of the tripods from The War of the Worlds scooping up humans. Neat. Ilene dug it too, as I'd hoped she would. Upstairs was work by Lori Nix, which I also enjoyed quite a lot. While there, I reflected on something Jezebel told me recently, that she's been getting a kick out of telling people she doesn't like art. All art, across the board. She says it's boring and she doesn't get much out of it. What's more, she theorized, most other people don't either. The average person simply feigns interest as so not to be considered ignorant. I don't buy it, quite frankly, but what the hell do I know? I still have one of Vash's pieces on my wall, and I always will, in spite of the associated pain. It's a beautiful drawing, I like it, and it reminds me of the happiness. That's how I want to remember her.

The gallery closed at six, so we somewhat arbitrarily headed into North Beach (remarkably finding parking in spite of the Chinese New Year closures) to have dinner at House of Nanking. She'd never been, and I was evidently craving standing in line outside in the cold wind and then sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers as we ate food saturated with soy sauce. But it's a damn good soy sauce they use, and the food is always yummy. From there we walked around North Beach for a while, then realized there was no good reason to walk around in the wind, so we returned to Phoebe and went to Ilene's place after a stop at Rainbow to pick up dolma and olives and hummus. (Mmmm. Dolma.) We tried to go to her place, anyway, but if parking was gnarly in North Beach, it was pretty well nonexistent in her Civic Center-ish neighborhood, so we went with Plan B and headed to the Black Light District. We watched Steven Soderbergh's remake of Solaris, a movie I adore, then crashed. We both wore our jammies. It's our dynamic.

On Saturday morning we had breakfast at The Sea Biscuit, and I dropped her off at her place on my way to the Dark Room for Ten Commandments rehearsal. Our first in full costume. It's coming along nicely, and I even have decent footwear, a pair of gold sandals I bought many years ago and had thought for sure had been tossed during my cleanundpurge over the holidays. I had plans to get some writing done after rehearsal, and then hook up with Ennui after her band rehearsal. Instead of being productive, I crashed out on the couch in the Dark Room's green room. I awoke when Ennui called at a quarter past five. As I walked to Phoebe and drove to Cassandra, in the cold rain, I just could not stop yawning, my body refusing to wake up. It was quite unpleasant, and actually one of the reasons why I try not to nap in the afternoon. Aside from that being when I get the most fucked-up dreams, it takes forever for to wake up. (Jesus, I'm yawning now just thinking about how I felt then.) I was doing better by the time I saw Ennui. She has that effect on me.

Ennui said she was craving spicy food, preferably Indian or Thai. We'd already gone to the King of Thai on Taraval once and I like taking her to new places, so we went to Golden Gate Pizza and Indian Cuisine at 46th and Judah, a few doors down from one of the seediest 7-11s in the Sunset. (There are two 7-11s in the Sunset, and they're both pretty gnarly, but the Outer Sunset one is worse, with a higher level of derelicts and panhandlers. Go us!) We had a yummy meal, every bit as spicy and floaty-making as Ennui had been hoping for, then returned to the Black Light District. In the same position as the night before (but more entangled) we watched Ed Wood and Good Night, and Good Luck. The former had been planned, and the latter was because I found I was in the mood for a another modern black and white movie about Fifties media. (It's a thing of mine.) Ennui liked both, and bonded with perdita. We then went to bed, flesh against flesh. (Mine and Ennui's, that is. Perdita was above the sheets as we slept.)

I had rehearsal at noon on Sunday, and I finally found the will to get out of bed at half past ten. We talked a lot, though, the good kind of processing, reassuring and reaffirming. She told me things I needed to hear, without me having to ask or even fish for it. We fit, in a lot of crucial ways. I won't be disappearing the way I did last fall.

We had breakfast at The Sea Biscuit, and I dropped her off at her place on my way to the Dark Room for Ten Commandments rehearsal. (It all seemed familiar, somehow.) A new element was added to my costume: ginormous bazooms. They're really quite disconcerting, but as Erin points out, my character Bithia is matronly. I guess "matronly" means "Kitty Kastro breasts," at least in ancient Egypt. After rehearsal I did some errand-running, including a gloriously gluttonous meal at the sushi boat place in Japantown. Not the best sushi in town by a long shot, but it's good for instant gratification. Even better was the disapproving looks from the fellow sitting next to me, since i was using my fingers rather than the chopsticks and making a big mess in the process. It's good for the soul.

We ended Elvis month at Bad Movie Night with Blue Hawaii. Ugh. So glad to have those behind us. Not that next month, with focusing on Eighties action movies, is going to be much less painful.

Meanwhile, it must be that time of year, since I'm feeling the pull to try the gym thing again. Being so lumpy and out of shape has a lot to do with it as well, I'm sure. Anyway, NakedSword has a corporate account at Gold's Gym, and for an extremely reasonable rate, cheaper than anywhere else in town. I've also developed a theory that what's known to be the gayest gym in town—the Gold's in the Castro—will also be the most trans-friendly. That is, I can use the women's restroom and not feel the extreme anxiety which drove me away from Crunch. There's a lot wrong with this theory, as evidenced by this Yelpster who's troubled by trannies in the women's restroom, but still, it's worth a shot. Something's gotta give.

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Sunday, 24 February 2008 (micro sign)

Both Ilene and Ennui tell me my bed is very comfortable, and they sleep well in it. Yay for the flannel upgrade.

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Friday, 22 February 2008 (little one)

Though I had a lot of work to do and not much time in which to do it, I was very tempted to play hooky last night. It was the final night of Blade Runner: The Final Cut at the Castro, and Cloverfield has finally dropped out of the top ten, which means it's safe for me to venture into a theater to see it. I would be more inclined to just wait for DVD if not for the teaser trailer of the new Star Trek playing beforehand. (If memory serves, the last time I went to a movie just for a Trek trailer was Crocodile Dundee in 1986.) And I've seen Blade Runner in the theater before, but not this new version, which by all accounts lives up to the hype. But I had the Medialoper article to finish, and I still haven't written about last Friday, and and I decided to drive by The Sea Biscuit. If my table was open, I'd stay and I'd write, and if I had enough done in time, I'd go to the 10:10pm showing of Cloverfield. The table was just opening up when I got there—and a group of breeders with their brood were just leaving, amen—so I worked for a couple hours, finishing up the article sooner than I expected. I called Rhiannon, who joined me for the movie. I'm usually fine with going to movies by myself, but this one seemed like it would be more fun with a friend. Not a full audience, mind you, and as I'd hoped it was mostly empty. I enjoyed the movie, even if at times I was harshly reminded that for all its verite trappings I was still watching a studio movie. It made me respect The Blair Witch Project all the more.

Since I talk about NakedSword's corporate culture and its place in the gay porn industry, I asked Officer Dave to take a look at the article this morning before I published it, just to make sure I didn't divulge any trade secrets or anything else which would get me fired. He read it and told me it was fine, so, it's live now.

Tonight, Ilene and I are going to the photography exhibit A Midnight Carnival at the Jenkins Johnson Gallery. Beyond that, there's no telling.

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Thursday, 21 February 2008 (a circumflex)

I have tonight and Friday more or less off, and then I'm at the Dark Room every day from Saturday until next Sunday, either for Ten Commandments or Bad Movie Night or both. It's good, though. I like it there, and the play is a lot of fun, both onstage and off. All the same, after we open it'll be nice to get my weeknights and weekend days back so I can refocus on my writing. As it is, my Medialoper article on the GayVNs is taking forever. I don't like the idea of it not going live until a week after the event, but then again, I doubt the average Medialoper reader is going to be aware that it's late.

Got my new sunglasses today. They're taking a bit of getting used to since the prescription is different, but I like them. My new prescription:

O.D.- 0.75- 0.75 100
O.S.- 1.00- 0.75 085

So those are my eyes, pretty much. And my blood type is A-Positive. I know that much about myself.

I put my driver licence in Phoebe's glove compartment, and am carrying my identification card in my wallet. That's how I used to do it, but for the last few years I'd been carrying my license on my person since I frequently drove Vash's car. It took me this long to realize that isn't an issue anymore.

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