Which is why I'm glad that (e) suggested we go thrifting this afternoon. In addition to the fact that we haven't gotten a chance to properly hang out since her tour ended, it lured me out of the house to do something fun (except for running errands, I stayed in yesterday), and I acclimated the wet weather. There was a persistent, aggressive mist, just thick enough to warrant an umbrella, though I decided not use one. Communing with nature and all. It's going to be like this if not worse for the next few months, and it may well rain on the nights of Wicked Messenger or plays or other things which require me to be out in the world, so, I deal. Which isn't to say I won't occasionally choose to stay home because of inclement weather if I'm not actually required to be somewhere. 'cuz I'm a lazy sod.

(e)'s right, though—I probably wouldn't be too happy in Seattle or Portland. It's also the one single solitary thing that makes Los Angeles seem appealing. Good thing it isn't enough.

10:56pm

Up, down, back up again. And then the other direction. Y'know what I mean?

It's nice to know that I can make it through the Sunday of a four-day weekend without feeling much of that old fashioned going-back-to-school anxiety, even though I'm going back to work tomorrow, which is essentially the same thing. Running around with (e) helped, and I've actually been fairly productive while I've been home, which helps keep the darker feelings at bay. For the most part.

it's not that there's nothing left to say. it's just that i don't know HOW to say it, and that scares me.

In any event, it was a little difficult not to giggle as we stood around the table on Thursday with Danielle's co-recoverers and their own families, reciting the prayer. I tried to say it as well, but quickly realized that I would burst out laughing if I did. As it is, I'm pretty sure I was guffawing noticeably. I couldn't help it. In addition to the fact that I find it very uncomfortable to pray—even mouthing the words to the Lord's Prayer in Night of the Living Dead, while my character kneeled in front of her father's grave, felt wrong—I've always been the laughing-in-church type. The more solemn the occasion, the more I get the giggles. Tristan was struggling to maintain his composure as well, though Violet informed us that his secret was thinking of the My Little Pony theme. I tell you, the man is a genius.

Though she's no more into the god thing than the rest of us—and, along with Violet, is an actual member of the Church of Satan—Danielle's used to it by now, and this place is ultimately light on the religion and heavy on the new-age crunchiness, complete with chakras and crystals. It's a vast improvement over the "Jesus Ranch" she was originally sent to in Ohio. It was very xtian, and of course didn't suit her at all. Which isn't to say she entirely fits in now (her counselor is concerned about the whole vampire thing), but it's a lot better. Another good thing about her current rehab is that it isn't twelve-step, but something called Rational Recovery, which of course has the twelve-steppers all in a tizzy, since it doesn't involve sublimating yourself to a quote-higher power-unquote. Free will is a scary thing.

And, unlike the Jesus Ranch, this place is women only, which is all the more perfect for a horndog like Danielle. She's first and foremost and trannychaser, though, which probably explains why she spent so much time just looking at me. It was a little unnerving at times, but I was the surely the first tranny she's seen in months, so being pretty for her was the least I could do.

We were only there for about four hours, but that was long enough for me to be mistaken for her. One of her co-recoverers noticed me out of the corner of her eye while doing something at the table, and called me Danielle. Her and (e) are the two people that's happened with (more often with (e), for obvious reasons), but I always take it as a compliment. Danielle said that I'm practically her anyway, and Violet amended that to me being Bizarro-World Danielle, one without the fangs or hard drug use.

Danielle has no idea where Norman is. For all she knows, he died in the hospital. That's a very good sign.

Speaking of drugs, Violet mentioned that he's often acted as a spirit guide for friends tripping on acid. I asked him if he was still willing to do so, and he said yes. Oh, man. Violet as a spirit guide. What a great concept. Not that I can ever find acid.

Also speaking of drugs, Liz was at the Gonzalez benefit the following evening, and we somehow got on the subject. She said that she'd recently turned down an offer of a 'shroom chocolate. I told her that what she should have said was, "Not for me, but I'll take it for my friend Sherilyn." She said she'll keep that in mind. Kids these days, though. I mean, I'll take it how I can get it, but in chocolate? In my day, we ate 'shrooms in their natural state, tasting like the manure field from whence they came, and by god, we enjoyed it...

Got a few compliments on what I was wearing, even though I was in what I consider to be street clothes. Michelle Tea's sister said I looked like a German spy. Considering that I'm usually told I look French, I consider that a step up.

The main reason I didn't really dress up at all was my fairly low energy level. My back had been hurting all day long—it was pretty bad during the walk from the car to the club—and I was bummed that I hadn't had a chance to write something new like I'd hoped. I got a bit of work done on the Hitch-hiker's script during the day, and also managed to pound out some fly0rs for the next Wicked Messenger, so it's not like I wasn't productive at all. But if I wasn't performing, I wouldn't have gone. (Which made it all the more touching that Cory, Tristan and eM were there, since I know they came primarily to see me.) In a weird way, I was glad that I was in pain and vaguely wishing I was somewhere else, because this sort of situation is certainly going to happen again. It's good to know I can give a decent performance in spite of all that.

And, boy, my Neon felt different. I'd forgotten how sensitive it was, especially compared to the Mustang; I practically gave myself whiplast the moment I stepped on the gas. Maybe it's just because of the new gasket, I don't know. But I do know I got a big huge grin on my face at that moment. (Look, at least it isn't a fucking SUV, all right?)

It cost what they said it would, a few hundred less than replacing the engine, and they also fixed the air conditioner. Not a big deal right now, but it'll come in handy on our next mid-year Fresno trip. Since it went on a credit card, I'm beginning to re-reconsider getting it painted and the having the rust holes repaired. It would only be a couple hundred more, would allegedly extend its lifespan—which I evidently want to do—and I can get it black. But if anyone asks, it's purely to extend the lifespan. Definitely.

In a little while I'll be picking up Violet and Tristan, and we'll go see Danielle. It's a potluck, and I wandered around Other Avenues for a while last night, trying to figure out what to bring. I'm no good at this sort of thing, especially since my own diet has gotten so esoteric. I wound up getting baby carrots and a seriously nummy tomato-basil spread, plus a bag of herb popcorn. All vegan, of course, because I'm a fascist who forces my own beliefs on others. I'm sure there'll be plenty of meat there for those who want it.

I've been up for a couple hours and had hoped to get some work done first, but, um, well, you know. There's a lot I need to get done on the Hitch-hiker's Guide script, and I have an idea for a new piece for the Matt Gonzales fundraiser tomorrow night. Actually, I have two different ideas percolating. Nothing's on paper yet, but still, even just having two ideas feels incredibly prolific. Tomorrow, hopefully. Which may not actually be the biggest shopping day of the year, but is definitely the day the xmas season really gets into swing But I'll have my work and my writing and Wicked Messenger and Hitch-hiker's Guide to keep me distracted. Won't even notice it, I'm sure.

sometime after midnight

Danielle is doing very well, and will be telling the world about it at Wicked Messenger in January.

It was a terrific Thanksgiving. If Maddy had been with us, it would have been perfect.

After getting back to San Francisco, we spent the rest of the evening at Tristan's. I dozed while they watched Waiting for Guffman. (Parker Posey is such a hottie. I think I've made that observation before.) I gave Violet a ride home at half past midnight, and since I was obviously still tired, he asked me to give him a call when I got home so he'd know I arrived safely. That was so sweet of him.

Lynnee admitted that he full-on procrastinating; he had a looming deadline to review some erotica for on On Our Backs and really didn't want to do that. I don't blame him. Sounds horrible, actually. So we hid for a while with Jim and Erin in their room. It had never struck me before, but damn, you put Erin and Lynnee in an enclosed space together, and it's like they're like long-lost fraternal twins. Quite funny to watch, really.

He says he's been enjoying getting back into the theater, and it shows. It's made me consider seeing if I can find him a part in my Twilight Zone episode.

After Lynnee finally convinced himself to leave, Jim and I went over the script, specifically working out the lighting cues for the just-returned Ty. Now I have to hope I can actually make sense of my writing. There's a first time for everything, I suppose.

10:29pm

Ah, irony: I have Friday off after all. It was a last minute decision on The Boss's part. I'd already said I was going to come in, since between his two stated options of not coming in and not getting paid or coming in and getting paid, the latter pays better. (That's me, always thinking outside the box.) He thought about it for a while and realized there simply wasn't going to be anything for me to do, and told me I could just have the day off. Paid or unpaid, I don't know. Didn't ask. I tend not to.

He asked me what I was doing for Thanksgiving, and I told him the truth: going to visit a friend in rehab. I didn't mention who it was, since he's probably never heard of Danielle Willis, who's back in California and cleaning up for realm, finally. He said that that was a very good thing of me to do. Hopefully, I scored a few points with him. God, I suck.