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Monday, 20 October 2008 (stretching 'til it breaks) 2:18pm I'm leaving early today to go see my doctor, for the first time since July. Not looking forward to it, as usual, beyond a certain curiosity as to whether or not he'll notice that I'm in better shape now. My guess is that he won't. All I know is that I'm not going to let him lower my estrogen any further. I was talking to Raphela about him on Friday. Which I mentioned that he's a total douchenozzle with a horrible bedside manner who refuses to take me seriously, she asked the logical question: why do you still see him? Why, indeed. sometime after midnight Yeah, I'm definitely calling Lyon-Martin tomorrow. Frack this shit. | ||
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Sunday, 19 October 2008 (the autumnal resurgence) 11:10am I arrived at Taste of Rome (nee Caffe Trieste) in Sausalito at four on Thursday. I wasn't supposed to meet Laura until five, but I erred on the side of caution with Golden Gate Bridge traffic, and figured I could use the extra time to get some work done. It also meant I might be able to calm down a little bit. I was unaccountably nervous. It felt more like a job interview than just meeting someone for...well, for whatever it was we were doing. Having coffee-esque beverages before she gave a reading. Nothing new or unfamiliar to me there on any level, not at all. And it wasn't even first-date nerves, something else I was quite familiar with. Or it was like them but far more intense, which was ridiculous and stupid because it wasn't a date. Which didn't keep my heart from pounding and for me to get so nervous I was dizzy at times. As soon as I stepped inside the cafe, I felt like what I was: a Mission tranny in Sausalito, not belonging. But that was okay. I'm used to it. Hell, I'm first and foremost and Outer Sunset girl considering I've lived there for thirteen years (since before I was a girl, even), and I've never entirely fit in there, either. I was hand-editing a story when Laura arrived. We hugged (I wasn't sure if that was going to happen, if it would be presumptuous, but lest we forget, it's California, and at that moment I couldn't have been happier to be a native of the Golden State), and as she got settled I went to the counter and bought us beverages, a chamomile tea for me and a Pellegrino for her. As I returned with the drinks, she was paging through a copy of her book, trying to decide what to read. She admitted that she was getting tired of reading from it, which is something I've heard from a lot of different writers say about their books, and which I can relate to. Heaven knows there's some of my stuff which I'll be happy to never read aloud again, not because I don't like them anymore (though there are certainly a few pieces which make me cringe now) but because I'm done with them. I tried not to get too me me i i, but it took me a while to get out of that nervous babbly state. Laura was also asking questions, obviously being at the disadvantage, what with her not having had a book of mine to read beforehand. At the same time, I was aware that I didn't really know her, that a book can't define a person. But it was a good start, and I wanted to know more. I also declined to mention that I had a crush on her. No point. We talked and got on and made each other laugh, and the initial awkwardness dissipated. My heart even beat at a mostly normal rate, though I still blushed a lot. Considering that I wasn't wearing any makeup, she probably noticed. The organizer of the show arrived bearing sunflowers, still on their yard-long stalks and everything. He gave one to Laura, then asked her if she thought I might like one too. Laura replied: why don't you ask her? So he asked me, and I said yes. We had sunflowers! As Laura put hers in her empty Pellegrino bottle, I confirmed with the organizer it was, in fact, an open mic—the event flyer suggested as much, but the wording was vague—and that it didn't have to be poetry. He said yes to both. Well, that settled that. I was going to read something. Wasn't sure what, but I'm always happy to perform and was doubly excited for Laura to see it, to get to do my dancing monkey routine for her. Another visitor to our table was a local politico, a candidate for Sausalito City Council. When Laura introduced me to her as my friend sherilyn, my heart fluttered a little, for neither the first nor last time that evening. I knew that were two possible outcomes for the evening: the crush would dissipate, or it would get stronger. And it wasn't dissipating. The candidate was supposed to speak prior to Laura's reading, but evidently there was a scheduling conflict and she wouldn't be able to stick around. She stayed long enough to schmooze with me (I didn't have the heart to tell her I was registered to vote in San Francisco) have Laura autograph a copy of her book—autograph the same copy for the second time, though I didn't quite understand why—and introduce Laura to the audience. It was still early and most of them were the pre-show laptop crowd, but they were gracious all the same. We decided to get food, since the show was likely to run late, thus making getting dinner afterward (which I suggested in a rounadabout away) impractical. She offered to buy, and we went to the counter and each ordered a salad. When the waitress brought them out, she said: i had a hunch it was going to be this table. I can only conclude that she felt it conformed to some (archetype? stereotype? cliche?) that the two lanky blonde girls would be getting salads. I'm sure the fact that we each kinda picked at them and only ate half looked even more classic. Laura asked me about the shows I have coming up, and I told her about Rhiannon's show I AM SNOWMISER: Walken in a Winter Wonderland (in which I play a biographer who's interviewing Sean Owens playing Christopher Walken as he tells me about his involvement in the classic Rankin-Bass Christmas specials), as well as my concurrent solo performance at The Garage. For the open mic, I decided to read "Will the Night," the story I was currently editing about my first date with Ripley. It needed work, though. A lot of work. Throughout the evening, when Laura would be away from the table or when she was looking through her book deciding what to read or when other people were reading (though when Laura was on stage she had my full attention), I tore it apart and rebuilt it, editing and rewriting and crossing out and editing and rewriting and even writing an entirely new first paragraph which I knew wouldn't I be reading that night for time reasons but which would be part of the version I read at Sadie's show. Occasionally I saw Laura sneaking a glance at my story. I considering teasing her for peeking, but instead I was just happy that she was interested enough to look. As the main feature she opened the show, reading a chapter from her book and taking questions about how she got published. Then it was on to a veritable marathon of performers, mostly poets, many of them old hippies, and almost none of them following the guidelines on the flyer of "one poem per poet." As I understood it, the actual open mic portion for which I'd signed up didn't begin until after the twenty scheduled poets. Alas. The cafe was packed and there were people all around us, but it was just Laura and I at our table, so it had an intimate-in-a-crowd feeling. We weren't cuddling (as I wanted to but was afraid to ask for fear of moving too fast, especially because she certainly didn't feel the same way about me as I did about her), but we were very close to each other, shoulders frequently touching. Every now and again, one of us would whisper something snarky into the other's ear, and we'd giggle conspiratorially. It was a lot of fun, and we were riffing like two old pros. Which I already knew I was, and it was great to discover she is, too. As I say, most of the performers were poets, but not all. One was an older gentlemen, probably in his early seventies, who did a heartbreaking a capella rendition of "Some Enchanted Evening." I'm not sure why it got to me, and...well, okay, that's not true. I know exactly why it got to me. During one particularly unscintillating poet (there were some good ones, mind you), she picked up her sunflower and started showing me the different parts, whispering: see, in there, that's where sunflower seeds come from. it's full of them. and feel right here, towards the outside of the spiral—doesn't that feel like astroturf? I felt it, and it did, as I thought to myself: oh, man, you just keep getting more endearing. this is dangerous. She got a small bag of almonds out of her purse and put it on the table in front of us, saying: please, help yourself. i've got a lot more at home. and it's okay, the skinny bitches would approve. I laughed—not too loud, I'm experienced at covert inappropriate laughter during shows—and busted out a Ziploc bag of soy nuts from my backpack, putting it next to the almonds. A little while later, she put poured the rest of the almonds into the bag of soy nuts. yeah, I thought to myself. this is really, really dangerous. The show dragged on, some people taking far more time than they should have. I told Laura about the K'vetch time rules which Cindy and I had adopted at the Queer Open Mic: one piece, three minutes or less, period, with the threat of the Scary Scarf of Doom waved at anyone who went too long. At one point I leaned over to her and whispered: i promise my piece will be worth the wait. She whispered back: there's no doubt in my mind. I worried that Laura, who was beginning to yawn, would have to leave before I went on, whenever that may be. Quite the contrary, as she every so often checked in with me, making sure that I was hanging in there and not getting too tired. I told her the truth: that it's been a long time since I've slogged through an endless open mic, and it was a lot of fun to do it with her. Finally it was my turn to go on. As I walked to the microphone I was again aware of how much I stood out, the Mission tranny in Sausalito, and who was about to read something very different, and in a different style. But it was okay. I'm used to being the odd one, and what's more, I was there with Laura, and that made me feel bulletproof. In my intro banter I related the piece to the primary metaphor of her book, because it did touch on similar themes, and what's more, I wanted to return a bit of the spotlight to her. Because so much of the piece had been (re)written in a tiny scrawl between the doublespaced printed lines, I had to look at the page more and have less eye contact with the audience than I would have liked, but I still tried my best to look at them, especially Laura. My glasses were off and she was towards the back, but I could see her beaming at me, that luminescent smile filling my heart with light. (and now the longing begins) I was a hit, I gotta say. The crowd loved me. Huge round of applause when I was done, and another when the host thanked me, a bit louder than the usual polite smattering. When I got back to the table, Laura said: you were great. There's just no context where that's a bad thing to hear. (A little while later she leaned over and whisperered: i've always liked susan sarandon too, ever since rocky horror, in reference to something I said in the piece.) There were only a few more performers after me, and the show ended around ten. A number of people came up to Laura and I to tell us how much they'd liked what we each read. One was an older woman whose head was shaved and tattooed except for a patch of curly hair dyed red. She told me that she'd seen me read at the Center for Sex and Culture a few months back, and said: you're such a doll. Awww. Laura and I made our way through the thinning crowd to thank the organizer. Passing by the bar, a man said: wow, you girls are tall! Yes. Yes, we are. We know. Thanks. We've both written at length about it. As we walked to Laura's car, she said, you were one of the high points of the show, definitely. you woke people up. I replied: thanks. i'm glad. i try to do that. I reconsidered. well, sort of. i mean, it's not the only reason i do it. i have to be enjoying myself, first and foremost. if not for self-indulgence, i wouldn't get indulged at all. Babbling nervously again, so soon. I felt both relaxed and excited around her at the same time. This was the start of...something. Perhaps not what I would most want it to be, but it would be whatever it was meant to be, and the time we'd already spent together felt like a gift. We hugged goodnight, I walked to Phoebe, and drove home. | ||
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Saturday, 18 October 2008 (unextended) 12:34pm When I walked into the gym this morning, one of the first things I saw was Raphaela. Which is not that unusual, except that she was crying and taking deep breaths. Turned out she'd almost been hit by a car on her bike, and was literally still shaken up over it. I could sense the adrenalin coursing through her veins as her brain dealt with the fact that she'd narrowly avoided being badly injured or killed. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she hugged me said: oh, sherilyn, i'm glad you're here. It made me glad that not being able to attend Tyrol's afternoon spin class resulted in me coming for regular cardio in the morning. Right place at the right time. 7:21pm After a meeting this afternoon for Rhiannon's play, I'm at the office again, writing. I'll be giving The Wicker Man another miss this evening, unfortunately. I love it, but, you know. Priorities. This has gotta be a priority for me again. The break is over. | ||
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Friday, 17 October 2008 (silver rider) 3:59pm Hung out last night with Laura, the writer I'm crushed out on. It was really fun, we hit it off splendidly, and we'll be getting together again. When I was telling Raphaela about it this morning as I warmed up for our session, she commented more than once that I was glowing. My brain is working overtime to produce dopamine, and I guess it shows. 7:30pm I'm at the office, writing. I thought about going to see The Wicker Man, but I'll be there tomorrow night, I had a fun night out last night, and I have work to do. And I can't even remember how long it's been since I wrote at night. 10:12pm Home now, the washer and dryer are available, and Laura and I chatted a little online earlier. All is well. | ||
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Thursday, 16 October 2008 (unsuffer me) 3:18pm Gods, I'm nervous. | ||
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Wednesday, 15 October 2008 (no good in the end) 5:37am The full moon setting over the ocean before dawn, with Orion to the east: this is why I love living in the Outer Sunset. 11:12am Based how much i play it in the car (singing loudly), my current favorite R.E.M. song is "I'll Take the Rain." By the same criteria, the second would be "Leaving New York." 2:33pm The podcast of last night's show is up, and the good stuff starts at 17:40. It's not me at at my best, not by a long shot, but it's okay. My energy levels were a little off, and I'm not sure why. I'd been to the gym twice that day, in the morning and in the afternoon, but I don't think that's it. Sometimes my body just wants more rest than I've planned on giving it. My current fitness goal, one which is fundamentally the same as my previously stated goal, is to look good in my shiny black pants and black chemise top (like I wore for The Drug Diaries) in time for my show at the Garage in December. I'm pretty sure I can manage that in two months, since I'm mostly there now, but still, gotta keep the motivation going, the carrot moving. I especially want to wear that because, not only do I think I look pretty damned hot in it (thanks!), but it's what I was wearing on the night my story will be about. Getting to do that is one of the neat things about being a memoirist. That, of course, and the wanton violation of other people's privacy. Big fun. 5:44pm Ye gods! When I first saw a thumbnnail of the main picture from this Fleshbot article, I thought it was Ripley. And the resemblence is quite strong: the hair, the body type, the tattoos. This girl (porn star Joanna Angel) is about a decade and half younger than Ripley, and probably shorter, but still, yeah. That's her, pretty much. | ||
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Tuesday, 14 October 2008 (wrap my head around that) 8:22am 192. A little more each week. diet and cardio was Raphaela's answer when I asked her last night if the crunches she occasionally has me bust out would help with my waist if I did them on a more regular basis, and she said that no, not as much as diet and cardio. Not diet as in starving myself, but more like what I'm doing right now, not eating animal products and eating more fruits and vegetables, and not eating after seven. Which is evidently working. And I'm not concerned about losing muscle, because between Tyrol's class and working with Raphaela, that's not going to happen. I can see and feel muscles where I wasn't aware of them before, especially on my back. It's weird, but neat. The not-eating-after-seven thing, which I expected to be the most difficult part of all, hasn't been. (There are exceptions, of course. I'm having dinner with The First next week, what she's calling a "vegan extravaganza," and that probably won't be until nine or so. Which is fine.) There's the post-workout banana, but otherwise, nothing but juice at home. That keeps me going. I don't wake up hungry, either, nor does my energy low when I work out in the morning in spite of not having eaten for nearly twelve hours. I guess my body's doing whatever it is it needs to be doing, for a change. Meanwhile, I'm reading on Patrick Simms' Fade Out Theater on Pirate Cat Radio tonight. 8:41pm After my reading on Pirate Cat, someone in the studio said: that was like a fire at the circus! I'm pretty sure it was a compliment. | ||
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Monday, 13 October 2008 (the larval stage) 10:51am Another classicist nightmare after doing a bad, unscary horror movie (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning) at Bad Movie Night. I remain steadfast in my belief it's a coincidence. At least this one wasn't thematically related with the movie like last week. More of a haunted house kinda vibe, for want of a better way to describe it, and involving Perdita dying. That was the roughest part. Otherwise, it was a good day. Rhiannon and I drove to the Pigeon Point Lighthouse for the marriage of Ramah, the girl who tightens my squid. Unsurprisingly, there were quite a few other people with dreads and/or extensions present, and the wedding was officiated by the girl who created the squid in the first place. A hair-farmer family affair, to be sure. Bunny joined us for the reception at the Lone Palm in the Mission, and from there Rhiannon and I went to The Dark Room for the show. After Tyrol's spin class on Saturday, I went to Rainbow to stock up on fruits and vegetables (this would be a very convenient time to date someone who works for an organic produce distributor, but as they said on the farm, this is life, pitufina, what are we going to make of it?), then to The Dark Room for The Wicker Man. After that it was to Mikl-Em and Danielle's house for a cast-and-friends party. I smoked a little grass, but didn't eat or drink anything but water. I wasn't particularly tempted, either. It's just not where I'm at right now, or where I want to be. | ||
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Sunday, 12 October 2008 (i know why) 9:41am The editor of the femme visibilty anthology wrote back last night. I'm still in the running, but she needs to find out if she can make the book bigger or possibly split it into two volumes. If not, presumably, then I won't be in the book. I reckon life will go on either way. | ||
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Saturday, 11 October 2008 (left no friendly drop) 2:46pm Last night was my first really late moviewatching night since dropping caffeine and changing my diet in general, and I made through to the end of Starship Troopers at a quarter past two quite well. No mocha, no Penguin Mints, none of the usual crutches, and I never got as tired and crashy as I did all the other times. When I did feel my energy start to wane, I'd nibble on some of the assortment of nuts and baby carrots and cherry tomatoes in my bag, and I'd perk back up. And this in addition to have worked for an hour with Raphaela earlier in the day, not to mention having walked the couple of miles from my office to The Castro. Guess I'm doing all right. Made the dreaded Haight-in-the-afternoon excursion today to get new insoles and laces for my decaying boots. The new soles make them feel like practically new boots, but the fact of the matter is I need a new pair. These are going to be especially problematic the next time it rains, what with the holes in the side. The guy at Fluevog confirmed that they have no idea when or if they'll be getting in new knee-high lace-up sixteen-eyelet boots with ski-hooks, which mean the time has probably come to jump brands for real. I love Fluevogs and have been extremely happy with their boots over the past decade, but if they don't got what I need no more, so be it. And the moment, I'm currently eyeing the Wesco Jobmaster Night-Siders at Stompers. They're expensive, but probably not much moreso than a new pair of Fluevogs would be if they were to exist, and considering that I'd be wearing them every day, I'd get my money's worth. My favorite shiny pants fit again. I'm not wearing them today, but I tried them on this morning, and by gods, they fit comfortably again. (I don't care for how my stomach looks above them, but all in due time. This is the only way it works. And now, to Tyrol's spin class. | ||
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