Friday night was one of the rare occasions I decided to go out to bar with a friend. I rarely spend any time with her outside of the activities we have together. I rarely get a chance to talk with her even at parties that we are both invited to.

I’ve had lots to party invitations in the past month to the point where I really had to pick and choose.

So back to Friday night at the bar…

Clara recommended that we go to a gay bar, so we wouldn’t have to deal with being hit on all night long. This bar is considered a “dive,” but it wouldn’t even come close to that in my definition. The people in California have no idea what a real dive bar is like. This bar was small, but there was enough room for tables and couches, a pool table and dance floor.

I was surprised by her bar choice, but then I thought “why not?” We would be able to talk and dance. Gay bars had to have good music, right?

I was right about the good music. Loved the music. The people were great. They initially looked at us a little funny.

Just as I was getting comfortable, and Clara and I were talking, he walked up. A scrawy, scruffy, drunk Russian. He told us he was Russian. Not only that he said he was married and not gay. I heard most of his life story. Apparently he was avoiding his wife’s complaints about how he fucked her. Clara and I danced, and so did this guy. The bartenders eyed him apprehensively. So much for not being bothered. Leave it to Clara to draw the only “straight” guy to us in a gay bar.

When we sat down again, he was back…sitting to my right. His invasiveness into my personal space was infuriating. Then I could tell how much he had been drinking and that he was stinky. So now this stinky, scruffy, scrawy Russian sat within inches of me on a bar stook. Then he had the gall to comment on my posture. I had taken to crossing my arms over the bar. So what? Apparently that meant something to him–mostly that there was something wrong with me. I did make it clear I wasn’t going to talk to him. He interrupted my conversation with Clara two times. Then I was mad. The stupid drunk had no clue. The creep also touched my hair–picked up a piece of my hair and fondled it. I have no idea what else he might have done before I saw him since he was behind my back.

He was very touchy. I was polite, but glared at him. Again, he wondered–aloud–what was wrong with me. Me telling him that I wanted to have a conversation with my friend made no difference.

Clara actually told him to go away…and not nicely. Something she said she never does. It’s more like something I would do. The bartenders got involved. Scruffy Russian then went to the corner and pouted.

He returned about thirty minutes later. I left earlier than Clara who waited for her husband to pick her up.

It was the first time I asked someone in a bar to escort me to my car. We had met a nice guy there who also tried to scare away the persistently drunk Russian. Even in straight bars–the typical pickup scene–I have never had so much trouble or continually been accosted by some stranger who refused to get that his presence was unwanted.

Hmm…

You Belong in Los Angeles

Whether you’ll admit it or not, a huge part of you likes being in the spotlight.And you may just have enough star quality to make it big in LA! Even if you don’t become famous, you still belong in a place where you can get a year round tan.

Where Does Your Inner Californian Belong?

Now, if I want to cure cancer, enjoy looking at the ocean and not getting in it and stick to being bookish…

You Belong in San Francisco

You crave an eclectic, urban environment. You’re half California, half NYC. You’re open minded, tolerant, and secretly think you’re the best. People may dismiss you as a hippie, but you’re also progressive, interesting, and rich!

Where Does Your Inner Californian Belong?

I don’t know yet what the high will be, but my dog has already been at the door asking to come inside (9 am). She must think that it’s cooler inside than outside. It’s highly unlikely that is the case.

When it gets hot, it’s hard to get to sleep at night. (Only a few houses have air conditioning out here–mine isn’t one of them.) I had a late night last night. I don’t know if I can deal with another night of little sleep and function the next day.

Yes. A post about the weather. It looks like we’re going to have a hot spell. I was surprised on Monday by the forecast of 95 degrees, but now it looks like the end of the week and weekend is going to bring 100+ degree weather. If it’s that hot in San Jose, it’s much hotter east and south of here. I’m not ready for weather like that…nor are my pets.

I had great New Year’s Eve into the New Year. Although I know I never said “Happy New Year.” I waited unitl fairly late for the boyfriend to be finished with work so we could have dinner. I cooked. I found the most amazing filet mignon out here. Unless I find another butcher, the best one is Dittmer’s in Mountain View. I think that filet was better than I have had back in Nebraska for many years. They were cooked perfectly. My timing and reading the doneness of the meat was absolutely perfect. I was so hungry by 10:30 pm that I ate rather quickly, and I ate an entire 8 oz. steak. Something I never do.

He loved it too. It was the perfect end to the year. I had no expectations for the evening, but if I had, the evening would have exceeded my expectations.

I’m ending the post with a song…

Yesterday I spent the day at the Dicken’s Fair in San Francisco. I have never been to any of these kinds of fairs. Not Renaissance, nor any others. It was lots of fun to see everything and to see people dressed up. I own a custom Victorian style corset, which I wore. Boy, did it hurt. I have never worn it for so long. My ribs hurt while I wore it. I spent the day with the guy I’m seeing.What else can I say except that it was great. Twnety-four hours later I still wasn’t tired of him. I’m sorry that I don’t have any photos. I forgot my camera.
If this fair is your kind of thing and you’re in the area, the fair is still open on December 22 and 23.

The park fire south of here is making everything hazy and hot. I’m having more trouble than usual getting motivated or even being awake. There’s also a slight burnt smell everywhere you go. The park is just over 30 miles from here. The fire has burned about 19,000 acres as of this morning and is expected to burn more before they get it put out. This is borrowed from the San Jose Mercury News: the fire is expected to reach 30,000 acres, as a comparison San Francisco is 29,888 acres.

The pictures below of the Lick fire came from the San Jose Mercury News website.

Every time I get on the highway near my house, I am reminded of my childhood. For some reason this year, cattails are growing next to the on-ramp.

As a kid, I always saw cattails around one of the ponds on the golf course. I don’t know why I always liked them. They do look a little like a cat’s tail. My mother dried them and preserved them, so there were some cattails in the house in floor vase. I liked the way they felt–all velvety. I always felt sad when they fluffed out and the wind carried the fluffy seeds away. I think they look best when they are brown.

That’s an optimistic title. With all the long hours people keep here, I doubt there is much sex going on. You’re either getting it or not. Enough or not enough. Great, good or bad.

I had a slow start to my morning because of insomnia. I have been having a difficult time getting to sleep before midnight anyway, but last night was the first seminar of the sex and intimacy series, so I was awake until after 1 a.m. The seminars always make you feel be bit energized afterwards, so it often takes an hour to calm down enough to sleep. It took two hours for me to calm down last night and a benedryl. I wouldn’t have gotten to sleep when I did without it.

I would like to talk more about the seminar, but I can’t give away too much. However, it certainly got me and everyone else thinking about all the stuff (meaning, neurosis, etc.) we all have about sex. Society and our parents didn’t really help us much, but then they didn’t have a lot of help either.

Oh, before everyone gets too excited. This seminar is all talk and analysis. No practicals in class.

Since I have the seminar on most Thursdays, I think Fridays will be the sex post. Something to look forward to!

I was reading about plastic bags this morning. I had seen awhile back on an environmental site that it didn’t really matter if you chose paper or plastic, but after reading this article (you may need to watch an ad to read), I think I’ll stick to paper like always (when there’s a choice).

Here are the numbers:

100,000,000,000 (100 billion) bags thrown away in the US every year

those bags equal 12,000,000 (12 million) barrels of oil

only 1% of bags are recycled worldwide

only 2% of bags are recycled in the US

46,000 pieces of plastic floating in every square mile of the ocean

Some of those bags sink to the ocean floor and cover up ocean creatures. Some bags get eaten by birds or marine mammals.

For those who thought banning plastic bags in San Francisco and Oakland was  some act of the crazy environmentalists…I think they have a good reason to ban the bags.

The downside of paper is that 14 million trees are necessary to make the 10 billion paper grocery bags used every year in the US. However, trees are a renewable resource, even if they do take a long time to grow.

Perhaps it’s time to buy some really good canvas bags. I have yet to find any.