San Francisco is full of worker bees trying to get from point A to B; people getting on and off buses, in and out of the subway tunnels and trying to get to their destination. A vast network of veins that connect several neighborhoods, the municipal trains (better known to San Franciscan's as Muni) has about 700,000 people that ride it daily. Because the city is so diverse, you can find all different walks of life that ride the trains at any given time of day. The possibilities are endless. And whether I liked it or not, riding the train meant encountering the good, the bad, and the ugly. That was one of the drawbacks to living in the city by the bay. You name it and I've most likely seen it: fierce drag queens, drunken happy hour patrons, overworked workaholics, and plenty of eye candy for days on end. But the worst is during rush hour when all the worker bees are packed in tightly like sardines, and there's hardly any room to move or breathe. The best part about riding the train, however, is the possibility of meeting Mr Right or Mr. Right Now. That's just one of the perks of living one of the gayest cities in the world. And I was on my way to finding out just how easy it was to find a perspective anything on the train.
It was a Friday night, and I was on my way home from grocery shopping (don't judge) when I hopped on the train heading to the Sunset. There I was with two grocery bags and no where to go except home. Of course I could have gone out and enjoyed the festivities of the Castro, but I opted to just stay in. About halfway through the ride home I noticed a very cute guy leaning against the train walls, and he seemed to be having difficulties standing on his feet. He might have been easy on the eyes but he was also drunk. It's usually a bad first impression, but I couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor guy. After all, haven't we all been there before?
As I sat there with my bag of groceries, I couldn't help but steal glances at him from time to time. He was still struggling to keep his balance, and at one point he almost fell over but managed to keep himself standing. And then the inevitable happened: the seat next to me opened up. He took this opportunity and sat right next to me. He glanced over and me and acknowledged me with a half smile.
"How's your night?" he asked me. I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He slurred his words a little, but he managed to get his words across. He flashed a smile, and I nearly melted right there. So he had a few drinks, but his smile negated that for the moment.
I looked down at my groceries and said, "Not very exciting. Grocery shopping." I laughed, but it was more because I was nervous. "Looks like you had a better night."
He smiled again. "Yeah. I had a few drinks with some friends." A few drinks?
There was an uncomfortable silence and then I said, "You live in the outer Sunset?"
"Yeah. Except, I can't remember where to get off..." He took a glance out the train window. "I think I get off at 40th." He laughed, and I was hoping it was due to the fact that he couldn't remember what stop to get off.
"I can tell you when we get to 40th if that will help." Although it sounded like a friendly gesture, what I really wanted ask him if I could tuck him into bed. Fortunately, my inside voice didn't always come through.
"Thanks. That's really nice of you." He paused for a moment and asked, "Where do you get off?"
"I get off at forty-sixth." I realized that my eyes kept coming back to his, and I was worried that it was becoming too obvious. Maybe it was the booze or the fact that he was attracted to me, but regardless, he kept staring at me with his bedroom, drunken glossy eyes.
"You're really sweet. And you're cute, too."
I blushed when I heard this, and I became speechless. Say thank you, Will. You can do it. Thank the nice, drunken cutie. Finally, the words escaped my mouth. "Thanks."
As we sat there trying make small talk, I noticed that his stop was coming up and told him. Maybe it was just me, but I couldn't help but notice he seemed disappointed. It was either that or he was trying to refrain from vomiting, but I wasn't sure.
"What's your name?" he asked, showing off that dashing smile again.
I couldn't believe we sat there for as long as we did and we didn't even exchange names. "My name is Will."
"Mine is Jeffrey." He paused for a second and then, "Do you want my number?" Introductions and now we're jumping to exchanging phone numbers?
I restrained myself from jumping up from my seat and screaming at the top of my lungs "Hell yes I want your number! Hallelujah!" Instead, I remained calm and composed, and answered, "Sure." There was only one problem: I didn't have my cell phone or a pen on me. "I don't have my phone on me."
"Me either," replied Jeffrey. He looked at me as if searching for a solution to our dilemma.
I looked around until my gaze landed on the old Asian woman sitting across from us; she gave us a look of judgement and disapproval. I was running out of time, and I didn't want to miss out on the opportunity of giving him my number. "Excuse me, do you have a pen?" The woman looked at me, shocked, but she reluctantly pulled out a pen from her purse. She acted as if she was contributing to a heinous crime or political conspiracy. The train finally came to it's destination just as I took the pen from the woman's hand. I grabbed Jeffrey's arm and wrote my name and number on the palm of his hand.
As he got up from his seat he looked at me one more time and pointed at his cheek. "Give me a kiss before I go." And in a matter of seconds my lips were touching his cheek, and before I knew it he was gone. I sat there on the train, smiling from ear to ear. It was at the same moment that I realized the old Asian woman was giving me a look of disgust, and I gave the pen back to her. But there was nothing she could say or do to pull me down from my cloud. And as I got off the train and walked the three blocks that lead me home, my smile didn't disappear.
The next day I waited, but I didn't hear from him. As a matter of fact, he didn't contact me that whole week. I posted an add on craigslist missing connection page in hopes that I would hear from him, but there was still no response. And after a few weeks had passed of not hearing from Jeffrey, my optimism turned to disappointment. Little did I know that my encounter would turn up again, but this time when I least expected it. That's the beauty of San Francisco: you never know who you're going to run into.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Paranormal Activity
Remember that time when you were a kid and you first realized you were afraid of the dark? How could you not? It's probably one of the most terrifying things kids have to experience the hard way (next to the first day of school). It's the mysterious black emptiness that lurks behind every corner, inside every closet, and beneath every bed. Lets not forget the myriad of frightening monsters (and, yes, I'm in including Sarah Palin in this category) just waiting for the chance to creep up on you when least expect it. And every night before bed, you would demand to leave the hallway light on, or some kind of night light because you thought that was your sanctuary from the encroaching darkness. I don't know about you, but I always found that hiding under the covers was a sure way for safety. I'd call it my safety blanket; if I didn't want to see what was lurking in the shadows then I would quickly bury my face under the sheets. What better way to tell those monsters to fuck off then to hide like a little sissy under the covers? I'm proud to admit that I was one of those sissies, and the old hiding under the sheets trick worked like a charm.
For as long as I could remember, I've always been afraid of the dark, and I suppose in part because of my fascination with horror movies. From an early age, I was glued to the television (or the movie screen) watching scary movies that most kids avoided like the plague. Some might call it unhealthy but I say it toughens you up and prepares you for the real horrors of the world (like the antiquated electoral college system). Even to this day, I still sleep with my closet door closed. Yes, I know there's nothing there, but at times I feel like that perpetual seven year old kid hiding from the things lurking in the shadows. But nothing could prepare me for what was to come in the weeks ahead at my cozy home with three lesbians, two cats, a dog, and a partridge in a pear tree.
It was a quiet winter evening at the Quintera and 47th home in the Outter Sunset. The house was quiet, and everyone was sleeping peacefully, including myself. And in case you're wondering this isn't a story about sugar plumbs dancing in our heads. At around four in the morning, I woke up to my entire bed shaking, and as a looked over at my closet door, it was opening. My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my throat, and with my mind foggy from just waking up, I wasn't sure what exactly what was going on. The first thing that popped in my head: earthquake. I quickly jumped out of bed just in time to see my roommate leaving for work.
"Did you feel that earthquake?"
I distinctly remember the look she gave me. The look that told me she thought I just lost my marbles. "What earthquake?"
"The one just now. You didn't feel it?"
Again, that look! Damn those eyes! "No. I didn't feel anything."
"Really? My bed was just shaking..."
After she left, I lingered in the hallway with my only my thoughts to comfort me. I knew what I felt, and I know I didn't imagine it... or did I? At this point I gathered my fiercest bravado and walked back into my room and turned the light on. I walked over to the closet door that was open all the way. I remembered before I went to bed I did leave it slightly ajar, but I didn't shut it completely. I pushed the door back and forth trying to figure out if I was going cuckoo for nutty puffs. With my mind still racing, I turned out the light and went back to bed (or at least tried to), but I didn't go back to sleep until the sun came up.
The next day I checked online to see if there were any mini earthquake reports within the area. I thought for sure I would find something because San Francisco is prone to small earthquakes, but unfortunately I couldn't find anything. Is the plot starting to sound a little like a scary movie? I wasn't ruling out the idea, but I didn't like it either. Worst case scenario: I would wake up to my head turning counterclockwise and spewing pea soup. Best case scenario: it was all in my head. In case you hadn't noticed, I was counting on the second option.
The next couple of nights continued to brave my bedroom in hopes that I could avoid another earthquake simulated evening. Without fail, my bed performed it's usual shaking bit ritual of lets scare Will to death. I was suddenly beginning to feel like Carolann in Poltergeist (minus the cute girlish looks and long blond hair), and at any moment my closet door would open on it's own accord again swallow me whole. Don't go into the light, Carolann! But like any brave soldier, I didn't leave my room, and I was determined to show this ghost-apparition-poltergeist bastard that I was here to stay and this was my room. But like any good old fashioned haunting, it always gets worse.
Towards the end of the week, I had my fair share of close encounters of the ghostly kind, and I was hoping that my tormentor would soon give up. And just when I thought I was going to enjoy a quiet, peaceful evening, I jolted out of bed and gasped because I thought I saw a silhouette of a face staring right at me! I was panting, trying to catch my breathe, and I felt as if I was being watched. Call me crazy (and you just might at this point), but I felt like there was someone else in my room, and it paralized me with fear beyond anything I had felt before. I could feel a presence in my room because the air suddenly got heavy. It was as if someone was there lurking in the dark, but I could not see them. It was then that I decided I would no longer sleep in my own bedroom, so I chose to sleep on the couch in the living room.
After about a few days of me sleeping on the couch my roommate finally noticed and asked me why. As embarrassed as I was about telling the story, I just let it all out and told her everything. And after telling my story she looked at me and said, "Oh, you mean that ghost in your room?" Now she tells me after I've moved in and paid my deposit! She knew this whole time and was keeping it from me? Was she ever planning on telling me that I shared a room with a ghost? She explained that other people that rented the room out experienced similar things, but she assured me that the ghost meant no harm, and there was no way he could hurt me. I guess she's never seen Amityville Horror, has she? (The original, not the remake with a half naked yummy Ryan Reynolds) Even after she tried to assuage my fears, I still couldn't bring myself to sleep in my room.
Luckily for me, I was dating a handsome older gentlemen at the time who had experience with these so called ghostly hunting's. On night after dinner, and a few glasses of wine later, I explained my story in hopes that he wouldn't think I was crazy. As a matter of fact, explained that his current home had a few ghosts of it's own. Great, now I was living with a ghost and sleeping with a guy that had his fair share of ghostly problems, except he believed that his spirits were non threatening. He explained to me that the only way to get rid of these disturbances is by reassuring the ghost that I meant no harm and that he can leave in peace. On top of that, he gave me some sage and told me to burn in every night when I communicated with the spirit. Well, if I wasn't going crazy before, I was more then certain I was going crazy by talking to imaginary ghosts. But I decided to give it a try because, at this point, I was willing to try anything.
Within the next few days, like clockwork, I talked to the spirit (what would my therapist think?) and lit the sage before I went to bed. To my surprise, I didn't experience any paranormal activity within the first few nights, and by the end of the week it seemed to have stopped. Was it that easy? Did my ghostly ritual work, or was it all just in my head? Whatever the reason, I was finally sleeping peacefully in my bed, and I didn't have any hauntings whatsoever. I might have been rid of my ghost, but I wasn't cured of my fear of the dark. It's going to take more then sage and conversing with myself to appease my fear of the things that go bump in the night. Until then, I'm content with getting a good night's sleep. The other stuff can wait, for now.
For as long as I could remember, I've always been afraid of the dark, and I suppose in part because of my fascination with horror movies. From an early age, I was glued to the television (or the movie screen) watching scary movies that most kids avoided like the plague. Some might call it unhealthy but I say it toughens you up and prepares you for the real horrors of the world (like the antiquated electoral college system). Even to this day, I still sleep with my closet door closed. Yes, I know there's nothing there, but at times I feel like that perpetual seven year old kid hiding from the things lurking in the shadows. But nothing could prepare me for what was to come in the weeks ahead at my cozy home with three lesbians, two cats, a dog, and a partridge in a pear tree.
It was a quiet winter evening at the Quintera and 47th home in the Outter Sunset. The house was quiet, and everyone was sleeping peacefully, including myself. And in case you're wondering this isn't a story about sugar plumbs dancing in our heads. At around four in the morning, I woke up to my entire bed shaking, and as a looked over at my closet door, it was opening. My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my throat, and with my mind foggy from just waking up, I wasn't sure what exactly what was going on. The first thing that popped in my head: earthquake. I quickly jumped out of bed just in time to see my roommate leaving for work.
"Did you feel that earthquake?"
I distinctly remember the look she gave me. The look that told me she thought I just lost my marbles. "What earthquake?"
"The one just now. You didn't feel it?"
Again, that look! Damn those eyes! "No. I didn't feel anything."
"Really? My bed was just shaking..."
After she left, I lingered in the hallway with my only my thoughts to comfort me. I knew what I felt, and I know I didn't imagine it... or did I? At this point I gathered my fiercest bravado and walked back into my room and turned the light on. I walked over to the closet door that was open all the way. I remembered before I went to bed I did leave it slightly ajar, but I didn't shut it completely. I pushed the door back and forth trying to figure out if I was going cuckoo for nutty puffs. With my mind still racing, I turned out the light and went back to bed (or at least tried to), but I didn't go back to sleep until the sun came up.
The next day I checked online to see if there were any mini earthquake reports within the area. I thought for sure I would find something because San Francisco is prone to small earthquakes, but unfortunately I couldn't find anything. Is the plot starting to sound a little like a scary movie? I wasn't ruling out the idea, but I didn't like it either. Worst case scenario: I would wake up to my head turning counterclockwise and spewing pea soup. Best case scenario: it was all in my head. In case you hadn't noticed, I was counting on the second option.
The next couple of nights continued to brave my bedroom in hopes that I could avoid another earthquake simulated evening. Without fail, my bed performed it's usual shaking bit ritual of lets scare Will to death. I was suddenly beginning to feel like Carolann in Poltergeist (minus the cute girlish looks and long blond hair), and at any moment my closet door would open on it's own accord again swallow me whole. Don't go into the light, Carolann! But like any brave soldier, I didn't leave my room, and I was determined to show this ghost-apparition-poltergeist bastard that I was here to stay and this was my room. But like any good old fashioned haunting, it always gets worse.
Towards the end of the week, I had my fair share of close encounters of the ghostly kind, and I was hoping that my tormentor would soon give up. And just when I thought I was going to enjoy a quiet, peaceful evening, I jolted out of bed and gasped because I thought I saw a silhouette of a face staring right at me! I was panting, trying to catch my breathe, and I felt as if I was being watched. Call me crazy (and you just might at this point), but I felt like there was someone else in my room, and it paralized me with fear beyond anything I had felt before. I could feel a presence in my room because the air suddenly got heavy. It was as if someone was there lurking in the dark, but I could not see them. It was then that I decided I would no longer sleep in my own bedroom, so I chose to sleep on the couch in the living room.
After about a few days of me sleeping on the couch my roommate finally noticed and asked me why. As embarrassed as I was about telling the story, I just let it all out and told her everything. And after telling my story she looked at me and said, "Oh, you mean that ghost in your room?" Now she tells me after I've moved in and paid my deposit! She knew this whole time and was keeping it from me? Was she ever planning on telling me that I shared a room with a ghost? She explained that other people that rented the room out experienced similar things, but she assured me that the ghost meant no harm, and there was no way he could hurt me. I guess she's never seen Amityville Horror, has she? (The original, not the remake with a half naked yummy Ryan Reynolds) Even after she tried to assuage my fears, I still couldn't bring myself to sleep in my room.
Luckily for me, I was dating a handsome older gentlemen at the time who had experience with these so called ghostly hunting's. On night after dinner, and a few glasses of wine later, I explained my story in hopes that he wouldn't think I was crazy. As a matter of fact, explained that his current home had a few ghosts of it's own. Great, now I was living with a ghost and sleeping with a guy that had his fair share of ghostly problems, except he believed that his spirits were non threatening. He explained to me that the only way to get rid of these disturbances is by reassuring the ghost that I meant no harm and that he can leave in peace. On top of that, he gave me some sage and told me to burn in every night when I communicated with the spirit. Well, if I wasn't going crazy before, I was more then certain I was going crazy by talking to imaginary ghosts. But I decided to give it a try because, at this point, I was willing to try anything.
Within the next few days, like clockwork, I talked to the spirit (what would my therapist think?) and lit the sage before I went to bed. To my surprise, I didn't experience any paranormal activity within the first few nights, and by the end of the week it seemed to have stopped. Was it that easy? Did my ghostly ritual work, or was it all just in my head? Whatever the reason, I was finally sleeping peacefully in my bed, and I didn't have any hauntings whatsoever. I might have been rid of my ghost, but I wasn't cured of my fear of the dark. It's going to take more then sage and conversing with myself to appease my fear of the things that go bump in the night. Until then, I'm content with getting a good night's sleep. The other stuff can wait, for now.
Thursday, October 14, 2010
Till Death Do Us Part
If you could wrap marriage into one neat little package, what would you call it? Love, commitment, trust, security, entrapment? Is marriage nothing more then just a legal, binding piece of paper, or is it a sacred religious ceremony that bond two people together for the rest of their life (or at least until they get tired of each other)? I've seen couples get married for all the wrong reasons, yet they still walk down the isle of uncertainty and hope that it will solve all of their problems. Some people settle, some are lonely, some are married with children, and some are high school sweethearts. And if you thought getting married to one person was daunting enough, try being in a polygamous marriage! On the other hand, some people aren't suited for marriage; they're better off alone, or perhaps they just can't commit to one person for the rest of their life.
While some people claim that the institution of marriage is too antiquated, I do feel it has somewhat adapted to a new and ever changing world. The media, for example, has taken marriage and put a modern spin on it. Have we glamorized and commercialized marriage to the ground with TV shows such as Bridezillas, The Bachelor, and The Marriage Ref? I've heard of marriage counseling, but on public television? Is marriage the car that is perpetually stuck in the slow lane, or are we just going to fast? I don't claim to be an expert on marriage whatsoever because I come from a family full of failed marriages. I've never been married, and I've always found myself going back and forth as to whether or not I could take on that kind of responsibility. My grandparents, on the other hand, have been married for 60 plus years, and they are still dedicated to each other to this very day. However we try and define marriage there is one thing I am certain of: marriage is a deep and profound commitment between two people that will forever change the course of their lives.
But all my ideas and notions of marriage were challenged in the fall of November of 2008. It was the year that Barack Obama was elected President of the United States, and the world felt a sense of renewed hope for our country. It was also in that same year that the people of California decided that marriage should only between a man and woman. I remember only a month before the election all the controversy and political fervor that San Franciscans felt in regards to Prop 8. There were marches, peaceful demonstrations, and a myriad of sings that advocated marriage equality for all people. Everywhere you looked, there were people in support of gay marriage, and they made their voices heard in whatever way they could. I was inspired and in awe of the number of people that came forward and made themselves heard, whether it was in a large march down Market Street or a peaceful sit down demonstration in the Castro.
About a week before the election, my past was catching up to me once again. I received an e-mail from my ex-partner (whom I was with for seven years), and he revealed to me that he got married to a guy that he was dating for only three months! I couldn't believe my eyes. I read the e-mail over and over again in disbelief. Why couldn't he tell me in person? Was this really happening? We had only been separated for six months before I had moved to the city and now he's married? (Can you hear my voice getting louder?) Now lets cue the water works! I could hear the melodramatic music playing in the background as I kept pacing back, and forth crying. We were together for seven years and we both agreed that marriage wasn't something we were interested in, but then I started wondered if it was just me he didn't want to get married to. I suddenly felt like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally when she found out that her ex married some random woman. And yes, I practically had the same emotional breakdown as her. The only difference is that I didn't sleep with a charming and witty Billy Crystal.
I picked myself up off the ground and tried to brush myself off (and that was a big feet). So I did the one thing that any mature adult would do: I called him to congratulate him and his new husband. Yes, I did offer my worlds of pseudo happiness; however, I also told him that I couldn't see or speak to him because it was too hard for me to digest at that particular time. Perhaps in the near (or not too near) future. I was proud of myself even though it hurt like hell. That last week prior to the election I walked around San Francisco like a zombie, lifeless and devoid of any emotion. And when it finally came down to entering that election booth, I was faced again with the reality of my ex partners new marriage. There I was staring at the Prop 8 ballot. I stood there for a few minutes even though I knew I was going to vote no. I finally filled in the box that said NO and walked back home.
That night Barak Obama did win the Presidental election, and the world was ecstatic and overfilled with optimism. There was a huge celebration in the Castro for Obama's victory; the streets were closed and filled with people cheering with the rest of the U.S. But San Francisco's victory was bittersweet because we also found out that Prop 8 had passed. All those people who came to San Francisco to have their marriage validated was now taken from them. We became second class citizens. I was saddened and shocked beyond all beliefe that this could happen, but at the same time I knew it would only be a matter of time before we would win finally win this battle. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but our day will soon come. Until then we'll keep on fighting.
While some people claim that the institution of marriage is too antiquated, I do feel it has somewhat adapted to a new and ever changing world. The media, for example, has taken marriage and put a modern spin on it. Have we glamorized and commercialized marriage to the ground with TV shows such as Bridezillas, The Bachelor, and The Marriage Ref? I've heard of marriage counseling, but on public television? Is marriage the car that is perpetually stuck in the slow lane, or are we just going to fast? I don't claim to be an expert on marriage whatsoever because I come from a family full of failed marriages. I've never been married, and I've always found myself going back and forth as to whether or not I could take on that kind of responsibility. My grandparents, on the other hand, have been married for 60 plus years, and they are still dedicated to each other to this very day. However we try and define marriage there is one thing I am certain of: marriage is a deep and profound commitment between two people that will forever change the course of their lives.
But all my ideas and notions of marriage were challenged in the fall of November of 2008. It was the year that Barack Obama was elected President of the United States, and the world felt a sense of renewed hope for our country. It was also in that same year that the people of California decided that marriage should only between a man and woman. I remember only a month before the election all the controversy and political fervor that San Franciscans felt in regards to Prop 8. There were marches, peaceful demonstrations, and a myriad of sings that advocated marriage equality for all people. Everywhere you looked, there were people in support of gay marriage, and they made their voices heard in whatever way they could. I was inspired and in awe of the number of people that came forward and made themselves heard, whether it was in a large march down Market Street or a peaceful sit down demonstration in the Castro.
About a week before the election, my past was catching up to me once again. I received an e-mail from my ex-partner (whom I was with for seven years), and he revealed to me that he got married to a guy that he was dating for only three months! I couldn't believe my eyes. I read the e-mail over and over again in disbelief. Why couldn't he tell me in person? Was this really happening? We had only been separated for six months before I had moved to the city and now he's married? (Can you hear my voice getting louder?) Now lets cue the water works! I could hear the melodramatic music playing in the background as I kept pacing back, and forth crying. We were together for seven years and we both agreed that marriage wasn't something we were interested in, but then I started wondered if it was just me he didn't want to get married to. I suddenly felt like Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally when she found out that her ex married some random woman. And yes, I practically had the same emotional breakdown as her. The only difference is that I didn't sleep with a charming and witty Billy Crystal.
I picked myself up off the ground and tried to brush myself off (and that was a big feet). So I did the one thing that any mature adult would do: I called him to congratulate him and his new husband. Yes, I did offer my worlds of pseudo happiness; however, I also told him that I couldn't see or speak to him because it was too hard for me to digest at that particular time. Perhaps in the near (or not too near) future. I was proud of myself even though it hurt like hell. That last week prior to the election I walked around San Francisco like a zombie, lifeless and devoid of any emotion. And when it finally came down to entering that election booth, I was faced again with the reality of my ex partners new marriage. There I was staring at the Prop 8 ballot. I stood there for a few minutes even though I knew I was going to vote no. I finally filled in the box that said NO and walked back home.
That night Barak Obama did win the Presidental election, and the world was ecstatic and overfilled with optimism. There was a huge celebration in the Castro for Obama's victory; the streets were closed and filled with people cheering with the rest of the U.S. But San Francisco's victory was bittersweet because we also found out that Prop 8 had passed. All those people who came to San Francisco to have their marriage validated was now taken from them. We became second class citizens. I was saddened and shocked beyond all beliefe that this could happen, but at the same time I knew it would only be a matter of time before we would win finally win this battle. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but our day will soon come. Until then we'll keep on fighting.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
A Bird's-Eye-View
Most kids of my generation were afraid of your typical run-of-the-mill things such as the bogeyman, the dark, and things that go bump in the night. My nightmares, however, slightly differed then that of other kids, but that's not to say that I wasn't equally afraid of things lurking in the dark. My fears included, but not in any particular order: clowns, man eating sharks (thank you Steven Spielberg), and birds. First of all, you're probably wondering why I even bothered to include birds in my category of things that sent me running for the hills. I wasn't always fearful of birds. In fact, I grew up with pet birds throughout most of my adolescent childhood. It wasn't until I saw Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds that this completely altered my view. I distinctly remember the horror of sitting through the movie and realizing that birds might not be the cute house pets we made then out to be. The image of my eyes getting gouged out by cannibalistic, flesh eating birds kept replaying in my head over and over. If it flew and had feathers I was most likely afraid of it. It was official: the master of suspense installed a fear so deep in me that I couldn't go near a single bird, caged or otherwise.
But as the years past and I became a teenager, I had conquered my fear of birds. Hell, I even developed a fascination and appreciation for Hitchcock because of that traumatic experience. I realized early on that most Hollywood horror movies were bogus, just like Santa Clause or the Tooth fairy. Yes, I still got that scary tingling sensation when I watched horror movies; however, at the same time, I knew that I was out of harms way as I sat there eating popcorn in my safe, cozy chair. On the occasion I would scream (sometimes like a little girl) or even jump out of my seat, but it was always a thrilling adrenaline rush to be scared. For me, it was the perfect relationship, and I walked away knowing I could always come back for more (sounds sadistic, I know). What I didn't realize is that sometimes movies can imitate life in one way shape or form. After all, the writers have to get material from somewhere if not from their vivid imagination. And whether I liked it or not, I was about to relive my childhood fears all over again as a full grown adult.
Fast forward to San Francisco, 2009. Even though it was fall, it felt like Indian Summer was still lingering throughout the city. The days might have been shorter, but they were still filled with blue skies and sunshine. I had just gotten off the train from my usual commute home, and I was walking home with a handful of groceries. It couldn't have been a more beautiful evening: there was a slight breeze in the air and the sun was just about to set. I was halfway home when I suddenly felt something brush up against my head. Immediately, I looked up and found a bird flying not to far above my head; he seemed frantic, and he was making a lot of noise. Before I knew it, the bird was swooping down again, but this time, I dodged his attack just as he neared my head.
To make matters worse, there were two other damn birds that showed up out of nowhere and followed suit. This time, I wasn't so lucky, and both birds managed to graze my head which caused me to drop one of my grocery bags. I suddenly felt like I was Tippi Hedren trying to evade the ravenous flock of birds, but luckily for me I wasn't wearing heals. This time there was no avoiding their attacks as all three of them made a mad dash at my head. I could hear their high pitch calls, and I was terrified that they were calling the rest of their rapacious clan of hungry, flesh eating birds to come and pick at me one by one. With one hand trying to protect my head, I grabbed my bag and sprinted down the street, and when I turned the corner I realized they were gone. I was panting and my heard was pounding, and I stood there trying to digest what had just happened. I couldn't help but wonder if my my childhood fears were coming back to bite me (or peck for that matter) in the ass.
With the traumatic bird attack behind me, the next day I decided to completely avoid the street altogether and take an alternate route to catch my train. I went about my day trying to concentrate only on my job, but my thoughts always brought me back to the bird encounter. I did, however, managed to stay focused at the gym later on that day. Thank you hot, sweaty half naked men! After the gym I headed over to Jamba Juice, and by this time my bird dilemma was almost completely forgotten.
But sometimes, life has a funny way of reminding us of things we just want to completely forget. I was just turning the corner when I felt little something tug my hair. I looked up, and sure enough there was a small black bird above my head, and he was coming in for another attack. I managed to avoid the attack, but not the humiliation. The people that were watching me seemed to get a kick out of the fact that I was being ambushed by this bird. Did they know the bird would attack anyone who passed by? Once I realized I was the main attraction, I decided not to exacerbate the situation and walk away with my head held high. I did, however, manage to take a quick glance back, and I realized the bird was already on to another victim.
For the next few days, I managed to avoid both combat zones, but in the back of my mind I felt foolish for not confronting my fears head on like a rational adult. But how can you rationalize with birds? And besides, I was encroaching into their territory. For them, I was the enemy. Then I got to thinking, what if I could compromise, or perhaps meet them halfway? After all, I was a firm believer in reciprocity, so why couldn't I negotiate something with the birds? Granted, I realize I must sound crazy, but I was willing to try anything at this point.
When Monday rolled around, I decided to try out my new tactics in hopes that I would get rid of my childhood fears once and for all. On my way home from work, I started walking down the same street I was attacked on, but this time I decided to walk on the opposite side of the street. As I began to make my way halfway through the street, I saw an older Asian woman walking on the other side, and I instantly realized that she was walking right into a trap! And in a matter of seconds, there were several birds ambushing her from the trees. The woman let out a few screams and attempted to beat them off with her walking cane. My eyes widened with horror, and I started to cross the street to help her when suddenly I realized I was also being attacked! I ducked down and I even tried to hit them, but they were still diving at my head like heat seeking missiles.
Luckily, the older woman managed to run away and escape their invasion, but as for me I was still at the mercy of the birds. I surely thought that I would be safe if I walked on the opposite side of the street, but clearly I was wrong. My plans of negotiation weren't going as well as I'd hoped. In fact, I don't think birds give a shit about reciprocity. About a block later they finally gave up and the first thing that came out of my mouth was: "Fucking birds!" So much for rationality.
With the latest bird intervention still fresh in my mind, I was wondering how to conquer my other one that was still waiting for me near Jamba Juice. Not only did I have to deal with the bird, but I also had to take into consideration the audience as well.
Like clockwork, I finished my workout at the gym and made my way to Jamba Juice, but I still wasn't sure what my plan was. Before I walked into the trap, I stood there and watched other people get attacked one by one. In between his prey, the bird sat in the tree waiting patiently for it's next victim. I stood there for a moment and watched him, and then he met my gaze. I slowly started walking, but I never took my eyes off the bird. Surprisingly, he didn't even budge and inch. There we were both intently watching each other as I put one foot in front of the other. It was a showdown like no other, and one of us was bound to give in sooner or later. At this point I didn't care about anyone else. It was just me and the bird. I kept a slow walking pace as I made my way across the courtyard, but the little shit still didn't move. What was he playing at?
With all the staring and walking, I realized that I had finally made my way across the courtyard without getting attacked. I let out a small relief of triumph. It was official: Will 1, Bird 1. We might have been tied, but at least I knew how to play his game. I took my eyes off the bird and started walking away. Just as I started hearing the victory music playing in the background I felt the SMACK right against my head! I immediately turned my head around just in time to see the bird fly away, basking in it's glory. He had played me the whole time, and I fell for his hook, line & sinker bit. I walked away defeated and embarrassed, and I could hear everyone laughing in the birds victory.
After that week, I gave up trying to negotiate, rationalize, or reciprocate anything with those damn birds. Besides, I was one and they were many. Futile as it might have been, I did manage to confront my fears head on and put my childhood fears to rest once again. The birds might have won this time, but there will be another time and another place. Just remember, they always make sequels. And this time, I would be ready.
But as the years past and I became a teenager, I had conquered my fear of birds. Hell, I even developed a fascination and appreciation for Hitchcock because of that traumatic experience. I realized early on that most Hollywood horror movies were bogus, just like Santa Clause or the Tooth fairy. Yes, I still got that scary tingling sensation when I watched horror movies; however, at the same time, I knew that I was out of harms way as I sat there eating popcorn in my safe, cozy chair. On the occasion I would scream (sometimes like a little girl) or even jump out of my seat, but it was always a thrilling adrenaline rush to be scared. For me, it was the perfect relationship, and I walked away knowing I could always come back for more (sounds sadistic, I know). What I didn't realize is that sometimes movies can imitate life in one way shape or form. After all, the writers have to get material from somewhere if not from their vivid imagination. And whether I liked it or not, I was about to relive my childhood fears all over again as a full grown adult.
Fast forward to San Francisco, 2009. Even though it was fall, it felt like Indian Summer was still lingering throughout the city. The days might have been shorter, but they were still filled with blue skies and sunshine. I had just gotten off the train from my usual commute home, and I was walking home with a handful of groceries. It couldn't have been a more beautiful evening: there was a slight breeze in the air and the sun was just about to set. I was halfway home when I suddenly felt something brush up against my head. Immediately, I looked up and found a bird flying not to far above my head; he seemed frantic, and he was making a lot of noise. Before I knew it, the bird was swooping down again, but this time, I dodged his attack just as he neared my head.
To make matters worse, there were two other damn birds that showed up out of nowhere and followed suit. This time, I wasn't so lucky, and both birds managed to graze my head which caused me to drop one of my grocery bags. I suddenly felt like I was Tippi Hedren trying to evade the ravenous flock of birds, but luckily for me I wasn't wearing heals. This time there was no avoiding their attacks as all three of them made a mad dash at my head. I could hear their high pitch calls, and I was terrified that they were calling the rest of their rapacious clan of hungry, flesh eating birds to come and pick at me one by one. With one hand trying to protect my head, I grabbed my bag and sprinted down the street, and when I turned the corner I realized they were gone. I was panting and my heard was pounding, and I stood there trying to digest what had just happened. I couldn't help but wonder if my my childhood fears were coming back to bite me (or peck for that matter) in the ass.
With the traumatic bird attack behind me, the next day I decided to completely avoid the street altogether and take an alternate route to catch my train. I went about my day trying to concentrate only on my job, but my thoughts always brought me back to the bird encounter. I did, however, managed to stay focused at the gym later on that day. Thank you hot, sweaty half naked men! After the gym I headed over to Jamba Juice, and by this time my bird dilemma was almost completely forgotten.
But sometimes, life has a funny way of reminding us of things we just want to completely forget. I was just turning the corner when I felt little something tug my hair. I looked up, and sure enough there was a small black bird above my head, and he was coming in for another attack. I managed to avoid the attack, but not the humiliation. The people that were watching me seemed to get a kick out of the fact that I was being ambushed by this bird. Did they know the bird would attack anyone who passed by? Once I realized I was the main attraction, I decided not to exacerbate the situation and walk away with my head held high. I did, however, manage to take a quick glance back, and I realized the bird was already on to another victim.
For the next few days, I managed to avoid both combat zones, but in the back of my mind I felt foolish for not confronting my fears head on like a rational adult. But how can you rationalize with birds? And besides, I was encroaching into their territory. For them, I was the enemy. Then I got to thinking, what if I could compromise, or perhaps meet them halfway? After all, I was a firm believer in reciprocity, so why couldn't I negotiate something with the birds? Granted, I realize I must sound crazy, but I was willing to try anything at this point.
When Monday rolled around, I decided to try out my new tactics in hopes that I would get rid of my childhood fears once and for all. On my way home from work, I started walking down the same street I was attacked on, but this time I decided to walk on the opposite side of the street. As I began to make my way halfway through the street, I saw an older Asian woman walking on the other side, and I instantly realized that she was walking right into a trap! And in a matter of seconds, there were several birds ambushing her from the trees. The woman let out a few screams and attempted to beat them off with her walking cane. My eyes widened with horror, and I started to cross the street to help her when suddenly I realized I was also being attacked! I ducked down and I even tried to hit them, but they were still diving at my head like heat seeking missiles.
Luckily, the older woman managed to run away and escape their invasion, but as for me I was still at the mercy of the birds. I surely thought that I would be safe if I walked on the opposite side of the street, but clearly I was wrong. My plans of negotiation weren't going as well as I'd hoped. In fact, I don't think birds give a shit about reciprocity. About a block later they finally gave up and the first thing that came out of my mouth was: "Fucking birds!" So much for rationality.
With the latest bird intervention still fresh in my mind, I was wondering how to conquer my other one that was still waiting for me near Jamba Juice. Not only did I have to deal with the bird, but I also had to take into consideration the audience as well.
Like clockwork, I finished my workout at the gym and made my way to Jamba Juice, but I still wasn't sure what my plan was. Before I walked into the trap, I stood there and watched other people get attacked one by one. In between his prey, the bird sat in the tree waiting patiently for it's next victim. I stood there for a moment and watched him, and then he met my gaze. I slowly started walking, but I never took my eyes off the bird. Surprisingly, he didn't even budge and inch. There we were both intently watching each other as I put one foot in front of the other. It was a showdown like no other, and one of us was bound to give in sooner or later. At this point I didn't care about anyone else. It was just me and the bird. I kept a slow walking pace as I made my way across the courtyard, but the little shit still didn't move. What was he playing at?
With all the staring and walking, I realized that I had finally made my way across the courtyard without getting attacked. I let out a small relief of triumph. It was official: Will 1, Bird 1. We might have been tied, but at least I knew how to play his game. I took my eyes off the bird and started walking away. Just as I started hearing the victory music playing in the background I felt the SMACK right against my head! I immediately turned my head around just in time to see the bird fly away, basking in it's glory. He had played me the whole time, and I fell for his hook, line & sinker bit. I walked away defeated and embarrassed, and I could hear everyone laughing in the birds victory.
After that week, I gave up trying to negotiate, rationalize, or reciprocate anything with those damn birds. Besides, I was one and they were many. Futile as it might have been, I did manage to confront my fears head on and put my childhood fears to rest once again. The birds might have won this time, but there will be another time and another place. Just remember, they always make sequels. And this time, I would be ready.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Modern Day Hauntings
It's been said that jack-o'-lanterns at one time might have been used to ward off evil spirits that roamed the nights aimlessly on All Hallows Eve. By carving a pumpkin that resembled a monstrous face, some people believed that they could elude any hauntings by these so called spirits. Whether or not this version of Halloweens folklore is the definitive on how to get rid of pesky spirits remains to be seen. It does, however, demonstrate what people are willing to do to appease their superstitions. I then realized that if jack-o'-lanterns could do that for ghosts and demons, then why not for modern day hauntings that terrorize you on a daily basis? Wouldn't it be wonderful if they could do the same for lingering ex boyfriends, the IRS, or even your archnemesis? It would also be most useful against those annoying churchgoing bible thumpers that try to coerce you into joining their religion because you need saving. If our problems could be solved so easily, I think therapists would seek another occupation because their clients would be well equipped to handle any situation with the help of a pumpkin!
Folklore aside, Halloween has been and will always be my favorite holiday (a little morbid, perhaps). The night is filled with all kinds of ghoulish activities that include, but not in this particular order: haunted houses, dressing up (and drag does count), watching horror movies, and candy galore. It was also the one day out of the year where I could dress up and embrace my inner freak. Interestingly enough, I always felt more at home behind the mask then I did in my every day, banal life. Now there's an interesting therapy session, wouldn't you say? "So tell me, Will, why do you like wearing the Wonder Woman get-up?" I would then try to articulate my reasoning with: "Have you ever tried this thing on? I feel so empowered, and fits like a glove! Plus, the lasso comes in real handy in the bedroom!" I don't think he would object to any of those things, do you?
It was my first official Halloween in the city, and I opted to play it safe and stay away from all the chaos on Castro Street (as tedious as that may sound), even though I was tempted to frolic in the streets. Instead, I was spending it with a guy I went out on a date with that previous week. His name was Brad, and we met online. He was tall, well educated, good looking and everything a man could ask for. But there was one itsy bitsy flaw (if you want to call it that) that didn't settle well with me. Yes folks, he was a gay Republican. You're probably wondering how and why. Yes, they do exist. No, they're not an endangered species, yet. He wasn't a supporter of Obama, and from our fist date I had a sneaky suspicion he wasn't in favor of gay marriage either. Danger Will Robinson, danger! I realize I should have called it quits after the first date, but I'm a firm believer in second chances. Maybe there was another side of him that I hadn't seen, or perhaps "what you see is what you get". Either way, I hopped on a bus and headed to Pacific Heights, hoping that he would prove me wrong.
Fortunately, I was running ahead of schedule because the bus managed to brake down halfway to my destination. I only sat there for a few minutes and realized I wasn't going anywhere, so I started to walk the rest of the way. But seeing as how I still wasn't too familiar with the city, I managed to get myself lost. And to make matters worse, it started raining. Seriously? This was beginning to play out like a cheesy horror B movie, and I was inevitably playing the damsel in distress. Instead of trying to find my way around, I called Brad and asked for directions again. He was more then happy to give them to me again. As a matter of fact, he insisted that he would meet me halfway. Normally, I would be ecstatic if any man told me he would meet me halfway for anything, but at that particular time I felt like the sky was falling (dramatic, I know). As I turned and started walking in the opposite direction, I realized that my Halloween was not getting off to a good start.
The rain came and went, but after a while of walking, I saw Brad off in the distance walking towards me. That turned my frown upside down. At that moment I briefly forgot about my perilous journey that brought me to this point, and as he approached I saw that he was wet from head to toe. Dry or wet, he still looked good!
I smiled, trying to hide my embarrassment. "Sorry, I got turned around. Whoever thought Pacific Heights could be so confusing?"
I smiled, trying to hide my embarrassment. "Sorry, I got turned around. Whoever thought Pacific Heights could be so confusing?"
He snickered. "What part of my directions didn't you understand?" He looked at me with those deep, piercing blue eyes, and then he flashed his perfect white teeth. He seemed ever so charming and sincere. "Let's get going, I've got dinner in the oven."
Dinner in the oven? So far he was willing to meet me halfway and he had dinner in the oven. What more could a guy ask for? Hot sex? I couldn't help but feel that this wasn't Brad I met just a few days ago. Maybe this was a cloned doppelganger? Or perhaps his body got abducted by body snatchers? I would even venture to say that this might be his identical twin brother, who was a Democrat! But in the back of my mind I couldn't shake the feeling that his true Republican rhetoric would eventually find it's way into our conversation.
Soon enough, we arrived at his charming two bedroom apartment in Pacific Heights. The apartment was warm and cozy, and as we made our way to the kitchen I could smell the roast that was in the oven. He had also made some appetizers and dessert. A girl could get use to this kind of life! He poured me a glass of wine and we drank to a more pleasant and dry Halloween.
When the roast was done, we made our way to the couch, popped in Big Trouble in Little China (with a very young Kim Katral) and ate our dinner. He seemed more approachable this time around and not as caustic. This second date was turning out to be, by comparison, much better then our last one. Good food, good wine (already on a second bottle!), and surprisingly good company. It felt like one of those nostalgic San Francisco nights where everything was falling into place and things could only get better. But I still couldn't help but feel that Brad had lured me into his parlor to brainwash me with conservative propaganda. I half expected Rush Limbaugh or Sarah Palin to be lurking under the bed or in a closet ready for the chance to recruit me to the dark side! But don't worry, I was my best guard and kept my defenses up. They weren't going to recruit this homo! All joking aside, Brad was a perfect gentleman throughout the whole evening, and he didn't once embark into Republican territory.
Towards the end of the movie he pulled me closer to him, and the next thing I knew we were both spooning on the couch. After a while of snuggling, he kissed me ever so softly, and I returned his kiss. If Jeopardy had a category for best kissers his name would definitely be listed under it. In fact, I would qualify him as a Daily Double! After a while of kissing and heavy petting, we decided to call it a night and head to his chamber (but alas, no slings or whips).
Normally in the gay world dinner was just another euphemism for sex, but this evening was an exception. For whatever the reason, we didn't have sex that night. We spent it canoodling in his bed watching The Simpsons. When we did go to bed, the snuggling continued throughout the night, and occasionally I would feel him kiss me on the shoulder. Like I said, he was the perfect gentleman. There was no sign of Sarah Palin lurking under the bed or hiding in the closet, for that matter. In fact, I think she was more afraid of us then I was of her. The idea of two men sleeping together half naked probably sent her running back to Alaska. That, or she's a dirty soccer mom and recorded us and watched it when her husband wasn't home...
I woke up to the sound of rain on the window, and I looked around and almost forgot where I was. I rolled over and realized that Bard was not lying next to me. Now this is the part in the movie where you find out they left in the middle of the night.But seeing as how I was at Brad's place, I highly doubt that happened. I sat up and and found him rummaging through his closet. he seemed irritated and frantic.
"I slept through my alarm. I'm running late for work." That was it? No hello and definitely no good morning. Maybe he just wasn't a morning person?
I tried to change the subject. "I had a great time last night."
"Yeah, me too." Except his tone didn't really reveal his conviction. After that he said nothing and left the room to take a shower.
The room suddenly got cold, and I felt as if I had overextended my stay. I sat there on the bed wondering why the sudden change. Maybe I was just overreacting and he had a lot on his mind. Or perhaps now that Halloween was over he decided to take off his mask and show his true colors. Revenge of the Republican has returned! He entered the room again and I reached to touch him, but he wasn't responsive. In fact, he was cold and distant.
"Everything okay?"
"Yeah, just running late." I didn't buy it. Like a typical Republican he was begging the question.
I got dressed and the lingering silence was unbearable. We said goodbye (and no Jeopardy kiss), and I walked to the bus stop feeling like I had been kicked to the curb. I attempted to make some sign of interest by telling him I'd like to see more of him again, but he said he wasn't sure if he had time to date because he was so busy with his job (ouch, that's gotta hurt!). I hadn't heard from him in about a week, and then by chance (if that's what people are calling it these days) I ran into him on the subway. He seemed cheery and friendly like the evening on Halloween. This time I was cold and distant, and I pretended I had somewhere to be (way to play the game, Will!). He sent me a text message apologizing for the other night and said I'm a sweet guy and a good kisser. A good kisser? A few days after that I ran into him again (San Francisco is a small world) on Market Street just coming out of the subway. He attempted the same friendly dialogue with me again, but I was growing tired of trying to decipher his cryptic conversations. And then the next thing that came out of his mouth was predictable and cliche: he just wanted to be friends. I declined, but he seemed upset that I wouldn't at least make an attempt to be friends.
Funny thing about San Francisco is that you always run into the people you don't want to see or you're trying to deliberately avoid. So, instead of trying to worry about running uncomfortable encounters, I decided to take matter into my own hands. That night when I got home, I carved my own jack-o'-lantern (even though Halloween had passed) and put it outside my front door in hopes that it would keep away the bad Republican man away. I waited, and after a month had passed I didn't bump into on the streets. As a matter of fact, I wasn't haunted by him at all, even to this very day. Never underestimate the power of the pumpkin!
Sunday, March 14, 2010
The Show Must Go On
Throughout most of my pubescent teenage years I was socially awkward, and that was the plain and simple truth. If I ever had been given a yearbook superlative it would probably read: Most Likely To Run Away and Join the Circus. Step right up folks and behold the reclusive freak homo boy from Lard (that's Spanish for my hometown, Manteca)! Seriously, whoever coined the phrase "high school was the best years of my life" was probably Most Popular or Best Looking. They were also "most likely" the ones who stayed in my home town, became unhappily married, and spawned three kids. I knew I was special and didn't fit into the typical "normal" mold like most other high school kids. I wanted to travel, meet new people (people that weren't from my home town) and see new places. Most importantly, I wanted to shed my skin, and I couldn't indulge in my uniqueness if I continued to live in my home town.
Twelve years later (took me long enough) I did just that: I moved to San Francisco and joined the circus, or something close to it. In a city where anything goes and endless possibilities, you could be anyone (or anything), and you didn't have to worry about the most likely popular crowd looking down on you. And the best part is I could either be a voyeuristic member of the audience or a willing participant that would entertain and amaze. That's what so great about running away to join the circus: there's never a dull moment. I realized that San Francisco was the quintessential "stage" where everyone was constantly rehearsing their lines to perform their next act.
And on a mild mid-October evening, I was assuming the role as an audience member because I was on my way to see a drag performance. I had only lived in the city for a little over two months, and I decided it was about time to embark into unknown regions (also known as the Tenderloin). Put aside the fact that the Tenderloin was rampant with crime, prostitution, drug dealers and plain old fashioned crazies, it was still a great place to go out and have a gay old time. So I jumped on the train and met my roommates and a friend of theirs at Deco Lounge; they had already found a perfect table right in front. The evening was already starting off on a good note with good times, good friends and very strong drinks!
As the night got closer to the performance, I realized that I was quickly running out of money but unfortunately the ATM machine inside the bar was out of service. The bartender was nice enough to give me directions to an ATM that was close by. All I had to do was go up one block and take a left turn on Golden Gate Avenue. Sounds easy enough, right? I wish I could say it was, but I was about to learn that sometimes even the easiest of things can be a challenge (especially when you're in the Tenderloin). And as I stepped out into the night and started walking across the street, I realized that the circus was most definitely in town tonight, and I had a front row seat. Come one, come all and see the magnificent and amazing performers of the Tenderloin! In just a matter of minutes, I came across a drug deal, a prostitute offering her (or his) services, and a man ranting and raving lewd comments to himself. Ah, the joys of living in the city! After I found the ATM, I made my way back to the bar and managed not to make eye contact with anyone.
I sat down at our table and realized that the lounge was filling up fast, and people were getting rowdy and anxious. It was only a few minutes before the show when I felt a small tap on my shoulder. I looked up and saw a drag queen all decked out in short baby doll dress with long stockings, and her hair was braided in pigtails. It was Baby Jane Hudson meets Pippi Longstocking, and I was completely mesmerized! She handed a Polaroid to one of my roommates, and the drag queen knelt down next to me while my roommate took a picture of us. I was starstruck and speechless all at the same time, and before I knew it she had vanished into the back of the bar. My face lit up and everyone at my table started speculating as to why she took my picture. I didn't realize it at the time, but the evening was going to be a most memorable one that I would never forget.
As we sat there and watched the show, we saw some amazing and not so amazing drag performances. My eyes were glued to the small stage, and there was no way anyone could tear me away. We saw a wonderful Janis Joplin 60's tie died performance, and a memorable interpretation of Beyonce's "Single Ladies". The show was getting off to a good start, and the crowd was enjoying every moment. The next performer (who's name eludes me for some reason) was less of a hit, but still looked good in her long, elegant evening dress that matched her equally long, wavy hair. In the back of my mind I kept thinking Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair! I could tell she was nervous, and I thought how daunting it must have been to be up there trying to give it your best. As she made her way to our table, one of my roommates tipped her, but on her way back, the drag queen got her hair caught in the big fan standing next to the DJ booth. The audience let out a small gasp as she struggled to break free from the fan, and finally one of my roommates untangled her hair. But the drag queen kept her head held high (and her hair away from our table) and walked back up to the stage to finish her number.
Finally, it was time for my mystery queen to reveal herself. Her name was Raya Light, and I was fascinated from the moment she stepped foot on the small stage. She was still wearing her baby doll dress, and I noticed that she had the picture that she took of me in her hand. I glanced over at the girls at my table and they all had equally suspicious looks. The song started off all lovey-dovey and gooey, and Raya would occasionally glance at my photo from time to time with adoration. After only a few minutes into the song, it started to turn sour (think Alanis Morisette and "You Outta Know"). Then out of nowhere she proceeded to pull a small dildo from her dress and threw my photo on the ground. Clearly, I broker her heart, and now she was done with me. She took that dildo, turned her back to the audience, pulled up her skirt and pulled down her underwear to reveal her ass (and might I add it was a nice one). The crowed was relishing every moment and they cheered her on by whistling and making sexual noises. When she turned back to face the audience, she took the dildo and placed it every so carefully up her ass. Mind you, no one really saw this happening because of her poofy, frilly dress. The audience just assumed that she was "enjoying herself" because it looked as if she was going through the motions of getting off.
And it didn't end there, my friends. Oh no, that was just a warm up, and the good stuff was just about to begin. After a minute or two of enjoying herself with the dildo, she pulled it out and it was covered with a mysterious brown coating! But it wasn't until she started sucking on the dildo that the audience let out several gasps of disgust and confusion. At this point, the audience didn't know whether to cheer or look away, but I realized I couldn't keep my eyes off the stage because I had never seen anything so trashy, so in your face, and so raunchy in all my life. Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore...
As the song was drawing to and end, my roommates convinced me that I should tip her, but I was petrified of going up there. I took a deep breath and made my way towards the stage. I had officially become part of the performance, I just didn't know it yet. And as I started to put a dollar in her chest, she grabbed me by my head and pushed my face into her crotch, and I could hear the audience cheering and laughing from behind me. When I came up for air I felt my face getting red, and I made my way back to my table, embarrassed.
When I sat down the table next to me blurted out: "You have some of that shit on your shoulder!" And there it was: the mysterious brown something right there on my shirt. I quickly ran into the bathroom and realized there was also a little in my hair, and as I began to wash it out I got a strong wiff of sugar and chocolate pudding. It wasn't until I started scrubbing my shirt that I realized the smell was coming from the brown goo on my shirt. It must have been chocolate frosting, but I wasn't about to do a taste test and find out. I was relieved, but I still wasn't sure how she managed to pull it off. I cleaned myself up as best as I could and made my way back to our table.
We didn't stay long after that because the night was drawing to and end, and it was getting late. But that unforgettable performance never left my mind. It was the night I saw my first authentic drag performance, and it was also the night I became an official fan of Miss Raya. As we hopped into the taxi and back to The Sunset, I realized that the circus wasn't over by any means. The shows were constantly being performed day and night, regardless of what neighborhood you were in. It was all around me, and I was part of it. And the best part is I didn't have to look that far because it was always right outside my door.
Twelve years later (took me long enough) I did just that: I moved to San Francisco and joined the circus, or something close to it. In a city where anything goes and endless possibilities, you could be anyone (or anything), and you didn't have to worry about the most likely popular crowd looking down on you. And the best part is I could either be a voyeuristic member of the audience or a willing participant that would entertain and amaze. That's what so great about running away to join the circus: there's never a dull moment. I realized that San Francisco was the quintessential "stage" where everyone was constantly rehearsing their lines to perform their next act.
And on a mild mid-October evening, I was assuming the role as an audience member because I was on my way to see a drag performance. I had only lived in the city for a little over two months, and I decided it was about time to embark into unknown regions (also known as the Tenderloin). Put aside the fact that the Tenderloin was rampant with crime, prostitution, drug dealers and plain old fashioned crazies, it was still a great place to go out and have a gay old time. So I jumped on the train and met my roommates and a friend of theirs at Deco Lounge; they had already found a perfect table right in front. The evening was already starting off on a good note with good times, good friends and very strong drinks!
As the night got closer to the performance, I realized that I was quickly running out of money but unfortunately the ATM machine inside the bar was out of service. The bartender was nice enough to give me directions to an ATM that was close by. All I had to do was go up one block and take a left turn on Golden Gate Avenue. Sounds easy enough, right? I wish I could say it was, but I was about to learn that sometimes even the easiest of things can be a challenge (especially when you're in the Tenderloin). And as I stepped out into the night and started walking across the street, I realized that the circus was most definitely in town tonight, and I had a front row seat. Come one, come all and see the magnificent and amazing performers of the Tenderloin! In just a matter of minutes, I came across a drug deal, a prostitute offering her (or his) services, and a man ranting and raving lewd comments to himself. Ah, the joys of living in the city! After I found the ATM, I made my way back to the bar and managed not to make eye contact with anyone.
I sat down at our table and realized that the lounge was filling up fast, and people were getting rowdy and anxious. It was only a few minutes before the show when I felt a small tap on my shoulder. I looked up and saw a drag queen all decked out in short baby doll dress with long stockings, and her hair was braided in pigtails. It was Baby Jane Hudson meets Pippi Longstocking, and I was completely mesmerized! She handed a Polaroid to one of my roommates, and the drag queen knelt down next to me while my roommate took a picture of us. I was starstruck and speechless all at the same time, and before I knew it she had vanished into the back of the bar. My face lit up and everyone at my table started speculating as to why she took my picture. I didn't realize it at the time, but the evening was going to be a most memorable one that I would never forget.
As we sat there and watched the show, we saw some amazing and not so amazing drag performances. My eyes were glued to the small stage, and there was no way anyone could tear me away. We saw a wonderful Janis Joplin 60's tie died performance, and a memorable interpretation of Beyonce's "Single Ladies". The show was getting off to a good start, and the crowd was enjoying every moment. The next performer (who's name eludes me for some reason) was less of a hit, but still looked good in her long, elegant evening dress that matched her equally long, wavy hair. In the back of my mind I kept thinking Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair! I could tell she was nervous, and I thought how daunting it must have been to be up there trying to give it your best. As she made her way to our table, one of my roommates tipped her, but on her way back, the drag queen got her hair caught in the big fan standing next to the DJ booth. The audience let out a small gasp as she struggled to break free from the fan, and finally one of my roommates untangled her hair. But the drag queen kept her head held high (and her hair away from our table) and walked back up to the stage to finish her number.
Finally, it was time for my mystery queen to reveal herself. Her name was Raya Light, and I was fascinated from the moment she stepped foot on the small stage. She was still wearing her baby doll dress, and I noticed that she had the picture that she took of me in her hand. I glanced over at the girls at my table and they all had equally suspicious looks. The song started off all lovey-dovey and gooey, and Raya would occasionally glance at my photo from time to time with adoration. After only a few minutes into the song, it started to turn sour (think Alanis Morisette and "You Outta Know"). Then out of nowhere she proceeded to pull a small dildo from her dress and threw my photo on the ground. Clearly, I broker her heart, and now she was done with me. She took that dildo, turned her back to the audience, pulled up her skirt and pulled down her underwear to reveal her ass (and might I add it was a nice one). The crowed was relishing every moment and they cheered her on by whistling and making sexual noises. When she turned back to face the audience, she took the dildo and placed it every so carefully up her ass. Mind you, no one really saw this happening because of her poofy, frilly dress. The audience just assumed that she was "enjoying herself" because it looked as if she was going through the motions of getting off.
And it didn't end there, my friends. Oh no, that was just a warm up, and the good stuff was just about to begin. After a minute or two of enjoying herself with the dildo, she pulled it out and it was covered with a mysterious brown coating! But it wasn't until she started sucking on the dildo that the audience let out several gasps of disgust and confusion. At this point, the audience didn't know whether to cheer or look away, but I realized I couldn't keep my eyes off the stage because I had never seen anything so trashy, so in your face, and so raunchy in all my life. Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore...
As the song was drawing to and end, my roommates convinced me that I should tip her, but I was petrified of going up there. I took a deep breath and made my way towards the stage. I had officially become part of the performance, I just didn't know it yet. And as I started to put a dollar in her chest, she grabbed me by my head and pushed my face into her crotch, and I could hear the audience cheering and laughing from behind me. When I came up for air I felt my face getting red, and I made my way back to my table, embarrassed.
When I sat down the table next to me blurted out: "You have some of that shit on your shoulder!" And there it was: the mysterious brown something right there on my shirt. I quickly ran into the bathroom and realized there was also a little in my hair, and as I began to wash it out I got a strong wiff of sugar and chocolate pudding. It wasn't until I started scrubbing my shirt that I realized the smell was coming from the brown goo on my shirt. It must have been chocolate frosting, but I wasn't about to do a taste test and find out. I was relieved, but I still wasn't sure how she managed to pull it off. I cleaned myself up as best as I could and made my way back to our table.
We didn't stay long after that because the night was drawing to and end, and it was getting late. But that unforgettable performance never left my mind. It was the night I saw my first authentic drag performance, and it was also the night I became an official fan of Miss Raya. As we hopped into the taxi and back to The Sunset, I realized that the circus wasn't over by any means. The shows were constantly being performed day and night, regardless of what neighborhood you were in. It was all around me, and I was part of it. And the best part is I didn't have to look that far because it was always right outside my door.
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