Okay, San Francisco.

“Monkey’s Gone to Heaven”

I left off getting dropped off Monday morning and Ian leaving to return the rental car. I just ran for my bedroom and passed out. I was flying out on Wednesday and wanted to be tanned, rested, and ready so to speak, San Francisco, although fun, can be exhausting; especially with who I was going to be with. I rested on Monday and did some laundry on Tuesday. Something about having clean underwear and socks when your pants come off is very important when getting laid, and given the results of our last visit getting laid was a distinct possibility; in fact I was quite looking forward to it. Plus Mel gives some damn good head. My flight out wasn’t too early, but I still woke up earlier than I needed to. My sleep schedule is still fucked after this vacation; I think Coachella was the main cause. Sleeping in a car sucks ass. I walked up to Maryland Parkway and stopped in at Cheers for a beer on the way out. The tall Newcastles are like twice as much during the day! Fascist pigs. Still, I don’t like flying so I tend to get hammered before leaving town. Plus I get bored easily and find that drinking solves that. I had one beer and caught route 109 to the airport. Getting to McCarran Airport is a breeze, there are two different busses going over there and a cab would be about $10. I got in a few hours early, checked my bags and headed for the bar, Cheers again. Strange that there’s a Cheers not in an airport and one in. I think before moving to Vegas I only knew of Cheers in airports. My previous flights, I only had carry on luggage, but I wanted to bring two pairs of shoes and enough clothing to not be a slob. I used the luggage I bought before leaving for Toronto. The three or four times I’ve flown out, I’ve talked to some strange people sitting at this bar. This time it was a couple about my age from Arizona and then some old fat guy. I had a few beers here and headed for the plane. I only had my satchel with me, so boarding was easy. I think I’ll have to remember to just check my gear so I can relax more when I travel. [“Neon on my naked skin / Passing silhouettes of strange illuminated mannequins / Shall I stay here at the zoo / Or shall I go and change my point of view for other ugly scenes.”] The flight from LAS to SFO is short, usually just over an hour. Enough time for a beer and a whiskey. I’d hate to be stuck on a long ass flight and get drunk and not be able to smoke. It was like that going to Toronto. I can handle it, though. I had my friend’s cell phone number, she was supposed to meet me at the airport. She didn’t want to drive there and since BART has expanded all the way down I wasn’t worried. I just had to track her down. It’s a good thing she had her phone with her, we just missed each other as I walked out the gate. She’d been running late so she wound up driving anyway. It was good to see her; it’d been a year and a half since she came down to visit me in Vegas. The arid climate proved too much for her and this time she wanted me to come to her. Fair enough. She spent so much time slathering on lotion and petroleum jelly her first visit I think she might crack in half if she comes again. We make it out to her car, the “turbo tomato” as she calls it. An older Volvo that has faded into 5 different shades of red. Thing still runs okay, so whatever. Beats hoofing it everywhere. I started kissing her as we approached, but she became embarrassed. [“I had no illusions / That I'd ever find a glimpse of summer's heat waves in your eyes.”] I was surprised, I didn’t think that was possible. We headed back to her place, a quaint two bedroom built over its garage in the outer Sunset district, somewhere around the Zoo and the preternatural waters of the Pacific. I don’t mind the drive, even if being in the car for so long with Ian driving almost put me out of my fucking mind. She knows how to drive well. Even an old manual transmission tank like this is no trouble for her to handle. She blasts some 80s compilation that she made, skipping the Madonna and other things I find grating. She thinks it odd I like the Bangles but not Madonna. The house must be worth a half-million; her grandparents abandoned it when they fled for convalescence in an assisted-living facility. Her grandfather has since passed away and her and her sister live rent free in the City. She says she’s not rich, but I don’t buy it. Her family might be cash poor, but they’re sitting on more than I’ll ever see in my life. Two houses, cars, and some nice electronics. The downside is that she actually has to talk to her family, which I couldn’t handle. Well maybe for a pad like this I’d make an exception. We have to be quiet during the night since her sister is easily wakened; spoiled by living in calm houses instead of having neighbors wake her with music so loud that it knocks pictures off your walls. Not rich, my ass. Our first night, we don’t do much, just head out for a few to get some food and hit up some bars. We went to the Pancho Villa Taqueria somewhere in the Mission (I think.) My food tastes are extremely predictable so a taqueria is always a good bet. Plus the Mission-style places here have such huge, cheap burritos. The place is packed; almost no seats. She sits as soon as a table comes up and I continue to wait in the line that stretches the length of the restaurant. There’s a large food line (like when I worked at Taco Bell) behind glass along the right hand side, with a half dozen wets taking people’s orders. It moves quickly enough. I could have eaten a whole burrito, I think, but we share one and drink Negro Modelo. It was $15 for all of it, cheap enough. I haven’t had Mexican beer in a while, but it’s not bad. It’s no Arrogant Bastard, but what is? After, we head to a bar. Now, you can’t smoke in bars in San Francisco. None of them. Bakersfield, San Bernardino, and Santa Cruz all have [at least] some bars that ignore the law, but I guess the City has to be a shining light of morality in the hell pit of California. Or something like that, anyway. We find a place that has a smoking patio, at least. She bores of the place and it’s getting late so we head home. Again, I fall asleep early. So much walking, my calves are killing me. Never before would I think a backrub and a blow job to be so important in the lives of man. Not to mention a few other perversions we indulged in as quietly as possible so as to not disturb her sister. We put M*A*S*H* on in the background. It seems the only thing that’s changed since we left Porter is the color of her comforter and the quality of her television (daddy got her a nice flat screen.) I’m so exhausted from my trip through the desert that I sleep early. I wanted to stay up till 4 or 5 but I think I was out by 2. It’s strange to sleep next to someone again. I’ve spent most of my adult life sleeping next to someone. I must smell awful to her now; like old man smell but with cloves instead of cigars or pipes. In the dorms, everyone drank and smoked way too much so we all smelled bad. A few years later, I’m sure I’m the only one left that’s still beating my body this hard. She smells like normal girl smell, heavily perfumed shampoo and lotion. I think she may have lost weight, at least in her belly. My memory is faded; I could be wrong. We don’t fuck much on this trip, instead we spend most of our time like lesbians (as she says) and take turns getting each other off. Mouths and hands can be just as sensuous and erotic as being “in the middle of her favours” as Hamlet calls it. She's already sung my praises elsewhere, so maybe I should pause to say something about her skills in bed. Some women think that oral sex is only foreplay. I think that sex can be too narrowly defined. As long as both people are getting off then it’s sex, right? After a long dry spell, a good blow job can solve all of life’s problems. Apparently, I made chewing sounds as I slept. I’m not sure if I was grinding my teeth or what, but it seemed slightly creepy to my companion. When we woke, it was time to decide what we were going to do. We snacked on bread and humus and watched the first Daria movie. The last time she came to visit me, we watched Daria for hours. Almost two full seasons worth. This time, we finish two episodes and “Is it Fall Yet” before inviting over a friend we knew from Porter (now relocated to the City) to watch the second DVD, “Is it College Yet”. I haven’t seen much of my college friends since leaving, so it’s a surprise to see her. She’s lost a lot of weight. All the walking and not eating well that comes with just moving to San Francisco has done wonders for her figure, at least. She’s grateful for the bread and humus. I give her a few bottles of the Spaten we’d procured earlier in the afternoon; we’d taken the “turbo tomato” down to Daly City to a supermarket that looks like it should be nestled in the suburbia of Aptos or something. Our friend leaves after the DVD finishes, she has stuff to do (this being such a busy city and all.) It was good to see her and we promised to meet before the Neubauten show. With social obligations out of the way, she wanted to show me a view of the City. I’ve been to San Francisco dozens of times, but really know very little of it’s neighborhoods. Of course I know Haight, Mission, and Hayes Valley (where a friend used to live) and I’ve seen the Presidio, and North Beach. There’s a lot more going on here. We took MUNI toward Twin Peaks. We got off the train and asked a hippie which bus we could take to the top of the hill; the stupid flea bait said no bus went up there. Of course we were passed by that non-existent bus halfway to our destination. I think we were on Portola or something like that. When we got to the top, it seemed like the world was underneath us. Looking out north-east you can see everything that’s good about San Francisco. We stood and admired it for a time, then took the street down to Market so we could have some drinks. Exhausting. Friday, she had to practice for a show; a benefit for gay marriage. Before she left for that, we went to Golden Gate Park. I wanted to see the carousel, but we didn’t look at a map until we’d already used most of our time there. There are trees and stuff there. Strange to see after so long in the desert. After getting back, we played some chess. Of course I brought my clock and board, but she took out a much nicer set for us to play on. I have one of the standard tournament sets with the nylon placemat style board and cheap, unweighted plastic pieces. Her set is real wood, with weighted pieces. Cost over $100. I’m sure she’s told me where she got it, but I don’t remember now. I prefer portability in my sets, but hers is pretty. I set the clock 30 to 60 (that means she got 60 minutes for every 30 that I got) and we played a few games. Of course I win. I don’t know why she wins so often when we play online but not face to face. It’s time for her to leave for rehearsal. I wished she hadn’t taken on this damn benefit (not like she was getting paid for it) but she wants to make as many connections in the theater scene as she can. I can understand that. I don’t know when the next time we’ll see each other will be and want as much time as possible together. I understand she’s nervous about us getting along; about maybe getting sick of each other or something. Neither happened. I was going to go to the Neubauten show with another friend anyway. I wish we could have gone together, but she would have probably hated me for dragging her to something like that. I was supposed to meet another friend at 9, but I got lost. I was supposed to take the L train to route 22 or something, but couldn’t find the transfer point. I wandered around for a bit, then just got a cab. The cabby heard where I was headed and punched the gas. I thought we were going to fly off like when the valet gets Cameron’s fathers car [cue the Main Title theme from Star Wars.] I was still late getting to the show. I thought the doors opened at 9, but the show started at 9. I didn’t see my friend waiting anywhere. She’ll forever think I’d flaked on her. Oh well, I went inside anyway. I wouldn’t miss a chance to see this show for much of anything. I first saw Neubauten way back in 1998 during the Ende Neu tour. I saw them at the Hollywood Palace, if I recall correctly. People go to the Palace every week, no matter who’s playing. It’s just a club. The hipsters are mostly indifferent to what they see there. I was with my girlfriend (at the time) and the singer of the band I was in. In fact, the first time I rode in Eric’s truck I was surprised to find a copy of Ende Neu (before I knew it’d even come out) sitting on his seat. Did I mention we were a rockabilly band? Seeing them this second time is priceless. They played more visceral stuff. I was confused as to why they got a synth and a real drum kit after so many years, but whatever. We all grow and learn. The Fillmore is a great old venue, but I think attracts a somewhat different crowd than the Palace. I think the San Francisco equivalent might be the Warfield (where I saw Ministry, back in the day) but I don’t even know enough to speculate. The crowd is different here; still hipsters but I think more in tune to what Neubauten has to say. As the show lets out, I call to try to get a ride home. I’d gotten so lost trying to get here I didn’t know what the hell to do. She wasn’t quite home from rehearsal yet but said she’d come get me. I said to let me call back in a few minutes so I could try to find route 22 going in the right direction. Well I found that but got lost again trying to transfer back to the L train. I tried calling her cell, but her service is just spotty for some reason. I wasted like $5 on payphones. I stopped into a store for some more beer to at least save her a little more frustration when she found me. I finally got through on her phone and she was mad as hell. She has a bit of media induced paranoia about some neighborhoods (although she's not worried about this neighborhood, it's harmless. Nothing like the piss stained ghettos.) She’d been in front of the Fillmore for about 20 minutes before I got through to her. She came and got me, angry and raising her voice at me. 10 years ago, I might have started crying or yelling, but I just tried to explain my side of the story and saying I understood why she was mad. I think I matured some that night. It takes a lot of strength to not blame someone for being mad, to realize that sometimes people blow off steam. Even if it’s the last way I’d ever deal with a situation, I’m not everyone. It makes no sense to escalate the situation with more anger, just hear her out and state your peace. She had to work hard that night, staying up hours past me trying to get the show organized. She’s a hard worker. She apologized the next morning, before leaving for rehearsal. She had to leave early on Saturday so I’d be alone for a few hours. I slept late, then had a few beers, played solitaire on her laptop, and watched M*A*S*H*. [It’s okay to ask yourself, “God, doesn’t this deadbeat do anything else?” right now.] Her sister came home early with a cold. She normally volunteers at the hospital on Saturdays. Jesus, a 9-5 Monday through Friday, dance lessons in Oakland, and a candy striper. No way I could pull that off. She came in the room and asked if I was a vegetarian. Of course I am and she knows it; it was just her way of telling me that she’s cooking food and she can make it vegetarian if I want some. I think it nice of her, and since I haven’t eaten much the past week, think that food might be a good idea. I sit in the kitchen with her as she cooks. She spent a lot longer at this than I would for most dishes; just beans and rice but she did so much to the beans. It provided an excuse for friendly conversation. I wasn’t sure she’d like me, since she was her sister’s main confidant about how heart broken she was when I left Santa Cruz for Las Vegas. The situation could have been tense, but thanks to some small talk we got through it just fine. We were supposed to meet after Mel’s rehearsal and before the show, so I hopped back on the L train and out towards the venue. We wisely agreed to meet at the transfer point so I wouldn’t get fucking lost again. She wanted to stop for a coffee and I wanted to stop for a beer (well mostly I just needed to piss since I’d drank like 6 beers and some Jager that afternoon.) We managed to find both near the theater, despite it being in some weird district that doesn’t have much in the way of bars and all the cafes seem to be closed on the weekend. We come up on the theater, which apparently is a converted Masonic Lodge. Mel goes in and I stand in the stairwell smoking and passing my flask between some of the actors. It’s fitting, Mel gave me that flask for graduation. I can’t believe how well I fit in with them, like they can smell their own or something. Maybe it was just the Jager and the cloves. Or the beret and trench coat. One of the actors looked at my flask and said “Oh, a 7, I have an 8 but my 6 is much nicer.” I giggled for a second till I realized he was talking about the volume of each flask. Mine is plain, unadorned, but still precious to me. A graduation present. My only graduation present, in fact. I headed in to the VIP reception (I got VIP comp tickets) and expected the worst. Rich fags can be annoying. I managed to find some not so annoying people, the wife of one of the band members even invited me to sit at their table so I wouldn’t feel so alone with a random group. We sat right next to Jason West, the Green Party mayor of New Paltz, NY who’s facing criminal charges for performing gay marriages, and two or three of the California Green Party’s big wigs. Talk about me being out of place. I just worked on my beer and let it go. At least they weren’t Democrats; or even worse Libertarians. The show wasn’t really my thing, a couple of transgender singers doing jazz and blues numbers with a few drag bits thrown in here and there. Given the amount of preparation the show had, it came off well enough. I spent more time watching the bass player than I did the singers, but that’s normal for me. Not a total waste, I got to see how the other half lives. I’ve spent more on concerts than my VIP ticket was worth, but not much more. And certainly not one with seats. We headed home after everything was tended to. We had to kiss our good-byes that night since the sisters were compelled to attended a family diner in honor of Mother’s Day (imagine, living your life around Hallmark holidays. Fuck that shit, if you love your mother then tell her. If you don’t love the stupid cunt, then let her rot living out by the railroad tracks. You don’t need someone else to tell you how to live your life.) I was sad that this would be our last night together, but I managed to not tear up as I have in the past. The next morning, we went to the beach. It’s about 10 blocks away, so we walked. The ocean sounds are always soothing like a mother’s heart beat.

we drove to the N line and parked near the bus stop. We took that to the Civic Center terminal and I had to transfer to BART. I was somewhat worried that I’d get lost again, but it was easier than I thought it would be. I got to SFO early enough, but I’d about run out of cash so I couldn’t start drinking. I was a little angsty about that, but I made it through. Getting back on the Maryland Parkway bus in Las Vegas, I didn’t realize that they had expanded the route. It used to end at the airport, but now goes to the new transfer center out on Sunset and Las Vegas Blvd. So I got lost again! In Las Vegas! I made it back home eventually, and thankfully there was booze in the refrigerator. I passed out before 2am. So that’s it, my big vacation. If I think of anything else, I make some revisions.