Posts Tagged ‘Omar’

Bizzaro weekend cut short

It originally started as a birthday party on Saturday at 6 pm in SF. Then another birthday party at 3 pm was added. And then a club after the later birthday party. And then a picnic in the park on Sunday.

I survived two birthday parties and then was just exhausted and went home. But not before I met a number of characters.

The first birthday party—a 50th—was at a Yacht Club just south of PacBell Park. I met lots of Omar’s neighbors. One couple is from Denmark and are returning there after a two year stay in the US. The husband just retired from Genentech and they are excited to go home and be with their grandchildren. They have been renting their apartment from a loud-mouthed, middle-aged Italian guy who chews with his mouth open and has food stuck in his teeth. He is married to a younger filipino woman who works at Macy’s, has expensive taste in jewelry, and can see past his bad eating habits. He does all the cooking because he doesn’t like filipino food. The couple that lives above Omar is an old white guy who used to have a wife and family, but, in typical San Francisco style, came out of the closet a few years ago, and is now with a younger Mexican guy. The old white guy had a Flip Mino camera, which I’ve been considering buying, and had attached an old Canon grip to it. He showed me the video he had just taken of his partner with a balloon caricature of himself.

On the way to the second party, we picked up Omar’s young, Japanese coworker. We didn’t go into her place, which Omar said was a disorganized collection of Hello Kitty paraphernalia. The party was for a 48-year-old Italian friend who lives in the apartment above her Italian parents. Her father enjoyed flirting with Hello Kitty Girl and myself while he practiced his English. They have been here for 30 years, so he didn’t really need a lot of practice. I ran into two of Omar’s old roommates from stories past. I met a guy who reminds me of Travel Buddy P’s husband. And after the Italian connection started filtering out, the French group showed up with a 7 ft tall swimmer who works as a bouncer, and a shorter (in comparison) musician and audio engineer from Cameroon who decided I was beautiful and gave me the name Moon. Maybe he will write me a song. He too was practicing his English on me.

And after that I was exhausted. So after Hello Kitty Girl extracted herself from The Bouncer’s lap, where she looked like he was holding a doll. I drove her home, then rescued my dog from doggy daycare and went to sleep. We woke at 7 for our morning constitutional, then back to sleep and I didn’t wake again until 1:30. I needed the sleep after that short tour around the world!

But that is why I love living here.

√ Fab weekend

Meme, Omar and I went to the rainforest today at Cal Academy of Sciences. Saw frogs, and snakes, and butterflies. Put the top down on the convertible and drove down Geary to the ocean. Finished the day at the Cliff House, drinking cocktails and watching the sunset. Much thanks to Omar for entertaining Meme while I tried to find parking. Seems that even having a handicap pass doesn’t make it easy to find parking in Golden Gate Park. I did make Meme walk the ten blocks back to the car. If she tries to give you some sob story about it, remind her that I told her she was welcome to call it quits and sit on the curb and I’d bring the car to her. I do have a witness, so she can’t claim elder abuse. ;-)

The best part of the day, according to Meme, is when we were entering Golden Gate Park. We were all stuck in traffic, with an intersecting road on the right. Some soccer mom passed a couple cars on that road, then tried to cut me off by sticking the nose of her vehicle in front of me. I thought she wanted to turn left, which would have been fine, but it became obvious that wasn’t the case. Without saying a word, I deftly navigated Myrtle between the mini van and oncoming traffic, completely ignoring her and continuing on our way as if nothing had happened.

Another absolutely amazing weekend. Photos are available in my gallery.

As I side note, I don’t know those people in the sunset photo. They were eating dinner, we were at the bar. I thought they made nice silhouettes.

La Rondine

Every so often, when I feel that my vortex is swirling out of control, I like to visit Omar and his vortex. It makes my vortex seem like a crystal clear lake compared to his class IV rapids. Today was one of those days. So we went to the opera.

I picked up Omar and since we were running late, we skipped having tacos. However, we arrived a bit early, so we decided to swirl the vortex a little by stopping by a convenience store. We picked up a forty and headed back to the opera house.

I was previously unaware of this, but there are cheap tickets to the opera. $10 to be exact. The catch? They are standing room tickets. So a few minutes before the lecture started, we all had to line up on these numbers outside, then file in and pick a place behind the railing to stand. Once we claimed a spot, we could wander a bit, so Omar and I found a quiet floor and pounded the forty. It felt like we were in high school again. Well, the version of high school where I wasn’t a complete kiss ass. And by the way, it was a Newcastle, so at least it wasn’t total shit beer.

We finished just in time for the lecture before the show. The lecture is an explanation of some of the finer detail of the opera. Luckily, we could sit for this part. It was interesting, but truthfully, I don’t remember anything the guy said. I was too busy looking at the opera house itself. Quite stunning all in gold plating.

The opera was Giacomo Puccini’s “La Rondine.” Here is my Cliff Notes version:

Act 1.
Dirty Mistress of Old Rich Banker reminisces of time she hooked up with some guy in a club. Old Rich Banker’s Friend’s Son shows up, but doesn’t meet Dirty Mistress. Maid tells Friend’s Son where to get his groove on for his first night in Paris. Maid and Poet hook up and go to club. Dirty Mistress sneaks out and goes to club not knowing everyone else is there.

Act 2.
Dirty Mistress falls in love with Friend’s Son after one beer, some dancing, and some kissing (cheap date). Maid and Poet run into them and Dirty Mistress claims mistaken identity. All scatter when Old Rich Banker shows up. Dirty Mistress refuses to go home with him and waits for Friend’s Son to come back.

Act 3.
Dirty Mistress and Friend’s Son run away together. Friend’s Son proposes. Maid, after bad acting experience, shows up with Poet in hopes that Dirty Mistress will continue to have her as Maid. Friend’s Son’s Mom approves marriage, but girl needs to be virtuous. Dirty Mistress has to admit she whored herself out to Old Rich Banker and can’t marry him because she is a Dirty Mistress, but says she can be his Dirty Mistress. Friend’s Son wants wife and mother. She says she can’t do that because she is a slut. Old Rich Banker shows up to claim Dirty Mistress. The End.

The set was absolutely stunning, and the singers were amazing. Overall, it was a fabulous opera, and if you get the chance, I recommend it. Definitely helped that the whole thing was subtitled so that I had some idea of what was actually happening.

Couldn’t take pictures of the opera itself, so here are some of us after the show. We never did drink the second forty we had hiding away.

Farrah Fawcett, Steve Westly, and the Catholic Church

How do all these things go together exactly? Well, it goes sort of like this:

I woke up late today. Well, I walked the dog at 7:30am, but then went back to bed. Woke at 12:30pm. Called Meme back and had an awesome conversation. I finally explained why it is that I quit confirmation class. The short version is that home, school, and the Girl Scouts said I could do anything a man could do. The Catholic Church said I needed a “Microphone to God” if I was gonna get anywhere with them. So I quit since I would never be an equal. Meme told me about how the priest told her she needed to have more kids than just the two she had. She said she got really sick for all nine months before having my uncle and wasn’t willing to go through all that again. That was when she first started quietly rebelling against the church. Now you know where I get it from!

Next, I desperately needed a haircut, so I went back to Wilson at Planet Hair. This time I let him color and higlight it as well as trim and style. I let him do whatever he thought was best. It isn’t really drastic from what I’ve had other than it is blonder and he flipped it out more. I had a number of compliments and was told it was very 70’s Farrah Fawcett. I’m gonna take that as a compliment. The 70’s weren’t all that bad…

This evening’s event was a 40th birthday party for Neighbor K’s boyfriend R. They had tons of great food and I ate a lot. Good thing because I realized that having slept in, I forgot to have breakfast or lunch. I’m normally a very good eater and not the kind to starve myself before a party. Guess that is what I get for sleeping so late.

Met a lot of really nice people at the party such as Steve Westly, former California State Controller and former candidate for Governor. Had a nice time talking with his wife. Ran into Neighbor K’s friend M again—the one who was there when I met Omar. She was surprised that I still talk to him, and is still convinced he is gay. I also met the guy who Neighbor K has been telling me all about for the last two weeks. Sadly, he’s a nice guy, but I wasn’t really attracted to him. Of course, the first guy I was chatting up turned out to be gay. Not a surprise there. And I am attracted to the guy that I decided to leave with—he walked me to my car—but nothing happened. It was like the baseball game we were watching. The Indians and the Red Sox, tied at six in the 11th inning. Then the Indians got seven runs, and the Red Sox lost it, just like I did. No number, no nothing. I suck at this game. Maybe I should take up baseball.

Here are some photos so that you can judge the Farrah Fawcett look-a-like contest:

Martian librarian beer pong

Well, as usual, my weekends are a bizarre mix of the unusual. Friday night was spent playing beer pong with the twenty-somethings. Had a great time, even if I didn't get a chance to show off my Panama or Beruit skills. Arrived home around 1:30 am at which point I couldn't go to sleep without watching the final two episodes of season two of 24.

I slept in Saturday until noon. Puttered around the house for a bit before heading to work for a couple hours. Rushed home to shower then headed up to the city for a Martian party.

I should have taken pictures of all the aluminum foil, metal collanders, fembots, and silver boots. This was to celebrate Omar's, and his identical twin's, fortieth birthday. A completely random assortment of people, and an amazingly great time. I was glad that I asked whether or not the brownies were special before I ate any. I passed.

Sunday morning went by without me noticing except for the hour I walked the dog. I woke with the determination to remodel my condo. Off to Home Depot to ponder my stupid idea, Neighbor S called to invite me to a party. Luckily, on the way there, she explained that many of the guests would be gay, lesbian, librarians, or any combination there of. Obviously there were any number of people who didn't fall into that category, but I did refrain from hitting on anyone. Decided the odds were not in my favor. The brownies, however, were very good, as was Neighbor S's homemade lime pie.

Arrived home Sunday evening exhausted. In bed by 8. Read until 10. Woke at 6 am for golfing. Overall, a fabulous weekend.

Added photos to Chameleon

If you are interested, I added Omar’s photos today to Chameleon.


I’m coming down off the high of having been a part of someone else’s reality. Omar and I, looked up at the Cathedral and pondered if this is the kind of weekend that happens when two lightening rods meet. We wondered if we were then going to be struck down even though the sky was clearly blue.

The best part of being in someone else’s vortex is that I could stand in the center of it and feel completely calm while everything swirled around him. He’s talked about a meditation class that he got sucked into. I think those are ridiculous. I don’t want to sit in a room while a stranger tells me to relax, but I spent a lot of time yesterday meditating. Standing at the top of the hill looking out over San Francisco. Sitting on the back deck, basking in the sun. Watching the crowd at the cathedral. Getting lost on my drive home. I had plenty of time to just think. Something I’ve been told I don’t do enough. It is true. I’m usually so busy going and doing outside that I don’t take time to look inside.

I thought about who I am and where I am and what I do and asked myself if I am happy. I am. Sure, there are a lot of things that I want to do, and I will find a way to do them. There are things I want to change about myself, but I know that I’m in the process of changing them now, and some will take some time. I’m satisfied with my routine because it keeps me focused, but because I’m only “satisfied” with it, I like to throw big monkey wrenches in so that I don’t get bored.

Best of all, is that I had time to just relax. Take some really deep breaths. Let go of all the tension that had been building in my neck and shoulders. Clear my head. And I didn’t have to go to a foreign country this time to do it—just up the street a ways. Other people go to the spa, listen to soft music, have strangers touching them and pay a lot of money. I just stepped into someone else’s shoes for a few moments.