Ultramundane.com -- It's Just Not Natural.

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United States, California, San Francisco, The Mission, English, Spanish, Casey, Male, 31-35.

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Saturday, August 23, 2003

Mouse Food.

I've gotten soft. I'd forgotten what it's like to be busy at work. For a while things were slow, and I believed busy was "not enough time to read blogs at work." Shyeah, as if. Between vacations and extra projects, we're totally booked. Earlier this week I'd forgotten to schedule in lunch. Not a big deal, but one look at my waistband, and you'll know that I'm not one to miss meals. It has been like that all week.

Yesterday was the topper, though. For a while I wondered why I felt like a used dishrag, knowing that I hadn't had that many cocktails the previous night, until I remembered: I'd been so busy that morning that I'd forgotten to drink any coffee.

Somebody better check in with me next week to make sure I remember to breathe.

11:49 AM PST (link)

Wednesday, August 20, 2003

Getting A Brand New Cocktail.

My friend Travis is a transman, who's having his...er, well, the delicate term he used is "Lower Surgery" which probably says enough for most people. His friends in the Gay Rodeo wanted to send him off with a bang...however, they picked a slightly less delicate term for the party:

Travis' ADDADICKTOME

It will be at Marlena's (488 Hayes St) on Thursday August 21. The party starts at 8:00 PM with the performances starting about 9:00.

Live music, a drag revue, raffle prizes and other assorted hijinks. My good friend Miss Anita Name will be hosting this show. It should be a lot of fun. There's no cover, but it is a fundraiser....all proceeds go to The Transgender Law Center.

Besides, after surviving the first half of this week, I think I'll be more than ready for cocktails on Thursday. See you there!

(And yes, I designed the flier in about two hours. Not bad for as much advance notice as I had.)

01:05 PM PST (link)

Monday, August 18, 2003

Four Times of Coffee, Two Days.

Sunday Morning: It is bright, and there is a shadow, and I come into what passes for consciousness. I am aware that Garrison Keillor is talking. This must mean it is sometime after eleven. There is some sort of movement going in the room, I can sense it behind my closed lids. I open an eye. Everything is blurry. There's a tall male shape coming towards me.
"Good morning," he says, lightly caressing my leg. "Would you like some coffee?"
I nod. Coffee is something my not-really-conscious mind can firmly grasp. He gestures to the nightstand, where there is already a cup of coffee, I assume. (I have not rolled over enough to see it, and without my glasses I might mistake it for something else anyway.)
"Is coffee not strong enough for you?"
I give him a funny look.
"Maybe you'd like some espresso too?"
I smile. Our typical sunday morning breakfast is bagels and coffee with the paper; when I go get them I usually pick up a double shot for a morning jolt. This morning he has put a white paper cup next to the ceramic mug, and he's put just the right amount of sugar in both drinks. I could get used to this, I think. That's just what I've been thinking all these years, he answers.

Sunday Evening: "I'm tired," I announce.
"Do you want some coffee?"
"No, I try not to drink coffee after 6. I find it's a convenient way to see 4AM, whether I want to or not."
Instead I have a cookie. Much later, I finally get into bed. It is 2:40AM.

Monday Morning: I'm tired. I have a meeting in five minutes. I walk to the breakroom here on the second floor. One of the custodial staff is cleaning and restocking the kitchen, including the fancy automatic coffee machine. I turn and walk out, up the grand hallway stairs to the third floor coffee maker.
There is a cup of swill—a cold, viscous combination of water, coffee, and hot chocolate— on the This-is-Not-a-Drain. I dispose of it, press "Medium" and "Strong" and "Start" and put my aluminum mug underneath the spout. I wait. This machine is slower than the one on our floor. I'm getting anxious. Finally the product dispenses. It is a warm, viscous combination of water, coffee and hot chocolate. I dump it out and rinse my mug.
I hotfoot up to the fourth floor, slightly lost, and do a lap before I find their coffee machine in working order. Two brewing cycles (it's a big mug) and I make it downstairs just in time, huffing slightly, trying not to spill coffee on myself.
Eventually, the meeting starts—10 minutes late.

Monday Evening: It is nearly six. I'm debating with myself how much later I will be staying at work this evening. I sip at my mostly-full cup of coffee. I notice the time and start drinking more quickly. I realize that I am trying to beat my own deadline for drinking coffee; I wonder if pounding down a cup of coffee at 6 is worse than sipping one at 7:30.

I'll let you know for sure at 2:40.

11:57 PM PST (link)