Wednesday, February 21, 2007 

I have accomplished nothing

Wow, time flies. I haven't posted here in a couple of weeks - I can't believe it's been that long already. I guess since I haven't had sex since Super Bowl Sunday, there's been nothing to write about. Sigh.

I've lost 30lbs., though. Without even trying or thinking about it. My mom thinks it's because of the (physical) pain I've been in. I think it's because of the stress and emotional pain I've been in (but haven't really addressed here - and won't, frankly.) But it's all good. I summoned up the courage to try on a favorite pair of jeans I've held onto over the years even though I haven't fit into them in at least three. They fit! Woo hoo!

I've been doing nothing all day. Sitting at my desk playing on the internet. Christ, what a bum.

Things are being done only because I'm learning to delegate. Ha ha! That just means I give my assistant (whom I despise) a bunch of crappy stuff to do. Things that need to be done, but that I don't feel like doing. Such are the perks of having the word "Director" in your job title.

It's been just about a month since my surgery. I have a check up on Friday. As of last Friday I have permission to start walking on my foot - still using the crutches, and in the boot. I tried it. It was a no go. Actually, it was a "Oh. Helllll. No." I think a lot of my reticence is mental, though. I'm afraid of what might hurt. Speaking of which, I start physical therapy next week. I had kind of been looking forward to it, thinking it was a sure sign that I'm recovering. I also envisioned hot soaks and massages. Apparently, this was a misconception. Everyone I've talked to who has been through physical therapy has described it as painful and hellish. Great. Something else to look forward to.

I am probably one of the most impatient people you'd ever meet. Being on crutches is an exercise in patience for me. Everything takes sooooo long. I can't carry anything. I have to wear a backpack for my crap because I can't carry a purse. I'm really, really hating it. And the patience lesson is lost on me. I'm getting more pissed off, not more "zen" about the situation as time passes - and I've probably got another four weeks to go. Argh. I've got to remember to buy some batteries for my camera. I'll share a photo of my scar with y'all.

Tuesday, February 06, 2007 

Hi Jeff!

A few months ago I was sitting in my neighborhood bar talking to another regular patron. Somehow the fact that I had a blog came up. I steadfastly refused to give him the URL, but he said he could probably find it, no problem. I was unconvinced. I mean, it's not like I use my real name or anything.

Well. Thanks to the handy, dandy Sitemeter, I've just learned that someone from the nonprofit organization he works for spent a bit of time here today.

Dammit! How the hell did you find me? (Tell me in the comments) You're the only person I know in real life who has read this (just in time for my Slut Chronicles, too. Neat!)

I suppose I owe you a drink... once I can walk over to the bar again.



I had a(nother) date last night. Everything was going well. We were drinking wine, he told me about the house he owns in Napa and what it was like moving to California from Manhattan having never been before he decided to move. His (freaking amazing) apartment is in the Marina, which I had to overlook, because I fricking hate that neighborhood. In fact, when my friends and I go out in my neighborhood, we sometimes yell "Go back to the Marina!" to the drunk bimbos and frat boys on Mission St.

Fast forward to us in his bedroom. I'm sitting on the bed (completely dressed) and he's naked lying down (um, this blog really isn't going to become a log of my sex life, but this part is relevant). So, picture the scene, there hasn't been any sexual contact at this point. We were watching TV (I realize this part is weird considering his nakedness, but it was on and I was like, "Oh, what's that?") Attention span of a fly.

We'd talked before about his job (the generic sounding IT), and for some inexplicable reason I chose this moment to ask him, specifically, what it is that he does.

"Oh, I work for (company name)."

As soon as he mentioned the name of this relatively small company I let out a gasp. "I know someone who works there..."

Of course he asked who, and I was like, "I'm not telling you."

So, the next 20 minutes or so was spent with him trying to guess, and me promising to tell him, ahem, later. But then he said this other guy's name, and I have NO poker face, so...

I didn't get laid last night. He told me that he kept picturing me with this guy, and couldn't... you know. Oh my god. I suppose in a town this small it was bound to happen sometime.

So essentially, I was cockblocked by this guy's co-worker, who was nowhere around. "I work 100 feet from him. I hang out with him! Don't ever mention this to him, okay? This never leaves this bedroom."

Yeah, okay, but does posting it on teh innernets count?

Monday, February 05, 2007 

Dichoto "me"

I hadn't seen or heard from my ex for about a year and a half. Is it weird that I still call him "my ex"? We went out, like 15 years ago. I think by now he should just be "my friend" or "A"... but for some reason I feel the need stress the fact that I have, indeed, at some point had a boyfriend.

Wow. Someone's been in therapy, huh?

Anyway, we went out for a drink on Friday. I was bored with him, and was totally reminded of what I didn't like about him. Nice, right? Yeah, sometimes I just can't conceal the bitch.

We were talking about dating - not each other - and I mentioned that I hadn't had sex since January first (though, as of yesterday, we can reset that clock.) I was telling him about Greg, and what a freak he was. I mentioned how horrible I felt to refer to him as a "freak" when in actuality I guess his... "predilections" - ahem - aren't necessarily unheard of, just not something I'd ever been exposed to. God, I know I'm being vague, but whatever.

So the question occurred to me: is it possible to be both a slut and a prude? Apparently so. But I'm working on it. The prude part, anyway.

Friday, February 02, 2007 

Gavin's sexual crime

Ooooh! Have you heard? San Francisco has it's own sex scandal! How very British of us. Basically, it boils down to Alex Tourk, the mayor's campaign manager (he's up for re-election in November) resigning in the wake of finding out his wife had an affair with the mayor.

Honestly, I don't care who is sleeping with whom. I do hope this damages Gavin's chance for re-election. I am not a fan. Actually, the only thing that kind of bothers me about this is that the woman, Ruby Rippey-Tourk also worked for the mayor, as his appointment secretary. His suboordinate. In his office. That is out of bounds, people. Everyone knows that beginning an affair with someone who works for you could be construed as a sexual harassmeent no-no.

Ironically, given my dislike of our mayor, just days before my surgery I went out with a friend (who inexplicably wants to be known as "T" here - even though there's no "t" in his name - go figure). The bar he suggested we meet at was packed. When I went in there was a table by the door. I asked what the occasion was, and it was a fundraiser for the mayor's re-election campaign! Ah. That explained why I was the only black person there. I am not in his core demographic. We did, however, stay long enough to take advantage of the open bar before going to dinner.

In other news, I had a check up with the surgeon today. The stitches were removed (which actually kind of hurt!) Healing seems to be coming along nicely, but I still need to be on the crutches without bearing any weight on the foot for another two weeks (drag). After that, I'll begin physical therapy and will hopefully get off the crutches soon after. I have to admit, though: I love what the crutches are doing for my arms. They're becoming pretty defined and less jiggly. Gotta love that.