Where to begin...

I don't know what to tell you. How to illustrate my current state of being would have meant writing all the posts that came to me in moments that were utterly forgotten in favor of working the next time I found an hour to get online. Moments like today, manic in one second, deeply disturbed in that I'm-in-favor-of-a-panic-attack way. The correct question is, "why manickypanicky?" The answer is, "shut up!" Moments like standing in line at Walgreens to buy a pregnancy test, and nothing else, on credit. Because I felt all waaaaay crazier than normal and my breasts hurt, but now we rule out pregnancy because the test was negative. Of course this works like a charm at starting your period, so that is nice.

There are far better moments, that I selfishly do not wish to describe. I have pictures but, though not nekky, are too intimate for me to put online, especially without pre-consent. In a nutshell this means I'll be saving the best for myself. Selfish, selfish capitalist.

Anyway, Edwardian Ball SF went swimmingly, the most lavishly attended three-day hoopla I've ever performed with. I went a little nutso and didn't want to get out of character on Saturday. It's a little insane how easily I could drown myself in it.

Ok, so the truth of my right now is that I'm sitting by the window in my brand spankin new apartment (pictures to follow week after next week, which is when I will finally, finally have time to rest) which was bequeathed to me from the lovely and could kick your ass Kerri K! my friend and aerial acro teacher. Luna has moved to Alameda where bike riding is not a death sentence and Nimh is not illegal, which is loverly. The times they are a-changing.

We went back today to clean our old apartment. Although i was reasonably close to a panic attack the whole time (for explanation see paragraph #1) the crazy didn't really kick in until I went to catch the underground back to my new neighborhood. My new neighborhood is not downtown. I've expected to miss downtown, as it's an experience I waited a long time to have. I changed my mind while waiting for the N Judah in the Muni station. The platform, as usual, was swarming with people who weren't looking at each other, but edging closer and closer to the yellow painted partition. Mean old Asian ladies with pink plastic shopping bags shove their way through you to stand one inch in front of you and then glare at you as though you've been rude. People stampede toward the cars as they approach, then subversively elbow their way in and stand close as cattle. All this was happening and the N Judah was being eeeeeeextra slow, stopping a lot underground between stations. I was also carrying an armload of costumes and a homeless cart full of other shit and sweating, because it was really hot in there, and telling myself that now was NOT the time to peak the crazy. Soon there would be air and light. And there was, and I survived the brutal three station journey. Waah. I then proceeded to come home and freak out some more about doling myself out in far too many directions, with far too little time. But then I walked to the bank, and the neighborhood cheered me immensely.

My new neighborhood is the best part of San Francisco. I always thought the only neighborhood I'd want to live in besides downtown is here, in Castro. That's right, I heart my gayborhood, the rainbow flag flying proudly, sweater-wearing bitsy dogs prancing down Market. This is my happiness of the tangible immediate now. I cannot believe how fucking lucky I am.

And I'm about to ruin everything by not taking good enough care of myself. I can handle a lot, so I give myself a lot. I thrive on it, but woe betide me not to give myself a clean period of time every now and then, when the focus can be narrowed to three or so points instead of a dozen. What good is all the training, all the work, all the fighting, all the everything, if at the end you're standing in a gorgeous theater the night before curtain wishing you weren't so worn thin you couldn't feel a damn thing.

So, to that end: rest soon. But not yet. Tomorrow morning I get on the freak bus and ride down with the rest of Vau de Vire to do Edwardian weekend, LA. Back, then five days to prepare for a big fancy audition. Out of town for audition, back to SF.

Then rest.

I can make it.

You know, in school people encouraged you to be the biggest baddest you could be, but no one ever talked about taxes, or learning how to cook healthily for yourself, or how ridiculously irritating it is to call your wireless provider, or learning how to do laundry naturally without letting it build for a month, or how essential it is to get enough fiber, and how sleep deprivation makes you ugly. Don't get me wrong, it has been a fucking blast figuring out all this shit (it has!) but afterwards, when I still have the big badass stuff to do (in clean clothes, with fiber and sleep) I'm on my way to Circus Center and wondering why all this menial shit wasn't the part they warned us was going to be the hardest to learn.

Another victory in the quest to live the life I want while still managing a clean kitchen and good credit. Is anyone else filled with pride when they see they own a sugar bowl, and it's full of sugar and no ants, and you made that happen almost without trying?

Now if you've read this far (yikes) I feel you deserve some sort of reward. So before you follow this link to my homeboy Neil Girling's site (he was the official photographer for Edwardian Weekend), I'll give you a sneak preview of what's sure to be the end of any sexual fantasies you might ever have about me........................










wait for it.....................






















BAM!

Cryptic metaphor #395

The lion and the unicorn were fighting for the crown-

This is not a metaphor I can clear up for the confused, but chances are if you know me well, you know exactly what I'm talking about.

the lion beat the unicorn all around the town-

and there's a fuckin reason for that. Goddamn unicorn doesn't know creepy from crazy most days. I've let her out more often in the past three days than the past four months, and already she's warranted a rescue.

And that's all I have to say about that.

This new year, already,

is taking no prisoners. And by that, I mean tinkle or get off the potty. She is NOT fucking around.

Have you ever noticed that people, as much as they'll rave in fury if anyone tries to restrict their choices, will make choices that take away as much choice from them as possible? A lot of people don't want to have a choice, because choice is a big enormous responsibility and you will be held accountable. *insert big finger pointed at face*
It's the shovel all over again, only it's built in to protect not to destroy. Like a fever. Designed to protect, but incredibly inefficient and only makes you weak and stay home from work.

Goddamn I love metaphors.

So, the truth of my right now is several things fast approaching, in true tinkle-or-get-off-potty fashion.

One- Edwardian Ball, brought to you by Vau de Vire. One death by swallowing tacks, one death by...not telling, my solo is a surprise (code for not finished).

Two- Lupercalia, The Nekyia's homage to the pagan seeds that brought you Valentines day, only more fun. More luscious, more decadent, more glorious by far. And my own personal salute to:

The Man.










And a fast approaching audition which I can't discuss yet.

And working on tissu every day until I get these weird hickey-like splotches where the fabric is apparently sucking my fear of heights from my skin. Or, you know, friction or whatever.

I still haven't told you the best part. The very very best, most favorite part. It's so good I can't tell you, because my writing gets stupidly simple and girlishly juvenile. Which means of course,

he's home.

*grin*

Where I have been

I suppose I should tell the story, but there's too fuckin much to tell. So here are some pictures.

What I like about going home is that makes me appreciate why I don't live there anymore, while letting me enjoy the benefits of the time I lived there well. If I had been more disciplined and less overwhelmed during my time at home, these stories would be written down properly. Now, life has thundered on, and to look at Cooper's immortal documentation of it, I already have to to to "older posts." This doesn't speak well for my time management skillz. Luckily, I can reproduce them here. Here are the best parts of going home:

Bonyards with Cooper. Like an invisible vaccine, it will allow me to live up to 365 days without boneyards with Coop (which still sucks) without becoming morbidly glum.




















whoops...wrong picture...


















There we go.
And, because it's so Cooper this picture took him:


















Honesty.

There is too much to tell. I've consoled myself by accepting I'm going to fail at it's representation.

A long-awaited reunion:













My gorgeous wife Babs and her husband. I call this the sweet little biscuits picture.












My other wife, my beautiful Crittyface.


















My people that have known me a really, really long time:














And the man that was more than enough reason for me, the Babs, and David to drive to Raliegh for new years.

John.














Oh hell. This post needs to be over. Here are some more gratuitous New Year's pics because if I don't put em up, no one will ever see them.

We love David.

















Babs...I love that I know exactly what is going through your mind here.













Midnight devotional.


















Me and John having a me and John moment.













And, a sexy picture of Abby.














And the things I have no pictures of. My Snark, her hands tearing open a pomegranate in her kitchen, surrounded by her wishes become truth.

Josh Miles, sitting on my dad's old porch we sat on over a decade ago. A decade! Trying to consolidate the past with the fact that this porch still exists.

Anna and Audrey, laughing for hours, at home in the oldest friendships I have.

With Coop, standing by fields and Gino's pond. Hearing my heart tear itself open, promising it that one day I'll buy the land that will mend it. Standing in the place when, one year ago, I sat with my sailor and drew out my intentions on his skin in three straight lines. Mine.

There is much to be grateful for.