Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.

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Million Dollar dressers

I intended to post this entry yesterday, but I was exhausted from my latest bout of insomnia, so I went to bed and stared at the ceiling while listening to John breathe instead of working on this or getting sleep. Read it anyway and just pretend I got it up on time.

John and I had plans to accomplish a lot this past week. We got very few of them done. I'm blaming the rain. I'm tired of it. I'm over it. Over it. What I need is the stereotypical Southern California. Warm with lots o' sun. Of course, come high summer, I'm going to be complaining 'bout the oppressive heat. Just call me complainer.

The work week was bleagh, so let's just skip straight to the weekend:

Kate and Steve had a housewarming/Madi Gras party Saturday night (02/24001). The party and their new place was cool. I think the best thing about their house was the milk door. A small little opening in an exterior wall to set out milk bottles for the delivery man to pick up and exchange for new ones. Obviously this not a new house. Kate's glad no one sealed it up over the decades and I agree. It's small things like that which gives a home its character.

The conversation that night was very Adult. That is, we were talking about mortgages, kids, home repairs, childbirth and the like. Boy, childbirth talk. Way to much information was shared that night. I was perfectly fine not knowing about tearing. As someone said that night, men are wusses. I don't know about other guys, but I know I am.

I found out an bit of odd information that night. I know people who bought a two million dollar house. Two Million. A multi-million dollar home. A number so large that it has no real meaning in a that's a heck of a lot of zeros you have there sort of way.

It totally throws me that I know people who could afford such a thing. I say "know" rather than "am friends with," because we are really more acquaintances than anything else. John and I are friends with friends of Kimmi and we see her and her husband Alex maybe once a year. In fact, they probably wouldn't even recognize me in a crowd on the street. It's not a negative comment about the two them, but I don't think I've ever really registered to either one of them.

The thing that throws me even more is that the property is a "fixer upper." It's a historic home which needs a lot of work. A lot of expensive work. A lot. By the time they are finished spending money, they could have bought our little house on the hill many, many, many, many times over.

It has never really bothered me before that many of our friends earn more than John and I do. We both work in the public sector and that's not what you do if making butt loads of money is important to you. It was never that big a deal and now that many of our friends have kids we're on a more equal footing as it were. Kids is an expensive prospect. Well, for most of our friends it is.

OK, I'm hovering on the edge of gossiping instead of recording my life, so back to me. John and I left the party separately that evening. He had tickets with Arturo for the sing along showing of Evita they were having at the El Capitan. According to John, it was a very fun, if kinda long event/movie/thing. I didn't go because it would have involved singing and well, Evita. I know, I know, I'm a poor excuse for a gay man.

Instead of Rocky Horror Evita, I went to try to catch a showing of Pollock. Unfortunately, I got to the theater to late for the late showing and I didn't want to wait around for the really late show, so I just hung around Vromans (bookstore) for a while, then went home.

Sunday (02/25/01) was wet, more wet, very wet and also the last day of a bed sale at Ikea. therefore, John and I braved the decidedly cold wet and went shopping. We bought a bed with a barely pronounceable name and got a dresser for the bedroom as well. We haven't had a dresser for the past four and a half years or so. Now is that an unbelievable gay boy feat or what? Our socks, underwear and such can now be liberated from the boxes in the closet we were hiding them in. Progress I guess.

Considering the rain, we had hoped that there wouldn't be many people shopping. Unfortunately, everybody else had the same idea. The place was packed to the preverbal gills. There was an interesting population break down though. Taking a totally random unscientific guess, I would estimate that about almost a quarter of the people there were mixed race gay male couples. For once, John and I were part of the majority. The rest of the customers appeared to be (in descending order of predominance) "cool het couples"(you know them, cool straight people with cool clothes, a cool pad and Ikea furniture), Persian families (mom, dad, 2.5 kids), lesbian couples (both mixed race and non), nonmixed race gay male couples(fortunately no hey, are those two guys brothers or lovers? kinda couples) and then everybody else. Not to surprising, since this Ikea always has a bunch of gay guys shopping there. The one down in Carson always has a huge bunch of lesbians wandering about. Ikea is just a very queer place apparently.

The only other thing of note 'bout Ikea that day was that Scott Bacula (sp?) or someone who looks amazingly like him was wandering around the store that day. Real or not, he was cute.

It's Monday night now (02/26/01) and cold, but not wet. If the weather predictions hold true, this dry spell won't last much longer. I haven't been sleeping to great the past couple of days and work isn't to thrilling right now. I had hoped to get ahead on some projects at work today, but unfortunately I wasted several hours having to deal with a constituent who spent the majority of those hours yelling at me and HATING, HATING, HATING me. I wish I could say I was a good enough person not to dislike her back, but unfortunately she was very opinionated and refused to listen to anything I said. I work for the government, therefore, I'm a racist idiot who didn't know what he was doing and who was only hired because of the color of his skin. It was the adult version of a kid sticking their fingers in their ears and going "Nah, Nah, Nah, I'm not listening to you, Nah, Nah." Some days I just wanna win the lotto and retire. Of course, I would have to actually play lotto to win, so I guess it ain't happening.

Well, on that downbeat note, enough of this. More later, nico.

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