Monday, January 09, 2006


I am ready to get back to London. However, I am about to leave for the airport to fly off to San Francisco to "play house" for 2.5 weeks with my skinny gay Puerto Rican boyfriend Awesome, who is indeed skinny and gay but only half Puerto Rican. When I do return to London at the end of the month, now we'll have an 8 hour time difference instead of a 5 hour one. Why must things just keep getting harder? Anyway, hopefully during the next 2.5 weeks I shall finally understand why the hell this crazy Rican loves me so fucking much.

I tried having this conversation with my best friend Heather last night, over margaritas at a random bar on Greenville Ave (which is apparently Dallas' trendiest string of bars, as you are actually able to walk from bar to bar for a few blocks instead of driving drunk in your mammoth of a vehicle, mowing down old ladies who've lived in central Dallas for 90 years). Heather told me, "He just does. Just accept that."
"No, Heazie Breezy Beautiful Covergirl. That does not work for me. You know I'm like a five-year-old: I must know why about everything."
"You shutup; just accept it and don't wonder why all the damn time. When you wonder why and have to define everything you'll just ruin everything."

If reincarnation is true - and I've never actually given it much thought, really - then I wish to be born again as one of the stupidest people or animals or plants or cheerleaders or American presidents on earth. This way I shant over-analyze and over-question every damn aspect of my life.

"Now what do we do, Heazie Breezy Beautiful Non-Colored Girl?" I asked after placing my empty jacuzzi-sized margarita glass onto a table shaped like Texas.
"Well, this is Dallas, so this means we can only eat, drink, eat, drink, shop, or eat."
"So. Drink?"

During the next 2.5 weeks, while Awesome contemplates homosekshul marriage and acts like the dreamer I love, I shall be my realist self and take my fat-ass to the pool and gym in his building, which I am told overlooks the Golden Gate Bridge among other San Fran monuments and bodies of water (again, I'm not so good with the geography, so this means that his window must be high above the Red Sea). After 2 weeks of sitting around in Dallas, eating, drinking, eating, drinking, shopping, and sucking down a surplus of Mexican food, margaritas, and beer, I am mortified to look in the mirror. Thankfully I can lose weight as quickly as I can gain it, as many midgets can.

If the next 2.5 weeks go well and Realist Me discovers WHY WHY WHY about Awesome's, my, and our existence on this planet, specifically in London, New York and San Francisco, who knows what our future shall be. After Awesome saw Pride and Prejudice he hatched a plan that while he became a wedding planner for his own wedding, all of our friends would perform a Jane Austenian dance routine in ball gown and tuxedo costumes.
"But boyfriend, none of my friends live in the same city. Some don't even live in the same country. Will you be sending a dance instructor all over the planet to teach everyone we know?"

Not too long ago he also decided that we needed a 6-foot deep lap pool on the brownstone that we will hypothetically one day own in Manhattan's West Village. I shot him down at first, explaining the impossibility of this idea, but when he looked like he was going to cry, I humored my dreamer boyfriend for a good four months. Then, one day, he called me and said in all seriousness, "Boyfriend, I talked to my father (who is an engineer) and he says that those 19th century buildings cannot support a pool on top of them."
"Really? Wow, boyfriend. This is such a suprise to me."

Shit, I am totally running late.

For the record: If I owe you an email, and chances are that I do, I most likely shant be able to repond to it until the end of the week. Awesome does not yet have wireless in his apartment yet because, unlike in New York, where everyone steals their neighbor's connection, in San Fran you must have a password. If I owe you money, you will never be receiving it.

Some cause happiness wherever they go, others whenever they go. - Oscar Wilde