Tuesday, January 10, 2006


Last night when I finished drinking the last drops of Pinot Noir directly from the bottle, I walked into Awesome's bedroom to find that he had switched the pillows to the foot of the bed, and had also pulled up the covers up to the place where everyone knows the pillows belong.
"Boyfriend, you're all fucked up. You're too long. You'll never fit on your bed this way."
"Just lay down," he told me. So I did. He then turned me over to face the window, tucked me in like a five-year-old, and climbed into bed behind me, spooning me and orchestrating my face to look out the window.
"Ooo," I said, looking at the Golden Gate Bridge through the low horizontal window.
"I've been waiting for you to see this and for us to fall asleep this way since I moved into my apartment on Friday."
"So now, when you wake up tomorrow," he told me, "This will be the first thing you see - it's beautiful in the morning."
I had fallen asleep by this point, so he nudged me, and again I said "Ooo!"

I awoke this morning and looked out the window towards the bridge. All I saw was fog looming over the entire city. I also awoke to the sound of Awesome using the blender in the kitchen - at 5am, no less, before going into work. I walked naked into the living room and stood in front of the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. Awesome walked over, wrapped one arm around me, and then I heard the sound of him drinking something. I turned around and realized that he was drinking fat (i.e. a protein shake), which allows him to remain more at-weight than underweight (bastard). I offered to let him blend my own personal holiday fat but he refused. It's amazing how quickly I gain and lose weight, as if I have Sickle Cell. Thankfully, I do not.

Since I couldn't go back to sleep after Awesome went to work, I decided to take my fat for a walk. The first step of my physical improvement regime was to purchase the latest "Men's Health" magazine so that I could read about working out instead of actually working out. I soon found myself at a cafe on Union Street near my surrogate Pacific Heights high-rise "home". As I sat there flipping the pages about Absolute Abs and Perfect Pecs, morning joggers whizzed by me. "Those poor unhealthy slobs must be so jealous that they don't have a health magazine," I thought, stubbing my cigarette into an ashtray and ordering another Absolut Bloody Mary.

A man on a bicycle stopped on the street, directly in front of my table, when he realized that his shoelace was caught around his pedal (or spokes? I don't know - I've not been on a bicycle since last April in Amsterdam, and I wasn't exactly coherent). As I ashed my cigarette and took the celery stalk out of my glass to show my waiter that my glass now had room for more vodka, I looked at this poor cycling man and my first reaction was to laugh. My second was to ignore him. Now. If this happened in New York, passersby would push the struggling cyclist over, kick him in the face, and then steal his bike - not because they wanted to use it to workout, but because they wanted to sell it on Ebay. If this happened in London, passersby would all walk by and pretend that neither the man nor the bike were actually there. In Dallas, fat people would stop and wonder what a bike was. Here, though, in peppy San Francisco, three people (three strangers!) stopped walking - two of them held the man up and the other untangled his shoelace. I thought I was hallucinating. I thought they were all going to makeout afterward.

[So, side note to New Yorkers: Do we live in New York BECAUSE we are like this? Or are we like this BECAUSE we live in New York?]

I then took my fat to a grocery store near the Marina to kindly stock-up Awesome's new place with healthy food including fruits, vegetables, nuts, grains, wine, vodka, and tofu.

Then my fat reluctantly accompanied me to the gym in Awesome's building. I have not gone to the gym since late July of last year, and oh, I have missed it. I actually love working out. But I also love drinking. I already eat healthy because I am borderline vegan (except for those two weeks in New York in December when I ate pizza thrice daily, and the two weeks following when I ate Mexican food every day in Texas). All my clothes still fit me; I just feel like crap due to being SO fucking out of shape. See, now that I'm in my late 20s, I have realized that in order to not be fat, if I wish to still drink a lot, I must ALSO work out a lot. "Men's Health" did not tell me this; Heineken, Amstel, Guinness, Corona, Becks, Fosters, Carlsberg, Kronenbourg, and their friends told me this.

After over a five-month gym absence, I do not know how I performed this miracle: I ran three miles on the treadmill; I did the Eliptical machine for three more miles; I watched "The View" on the TV above the rowing machine (oh); I swam laps for a good 30 minutes. And now, magically, although I am certainly not finished with Operation Health Improvement, I am already feeling 90,398,148 times better, after just one day. I still have my holiday fat but lemme tell you - it'll disappear quickly. Earlier this morning and afternoon, I was in severe pain. In two days I expect to hurt like a motherfucker. At one point, while on the treadmill, I looked down and questioned if I needed a sports bra.

And then I remembered the prime rule of physical exertion, dieting, and working out: How you think you look doesn't really mean shit. What matters is how everyone else thinks you look. Right? Another homo gymgoer flirted unashamedly with me and asked me a series of questions about my tattoos, in which apartment I "live", and where I go out. (Which I shall later report in detail to Awesome, as I am oft-entertained with his spurts of Puerto Rican jealousy - perhaps he will buy a gun this time around. Perhaps not.)

I then took my fat for a walk all over mega-hilly Pacific Heights and (S)Nob Hill, wearing one of my favorite children's t-shirts and favorite ripped jeans, my poofy blond hair waving in the wind. I must've had a radiating Gym Glow because every last homo checked me out, leeringly and unending, and I must admit that this made me feel phenomenal. (After this small spell of self-doubt and validation from others, I may now return to my secure self.) Well, this and the fact that I finally had sex three times last night - Awesome would not have sex with me in my mother's house in Dallas after I jokingly told him that he would be cursed forever should he make a move.

My fat and I are now at a charming internet cafe in Pacific Heights. In about an hour we are going for many drinks with my girlfriend-baby-lovey-dovey-princess Julia, whom I so miss in London. And instead of Mexican food and beer, my fat's and my San Fran dinners will be vodka, hummus and celery (so, basically, potatoes, alcohol, chickpeas, and water).

If you are young and you drink a great deal it will spoil your health, slow your mind, make you fat - in other words, turn you into an adult. - P.J. O'Rourke