(no subject)

[blakes_7]

Thanksgiving was going to be a wash. It was the first time that I had spent Thanksgiving away from my family. All plans among my friends had fallen through, so I was left on my own to brood. Christian texted me and asked me if I would like to go to Karen and Patrick's for dinner. I went and had a great time. The food was very plentiful. There were games of Guitar Hero, where I rocked out Steely Dan's "Buddhisatva", and Munchkin, which I decided to sit out.

I-80 was packed with cars! Holy cows! I suppose that every one was filing back into the city after stuffing their faces.

Friday, my depression kind of caught up to me. I ending up sleeping in . . . late . . . very late. Scott, Richard, Jeb, and Thomas were going to 440 Castro (also known as "Booze") that night. The highlights of which were:

• Richard giving me the Evil Eye™ for chatting to this pretty young thing that Richard had been chatting to. He said that he would have thrown me under a bus. If it were a true jury of his peers (read: twelve gay men), he would have been acquitted. For the record, I want to state that I wasn't muscling in, and that after getting zapped by said Eye, I made an excuse and skedaddled.
• Richard, Scott, and I were gathering outside getting ready to head to the Lone Star, when Helen the Meth Hag (okay, I'm being unkind . . . I don't know if her name's really Helen) latched onto me, started hugging me, and making "kissy kissy" noises. I look back up. Richard and Scott had both pulled a disappearing act that would have made Houdini envious. I tell Helen no "kissy" and shove a dollar at her.
• My discovery that half of the cute men in San Francisco are broken. I think that's being generous. It's likely way more than half.