2005-04-29

Hello ma petite frou frous. As Jam Master Hecka pointed out rather eloquently, my new hood is replete with ass pirates. I live on a cozy hill where the chi-chi faggies own their abodes with fabulous curtains and sensible lighting. My curtains and lighting have been honorably discharged from the competition.

Life is in a suspended state of chaos, with my remaining friends filling bar stools anew. I live about six blocks from a 24 hour grocery store that plays the most unbelievably gay dance music while I shop for my organic produce. Okay, I don't buy organic. Okay, I don't buy produce. But they still do nail me with those dancy dance tunes.

I must now paraphrase Cho: "I went to the only gay bar in Scotland. It was called CC Bloom's. CC Bloom is the name of Bette Midler's character in the movie Beaches. Can you think of anything more gay? I mean, you might as well name the place Fuck Me Up The Ass Bar and Grill."

God, I love that woman.

Speaking of mad woman love, my best friend in the whole wide world is moving to Africa (Lesotho) next Friday to join the Peace Corps. This, my emotionless self is surprised to find, is disturbing me greatly. She's been my sister for over 11 years. We went to college in Philly together, and she moved to San Francisco about a year after I did. I know it is "See you later," not goodbye, which is why I can't understand who this crying messy mess is that I have become.

We have our grand farewell party next Tuesday night, which I am dreading. Boo.

I got directions to a restaurant the other day via a link to Google maps, which was exciting because I didn't know Google had a map service. So, I just went to Google to find a map, and I can't figure it out. Why do I have to search Google to find Google? Maybe it was all just a delicious Google dream.