Why is it so hard to make that first call? I had already closed the door to my office. I was all alone, watching the traffic down below. My pda was on, and her number was displayed. The next step was to dial the number it was so easy I couldn't do it.

But I did. And she answered! That was even a bigger shock - I thought I'd just leave a message and would not hear anything. I finally found the words. Would you be dancing at the club tonight? No? I'm sorry to hear that. Babysit, huh? No, I'll probably not stop by then. Next week? Cool. I hope it's alright to call right now. Cool. Okay, I'll see you around. CLick.

This allergy medication isn't that bad. It's kinda like being just a little stoned all the time. It wouldn't really be bad at all, if I wasn't always sleepy. Oh yeah, the loss of motivation isn't cool, either. I also have to watch what I drink. I get even sleepier.

I wandered through the Castro on Wednesday. I always forget how close I am - just a ten to fifteen minute walk, really. I got off the J line in front of The Transfer, a bar on Church and Market that claims to be the gateway to the Castro. I wandered in, and it was Ab Fab night. Four screens were playing an episode, the volume was on high volume. I ran into a guy I know, and we talked for a bit, then I realized how hungry I was, so I wandered around. First down Church, saw a new restaurant, the Red Jade. I was reading the menu in front, when a cute waiter ran out to hand me a take out menu. I thanked him, but I was kind of in the mood for something else, so I wandered some more. Coffee shops, crepe restaurants, Bagdad Cafe, Andy's, I was shocked to see that Lalo's was closed, and the insides were being torn apart. I hope it's not another restaurant going under.

I still couldn't decide, so I walked into the Pendulum. Tuesday is Latino night, but the crowd is still quite diverse. I fought back the temptation to watch the amateur strip show. Every time you buy a drink, you get a ticket. You give your tickets to the guy you like the most, and the stripper with the most tickets wins cash. Sounds like fun, but pounding drinks on an empty stomach would probably spell disaster. I didn't recognize anyone, so I left and headed back home, eventually setting myself up with the vegetarian combo at Truly Mediterranean. It's actually quite a lot of food for the cash.

So I thought that would be it for the week, but on Thursday I stopped by my local bar to see if Thursday Night Crew would hanging. Most of them were there, and I stayed for a while. Even Sweet T was there. On Sunday, I told her about a puppy I spotted at the local shelter. She didn't do ANYTHING with the information! For all I knew, he could be long gone. Everyone loves a puppy, there's no work involved in getting them adopted. It's the older dogs, less atractive, maybe with behavior issues. They're the ones we need to worry about. They're the priority.

I'd be mad if I didn't have a mad crush on her. Actually, I am mad at her. Ever since that wonderful night, when we seemed to get along so well, and then she seemed to suddenly pull back, it seems our lives have become intertwined. Her friends are my friends, she hangs at M's bar, with no prompting from me. Her parents work close to where I work. It's sometimes so awkward.

So I had to get away, under the pretense of getting some food, I hopped into a taxi and headed to the tenderloin. The cabbie sensed I was a bit moody, so we didn't chit-chat much. He dropped me off at Divas, I paid the door, and saw that it was pretty dead. I headed upstairs, the elevator door swung open and I wandered into the dance floor. Not the standard dance music, I heard some 70's rock and I smiled. She was there, dancing, sliding up and down the pole, her muscular legs holding onto the brass while she arched back. I watched her beautiful abs and realized (once again) that I could afford to lose a few pounds.

It was her last song, so I went up to her, tipped her, and she smiled. There were four dancers on roster, so I knew it would be a while until she came back onstage. I left the club, walked around the corner to Thai Express, and ordered a quick chicken/eggplant over rice and an iced coffee. I made it back just before she hit the stage again. When I approached her and tipped her, she did a cool mock blow job, bumping her head against my crotch, and I just went nuts. Another dancer across the stage just laughed.

I had to work the next day, and a little later I approached the stage one last time. I thanked her and told her I'd see her again. Then she said the magic words. "Call me, if you want to talk."

I do, and I will. That is, once I get back the nerve.

She pulled her g string away from her body, so I could insert my bill. I could see her beautiful cock. It seemed larger than I remembered! I floated down the stairs, caught a cab back home, but decided to go back to the bar at the last minute. Almost everyone was still there. T was there, some guy with his arm around her, trying to be her best friend for the evening. She wasn't pushing his arm away. Jeez, the night we hung out, I never touched her. I never touch a girl like that. I don't want any regrets. I was hoping that we made contact on an emotional, intellectual level, but now I was realizing that she didn't want to do that. Lately, any attempt at having a real conversation about stuff led to tension and more tension. I don't know, I think she still has way too many unresolved conflicts with her ex. Maybe she just needs time.

I ordered a drink and grabbed and squeezed the bridge of my nose between my eyes. It's always so fucking complicated. These genetic girls are so much work. I thought about my dancer crush, and things seemed so much easier. Just sitting here, writing about this, I'm feeling all that anxiety, confusion and anger again. Why is it? Why do we run away from that which can make us most happy?

music:

night life:

sex life: