Lately I’ve had a craving for a lot of the music I used to listen to in
the late 80’s/early 90’s (I think it’s because I watched Party Monster
recently and a lot of that music was in the movie, but not on the
soundtrack). I used to have all this shit on 12″ LPs but I left those
with someone in college and never got them back. So to satisfy this
craving I’ve been ordering Blackbox , Inner City and Baby Ford CDs. But
alas, some of the particular mixes I remember are no longer available.
So if anyone knows these, please let me know how to get them

1. Oochy Koochy - Baby Ford
2. Bump and Grind - Baby Ford
3. Ride on Time (HotTraxx Mix) - Blackbox
4. French Kiss (Belgian mix) Lil’ Louis

Finally I’m feeling halfway normal after my weekend of way too much
al-c-hol and cocaine. Whew! Thank G-d I never got into crystal, I can’t
imagine feeling like that all the time.

So just as I start to feel better what do my boyfriend and I have to go
do? M-E-D-I-A-T-I-O-N. Not mediation because we’re having homoesque
“relationship” problems, no way. Instead this is mediation for our
pre-nup.

Yes, that’s right boys and girls. The Good Doc and I are signing a
pre-nup which guarantees me a share of one or more of the following:

1. Our house
2. Our debt
3. His stock options
4. Alimony

I’m going to chose #1, although last night I teased the Good Doc with
whispers of alimony and a claim to his investment income. If there’s
one way to get a Jew’s attention it’s to talk about laying claim to a
share of their money. You’d have thought I mentioned a trip to
Auschwitz when I mentioned #3 and #4 above, his eyes got wide and
frightened-looking and he sat straight up, all the while breathing
heavily, it was hilarious.

No, I have no intention, right now anyway, of laying a claim to
anything other than the equity in our house. Even though under
California’s domestic partnership law I have a right to do so I’ll go
ahead and waive it, for now.

Mwwwwwwuaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!

I must stop partying both Friday and Saturday nights. And in particular
I must make it a rule to not snort cocaine on Friday nights.

I was out Friday night at a fun party until 5:00 AM after which
everyone came over to my house for an afterhours party. At one point
there were eight people in our hot tub and I walked in on two guys
having sex on my bed. They actually had the gall to ask me “dude
where’s your lube and condoms?” and I’m all “dude, my boyfriend and I
don’t use fucking condoms and anyway they’re upstairs in the
guest bedroom and maybe you should be up there” and they’re like “wanna
go get some and join in?” and I’m all “uhhhh.. no. Please leave, now.”

So the party winds down to where it’s just around 4 of us, all cool
people, including this guy Michael who kept wanting to makeout and with
whom I did makeout but only for like 5 seconds because my mouth was
numb from snorting lines of his coke. He then says he’s going to leave
and get more blow and I said “no one leaves for blow and comes back,
trust me, I’ve been to enough parties to know this is the truth” and he
said “don’t sit there with your green eyes looking at me like I’m not
coming back, I am coming back” and I said “yeah right” and then they
left.

He called later saying he was coming back in the
afternoon and I said “that’s nice” and then took an Ambien and passed
out. Needless to say he didn’t come back, but he’s friends with my
friends so I know we’ll run into one another again and at that point
he’ll owe me $20.00.

Saturday night I went out again for a
friend’s birthday. A less crazy night, no drugs just booze, and we all
were in bed by 5:00 AM. I’m getting too old for this partying twice a
weekend shit, I can’t believe I used to do this all the time, take E
and blow two-three times a week.

Well known bloggers become sort of quasi-celebrities in the blog world
at large. And like real celebrity that celebrity also has its own
regional focus with certain bloggers being known in San Francisco, Los
Angeles or New York. And like all celebrity this celebrity has its
drawbacks - mainly weathering vicious criticism on one’s looks, weight,
intelligence and overall worthiness.

Take, for example, Toby. Toby
is a great writer with a caustic wit and a quick mind. He’s funny and
he’s smart. But Toby speaks his mind and he often gets ripped for it in
the most personal and unflattering of insults. And I bet 99% of those
insults are from other gay men. There’s certainly something to the
theory that we cannibalize our own.

Then there’s I Probably Hate You,
who blogs about what he likes and doesn’t like and in the process has
created a storm of controvery for his views on gay men in New York and
gay life in general. I read his blog because he’s amusing and what he
has to say is always interesting, even if I don’t always agree with
him. He’s now got a stalker who threatening to kill him and has even
followed him around Manhattan. That’s some scary shit.

This is on my mind because earlier this year I had a stalker who
somehow got my cell phone number and proceeded to call me as well as
leave hate-filled messages on my blog. I don’t know how he knew me or
even if he did but the realization that my blogging had left my
boyfriend and I open to a crazy person was strange and weird. I blocked
that stalker’s IP address and eventually he stopped calling me, but
only after I got my corporate security department involved in the
matter.

Now I get hate mail from the boyfriend of one of one of my boyfriend’s
friends. A guy I never really thought about until he came to my house a
month ago and stayed the weekend with his boyfriend. I’m not sure if he
had that great of a visit, he seemed to want to see some mural that
wasn’t open on Saturdays and then he threw this fit which I chalked up
to age (he’s like 23) and ignored.

However he seems to have taken quite a dislike to me, sending me a
nasty e-mail disparaging my intelligence and taking issue with my
asking him about his bumperstickers. Yes, I know it seems strange but
he evidentially was offended by me asking him about the bumperstickers
on his car, a conversation I had long ago forgotten but seems to have
enraged him tremendously.

Anyway, it’s a small point and I take criticism pretty well, even
listing part of his commentary under “What they’re saying” on the
right-hand side of this blog. It’s still unpleasant to be criticized,
especially by someone with whom you’ve had either a brief or
non-existent conversation and you can’t figure out the reason why
they’re so angry and weird. It takes all types I guess. But in the
future both my boyfriend and I will need to be far more careful about
whom we invite in our house. “Friends” can turn out to be trojan horses
for weird and scary people.

Today is so beautiful. Sunny, warm and not a cloud in the sky. It foretells a good weekend.

I’ve not been posting because I’ve been hyper-busy with work. In addition yesterday I had to go through the very unpleasant experience of telling my personal trainer that I was going to not be working out with him any longer and was instead switching to another trainer in the same gym.

I’m making some positive changes in my life these days and it just felt like the right time for a change. It’s not that I don’t like the current trainer, not at all, but sometimes working out with a different person can help propell forward the positive momentum you feel you’ve got going in other areas of your life. When I explained this my old trainer said “you just want to work out with someone hot and gay” and I told him that wasn’t true. While it is true my new trainer is hot, and gay, that has nothing to do with my switch, and for the record my current trainer is also hot, but straight.

So along with the switch in trainers comes some new experiences that I think are going to be overwhelmingly positive. We’ll see but I’ve got a good feeling about this.

Ugh. I am in such a bad mood today. Maybe it’s from the massive
quantities of alcohol I consumed this weekend? Or maybe it’s that 10 mg
of Prozac my psychiatrist put me on last week, or maybe a combination
of the two. Who knows.

Anyway, the twit next to me at work is driving me insane. It seems like
every week she’s planning a trip to Vegas and she spends, literally,
hours on the phone with casinos, hotels, her husband, airlines, rental
car companies and more. All for nothing from the sounds of it, after
her last trip her big thrill seemed to be scoring a free prime-rib
dinner at Harrahs. She’s certainly not a high-roller, today I had to
listen to her screeching about having to pay an extra $10.00 each way
on her Southwest Airlines flight because her husband changed the time
of their departure.

Also, she prints massive documents on our color printer, constantly,
and then she never picks them up, they just sit there. Her office is a
disgusting mess, with piles of folders and papers everywhere. After
staring angrily at yet another pile of her printed documents the other
day I decided to take them to her office and put them on her keyboard,
and when I walked in I about had a heart attack. I half-expected to
find paper plates full of moldy pizza and a bong. It reminded me of
being an undergraduate again, and not in a good sex and drug way at all.

So some big things are in the works for ol’ Shane, let me tell you.
I’ve got some projects in development that are going to liven San
Francisco nightlife up in way it’s not been livened since the 70’s (not
like I’d know what nightlife was like then, but it sounds like more fun
than now). And that was a long time ago. I don’t want to jinx them by
talking about ‘em (I’m a little superstitious that way) but next month
some things are going to change around this town, and not a minute too
soon for me.

This is my stylist on Saturday night at Ruby Skye. As you can tell she’s having a great time. The other guy is her sexy husband Matt.

…with people today?

That’s what I’m thinking as I get out of my car tonight with my entourage to head to Ruby Syke tonight.

My driver pulls up and immediately the press starts taking pictures and I think “I don’t want to be the first to get out of the car” so I ask my stylist “can you please be the first out?” and she says “sure” and so we pull up and flash, flash, the press is there taking pics. Totally lame and annoying.

So I get out, pose with my friends and then am taken inside where the VIP manager apologizes profusely for me having to deal with the press outside. And I stare at her thinking “when don’t I have to deal with the press?” and she says I won’t have to be photographed again tonight, but she’s lying because there’s press inside the VIP area and as soon as we sit down we all have to mug and smile, again, even though the last thing I want to do is smile because I miss my boyfriend and I think my hair looks bad and why does one have to do these things anyway…

So after the pictures are taken my stylist and her husband and I go to the smoking room and some woman there asks me if we’re all “together” and I say yes, we’re a threesome, we’re establishing a new kinda relationship. And she asks me if we’ve ever considered being in a “fivesome” and I’m thinking she’s totally like a Studio 54 refugee, but not in a good way and where did she get that dress anyway? And my stylist and her husband and I are cracking up but this chick doesn’t get it, she wants us to have sex with her and her ugly-ass boyfriend and we play with it, stringing her along, and then we say we’re going to go dance and she tells my stylist as we leave “you’re a lucky woman” and my stylist laughs, because she is, a lucky woman that is, because she has me as a client.

And then, at 2:00 AM I left for home, alone, and I get here and I think it’s a good idea to change the batteries in the electric shades on our windows and I know that’s a bad idea because I’ve been drinking but I do it anyway. And it is a bad idea because I fall off the couch and sprain my wrist but I force myself to change those goddamned batteries anyway. Because if the windows shades won’t lower then people will be able to take pictures through the windows and then how will I have any privacy? And besides, the window shades are going up and down really slow and that bothers me. Might as well do it now.

So despite the fact I now have a sprained wrist I feel like I did something with my evening besides pose for the lame-ass San Francisco press and go out drinking. Because I did, I changed the batteries in the electric windown shades, and that’s better than nothing. I guess.

John Bolton is amazingly unqualified to be ambassador to the United Nations. He’s ill-spoken, temperamental, a liar and far too angry to be an ambassador to anywhere. And finally a Democrat has spoken the truth. I’ve had my disagreements with Babs Boxer in the past but as a resident of California I support her 100% in putting a senatorial “hold” on Bolton’s nomination.

Woe unto the Republicans if they remove this last right of senatorial privelege. When we finally get in the majority their day will come, and vengeance is a dish best served cold. Very cold.