Dorothy Not Tootie

[Yes, it's been one of my longest periods of silence since beginning this diary. If the Blogstalker can go missing for the entire month of November without even a "I'm sick if this, smell ya later," then I can, too. Except...except...a few little things are buzzing around in my brain, and it's not just the Primatene...]

[Am I the only one who's going to admit to thoroughly enjoying last Sunday's "Facts of Life" reunion on the Wonderful World of Disney? (Guess not.) Reruns of that delightfully idiotic show got me thru mornings during several 80's summer vacations, and whoever they got to hack out a two-hour script (even without Jo) had the exacting appreciation such an endeavor demanded. John's and my only difference was regarding Kim Fields' upscaled-Lil'-Kim blondeness. There's gonna be trouble...]

[Thanksgiving with the boyfriend, parents, sister, brother-in-law, and grandmother was fine. In her own daffy way of showing solidarity with our international efforts, my grandmother has taken to wearing those little toothpick flags you see poked in internationally-themed hors d'oeuvre platters in her hair. If it were anyone else, I'd say she were senile, but I'm sure they're the only flags she's ever owned. She sported the Stars and Stripes, the Union Jack, and the Rising Sun Thursday night. Delightful.]

[We didn't really need to zip back to the city after dinner to party until all hours with Leah, Travis, Hank, other supporting cast from the friendly neighborhood cabaret, and the ever-lovin' Nicole, who's visiting from Rochester. Ever since that Thursday night (well, Friday morning), John and I have felt crappy, like we're on the verge of serious winter colds. Time to rein it in. Luckily, the friends we're visiting next week in Chicago are of the more sedate variety.]

[I'm trying to figure out Choire and Philo's code for categorizing their links. I was a Winnebago, but have now moved to Fleetwood. Before I e-mail Philo and ask, I'm going to read each of my neighbors and try to figure it out myself.]

[Speaking of, I was saddened to read of the arson at Fenton's in Oakland, where George had the gayest dish of ice cream a straight man at a gay blogfest ever was forced to consume. Reading between the lines, I'm guessing the owner may need to up his employees' salaries a bit...]

[Speaking of Nicole from Rochester, I promised to take her to the Lexington Club tonight. The Lex is S.F.'s only full-on dyke bar (the Wild Side West in Bernal Heights, while very dykey, doesn't actually bill itself as such). I went to the Lex once with one other guy and two women, and I think Tom and I were the only guys there. It felt good; I don't understand why all the other gay men I've talked to who've went felt uncomfortably outnumbered. But then, I loved Naps II when it and I resided on 14th Street, and my ex-flatmate were the only two non-African Americans there. Anyway, Nic is nicking for an undiluted S.F. dyke experience, and, if what I remember is true, the Lex features women a lot like her. If this almost-a-cold doesn't let up before tonight, however, I may beg off.]

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