This Is A Day When I Wish The Bed Were Already Made

[This isn't a bad Monday as Mondays go (but it's only two o'clock). It's just that the Bangles are playing on the radio right now. (What if that were literally true: there'd be doll-sized Susannah and the girls in little mini-minidresses with little guitars harmonizing away on top of the boom box...)]

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[I turn 38 next Sunday. I have little interest in making any kind of deal of it this year, but Jessica and her fiance are coming up from L.A. to see his parents further north, and will be here that night. It would be rude to deprive them of the privilege buying me a celebratory drink, right? Now I'm thinking maybe dinner with a few friends and family at an inexpensive joint that can seat a party of ten to twelve. But where?]

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[After avoiding him and all my friends most of this weekend, I'm meeting Sean tonight at Truck, the new sorta-queer bar at 15th and Folsom. Its three proprietors are refugees from the bartending wars of the Castro who got together and opened a joint of there own. You should check it out, but if you can't make it, I'll say hi to Sean for you.]

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