(no subject)

I actually went out. On a thursday night. Richard made me.

The Lone Star was weird. Who the hell are all these people in my bar, and why aren't these club kids at home in bed on a school night? Seriously, they were like twelve.

I didn't want to go the the Eagle either, but Scott and Richard dragged me there. All sorts of cool people I haven't seen in a kerjillion years. Nik, and Patrock, and others. No Fergus— boo. Met aairplane and bearbait and crusherrrr. All three are way fucking prettier than they appear in LJ, no question, and crusherrrr seems sweet for someone so rough trade and tattooed and shit. At least that was my first impression.

Met bearlesque for about four seconds, but I don't think he was having it.

We talked to aairplane for a while, and he made us wonder about why no one can get laid in SF. It is a mystery until you realize that, with 9 billion gays all around, everyone is holding out for something better. You know how you go to a bear run, and you're nice and polite but you keep trading up, trading up, all the time working toward your ultimate weekend bang? And then suddenly it's sunday, and everyone's already gone and paired up, and you're panicking because the only ones left are the drunks and the mustache-waxed pumpers, and the crying guy under the stairs? Well San Francisco is like that all the time. For everyone.

I'm not saying that aairplane is a drunk, waxed pumper. You know what I mean. We're all spoiled, and we're always keeping our options open, waiting for that potential Perfect Trick. In the meantime, no one gets laid.

Then we went and had crêpes. Richard and I had banana/Nutella crêpes, which were perfect and delicious but not on our diets, so Jesus made Richard urpy and we had to go home.

Then I found out that aairplane friended me, which is why I'm totally badmouthing him here, but it turns out that none of his shit is locked down anyway, and there's like zero Matty smack in his journal, so it was kind of wasted effort. Still: pritty.