There are four hundred half-naked men in Santa hats dancing to Rihanna's "Diamonds" outside of my bedroom window right now. I am never moving.
I wanna live in a Norah Jones song.
Accompanied by a notebook and a basket of buffalo wings, I sat down at a restaurant in the Lower Haight this afternoon to pen my resolutions for the coming year. Though much of my list contains items far too personal for publication on the Internet, there is one resolution that I don't mind sharing.
Watch more sunsets.
The AIDS Emergency Fund is throwing a gala in Golden Gate Park tonight and Bevan and I (but mostly Bevan) were invited to attend as guests of Target. Though I had originally planned to wear a suit and tie because the word 'gala' sounds fancy, I reread the invitation a few minutes ago and discovered that the theme is actually "Vintage 1982" which, according to Google, means I should go with something a little less, well, less.
If you'll excuse me, I have less than one hour to achieve abs.
I made things with my hands today. Like tangible things. With my hands.
Myself and the folks with whom I share an employer ventured to Oakland to spend the day at an industrial arts facility in the name of team building. And I made things. With my hands.
In Glass Fusing class I designed a beverage coaster with a sunflower on it. To make it I had to employ the use of one of those glass cutters that cat burglars use to sneak through windows in action movies. I don't have a picture of my sunflower beverage coaster because it's currently firing in a kiln. But as far as beverage coasters go, it's pretty friggin' rad.
After Glass Fusing I attended a Leather Working course where I cut, scored and dyed strips of animal skin to make bracelets. Leather ones. Which, like the sunflower beverage coaster, are pretty friggin' rad.
And finally I partook in Woodworking where I used half-a-dozen different power tools to turn a flat, square slab of wood into a dish for my keys.
Just look at those edges!
As it turns out, I'm kinda handy. Handsy? Whatever.
I can't figure out what's more disturbing, the fact that I've heard my roommate and her boyfriend have sex or the fact that I've heard them heatedly debate the lyrics to Weird Al's "Amish Paradise."
We're one hundred miles from Los Angeles.
Bevan and I decided to drive down and spend the long weekend at his friend Tim's place in WeHo. It's our first lengthy car trip together and I find it encouraging that we've been on the road for almost four hours and haven't maimed one other yet. Although if I request one more pee stop, that might change.
Thus far, notable topics of conversation have included Cory Booker's sexuality, my grandparents and McDonald's breakfast food.