I’m a bit of a slob, there’s no denying it. Housekeeping is not my forte. Probably never will be. My room is a mess comparable to that of the legendary Oscar Madison, clothes and papers everywhere, a few dishes scattered around, just a vaguely neurotic disarray surrounding me on all sides. Perhaps it’s the sign of a cluttered — if active — mind. Long ago, I reconciled myself to the fact that I’ll never live in an immaculate picture perfect house. It’s just not gonna happen.

Strange then that I’m so obsessively clean of body and that my work space (including the computer desktop) must be so stunningly and neatly organized or I go completely nuts. And that I empty ashtrays with an almost psychotic furor. Go figure…

Today’s lesson will be in part about ways to deal with a resident slob, or at least this particular one.

1. Sarcasm doesn’t work.

Or at least not in my case. My dad tried it when I was a kid (”Here…I’ll pick up that dish for you”, “It’s OK…I’ll put that towel in the hamper.”) Obviously it didn’t work. All it made me do was shoot the bird at him behind his back. I found out today that it still produces this reaction.

2. Sometimes guilt works.

Sulk around, looking exasperated at the mess. Occasionally pick up something. Be an “enabler”. With me, this usually results in a guilt-induced cleaning spree which would mwke June Cleaver proud.

3. Learn coping skills.

Despite our nature, slobs can usually meet you half way. we can keep our messes confined to a certain mutually agreed upon area. It won’t always work, but usually we’ll try to keep things in order as much as possible. sometimes we may let the mess linger, but we’re usually acutely aware of it and will have a sudden energy bost which will rectify the situation eventually.

OK, I got a bit pissed today when the roomie made a remark or two about things I left sitting out in the bathroom. He had every right to be mad, but by phrasing his complaint the way he did and then leaving before I could respond — probably a wise move — all he accomplished was adding to my already pissy mood. Most days I wouldn’t have let it bother me but today was not most days given my current collection of insecurities.

What? Yer Humble Host is not feeling on top of the world? What could be the problem in Mecca? Oh you know, the ususal mundane things like someone burning my car to a crisp, realizing (sometimes in horror) that I’ll be unemployed in two months, having a thing for someone who’s 2000 miles away, being (gasp) bored with fags in general and (bigger gasp) even slightly bored with the City. Today was a bit of a roller coaster ride; I usually keep a pretty positive frame of mind going, despite my cynicism. Today it went from pissed off to edgy to almost inexplicably bawling while walking around in Border’s. Strange…maybe it’s hormones…

Of course, just for effect, it was really cold and windy and gray today, but that’s usually a plus for me.

Ah, but I’m getting whiny. This must stop. Things are generally good, despite my vague unease with the planet. “The Simpsons” have returned for the fall, hits are up on the old web site, I got a very favorable comment on a “secret” picture of myself which lies within the confines of Planet SOMA (ego boosts are a good thing) from someone who didn’t even know it was me, I bought a cool Route 66 video tonight, and The Third Sex is playing in town on the 13th. By tomorrow, I’ll be thinking happy thoughts again. I promise.

But it’s a safe bet I’ll be absolutely no better at housekeeping.

So then there are those mornings when you find yourself awake at an ungodly hour completely unable to sleep because so many unsettling thoughts keep getting lodged in your brain. This kind of insomnia must be a lot like a psychological equivalent of AIDS. One big anxiety compromises your faculties such that a multitude of smaller opportunistic anxieties intrude. The net result is no sleep. It’s been happening a lot the past week or so.

I guess the “big anxiety” stems from the fact that my roomie of six years is getting pretty damned close to buying a house. This, in itself, is a good thing. I’m happy for him, although I’m still not convinced of the wisdom of buying property at the peak of the most inflated real estate market in Bay Area history.

I feel really guilty that I can’t bring myself to act enthusiastic when he talks about it, but the whole thing is causing a tremendous surge of uncertainty in my life. The most obvious problem is the necessity of finding a new roommate, not an easy task given my general lack of sociability. At this point, I’ll consider taking speculative applications…

There are financial pressures as well, coming at a time when I’m living quite adequately but have no savings to speak of. I’ll have to come up with the deposit which I never paid upon moving into this place. Utilities will have to be transferred into my name.

And of course there remains the big question of whether I’m still under rent control when he moves out. The prospect of paying current market rent on a two-bedroom apartment South of Market (or anywhere in San Francisco) is not pretty. In fact, it’s down right terrifying. I’d even consider it an impossibility, more or less.

So then the little anxieties surface. Is it really worth it to continue living here? Should I look on this as a sign that it’s time to get the hell out of this increasingly expensive, rapidly gentrifying city? And if the answer is yes, where exactly should I go and what the hell should I do when I get there? What exactly am I doing with my life anyway?

Oops…maybe that’s the REAL “big anxiety”. It does, after all, come down to that “what do I want to be when I grow up” thing, doesn’t it? Admittedly, it’s hard to address that particular issue with so other more pressing crises piled up in front of me. But, of course, that’s pretty much the same excuse I’ve been using for almost 34 years now…

It’s after 4:00 now. Maybe I should consider trying to go back to sleep or something. Whatever’s coming up can’t harm me while I’m sleeping. If only I WERE sleeping…

Wow…I’ve discovered that Planet SOMA is now linked by the Advocate as a gay resource. I’m not sure whether to be flattered or horrified. I think I’ll choose “amused”, particularly given all the less than complimetary things I’ve had to say about the Advocate over the years.

Guess their marketing department wasn’t consulted…

Another great discovery today came as I looked for something in “the drawer”. Every house has one; it’s that place where stuff lands when you don’t know what else to do with it. Didn’t find what I was looking for, but we have masking tape. And chopsticks. Who knew…

Road Trip 98 now includes the first parts of the Minnesota story. Seems it’s going to take me as long to get the trip online as it did to actually take the trip.

Home today, sitting in one of those thousands of San Francisco apartments with no heat or insulation to speak of. But it never gets cold in SF, you say. Perhaps not, by most standards, but it sure FEELS cold when it gets into the 40’s at night and you’re sitting in a drafty Victorian huddled over a wimpy space heater.

For a change of pace, here are some things I’m loving this week:

• Reruns of “The Critic” on Comedy Central
• Minute Maid Lemonade on sale at Safeway
• Kelley’s Coffee Shop in Oakland (review coming soon)
• The creepy new decor at My Place on Folsom Street (or is it just out of date Halloween decorations?)
• My blanket

I’m spending my Sunday morning cooking collard greens.

I remember when Sunday mornings used to be about hangovers and trying to get rid of whatever trash I’d picked up on Saturday night. Today, however, I got up at 9, went out for some breakfast, stopped by the bank (where I had to stand in LINE behind annoyingly perky yupsters in jogging drag), and came home to the pot, the greens, the salt pork (why can’t you buy fatback in California?), and “In the Heat of the Night” re-runs on TNT.

Yer humble host is feeling pretty damned domesticated this week, although there’s no danger of wedded bliss or a house in the suburbs. The thought of being coupled and having to spend every waking moment with someone else in close proximity is no more appealing now than it ever was, although the house part doesn’t sound too bad. But not in the suburbs, thank you. Maybe in Minnesota or Detroit.

Maybe this is all just leftovers from my trip home. Who knows?

Sometimes I think I’m letting life pass me by. Maybe it’s just a phase or maybe it’s the weather, but it seems like I don’t DO much of anything lately.

I work a lot. A big down side of working at home is that my work is always here with me, staring me in the face each time I walk into the living room. I guess the positives outweigh the negatives, though. I get to watch Pinky and the Brain while I work, and I’ve desigated my whole workplace a “smoking lounge”.

And I’ve been on a really scary domestic kick. The kitchen is spotless (or as much so as it can be). I’ve been cooking a lot. And I may actually do laundry one of these days.

Sex, of course, is but a vague memory…something I recall having done several months ago, in a different time zone. Even the thought of looking for someone with whom to copulate seems pretty boring.

But I’ve been watching a lot of TV…that’s always good thing. Right?

A lot of things on my mind right now. Things that will most likely affect my life for some time to come. Most of them have to do with the basic question of where I should live. Of course, this basic question brings up lots of other, more complex ones, including the ever-present “what should I be when I grow up?” I hate that one…

On the home front, it’s highly likely that my roomie of over six years will be leaving soon. This is a pretty strange thing to contemplate. When you live with someone for six years, it’s almost like a marriage, but without the added drama of sex or snoring issues.

I’m not about to break in a new roomie a this stage in the game. Which means, of course, that if I stay here, I’ll be paying all the rent by myself. I haven’t yet determined if I can really afford this, or if I really want to make the sacrifices (extra work, fewer toys and road trips, etc.) it may require.

But if I move, where should I go? Despite my growing distaste for San Francisco, I’m not sure I’m quite ready to leave the Bay Area. Do I stay here? Do I move across the bay to Oakland or Alameda? More and more I find that I like the East Bay better than San Francisco in many ways. If I’m going to stay here long term, that’s where I want to be.

Or should I just use this as an excuse to get the hell out of here completely? I know I’m going to do so eventually. It seems a little redundant to pack up and move across the bay if I’m just going to move someplace else in another year or two anyway.

And, of course, if I do move someplace else, just exactly what the hell am I going to do when get there? There’s also the reality that once I move out of this rent-controlled place, I’ll never be able to move back into San Francisco.

At the same time I’m excited about having this whole apartment to myself, I’m also scared of the implications. I’m unnerved by the questions forced by the issue.

Seven realizations upon hitting the ripe old age of 34 1/2:

1. The minimal lighting in most bars has additional benefits beyond the obvious factor of making all patrons “look better”. The darkness also allows you to pretend you don’t see people you’re avoiding for one reason or another. In addition, it allows you to pretend not to recognize people whose names you may have forgotten. Design feature or happy coincidence? Who knows?
2. There are no bargains in malls. Ever.
3. It is much easier to keep the kitchen clean if you wash three or four dishes a day rather than letting them “soak” for three weeks until everything you own is completetly disgusting.
4. IQ testing might be a great idea for San Francisco drivers.
5. I will most likely never eat at any of the SF Chronicle’s “Top 100 Restaurants”, and I don’t really feel that I’m missing anything. I’m not inclined to believe that a $25 pork chop is really five times better than a $5 pork chop.
6. Sunshine and warm weather are tremedously overrated.
7. I am now resigned to the fact that I will never be featured on an episode of A&E’s Biography. Note to friends and relatives: those compromising photos, videos, and anecdotes will probably never be particularly valuable.

Wow. As of Thursday, I’ll be living completely alone for the first time in almost ten years. This is a strangely creepy feeling, although I didn’t really expect it to be.

For those of you who just joined the saga, I’ve had the same roomie for pretty much the entire 6 1/2 years I’ve lived in San Francisco. He’s buying a house, and I’m too damned cranky to break in someone new at this point in my life. Prior to moving here, I’d “re-nested” with Mom and Dad in Greensboro for three years while I went back to school.

Which means, again, that this is my first time completely alone since I left Charlotte in 1989. I’ve always preferred living on my own. I’m just a little bit out of practice.

For the next few weeks I get to deal with all the minor irritants like getting the utilities switched over to my name, and passing around my new phone number. I have to buy pots and pans and some more dishes, which is a shame since I have a lot of them in storage back home. I have to get a sofa and a desk, and a few lamps. I’ll be losing one of my favorite ashtrays.

The big benefit, of course, will be all the extra space. I’ll be able to store things. I’ll have an actual office and a guest room (sort of). I’ll be able to walk around the house in my skivvies. I’ll be able to watch porn with the volume turned up without fear of embarrassment. Should I ever have sex again, it can be really noisy sex involving multiple rooms.

It’ll be strange, though. I’ll keep you posted…

Today’s revelation: moving sucks, even when you’re not the one moving.

Actually, Dan got out in near-record time, with a big boost this morning from his mom and dad who probably would rather have spent their vacation in San Francisco doing something else.

Now all that remains is the fallout. This is a great time to do things like completely vacuuming all the floors for the first time since 1992. I need to rewire some phones. I need to get an additional line installed. And I get to sort through all my collected crap as I decompress it to fill more space.

And a sofa and some chairs might be nice…

I’ve already reclaimed the kitchen, even though I have plenty of skillets and cake pans but not a single saucepan. Last night I mopped parts of the floor I’d never even seen before. I’ve cleaned up all the strange 60’s dishes I’ve been picking up in thrift stores and keeping in the basement until I had room for them. I’ve moved the crock pot out of the cabinet.

All in all, I think everything will work out OK, although the whole thing still feels a little weird.

Random thoughts generated by a short attention span on a Saturday morning:

• Eggo frozen waffles really ARE better than store brands.
• Obsessively cleaning one’s apartment for the first time in over six years can result in the discovery of a surprising amount of money.
• Supposing I wrote stories about what a hot college jock I am. Think I could make any money selling my dozen recently-unearthed pairs of old shoes at one of those foot fetish sites?
• Some idiot just called me (on the phone) trying to “get the website for San Francisco city guides”. I have no idea what he was talking about. I have even less idea how he got my number.
• Does anyone remember the mystical and magical show called “Night Flight” which used to run on the USA Network before said cable channel became flat out useless?
• Speaking of the old videotape I’m watching from 1988: does anyone else find it a huge injustice that Dusty Springfield will never sing again but that the Pet Shop Boys probably will?
• I am convinced that the lead singer of the New Radicals does not really sing. He’s merely an adorable boy who’s lip synching to previously unreleased World Party songs.
• Will I ever have a boyfriend who has a washer and dryer in his home?
• One more time: why does it cost 25-50 cents more to sell a gallon of gas in northern California than anywhere else in the country (or even the state)? And why is milk twice as expensive here in the largest dairy-producing state? And why is it impossible to buy a decent tomato here?

I’m re-furnishing my house courtesy of Sarah and Brad. So far I’ve added the coolest butterfly chair in the world as well as a drafting table. They’re great…sort of like a surrogate aunt and uncle. Except that they’re both younger than I am. And they have cooler stuff than my aunts and uncles.

Strangely sociable weekend. Went to Jack’s in the Mission Friday night to see Rae and Michael as they visited from Portland, along with Dawson, Paula, Shawn and two other very nice people whose names I now do not remember. There are more pictures. They’re not significantly better than the one above. Dark bars do not photograph well.

On Saturday, I had dinner with the ex-roomie and visited my former sofa. The sofa seems very happy in its new home. It has lots of light and a new blanket and a bigger TV. It also has an adjacent futon with which to pass time during the day. It’s a happy sofa indeed. Dan seems pretty happy too.

1985: Jeff at age 6

My friend Jeff in North Carolina turns 20 today. That’s the age he’s giving. Who am I to argue? I’ve only known him since 1980, so I can’t really say for sure. A big old “happy birthday” anyhow, despite the fact that Jeff opted to pass the milestone in Myrtle Beach rather than San Francisco.

So I’m working my butt off this weekand finding very little time to do much with the site.

For those who are following closely, I have finally moved all the relevant phone lines and moved my office into its new home (thanks to Dan for the assist). Aside from the fact that I can now avoid working by looking out the big bay window, I can also hear it when the trash truck comes.

Ooops.

Having just returned from running my trash downstairs in my bathrobe, I’ll continue babbling about nothing now. OK…maybe I’ll babble about the cute garabage man who let me throw the bag into the truck all by myself. He smiled at me. Awww…

Mistake of the week: frozen chopped collards. Fear them.

Disappointment of the week: no flowers on Secretaries Day.

Frightening sight of the week: the phone tree in my basement as I tried to figure out what line went where.

OK…I admit it. I sat here and watched the entire “Patty Duke Show” reunion movie. It was silly. It was hokey. It was just plain stupid. And still I watched every damned minute of it.

I need a new hobby.

Apologies again for my lack of wordiness lately. I’ve been working a lot and frankly I haven’t been really excited at the prospect of spending even more time in front of the computer.

And there’s someone new in my life. Someone who will stand by me in times of need without questioning my moods or my decisions. Someone who will wait by the window until I get home. Someone who will offer me not only companionship, but also life-giving oxygen.

Meet Irma:

Look for us to start sharing our exciting and environmentally sensitive adventures together very soon.

I have a confession to make. I was not completely honest about Irma, the new love in my life, in Wednesday’s journal entry. The truth is, when Irma moved in, she brought her entire family. Please forgive this lack of forthrightness.

See pictures of Irma and the kids.

Should be an interesting weekend when Erik visits my increasingly-crowded apartment. You may remember Erik from such road trips as Minneapolis 1998 and Las Vegas 1998. I hope he won’t be jealous. And I hope he brings me some Count Chocula.

Erik in Pirate Country

In other news, Dan has informed me that Tad’s Steaks on Powell Streets will be closing at the end of June. I’m pretty pissed, because this is one of my favorite dives in the entire city. The rumor is that it will be replaced by yet another trendy pasta joint. Just what San Francisco needs…

Look for a farewell review of Tad’s soon. And look for an epitaph for all remaining reality and grittiness in San Francisco soon afterward. The mochafrappuchinozation of the city continues unabated…

Now I’m off to visit the Smog Check people as I’ve procrastinated my car registration into a minor crisis.