June 5th, 2009

bubbly, champagne

A good birthday!

My father called on the 3rd to wish me a happy birthday a bit early. Birthday wishes have been coming in all day for the past two days, and it makes me feel cherished. (My best friend even replied to an e-mail, which is not quite earth-shattering but certainly notable.) Wednesday night was a delightful small group birthday gathering with Star Trek, Love Songs, and many, many forms of dessert (including a somewhat shaken fruit tart like the 2005 one). (The night ended on a slightly scary note with a freaky BART stalker, but I got home safely.)

Very excitingly, I now share a birthday with not only my "twin" from elementary school, but also rizzo's new daughter! Congratulations!!

My aunt and I went to the farmers' market as is usual for Thursday mornings. I caught a bit of a nap while she collected lunch and stuff, then she picked me up and we headed for a little beach she'd found, dogs and all.

The beach had cellphone reception about as bad as my cellphone reception at home, so joining zarhooie's birthday songs on my voicemail was another message from my father.

We spread out towels and had sandwiches and lounged in the sun. We both had books. The dogs found their own entertainment. Deacon was mostly drooling on things. The poodle decided to say hello to everyone, and eventually found a golden retriever who was playing catchball with the sea, and there was much running around. Deacon knocked over the dog pop-up tent from the inside. He also got sand all over every wet part of his face, including the drool. He even found a dead seagull to roll in!

I got sand all over too, but happily not in places that no sand should be. My sunblock seemed to have been sufficient, so I am not toasted.

When we got back, my sister called! We chatted about this and that.

I didn't manage to get a call in to my best friend, and when I stopped saying that I'd have a moment later, it was too late. Ah well, there will be other days and other calls.



As always, this day is not wholly mine. I will never forget 1989. It has been 20 years now.
golden gate bridge, san francisco

Crazy funtimes on BART (for certain values of fun)

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Some guy came up at approximately this juncture, inquiring about something or other. I was not in a state to encode social responses below a certain level, and said nothing. (Close to my height, on the thin side of average, dressed in a style that screamed "young lout" when worn past the age of 25-30, which he was likely past, not physically intimidating to me, clean.) He then inquired whether there were still trains to the East Bay. Even though he would have been told this critical detail by the station attendant, this answer was simple enough and fell under the basic Laws of Transit Humanity. "No," I said, then returned to staring at my cellphone.

"I didn't catch your name," he continued, and started asking other questions (irrelevant to any possible business of his other than chatting me up). I tuned him out.

"FUCK YOU!" he burst out, along with other items in this vein, and stamped off down the platform, perhaps to join the woman who was complaining that green was the color of the absence of the knowledge of Christ and that these people didn't know what it means and therefore shouldn't be using it.

The train came. I noticed that he had come back for his things, which he'd left on the platform nearby. I got on the train and sat down in a convenient seat close to the exit; at that point I figured that a) I qualified as elderly/disabled, b) there were like 5 people in the car, and c) I wasn't going to mess with the carton of abandoned Chinese takeout on the seat across from it.

The fellow boarded the train after me. He snagged the aforementioned abandoned carton of takeout and sat down next to me, despite a) his apparent perfect ablebodiedness, and b) the plethora of other seats on the train, including c) the ones he'd snagged the container from.

I sat trying to minimize any unnecessary physical contact with him. He sat, chowing down on someone else's abandoned supper. (Yes, on BART.) I became aware that in addition to the pleasantly spicy smell from the unlawful snack, there was a certain miasma, as of a small and localized brewery. But I held my peace and found something very fascinating to look at in the other direction.

He spoke up just then, in confident but not entirely intelligible tones. The brewery scent only intensified. I managed to distinguish that he was able to discern some form of beauty or potential beauty about my person, and that he would, when I was 36 or 37 and he was 46 or 47, still respect me completely.

I decided that it was time to find a new seat.

Bereft of his unwilling seating partner, he and his things wandered up the train into the next car. I watched him go, and watched carefully against his return.

When disembarking the train, I stood on the platform in one spot until the train departed, lest I walk past his car and give him any inspiration to get off before his intended stop. (Had he, I would have paid a visit to the station attendant and requested an escort to my car, or at least some form of escort for him, and/or ensuring that he did not accompany me.

Happily, he did not follow, and the train left with him on it. I made my painful way to the car, rather relieved, and with the classic Vulcan joke echoing in my head:

"But will you still respect me seven years from now?"
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