Pseudotherapy

I am the moist filling in a Jester-Karl sandwich!

What can I say about an evening in which I got kissed by Jester and Karl at the same time, Dave handed me his heart on a button and my husband left me to go make out with another man? Pretty frakking great, that’s what!

Last night was Dave Diego, and the day was fraught with stress for me. Although Dave was the actual host of the event, I felt the burden of responsibility for assuring my home city made a good showing. With ComicCon 2008 having invaded the Gaslamp Quarter, scheduling a blogger gathering in the area was dicey. I don’t know which I was more worried about — everyone finding parking, or locating an eatery that could seat 20 people for dinner on the night of ComicCon’s Masquerade Ball. Plus, as usual I stressed about what to wear, when to leave, whether Bret would enjoy himself.

Vahid keeps an eye on Hilly's twats.

After emailing explicit instructions to the other attendees, I failed to follow them myself. Totally forgot to make sure we had change for the trolley ticket machines. Ended up driving into downtown and getting lost while trying to find a not-yet-full parking lot that we could afford. Finally decided to grab the next $15-or-less parking we saw. It turned out to be a multi-level garage with signs stating the elevator was not operating, only you didn’t see the signs until after you’d paid and pulled in. We parked three levels up, and began the trek to the restaurant where Dave Diego was already in full swing. And which was not the restaurant I’d chosen after many hours of research, because they’d neglected to inform me of two little facts: 1. There was some fight being broadcast to a full house that night, and 2. there was a $10 cover charge due to said event. Yeah, thanks but no thanks.

Karl and Hilly had been spreading the word via Twitter, which doesn’t work on my cheapo basic phone, but she called to let us know just as we started walking. Despite the last-minute change, the first arrivals had snared primo window booths right in the front of Whiskey Girl at 5th and Market, so we located the Dave Diego crowd immediately. Dave greeted us with personalized lanyards and passed us the bag-o-buttons with which to add flairage. And the hugging commenced!

Miss Motley and Mama Winter

In the course of the evening, I hugged and kissed Karl, Dave, Jester, Vahid and Hilly. Oh, and Bret and Juli, of course. I finally got to meet Winter and her daughter Motley. It was also my first time meeting the dashing Vahid, of whose photography I am quite a fan. Paul (Jester) and Michael (UncleMonkeyBoy) are both genuinely nice people and, in the time-honored tradition that frustrates straight women everywhere, the entire gay delegation was drop-dead gorgeous. Jerry (Othurme) was seated over at The Gay Table, so I didn’t get a chance to chat much with him or UMB. Next time! It was good to see Amandarin of Ordinary Extraordinary again — she was in town working ComicCon (at the convention itself, not the streets) and took time off to join us for dinner with her friend, Adam. The highlight of the night for me, however, was getting smooched by TWO of my crushes at once!

Dave2, King of Cards

Wait. Maybe the highlight was the Handing Out Of The Cards. Yes, you jealous people, all of us Dave Diego attendees were gifted with TWO decks of the mythical Blogography playing cards!!! They are real, they are printed, they are beautiful. I have held them in my hands and marveled at their fabooness. Let the salivating begin. Because the cards? Are teh @w3s0me.

Blogger gatherings always amaze me. Sitting in a booth with a bunch of people I’d gotten to know online, several of whom I’d just met in person that night, I was pleased to feel completely comfortable and at ease. Although we are a diverse group, we’re brought together by our shared love of blogging, and from that commonality, real friendships develop. Those friendships in turn lead to other new friendships, and the circle expands. It’s a lovely thing indeed.

After dinner and the longest wait for the check in the history of mankind, there was more drinking and a trip to an artist’s studio. Bret and I missed those because we are old and cannot be away from our computers for extended periods of time without our health suffering. We departed after dinner and a final bout of hugging. It was tough for Bret to tear himself away from his make-out buddy, Karl, but he smoked 17 9 a few cigarettes in Karl’s honor on the drive home. And we didn’t even get lost finding our way back to the freeway.

And now I start counting the days until Dave2LA2 in November.

My full Dave Diego Flickr photoset can be viewed here.

Other recaps of the evening: Dave’s, Winter’s, Karl’s, Hilly’s.

I presented our neighborhood studmuffin Karl with a special token of love today, so come on over to Secondhand Tryptophan and share in the joy!

(Guestational badge generously provided by Dave2)

Monday is Juli’s 28th birthday, so today I took her out to lunch at the restaurant of her choice. She chose Nick’s At The Pier, which is about as close as Ocean Beach gets to upscale. In other words, button your shirt and knock the sand off your flipflops before you go in. We arrived about 1:15, and were pleasantly surprised that there was no wait. We were lucky enough to score a window table, because as you can see, the view is lovely. (That’s my sister Sherry across the table from Juli.)

Today’s outing was a step toward breaking out of the funk I’ve been in for the past several days. I love Ocean Beach more than any place on earth, even more than Vegas. it sounds corny, but being there sets my soul free. Not like dying. Free like the gulls coasting on the sea breeze. It could be the crappiest weather San Diego’s ever had, but in Ocean Beach, it still looks beautiful. And the vibe is one absolutely unique to OB ? laid-back, mellow, accepting. A popular local bumper sticker gets it right: It’s OK. It’s OB. Sitting in Nick’s, watching the waves and chatting over crabcake tortas and California omelets, I could feel my ch’i aligning. I felt … right.

We wrapped up the afternoon with a shopping excursion to IKEA. I placed an order for two of everything in the store just to save time, but all I came out with was a stoppered glass bottle for transporting drinking water. After spotting the tag on this faboo retro chair, I just had to snap a shot of it. Don’t you think it would look perfect with a naked man sitting in it? (Click to enlarge photo.)

This began as part of a comment on this post of Hilly’s …

Bret and I had a conversation recently about how having a fucked-up childhood affects people. Some people never learn *how* to love. Other people grow up needing someone to lavish it on who won’t hurt them.?It makes you wonder, doesn’t it, how similar circumstances can turn different people in different directions?

Despite my dysfunctional family and the ugliness I witnessed as a kid, I am an exceedingly loving person. I love just about everybody, and it’s very easy to worm your way into my heart. Basically, if you’re kind to me I fall in love with you (and there are many different ways to be “in love” with people).? I’ve never been one of those girls who’s drawn to the jerks. I only like bad boys if they’ve got a tender heart.

Probably what made the difference for me was my mother, who doted on me. I had severe asthma as a young child, and nearly died more than once. Plus, I was the baby of the family, the “accident” after my parents had their desired two boys-two girls offspring configuration. My mother wasn’t thrilled to find herself pregnant again, but when a terrible auto accident in her seventh month didn’t kill me, Mom decided I was a Very Special Baby. Every close call I survived strengthened her opinion, and she felt that way about me until the day she died. Growing up, there was never a moment when I didn’t feel absolutely loved. Oddly, my siblings never resented me. They all doted on me, too. My father was the lone exception, and I’m sure jealousy was a factor. I was his main rival for my mother’s attention.

Bret was the baby in his family, too. But his parents were both alcoholics who divorced when he was small, and he was constantly shuffled between them. His two older brothers were his security, but one or the other of them (sometimes both) would often take off on some adventure, leaving Bret behind with a neglectful parent. His life was chaotic, and he became an adult who sought unfailing love and security above all. It took him a few tries, but he finally found that very thing with me.

And yet, a guy I used to know had had a childhood quite similar to Bret’s ? the youngest child of alcoholic parents,?basically raised?by his older brothers because his mom was always drunk. Unlike Bret, he grew up reckless, wild and increasingly violent. After he nearly killed his first wife, she took their child and ran away. His family has avoided contact with him, out of fear, for many years (as do I). He is a mean, mean man who freely admits that he hates the world.

What makes the difference? Something in the home environment, or something inside the individual? Why do some people triumph over horrific childhoods while others descend into the depths of despair? I think it must be an inherent strength that not everyone is blessed with. Some of us are more resilient at our core and simply refuse to be beaten, while others have?a tough time bouncing back from a blow. And that’s got to be an inborn trait, because there’s no rhyme or reason to who possesses it. Sometimes you find that resilience in places where it logically should not exist.

Like is just a big old card game, isn’t it? You never know what you’ll get dealt?? or how you’ll play it.

Yes, Kevin, Bret does indeed have a red Strat. Here’s my favorite picture of Bret and his baby:

He’d donned my Halloween wig, and was posing as an ’80s rocker. I had to throw my nightie over his lap ’cause he was nekkid.

Bret despises everything Slowhand (he likes earlier Clapton). His guitar heroes (heh) are Ritchie Blackmore, Adrian Belew and?Buckethead. He’s also a big fan of?Tool. And Stone Ales.

[tags]Stratocaster, guitar, Stone Brewing Co.[/tags]