This is not going to be all, "Oh, let me share the story of how I learned to love my voluptuous ass." This is more like, "Oh, let me share the story about how much my ass hurts like frilly heck right now." But not in an anal sex sort of way, either...

Basically, if you want to hear about anal sex or ass acceptance, you'll have to wait for another entry, is what I'm getting at. Dude, my ass hurts.

I went out for a ride yesterday, which was fine, except I have this skinny bike seat that sort of hurts to sit on. Quite frankly, it's like sitting on the pointy end of a football. So when I went out for my ride today, all I could think was, "Nice day for a ride. Ow, my ass. How many miles is that so far? Ow, my ass."

I have Tuesday off, and I am probably going to trade in my pointy football seat for a nice big gel-filled comfy seat. I look forward to being able to go for a ride without feeling like I've just had a minor role in a film called Super Balls: All-Star Double Penetration II.

I went to the strangest birthday party last night. I picked up Laurie and Joey and we headed over to our friend's place at 9:30. At 12:30, she kicked everyone out. Like, she told everyone to leave the house right that minute. It was very strange.

I didn't want to drive all the way home (hey, I'd been drinking-- who knew I'd be leaving so early?) so we drove to a bar in the Haight. (Going to a bar to sober up might sound strange but, of course, I didn't drink.) We walked in and all these hot guys started checking us out. We're all, "Aww, yeah, our kind of place."

Half an hour into playing the eye contact game, we started suspecting the patrons of being a little bit gay. At first my gaydar didn't go off at all, but little by little, I began to get the vibe that maybe all the hot boys were, in fact, traveling with six kimonos.

Maybe they were looking at us because we were three girls walking into a gay bar and they wondered what the hell we were doing there. Or maybe none of them wanted to pick up on any of us. I suppose that's marginally possible.

Just kidding; of course that's not possible. They were all gay.

I haven't been able to access hotmail all weekend. I thought it was a universal thing, but apparently it was just me. I finally rebooted my computer and it works. And I have seven thousand email messages-- fun! It's funny, because my last notify message was like, "Oh, I love you guys for being on my notify list." And three people unsubscribed! Heh.

Many of the emails are about my purported ham-scented candle. And here I thought nobody read the sidebar! I will explain the ham candle thing, though.

You see, Bruce told me he was going to send me some candles to erase the mildew smell in my room. He asked me, "What smells do you like? Like floral, or foresty, or your mom's cooking?" And I said, "My mom's cooking? You're going to send me a candle that smells like ham?" Thus, the running joke that I would be getting a ham candle.

The candle I did get is called "Kitchen Spice" and it actually smells like gingerbread and cinnamon-- baking smells. Mmm, yum. But it sort of looks like it could be a ham candle. It's my honorary ham candle.

Finally, and somewhat anticlimactically, some of my readers found the picture that I was talking about in my last entry, of Hyacinthe. If you want to see a huge version of it, try this site.

"Well, what I did to Marcy, I wouldn't do again. That's the key. Maybe she will never forgive me; that's her prerogative. But I learned from it, and changed because of it, and I'm willing to forgive myself on that basis. This is really a fundamental shift in my way of looking at the world, and it's so liberating.

(And it only took ten years of lapsed Catholicism to get there, too.)"