I am ornery. Uh huh. Went to the pre-wedding party yesterday of my friends who are getting married out here. We'll call them Sapphire and Tourmeline. We had pizza and beer, and were invited to go up one by one and share stories of S and T. Such a great ideal. Because so much of spending time with S and T involves telling stories. "In Alaska, I just had to go to the site of the Idittaride, where they have the dog sledding races. Which was amazing. But walking around, you find all these discarded booties form the dogs, so I made this collection of all these sled dog booties. And for a while I had them in a basket in my apartment, and I kept them just so people would look at them and as, 'What are those?' and I could say, 'Sled dog booties.' And they say, 'Do you race sled dogs?' and I'd say, 'In Portland, Oregon?' And then they'd say, 'Why do you have a basket of sled dog booties then?' And I'd get to say something like, 'Why are you so interested in my sled dog booties?' or look off into space and say something cryptic like, 'I just do.' That kind of thing."

Get the picture? It's sort of interesting that they're commencing their marriage with stories. My story-telling used to drive my Ex up the wall. I'd start in and get maybe a sentence when he'd be rolling his eyes (angrily, or course), or he'd break in and say something like, "Is this going to take long?" What a dick. I was at pains to explain to him that Not only did I like to tell and listen to stories, but I have a wide circle of friends who also delight in telling and listening to stories. I think Sapphire and Tourmeline pretty much ushered me into that circle, eighteen years ago when I met them in college.

Afterwards (which would be 2:45 am EDT, which is what my body clock is on), I went to the local watering holes. First stop was the Dirty Duck. If indeed there was a 'gathering of the leather tribe' at the Duck last night, they were either yet to gather, or had gathered and dispersed. I was just about the only person in there. (I later learned that the sort of salty and course woman who owns the Dirty Duck has a beautiful, refined daughter who became Miss Oregon. The Dirty Duck begets the beautiful swan? The effects of growing up around drag queens? Next stop was the Eagle PDX. Really like the layout of the place, there's sort of an upstairs loft. Y'know, the porn was really good. Usually I'm not much interested in porn, but this stuff was fun to watch. And the crowd was friendly. Came so close to coming home with a guy. Tragically, when we went to his car to drive it to my car so he could follow me home, he has this former police vehicle, still painted black and white, and rainbow streamers coming from the radio antenna. And his dog Bella was in the car. Now, I'm a huge fan of Portland Wackiness, but not in the men I sleep with. We drove up to my Host's sort of Mountain Retreat, and I got the last parking space on the premises. He drove around several times and found nothing. I suggested that what we could do would be to drive back into town, find a space for him, drive back in my car, and I could drive him back to his car tomorrow morning. He said that would be great, but he would have to go back to his car tonight, as he had to be home at 5:00 am when his lover got up. I explained that even though the clock said half past two in the morning, my body was telling me it was 5:30 am. And, cumming always renders me uncounscious. So he rumbled away in the festooned cruiser.

Hopefully, I'll have better luck tonight.

Odd thing about my Host's apartment. There's nothing here. Well, not nothing, but definitely the bare minimum. The freezer had icecubes. The refrigerator had a grapefruit and some coffee. The only books are hiking and travel guides. Either he took anything and everything that might indicate personal idiosyncracy and stored it down in the garage prior to my arrival, or there's not a lot in the way of personal idiosyncracy going on. Or (and most likely), he adheres to a 'small footprint' ideal, that's sort of the code among hikers: take only what you need, leave no trace. Now, I'm sort of minimalist myself (okay, except when it comes to bags), but he makes me feel like a packrat. for example, I went out on his deck to have a cigaret, and I wanted something I could use as an ashtray. Like an ashtray. Or a jar lid. Or an old saucer. Or an old soap dish. Basically, any burnproof item that's fallen into desuetude would do. There was nada. I'm picking him up at the airport tomorrow night. I'm really glad that I didn't bring him as a gift a copy of the FDNY beefcake calendar that the Fire Fighters' Widows and Orphans Fund is selling as a fundraiser. It would have been in the recycling bin on Tuesday. Think of a fully decorated christmas tree in a buddhist temple. I'll endeavor to find some fun foodstuffs while I'm out for a 'welcome home' snack.

And now, time to get myself out the door and go find something to eat. Speaking of foodstuffs.