Reflections on the Holiday Season – the Season of Stealing

Last year right about this time I had a trick over From Scruff. He stole my laptop. Luckily I had iCloud on it I had the guys name his phone number and because I had iCloud I knew exactly where the laptop was.

I walk to the police station. I file the report. The San Francisco police department refused to do anything about it even after giving him the person’ name, the person’s number, their location, the serial number of the laptop and a picture of the thief.

Merry fucking Christmas. This  Police Station was one in a neighborhood that isn’t even busy for them.  Nobody speeds, there’s no crime for the most part and they seem to spend a lot of time at the convenience store.

I mean seriously what the fuck?

I could maybe see it if it were in a high-crime neighborhood.  But it’s not.

The non-action clearly states that they don’t care.  Certainly doesn’t make me feel safe.

This is the kind of thing that makes ordinary citizens take things into their own hands.





Chat Support

One of my big pet peeves is when you are using chat support and after spending 10 minutes typing your concern an agent finally pops in and says Greetings!   How are you today?    I say good, and then silence.   Like they never fricking received the initial message with the problem.   Most of the time I’ll just sit there and wait.    Since they are probably assisting 5000 other people, I it can take a long time.   I mean really, wtf?  What a horrible customer experience.

Rent to Own

Was feeling a little broke the other night and put up my escort ad up for a month.   Was totally surprised to find an inbox full of messages.    I took two outcalls from the pile.

The first was a cute latin guy who wanted to talk and sip vodka and smoke some T.  He didn’t have to twist my arm on either one of those and soon he was grabbing at my dick.  We went into the spare room (his partner’s dressing room, as he called it) and he proceeded to fuck me, which was a total surprise as I was hired as a top.  He took less than the alotted time and gave me the negotiated  $130 and I left.

The second one was a bit more interesting.    The guy who hired me and I had been talking 3 years ago and when I posted the ad last weekend, I mistook his text from 2013 as one just sent.     I answered it and he asked who I was.  When I told him, he replied with “Why did it take you three years to respond?”    Nonetheless, the called me on Sunday and wanted to know if I could get there by 9.   It was 8:30.   I told him I would try.

Miraculously I made it there by 9:15.   The place was in Pacific Heights.   As I walked in the lobby, I was greeted by two doormen in the warm and lavish lobby.  I walked up to the desk and said “I’m here to see Alfred in 405”.   The young doorman walked me to the elevator and said “The doctor is in 406.   Get off the elevator and take a right”.

He took a minute to answer the door.    When he opened it, I was greeted by an older guy who looked like..  well, a doctor.   He offered me a gin and I graciously accepted it.    As I walked over to put my jacket on the chair, I was blasted with a view of the city like I’ve never seen in a residence.  Of course, I’ve never seen a residence like that was either.    The ceilings in the condo were at least 12 feet tall, with beautifully decorated everything.

He took me to (again) the spare room and he spent the next two hours tied to the bed getting face fucked and paddled until his ass was red.    I left with $400.

Both of them had this in common:  Their partners were in the next room.

I just found $50,000

I’m not shitting.    I just found $50,0000.   $56,090 to be exact.

This changes everything.

I’m completely re-thinking literally everything right now.   Like maybe I should quit my job, but a mobile home and travel around the country.    Or maybe get rid of my apartment and save the money on rent.   Probably should sub-lease it so I can keep the rent control.   God, my mind is all over the place.   More later after I’ve had some time to think.

Yes Hot

Just got a text message from someone in my phone that I have saved as “Yes Hot”.  I have no idea who this is but I answered of course.   I wouldn’t save someone in my phone as “yes hot” unless I was trying to tell myself to say “yes” because he is “hot”.

A few years ago I started a database where I keep track of the men I’ve slept with, the ones I want to and the ones to stay away from.   Too many times I arranged a hookup with a repeat that I didn’t realize I had already done before with no desire to do again.   The database contains pics, numbers, notes and warnings so I can minimize the chances of re-doing a loser or someone that I didn’t feel chemistry with.    I’ve also logged thieves, of which there are many.   I truly don’t understand why people think that it’s ok to take something that doesn’t belong to them.  It happens so freaking often, too.  Makes me want to kill.

Oh, well..  Go figures that Thursday, Friday and Saturday night all go without any interest from anyone and now I have yes Hot and some dude named Alex both on their way over.    Should be interesting.

Roxy Detour

I decided to go out last night and have a drink.    I gathered up all of my change to take to the coinstar at the grocery store and in the process of looking for quarters, I found the little bag of Roxy that the crazy “massage” in-call I tricked with left at my house.  I remember him saying that it was enough for two people so I carefully shoved the straw in the bag and took a big snort, consuming about 3/4 of the bag.   I gathered up my bag of quarters and left the house walking to the store.  By the time I got halfway to the store I realized that I probably wasn’t going to make it to the bar.   I did make it to the store and exchange my coins and got $27.85, enough for a couple of drinks.     I couldn’t force myself to get on the train so I just walked around.   I ended up by 19th Ave and Sloat and there is something that happens in Stern Grove on the weekends.    Hundreds and hundreds of kids congregate there and smoke pot and drink.  I was amazed at the fact that there weren’t any cops there.  There must be some sort of agreement that the adults won’t bother the kids getting fucked up there as long as they don’t drive a car or something.   It was practically a rave.   I walked down the side of the grove and down Wawona, the part that ends and becomes a walking trail for about two blocks.    Creepy as fuck late at night and since I was tripping balls, I heard all sorts of shit.

I got home finally and was so fucking horny I ripped off my clothes, turned on a porn and shot a huge fat load within 30 seconds and it was one of the most intense orgasms I can remember.    Within a few minutes, I shot an equally intense load and fell asleep.

Today I’m as stiff as fuck so I’m popping percocets and sipping wine.     I think it’s Sunday.    I hope so.    I may have to troll for a “massage” therapist to help alleviate some of this pain.   And I didn’t make it to the needle exchange once again.

Sun of a beach.

I’m beginning to think that I’m getting a little tired of flying solo. I really do like my alone time but it’s moments like these that I think that it might be nice to share with someone else. At the risk of sounding completely cheesy (if I haven’t already) I think I need a little romance.

I’ve Had more sex than any of than any one man deserves in his lifetime in the past 10 years. And not a single interaction has really lead to more than a casual friendship. Sometimes I think think I know the people that work at the clinic better than I know anyone else. Tonight’s the needle exchange, maybe I’ll find a date there.


Today I got some mail the belongs to someone that lives down on the street next to mine – same address just different street.  I did what I thought was the right thing to do and walked the mail the their house. When I got there I heard voices inside and so I rang the bell and waited about three or four minutes and still heard voices but nobody came to the door. I wonder if people are scared to answer the door? What are people so afraid of?   Ehhh – Maybe I’m overthinking it and  the doorbell is just broken.

Tooth fairy, anyone?

When I decided to start blogging about my life, I pretty much knew a few things would happen given my knowledge of myself:  a) there would be periods of time when I didn’t add posts; b) I would probably give up a few times because I was afraid of being discovered and c) I would kill dead horses over and over again.

Beavis is a dead horse but he keeps on showing up and needing to be beaten.

I had a tooth pulled today.   It was one that had been crowned many years ago and the tooth underneath had gotten decayed.    I’ve managed to drive away everyone in my life that was close to me so I couldn’t find someone to come escort me home from the oral surgeon.  Or I was too scared to ask anyone because I didn’t want to hear no.   I lied about taking the valium that they had given me because they told me that if I took it, they wouldn’t let me leave alone.    The surgery was horrible.  I hate the sound of the drill and the feeling of the dentist forcing the tooth out.    I wanted to get an IV sedation, but again – I would have needed someone to come pick me up and I don’t have the ability to ask for help for some reason.    I’m not saying these things because I want attention or sympathy.     That’s the last thing I want.  I’m just trying to explain why things are the way they are and put it out in the universe that I know that I’m 100% responsible for the situation that I have put myself in.

Anyway, Beavis did a number of things that make me want to slash his throat.    There was the food that he hid various places, hoping it would rot and smell up the place.   There was the things he took that he knew I wouldn’t notice until sometime later – like the little round thing that goes at the bottom of the blender with the knives, the critical piece that isn’t easy to replace.  Without it it renders the rest of the blender useless. Or the potato masher which I used maybe once or twice a year.

I can’t blame him for my stupidity in spending all of my money until next paycheck, but now I have a situation in which I need to eat mushy blended stuff and I don’t have a working blender nor a potato masher.  I’m going to need to get creative.  That is one thing that I’m good at.

So I’ve never made mashed potatoes with the mixer. but I thought I would give it a shot. Added the potatoes, some sour cream, some butter, half-and-half and turned it up to high. The butter was a little hard and kept on flying out of the bowl but after about three or four minutes I ended up with a nice bowl of mashed potatoes. My mixer is a really really nice  KitchenAid mixer that today retails for about $700. I got it at a garage sale for $20. When I brought it home Bevis became so jealous because he’s always wanted one. That memory made the mashed potatoes taste so much better and made me forget the fact that I did not have a  potato masher or a blender.  Thank God for resentments.

So it’s Friday night in San Francisco.   I have a good job and make nearly 6 digits. Yet I cannot afford to buy a blender or a potato masher. There is something wrong here.   I’ve gotten good at getting stuff for nothing – people in this city (and in my neighborhood especially) give stuff away for free all of the time.   Not nasty, broken shit but good stuff.    In the past few months I’ve gotten an air ionizer, a toaster oven, a closed circuit security system, a coffee table, a queen sized mattress, a monitor,  several hundred dollars worth of books, a filing cabinet, two telephones, some telephone cable, 3 working external hard drives, some specialty cables, kitchen utensils, a 1910 solid wood teacher’s desk and that’s just the beginning.   A lot of the stuff I re-sell to help with the bills.   It’s what needs to be done.

Let’s Catch Up, Shall We?

I’ve not been so good about writing lately, but a shit-ton of worthy-of-writing-about life has happened since the last installment.  I’ll do my best to catch y’all up.

The Roommate Situation

As I predicted, Beavis came to me 24 hours before he was supposed to leave, sobbing that he had no place to go.  His roommate situation, which was all an act, had fallen through and I was his only hope of saving him from an untimely horrible death on the street.

I told him that he could stay with me under a few conditions.   1) No dog (which was in the original agreement when he moved in.  2) He had to move his stuff out and use the bed I was having delivered the day after his supposed departure.  3) He had to pay the rental fee of $175 per day. 4) He only could do this for a maximum of two weeks.

He told me to fuck off.

Then he told the landlord that I was dealing drugs out of the house.

Then he told the police about the alleged illegal activities.

Then he sent me a text message that said, “Ha Ha, enjoy jail, bitch.”

All of this coming from the stupid sack of shit that got his ass fired because he left a bag of dope in a container of pastries he was delivering to Peet’s coffee.  Yeah, the guy without a job and a felony record calling the cops on me.  Funny.  The cops never came.

The bitch crossed the line.   You don’t narc on people.  Especially when what you’re narcing about isn’t true.  As far as I’m concerned he’s dead.

He has sent a few of his friends over here to see what’s going on, as well.   The other day someone came to the down and claimed to be one of Beavis’ friends.  He had left a blanket here the day that Brian had moved out.  Who the fuck is he, Linus?  Who brings a special blue blanket with them when they come to help their loser friend move except a whiny baby piece of shit?  I mean really Beavis, no one ever thought you were smart but this is downright comical.

Enough about him.  He’s gone, thank god.