Before I left Boston for LA we had the hottest days of the summer. While my roommate and friends were complaining of exhaustion and void of any energy, I was charged; laying carpet, cooking, cleaning and designing my t-shirts. That is the weather that my body is supposed to be in, it must be in my Mediterranean genes. Moist heat is glorious to me.

So here is another little amusing story involving faulty memory. To make sure the full effect is administered I must give you the history. I hooked up with this guy a while back when I was still living in Boston full time. It was fine, no fireworks, bells or trombones, but decent. Well I had seen him upon my returning here off and on and I said hi to him every time. Every time I said hi I was met with a smug response that led to me to believe he was a dick; typical stereo type Boston Mofo.

I was not going to back down and I kept saying hello to him and kept getting the same response. Fine. Whateva! Then I met some co-workers out, an old friend had returned from NYC and was working back with all of us at Aquitaine, so the evening was very sentimental since it was the first time I had seen him since he was back. As I walked in to the bar who was my friend sitting with? You got it….the MOFO. I became quite cocky and confrontational. When we were introduced, he acting as if he never met me and I responded with “Good to see you again” “Again? Have we met?”

This cannot be real, is he serious? But he was. I then moved over next to him and began to tell him how we met. His smug look was replaced with a blank stare. It was then that I realized that this was not the man I had slept with. I told him that I thought we had been together and he said that it wasn’t so because he would have surely remembered. Good answer. After ordering another beer and a couple of nervous laughs, I shook it off and asked him for his card.

The last three days were probably the most perfect summer days this season. Unfortunately, it is nearly August and half the summer is now a wet memory. I started this day like most others; with a cup of steamed broccoli and a protein shake before going to the gym. I saw Saya, my dear friend and co worker, there. She is the one with the parents who have the picture perfect house on a pristine lake in New Hampshire. We bump into each other there at that time pretty regularly.

A while back, same place same time, I was working with my trainer when I spotted this guy I had seen years ago when I lived here. Surprisingly he was still looking pretty good. He was jumping rope when I caught him from the back side and well, let’s say he got my attention. I meant to approach him, but he escaped before I had the chance. I returned pretty much every day after that at the same time hoping to catch him and it never happened.

I asked Saya if by chance she knew this guy and whaddya know, she did! She said he was the old roommate of a friend of ours who had moved to NYC. We called our friend immediately to get the goods. He was waiting for a client to arrive and we could only get they guy’s name and job before we were hung up on. His name is Phillip. Armed with this new information I returned to the gym promptly at 10:30 every day thereafter hoping to catch a glimpse.

As the days wore on with no Phil, I began to lose hope and interest. Then today I ran into Saya, same time and place, with that fine piece of man catching my attention and getting me all excited running on the treadmill 15 feet away. I asked Saya if that was him; I had enrolled her in my search, scouting the gym out when I was not there hoping to relay a sighting back to home base. She confirmed my excitement and told me to go introduce myself.

Approaching somebody at the gym is a sensitive subject. One, you do not want to interrupt somebody when they are in full stride, two, what am I going to say to this guy now that he has stopped running 15 mins into his jog and plummeted his heart rate way below the optimum BPM? “Hi. You’re hot. Great ass. I’m Johnny, wanna hang out sometime?” If I were Phil, I would deduct serious points for bad timing and poor gym etiquette. I told Saya that she would have to keep an eye on him since she was doing cardio in the same room.

“If he leaves stop him and come get me.”

“What?” she says “What am I supposed to do if he leaves?”

“Stop him, kick him in the back of the knee, wrestle him to the ground. Be creative, I don’t care. That man is not leaving until I meet him. Tell him that there is somebody who is dying to meet him. That will spark his interest long enough for you to come fetch me, please do this for me!” I begged.

“OK” she replied and I walked back to the mats excited at the prospect of meeting Phillip.

It wasn’t long before I saw Saya scurry past me and I knew she was on her mission. I was doing push ups in the corner so there was no way she would see me. When she ran past me again, I caught her mid way.

“I saw him go into the locker room.”

“Gr88888888888888888888888t” I said. This is the second worst way to meet somebody, when they are naked; it is a really uncomfortable situation. Oh well, this was not getting in my way. Luckily and unfortunately he was not naked. I looked at him and asked ”You’re Phillip, right?” after he looked a little puzzled I told him about our common friend and began to charm the pants off him so to speak.

After some small chat I gave him my number. I do not try to get their number. I figure if I’m the one who stalked them it’s only fair to allow them the freedom to decide whether or not to call. I established my interest so the rest is up to him.

I returned to my workout with new exhilaration and drive. Even if he does not call, just finding him and doing all I could in the situation is enough to satisfy me. Although, a date and a look at him in the buff after a shared bottle of a slightly chilled Julienas wouldn’t be so bad either! Woof!

My last two days in San Francisco were nothing short of perfect. I had the opportunity to meet a friend of Kevin’s named Doug and his loving, shiny, bright-eyed Lab, Sophie. Sophie accompanied us to Dolores Park and interrupted us when we were comparing run-on sentences and swapping adjectives. On a scale of 1-10 for hotness, Doug is an 11. I enjoyed meeting another writer, we looked at each other’s work like chefs checking out each others’ recipes. Looks and brains, score!

Doug’s house was like a small museum of media. On the wall of his dining room were racks of CDs ranging from Alternative Rock to old school House jams to classical collections. Across from the musical amalgamation stood another wide wooden rack of cassettes. I had not seen a cassette tape in a while and was strangely comforted, like I had ventured to the attic and discovered my old stuffed animals. Further down the hall stood pillars of tapes and piles of articles and paper of various sizes. He explained that eventually all of this, waving his arms in a circular motion, will be in that, pointing firmly to his G5. I suggested that he hire somebody for such a Herculean task, but being the proud artist he is, he explained that they would never know what to put in and what to leave out. I knew exactly how he felt and returned to reading an article he had written detailing his experience on being a gay athlete.

This post would have been up on Saturday, but instead of telling you about it I was doing it and loving every minute. Now I am on the road keeping an eye out for good coffee and random RJ45 ports. Updates may be scarce. In the meantime, enjoy these lovely… photos.

My friend Kevin, who was gracious enough to let me invade his space for a week.

My friend Sarah, who is brave enough to share my drive cross country in Milo for a week.

I am tired, really tired. I am reminded that it has been a good two weeks that I have been going up and down the state of CA visiting François, filming a scene for Doug Jeffries’ new flick and playing host to my best friends during White Party. It’s all done now and I really need some down time. The last time I was here I was with François mostly. I wonder how he’s doing. He stopped over in NYC before returning home to Paris. I hope Manhattan didn’t swallow him up, but I wouldn’t blame her if she did. I hope to see him again. Hopefully it will be in Paris, driving down to Cognac and then over to Bordeaux. Before my trip to France I will be going to bed tonight at around sundown and sleeping until whenever it is my body says it’s ready to resume.