As per the request of many SG members at last night's soiree, (esp the lovely Ava, who gave me a kiss on the neck!) i'll update. She said, "You can't let the journal end that way" so...I won't. I'll rewrite the end of this journal. Can't storm off being the psycho-girl that I hate dating.

Post-Adventures of the Bionic Femme

Heartbroken, after uttering those confounded meaningless three syllables (I love you) I tried to search for a way out of this bad luck dating cycle, out of the binary code for HELL. So I stopped dating. Then, all of a sudden, love fell out of the sky and bit me in the face.

The artist girl that my friends had been trying to hook me up with 3 months ago called. We started hanging out just as friends. She is considered an art prodigy and has been featured several times at the MOMA. So I went there one night to see her perform some performance art in front of the museum for a private party and my jaw dropped. I was crossing the Yerba Buena gardens, a light breeze raining pink blossoms upon my head, when I saw her across the street at the art musuem. Artist girl, who previously only wore baggy clothing and beanies, turned drop dead gorgeous. She wore a ballet costume, some dark, smokey makeup, and styled her hair. Artist girl looked like a tiny prepubescent goddess, her leotard sharply lining every inch of her body as she pirouetted under an orange streetlight. She was a gorgeous, gorgeous creature, made to perform for haughty, elite people, like a lipizzaner stallion made to dance in the center of a three ring circus.

The deist clockmaker suspended everything and trapped her under frosted glass. I stood, unable to breathe, watching her do the same 8 count ballet movement over and over. She looked over and winked.

So then she took me into the musuem, where they were having an afterhours party for the rich and famous. Charlie Sheen, Margaret Cho, and Yoko Ono were among the party's many famous attendees. Artist girl and I drank trendy cocktails...

As per the request of many SG members at last night's soiree, (esp the lovely Ava, who gave me a kiss on the neck!) i'll update. She said, "You can't let the journal end that way" so...I won't. I'll rewrite the end of this journal. Can't storm off being the psycho-girl that I hate dating.

Post-Adventures of the Bionic Femme

Heartbroken, after uttering those confounded meaningless three syllables (I love you) I tried to search for a way out of this bad luck dating cycle, out of the binary code for HELL. So I stopped dating. Then, all of a sudden, love fell out of the sky and bit me in the face.

The artist girl that my friends had been trying to hook me up with 3 months ago called. We started hanging out just as friends. She is considered an art prodigy and has been featured several times at the MOMA. So I went there one night to see her perform some performance art in front of the museum for a private party and my jaw dropped. I was crossing the Yerba Buena gardens, a light breeze raining pink blossoms upon my head, when I saw her across the street at the art musuem. Artist girl, who previously only wore baggy clothing and beanies, turned drop dead gorgeous. She wore a ballet costume, some dark, smokey makeup, and styled her hair. Artist girl looked like a tiny prepubescent goddess, her leotard sharply lining every inch of her body as she pirouetted under an orange streetlight. She was a gorgeous, gorgeous creature, made to perform for haughty, elite people, like a lipizzaner stallion made to dance in the center of a three ring circus.

The deist clockmaker suspended everything and trapped her under frosted glass. I stood, unable to breathe, watching her do the same 8 count ballet movement over and over. She looked over and winked.

So then she took me into the musuem, where they were having an afterhours party for the rich and famous. Charlie Sheen, Margaret Cho, and Yoko Ono were among the party's many famous attendees. Artist girl and I drank trendy cocktails and acted posh among SF's elite. Afterwards, we went for dinner and bitched about psychotic women in SF and how they all go to the sex clubs, how we are mature for our age because we know who we are, how we are involved in our artistry and don't have time for games.

I thought, "HAS THE SEARCH COME TO AN END? DOES THE GLASS SLIPPER FIT?"

We started to go to the movies and hang out more as friends. Until finally one night, in the cab home, she grabbed my hand, kissed the back of it, and held my palm against her face. I was startled at such a romantic gesture so I turned away and blushed. The next day she brought me flowers and I brought wine, we went to the beach and got amorous, kissed, and pinned each other down, raking nails and writing in the sand until the tip of the sun sank into the sea and everything became black. Bonfires blossomed around us.

I thought, for sure, that the quest had ended.

Then, at THE DYKE MARCH, in the MIDDLE OF PRIDE WEEKEND everything changed. She ran into her ex-girlfriend, who proceeded to manipulate and flirt with her. She pushed the ex-girlfriend away. We ran into each other after this incident and she was depressed about it, nuzzling into my shoulder. I ran to a vendor, bought her a glow in the dark flower. Then I pulled it out from behind my back and gave it to her. "Forget about that girl" I whispered, tracing the outer line of her earlobe with my tongue.

Some girls from school came along. "Who gave you that flower" they asked the artist. "I don't know." she said. I was enraged, so I went out onto the dance floor. Artist grabbed my good friend and whispered about me for thirty minutes. My friend returned. "Bionic, she likes you a lot but she's just not ready for a relationship."

"THIS IS RIDICULOUS!" I yelled. "THIS IS THE DYKE MARCH! I AM GETTING DUMPED AT THE DYKE MARCH. OH FOR FUCK'S SAKES!! No drama! I am dancing!" Artist came up.

"Bionic, I like you a lot but--" -Artist
"SHH! CAN'T TALK! DANCING!" -Me
"Please. Please look at me. I don't want to hurt you--" -Artist
"TOO LATE! Save your speech. I've heard it from countless women before, and I won't hear it on the dyke march." -Me

She left, and has not called or written since. It's been over a week now.

So I lost it, for real this time. Randomly threw some shit into a bag and ran away to Santa Cruz for two days. Rode all of the scariest rides on the boardwalk and didn't ask anyone to hold my hand on the rollercoasters. Got a beautiful hotel room with an ocean view and a wooden deck. I looked out at the ocean, and at the train tracks, sipping Sex on the Beaches and White Zinfandel. Slept alone in a quiet, comfortable hotel room. Masturbated in complete silence.

Zen sex, party of one.

The next day, I went to downtown Santa Cruz and went to where all the cafes and bookshops were at, taking in the sun and the good beach town ambiance. After taking myself on the honeymoon I came back to San Francisco, with it's rambling psychos, trapped behind waterfalls of obsidian, concrete, and glass. Trailed by pockets of bad smells, like urine, on specific street corners.

I came back with new purpose. Will take more martial arts classes. Will train in Buddhism. Will try to write more and tell one person, every day, that I love them and what I appreciate about them being in my life. Will try to take the rest of my electives during winter break so I can graduate by the end of this year and get the fuck out of the land of sex clubs and burglars.

I refuse to date any longer, it is consuming and meaningless. I will no longer date any woman as long as I live in the city of San Francisco. There are some people in this world who are made to love, others who are made to fight.

And I am a hellraiser, not a love maker.

Thank you for every comment and testimonial each and every one of you have written. They have really helped pull me out, you guys have saved my ass. In time i'll be reconstructed. But it will take exactly that-- time, and lots of it.