Shit, I don't wanna summarize my time off.  Let's see, my mom got to Ray's house two hours early on Saturday while all my jeans were still in the dryer.  So I had to hurry up and pack and didn't bring any jeans or a jacket, which I forgot in my rush.  So I was doomed to be a cold motherfucker during the next few days.  I was also doomed to become a fat and bloated motherfucker, as I ate out for every meal and ate big.  And God, I've never been on so many wait lists in my life.  I think I had two meals with my mom where we didn't have to wait.  Cheesecake Factory, D.Z. Akins, Seau's...so much time waiting around doing nothing.  They fucking give out pagers at Cheesecake Factory, and they buzz you when your table is ready.  The pager has a range of about 10 feet, so everyone was crowded around the waiting area anyway, longingly staring at the deserts on display.  After 10 minutes I wanted to grab a napkin, tie it around the lower part of my face, and make off with the Double Deep Chocolate Cheesecake.  Mmm, cheesecake...

Then I could have been a filler story on the Channel 8 news with Denise Yamada.  Mmm, Denise Yamada...

Other than that, a lot of my time with my mom was pretty fucking depressing.  Actually, that includes my times when I was eating with her.  She's getting old, but I wrote out something about that, so you can read it. 
San Diego itself was pretty depressing for me. 

What else did I do?  Oh, strip clubs.  I hadn't been to any in a while ("a while for me meaning a few months), and I figured since I had time to kill at night when my mom was falling into a wine-assisted sleep, I went to Cheetah's in San Diego.  Twice.  San Diego County has stupid rules about how close a naked girl on he stage can be to a customer.  It seemed like about four feet.  There are no rules for how close a bikini-clad girl can be to a customer, so I went on Saturday and Monday nights, where I was very closely introduced to Jade and Carlo.  It's always easy to pick out Asian honeys at strip clubs by the names they use.  "Jade" is a sure giveaway.  So I spent $60 on her (only $10 a dance!), and on Monday I spent $60 on Carlo, who actually undercharged me by one dance.  Damn, she was fine, too.  She wuzn't Asian, she was a sista who looked like N'Bushe Wright.  (In Blade, Wright was Blade's, uh, somewhat unwilling sidekick.  Sorry, I couldn't find any pics in 30 seconds of searching). 

Lap dances remind me of one thing.  OK, two -- One, women can have such smooth skin and it is such a turnon just to feel it, and two, sometimes I'm glad to be a man.

Food, women, what else?  Shopping -- I made my annual purchase of too expensive jeans (but hey, they were on sale!), bought a shirt and tie for work, a linen shirt for the summer, and a bag.  Yeah, a bag to put my stuff in that I can take to work.  The leather Kenneth Cole bag I bought a year ago began falling apart the week that I got it.  This bag, from Banana Republic, though, began falling apart this morning -- one of the ends got stuck in the cracks of my bus stop bench, and when I wrestled it off b/c my bus was arriving, I lost a plastic doohickey that goes on the ends of a cord.  I can't really explain it, but it doesn't seem that important. 

And yes, buying a "bag" for the second year in a row makes me feel like a chick.  No, I'm not glad to feel like one.  Well, if I could feel like one, then I'd be glad, heh.

Ok, food, women, shopping like women...I guess that pretty much sums up my time off.  Hung with my grandmother, which was nicer than I figured it'd be.  Oh, and I finally had a dream that I could remember where I got some.  It was dope.  I'll spare you all the details, but it was an older Indian chick (early 30-ish)  named "Sarita" who lived in Berkeley in apartment 249, and we got high on LSD and had awesome sex.  LL Cool J, Frogger, and a soapbox race for bus-sized entrants also fit in the dream, somehow.  Yeah, the next morning I woke up feeling all hot and horny for Indian honeys.

My mom found out about my anti-depressants (she rifled through my toiletries bag), and seemed cool with it.  She might have figured out I'm smoking again, but I dunno, and I sure as hell wasn't going to bring it up.  She also told me endless stories about how naughty her doggie is.  And that's it.

Ray surprised me when I got back yesterday by asking if I wanted to see The Phantom Menace.  Last week he said he wasn't in a rush to see it, which was why his invitation last nite was so surprising.  I guess every theater in town was offering midnite and 3 AM showings, so Ray and I got tickets to an unadvertised 12:30 AM showing at the Cerritos Mall.  We got into the theater at 11:30, talked about Howard Stern, well endowed actors (Dolph Lundgren is #1), and how many cities in Montana I could name (four).  Then the movie came on, and we sat and watched.  

Without revealing anything the media over-saturation might have already told you, I'll say this: It's enjoyable, but George Lucas tried too hard to aim the film at little kids.  Both Jake Lloyd (who does nothing to discourage the notion that there are no good child actors), and the stupid Jar Jar Binks character are proof of that.  Too much Jar Jar, not enough ass-kicking Darth Maul.  Besides that, it was definitely a good film.  I'll see it again in a few weeks, or months, or something.

Now, on only two hours sleep, I awoke to go to work.  Akiyo calls me to tell me that a) the Deej doesn't want her to ask me to help with any requests that Akiyo might have (which was the one part of work I enjoyed, b/c I felt like I was doing something for Akiyo, b) she skipped work on Monday and Tuesday as well to finish a mid-term paper for an extension class she's taking, and c) she has finally decided to move up to San Francisco in August with her man.  They are gonna live with her mom for free (you can't get cheaper rent than "free", especially in San Francisco), and her mom is stoked about it.

I didn't realize how much I missed talking to her until she called me this morning.  That  bummed me out.