Picked up Coco at St. Marks Books around noon, and remembered I was supposed to purchase a Paul Auster book to read in Prague, per Kevin Chong's recommendation. I was excited to check another task off of my list of things to do. Noticed an art book with a big disembodied finger floating on it like a big phallus. No matter where I go, there is a phallus.

Coco accompanied me to Kmart, for a trip to the Martha Stewart Collection. Swaddled and swathed jokes ensued. I will never get over the vision of Martha Stewart naked in a bathtub in her new commercials. Still, I will buy her sheets.

He took off halfway through to go sign the lease of his new apartment, which makes me happy. He's been staying with us for the week until he found a new place. I imagined he'd be there until after I was gone, but he hopped to it and found an apartment with a terrace and everything, which only means I'll have a place to barbecue in Manhattan now.

Left to my own devices, I flailed. I needed a gay man to guide me through the world of Martha, and without his help, I was forced to ask a sales clerk for help. She seemed friendly enough, although I couldn't help but notice the crust of spittle decorating the corner of her mouth, which gave her a sort of just-released look.

I found one of the few remaining full sets, and palmed it. It was a white set. The sales clerk, who had been hovering, stepped in and cornered me.

"You don't want white," she said.

"Why?"

"Because when you menstruate, you'll make a mess everywhere. That's what happens to me. I wake up in the morning and there's blood all over my sheets and you can't get blood out of white sheets."

When I repeated this story later to a horrified, yet amused Dante, he suggested that I should have told her I was a man.

I got the white sheets anyway. Me and my menstrual cycle like to live on the edge. I had to promise her that when I got my period. I would use other sheets. I don't think she would have let me out of the store otherwise.

I met Dante for lunch at Cafe Colonial, the red-headed stepchild to Cafe Habana. Cafe Habana has a better looking waitstaff and a better looking clientele and tastier grilled corn on the cob than Cafe Colonial, but it also has a consistently longer line. So while we ached to be a part of the lunchtime glitterati, and sink our teeth into that yummy corn, when you're on a schedule, you're stuck with the Colonial.

If I hadn't sat there, however, I wouldn't have run into Darleen, an old co-worker who was fired in Fall 2000 round of layoffs. She's a cute, talkative young lesbian, who always seems to have another odd job taking up her time. Yesterday she told me that she is playing as a free safety for the Women's Professional Football League. She seemed excited to be running around and hurling her body into other women. She made me feel her muscles. She can kick my ass.

After lunch, I saw Moby, leading an older black man across the street, as he the older man dragged a huge stack of cabinets (boxes?). Moby, of course, looks just like Moby, so much so, that when you see him, you think you know him, but you don't know from where, and then, all of a sudden, you realize, "Oh, it's just Moby." I wanted to pat his smooth, little, bald head, but I suppose that would have been inappropriate.

And then later, a little television, a little nap, and then a burst of energy, when my date, Bobby, showed up at my front door. We ate snacky Japanese foods and drank sake at Decibel (the best speakeasy-like sake bar in Manhattan, if you were wondering what sake bar had won that title.) We dished a little dirt, and he told me how hot my breasts looked in my shirt, and how great my ass looked in my pants, and how much he liked my new haircut. And he made me laugh, and I made him laugh. And we held hands when we walked home, and a couple of times he swatted my ass. I tell you, I am in love with my gay male friend - all of them in fact!. They treat me so right.

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