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Updated 3/10/5

Now

I live in the Castro. It is the most wonderful neighborhood on Earth. I love stumbling out my front door into a big gay neighborhood, sitting in my bay window and watching the people go by, and hanging around at the coffee shop. Best of all I love all the newbie tourists who wander into the Castro for the first time with that "wow, it really CAN be like this" glow about them. I remember my first Pride here on the outskirts of the big Pink Saturday party hearing a young woman with a thick southern accent gush, "I've never seen this many dykes in my /life/." I almost started skipping and singing "We're off to see the Wizard."

I live in a 1950s apartment building just West of Castro street with two friends who also happen to be GingerBears. It doesn't matter how often we vacuum, there is always red fur to be found on the white tile bathroom floor.

Dreamin'

Every once in awhile I get this ache in my belly and I want to run off and live in a little stone house the wood. I love black dirt and real trees (deciduous), mountains and ocean, seasonal change but mostly cooler weather. I get all tingly looking at timber frame home books, I miss havin' mudrooms and basements. I also love sun rooms with big southern exposure windows so in the winter you can lay naked in the sun patches on the floor. (Dogs and Cats have that whole deal down right) My dreamhouse has a big "two bear" bathtub and a water heater to back it up. A utilitarian kitchen/dining room with counter space enough to roll out and dry egg noodles and still have room enough to dice up and stage the ingredients for the rest of the chicken noodle soup. The "dining room" table would be in the kitchen where coffee, dessert and extras are always within close reach, and the company is never parted. The comfy couches around a fire place nearby. No big reason to separate them.

I've also been lusting after my own shop. Forge, anvil, standing vice, drill press, lathe--well stocked enough to keep me busy and available 24/7 for me to tinker in.