I smell like the Olive Garden

I love visiting San Francisco, but I do realize that after a few days...I really miss home cooked meals. Every restaurant, even the bad ones, makes the most incredible meals. You could eat out every night and never get a bad meal (bad service is another story). You end up missing your own plain bad cooking.

So after eating and drinking so much on Monday night, I decided to get in a little exercise and yesterday, took a bike ride through Berkeley, down through Oakland, and crossed the bay into the city. My legs were beginning to feel like rubber, so I caved and locked the bike up and took BART to and spent a little time shopping in the Castro district. This is where my mom gets all the wrong ideas for gifts for me.

For those of you that have never been to the Castro, the area is a bit much. Mostly populated by gay men, the shops all cater to a gay man's taste. I'd like to say that would mean leather couches, rich velvet curtains, and track lighting...but it also means pornographic magnets, videos that would make a prostitute blush, and multiple latex phalli in different shapes and sizes. It was in this area that my mother got the idea for my 30th Birthday present. She asked a store owner what a 30 year old gay man with no boyfriend (I was living with one at the time) and no dating prospects would like for his birthday. The store owners probably thought she was kidding, but sold her a rubber phallus that modesty will only let me describe as larger than life size. Lets just say I use it as a door stop.

So walking through the Castro, I check out the store displays, where they have a Billy Santa which is a Ken Doll that is anatomically correct (not very work safe). Not what I'd want to give my kids for Christmas...but I'm sure my mom is thinking about giving me one.

Went back to the house, and showered. Mom and I were planning on having dinner at the Stinking Rose restaurant. Very touristy, but the food is really good. Everything has garlic in it (which is why I am sweating garlic right now), and I do mean everything...including the desserts. So I get to the restaurant, planning on meeting my mother, give mom's name at the hostess desk and I'm seated at a table for two. Funny...there is a guy at the table...something stinks...and it isn't the garlic. I smell a setup.

Anthony tells me that my mom called his cellular phone to say she couldn't make dinner but that we should have a good dinner together. My mother did not tell me that Anthony would be at this meal, but told Anthony I'd be there. So after apologizing for my mother's blatant behavior, we had a great meal. The Stinking Rose is not the place to take a first date if you are trying to impress. Did I mention that EVERYTHING HAS GARLIC?

So after the 100 garlic clove appetizer, the garlic and artichoke heart pasta, and the Broccoli with sauteed garlic, we were served breath mints and went for a walk along the Piers. San Francisco in the winter = Rain...but I don't care if my hair gets wet. Anthony is a musician, and plays several different instruments. Interesting guy, who is making a living off his talents (always an impressive thing in my eyes). We parted ways at the transit station where he told me he'd be seeing me again.

He is planning on seeing the show on Friday night along with most of the people from the artists commune. My mom has guaranteed to pack the house. God knows how many special brownies she's promised for this one. Hopefully they will all eat them before the show and I'll just seem funnier.

I get back to the house and there is a note on my bed with two sentences. "Well?" and "In case you need them." Under the note is two condoms. Thanks mom...but not on the first date...at least not this first date. I love you...but you are getting on my last queer nerve.