*

Finally got an apartment for myself! Landlord came with recommendations (as much as landlords can have) from friends; he's a friendly sort to us. The apartments are side-by-side instead of stacked atop each other-- a townhouse sort of thing-- so that makes things feel a little more private (that is, if the walls aren't too thin... I'll make sure the bed isn't against a shared wall, THAT'S for sure). Finally going to have space for all my things, too!! For years it's all been stuffed away in my old room or Mom's attic. Going to need to get nice furniture, now. And what style would I even want? What colors (well, the colors of the rooms would help with that, I know, but...)? What would really be ~me~? Should that even matter? I could just get the cheapest of everything. Or sturdiest? Maybe I should flip through some catalogues first for inspiration? Ugh I've never had to think about any of this. It's so strange, finally being off the brink of abject poverty and realizing things like-- oh, right, I've never had a couch of my own??

Told that little bit to Greg and he winced a little. Keep forgetting he doesn't know just how rough I've had it. Not sure how much to tell him. I haven't gone into detail at all about any of that with him yet. I'll give short answers to things as they come up, but nothing beyond that. I don't know if it's worth it to tell him, honestly. So many awful things have happened in my life, and many of those awful things revolve around issues you'd never want to talk about in public. Not something I feel good talking about with most people, regardless of how private the situation is, even with people I love. I don't think it'd really be appreciated, either, is the thing-- especially not by other men; they never want to ACTUALLY know. Sometimes people get curious about questions where the answer isn't actually satisfying at all, but knowing it still alters what you think of a person irrevocably. I'm steering people away from inevitable disappointment, that's all.

PS: There's some state music award show thing and I'm up for best vocalist. That's cute! ...I don't have any suits. No full ones, anyway. Some really old blazers from college that might not even fit me anymore. I wouldn't actually want to wear one in any case, ugh I hate them-- and ties especially, fucking cloth nooses-- but I know it's probably expected of me. I might just wear the nice shimmery dress shirt I took from that stage set. With... well, I'll figure it out when it's time. Guess I'll still need to find some dress shoes and slacks.

*

The guys helped me move into/arrange my apartment today which was so sweet of them. Enough was put away that we were able to have a little party with booze/pot/a stack of ordered pizzas (I could pay for it all which felt so good and relieving that I insisted upon it and tipped the delivery guy so well it looked like he was gonna hug me for a second-- and thankfully the guys finished off most of the pizzas for me). When we had a moment alone I thanked Greg for letting me stay with him for as long as he had, and that he could come over and visit whenever he'd like. He put a hand on my shoulder, said it was nice having me. I held his hand for a second, we exchanged a look, and moved on.

...Now, I know I already promised him we'd only mess around on the road. And I'm willing to keep that promise. But we've gotten to know each other so well over this last year... I'm already beginning to miss seeing him every day in a non-work capacity, even if I appreciate the fact that this is the MOST space I've had to myself in my LIFE. Anyway, this is all to say that if he wanted to change his mind about the road-only stuff and fuck me here I wouldn't mind in the slightest. There's a good amount of room and I was able to grab myself quite a nice bed AND couch if I do say so myself. And there's a full-sized bathroom? With an entire bathtub?? I guess in the mean-time, being able to host for a one-off or two would be nice. A lot less risky than the piers, even tho I still love them-- I'm recognized juuuust frequently enough in public that I know they're too dangerous, now (and getting caught by cops would be a whole new kind of mess). Glad I made use of them while I could!

*

Walt worked his magic with the drummer situation and I don't even want to know the details. So I didn't ask! And who knows if I would've gotten them anyway. There was one final moment of slime when I gave him what he wanted-- a pat and grip on the shoulder, "there's a good boy" with a little sneer in his voice. It was just a momentary feeling of shame, tho, like everything with that crusty old record company guy (the little smirk, how he called me "cutie" instead of my name the entire time, how obvious he made it that he was getting off on the whole situation even leading up to that point, how I had to just play along, the awful cologne he doused himself with, smelling it on me 'til I could scrub it off and change clothes at Mom's house, ugh, it was a miracle I didn't puke). Both things got me a desirable outcome and didn't lead to anything even more slimy, so no harm no foul. Just something I won't forget about. And anyway, I don't feel the same type of sleaze from Walt that I did from Don. If anything I think he knew it'd make me uncomfortable to condescend to me like that and that's what he was looking for more than any personal sexual thrill (well, that and if I DID react to it, I know he'd just try and say I was the pervert for assuming such a thing of him. He's not slick or original!).

Anyway! Sam's our new drummer, and I'm very happy with that decision. We all had our say in it, too. Of course I'd been talking Sam up to the rest of the guys before, but not in a pushy way. Nate didn’t need any real pushing anyway, he seemed to understand where I was coming from, and then, later on, was quite vocal with Walt about it all when it came decision time-- a happy surprise! I've learned from talking with Sam that he was originally a jazz drummer, and me being from jazz vocalist stock, we have an awful lot to talk about! Ahhh it's going to be so nice getting back to work now that we're all on the same page and everyone's friendly with each other. You can't avoid all conflicts, and writing music makes some kinds of conflicts necessary, but it's still different. You're coming at 'em from an original basis of respect. You know?

*

I want to do one fun, final-for-now club set at La Rosa. That is, in an official capacity. I think I'm ready to try it without Ricky, as strange as it sounds. Things can't get too intricate or fancy because I'll also be writing/recording, but memorizing a 10-song run shouldn't be so bad. Gold dress? Or red sequins? Gold dress is the sexiest thing I own but the red sequins is easier to move around in and just as glamorous, comes with its own built-in costume change... The house band is a completely different one now, but I'm mostly thankful for that, especially since I've talked to them and they've been quite friendly. All of us-- that is, the old band-- were hurt so much with Rick's passing. I see some of 'em around sometimes, and we all just give each other little smiles n' nods and go about our business. There's still a lot of pain there. Especially for poor Kurt-- he hosted that party, and I know he felt as much guilt as I did for not being able to stop Rick from leaving that night.

It's still been nice going back there, tho. It had been far too long, and if there's one place my voice (speaking as well as singing) and my queenishness is really home, expected and accepted instead of strange, it's LR. I know I can't go too much; I would never want to bring 'em more trouble than they need. It's such a small club but that's one of the reasons I love it; I've visited bigger ones in nicer parts of town and in SF and a few other places and nothing is La Rosa. Rich gays aren't my people. SF gays in the main haunts aren't much my bag, either. We have a mutual dislike of each other, me n' the rich n' macho gays. They see a brown or latin trash queen and instantly turn their noses up at me, and I see a bunch of boring, tedious clones. YAWN! But either way, I know the first time someone comes up to me asking if I'm Jules Riley, that'll be the last time I get to go to ANY club for awhile. I'm dreading it. It's one thing to stop going by choice, being forced away is very much another, and fans flooding my club would be exactly that (on the other hand though, it is admittedly very funny imagining teen girls gawking in shock at all the gentlemen milling around on leather night. Hmm, maybe that sort of thing would be enough to keep me safe anyhow! But never want to get complacent).

I've seen Cryssie on and off-- it's still been awkward. She's still not fully used to me being Julie and Jules, or other people, strangers to both of us, knowing me first and foremost as Jules. Cryssie's afraid she's still lost me even though I'm physically around more than I've been in the past couple years. I'm afraid I'm losing her, too. I'm not sure how to meet in the middle. I'm trying.

PS: I learned that the macho gays call THEMSELVES clones!! Imagine being proud of being boring!!! Cryssie and I do agree on this, at least; it was nice venting to her about it.