So far, the plan has fallen into place. Part one of the plan was to fly Southwest, and buy the biggest legal carry-on bag I could find. The rather complicated reason for buying such a large bag is that carry-on bags for normal people are too small for someone of my height. I used to have one of those wheeled wonders, but with the extendable handle monopolizing space inside the bag, there was barely enough room for one pair of my size-16 shoes and some underpants. Southwest allow carry-on bags up to 24*16*12 inches. I found the perfect canvas duffel bag at the luggage store in the Castro - 24*16*12 exactly, and only twenty bucks.

Part two of the plan was to get to the airport early enough to nab one of the first boarding slots. Southwest boards people by the order of the letter on your boarding card. And the earlier you get your boarding pass, the earlier you can board. Once aboard, you can sit wherever you like, but I knew that if I was to find enough overhead space to store my monster carry-on bag, I'd have to be in the first group. And everything just fell into place. I had a customer visit to go to in the morning, which gave me a handy excuse for not going into the office at all today. After the meeting, I just came home, worked out, packed, and headed off ultra early to the airport. And here I am, with my letter "A" boarding pass sitting on top of my huge carry-on bag, with two-and-a-half hours to kill.

My luck seems to be in right now, and there is more evidence than just perfect luggage and an early boarding pass. Today, not only did I find a dollar bill, but also, just now, I found a cute little ball-point-pen bearing the logo of Sandia National Labs. I wonder what else I'll find this weekend.

Since the White Party is very popular with San Francisco gay men, I'd envisioned the airport would be fairly thronged with men wearing white t-shirts and huge biceps. But apart from one excessively muscular man squeezed into an International Male t-shirt, I haven't seen any throngs. Perhaps they've been scared off by SARS. Speaking of which, I'm almost surprised to see nobody wearing a face mask.

On Sunday morning, I awoke to find that my cold had abated enough to at least pretend that I was perfectly healthy enough to drive down to Santa Cruz for my second date with the handsome young man I met at the Stud a few weeks ago. It had been a stormy night, but by ten, when I started off, the clouds had cleared, and it was a beautiful day. Not for long, though; as I neared the turn off the freeway for Santa Cruz, it started to pour again. The road over the hills to Santa Cruz is a fairly treacherous, windy road at the best of times, let alone when it's simultaneously raining and foggy.

When I got to Santa Cruz, my nerves were a little shattered, and my butterflies had started up again. It was only the second time I'd be seeing this guy, whom I'd really liked. Would we have the same wonderful connection a second time? I rang the doorbell and waited. The door opened, and there he was, with his beautiful smile and swoon-inducing brown eyes.

We never got to do the things we'd talked about doing: going hiking, or going to the movies. The weather was partly responsible, but in truth, the warmth of his embrace was the real culprit. I know I'm sounding horribly corny, but hey, I think this is a first for the entire time I've been writing this journal. Not that it's the first time I've been corny here; but it's the first time I've felt this way about somebody, I belive, since I started the journal.

Sigh. I still don't know if he's really available for a relationship, though. We talked about it a little, in the general way you talk about relationships, pretending that it doesn't apply to what's going on between us. He said that he's open to whatever happens with somebody, which is an improvment on what he said the last time. So I guess I'm happy with that.

Still two hours to my flight, and still no guys with biceps. What am I going to do for the next two hours?