A few months back, I was briefly dating J, a cute little guy from South America. I ran into him the other day in Safeway, and he mentioned that he had a boyfriend. I asked him how long they'd been going out - six weeks was the answer. Then he flashed me a ring he had on his finger exactly like a newly engaged woman might. Wow, some people move fast.

I, myself, am on the way for a romantic weekend in Los Angeles, visiting B, the guy with whom I seem to be moving towards a long-distance relationship. But we're taking it much more slowly than J is, even though his boyfriend is also in Los Angeles. B and I first met way back in February, but this will be only the fourth time we've seen each other, and the first time once of us has stayed with the other. I'm hoping that it will be one of those times in a developing relationship where you pass a hidden line in the sand between being relative strangers, and having a new, more intimate understanding. Either that or maybe we'll decide this can't work.

On paper, we're a great match. There's no question we're strongly physically attracted to each other; we seem to like each other's personalities; we're both wicked smart (I have to be honest); and both of us are doing well in our professions, and comfortable in our incomes. We share some common interests: travel, art, history, working out and, of course, clubbing. And B seems like a kind, considerate person, with an inquiring mind, and a sense of adventure. But we know so little about each other really. And we're both rather firmly lodged in our respective cities. I guess we'll have to have that discussion about whether it even makes sense to date, given that neither of us is likely to move to the other's city.

One of the reasons I'm unlikely to move to Los Angeles is because I'm trying to buy property here in San Francisco. I put in my second offer on a place yesterday; a top-floor flat in a two-unit 1910 building in the Castro. I never expected I'd be able to find an affordable, nice flat in the Castro, but there it is, and in my favorite part of the Castro, going up the hill near 17th Street. It's a beautiful small two-bedroom flat, with a kitchen and dining room at the rear, flooded with Western light from large windows. I could see being really happy and comfortable there. But, again, I'm not getting my hopes up. There are bound to be multiple bids, and the odds are likely against me.

After weeks of being under the weather, for one reason or another (chiefly my back injury), I'm finally feeling strong and whole again. I've gotten myself back into prime physical condition. So it was a complete shock this week to realize that my eyesight might be deteriorating. I've long prided myself on being the only member of my family with 20-20 vision; all my siblings have had to wear glasses since their teen years. But for the last week or so, I've noticed that the vision from my left eye seems the tiniest bit blurry. So I had my first eye test as an adult the other day, and that was when the truth hit home: all the letters stood out with great clarity out of my right eye, but the smaller letters might have been written in cyrllic for all I could make out with my left eye. So it's official: I'm near sighted in one eye. Fortunately, for now, it's so minor that I don't require prescription lenses, but it's a chink in my armor.

The other day I encountered, at the gym, a truly gorgeous guy I'd been eying for a long time. He still makes me weak at the knees. We walked in at the same time, and chatted briefly, until we entered the locker room. Sometimes I really don't know how to behave; should I sit down next to him in the locker room? In the end, I muttered something about being in a rush (which was true) and sat by myself.

Sometimes I envy people with sure social senses. There's one guy I see at the gym and he seems to know everybody. and while I really barely know what to talk about with gym acquaintances (gym acquaintances typically don't know much much about each other so what can you talk about except "did you have a good day" and "wow, it's crowded tonight"), this guy seems to hold long conversations with everybody. Except me. Which always bothers me a little. Am I so forbidding that he can talk to everybody except me? I've sometimes been tempted to ask him how come he knows so many people. I ended up next to him in the crowd at the Sunday afternoon t-dance at the White Party, and I finally broke the ice with him and said hello. But no progress with him when we're both back at the gym. Sigh. I've been reading about a relatively recently popular diagnosis called Auspergers (I believe), which is a form of autism exemplified by social awkwardness, inappropriate outbursts, and long-winded, detailed proclamations about things of no general interest. I'm certainly not as socially hapless as that, but I do seem to have some blind spots.