call me when you're sober

last night i poured beer at a fundraiser for an hiv retreat at the request of a friend who has been running that retreat for a coupla years. so it was quite an extravaganza for me as i haven't been to a gay bar for over 3 years and i was a bit apprehensive. i didn't know if i would be judgemental, feel judged, be triggered, be uncomfortable. i really wasn't sure. but i walked through it. i mean, i run a substance abuse program for gay men damnit, i need to be able to be around gay men who get high if i am to be effective. and it's not like i don't know that world, inside and out.

that was actually apparent after about twenty minutes. i scoped out all the exits. i surveyed the lay of the land. i knew how to handle myself. thank goodness i didn't see hoards of old playmates. i ran into someone whose face was completely familiar, but all the details were not there. i felt badly that i couldn't remember the person. or at least remember more than his face. but i tried to be kind and explain that i had killed many brain cells and was lucky to have any, and it seemed to be okay.

and then i ran into another not-so-long-ago friend, or i should say he ran up to me. he asked me what happened to me, yada yada. now, he knows what happened to me. he asked for my number, which he has asked for at least 3 times before. i gave it to him because it was easier than going there. he told me i looked great, and i told him i still didn't party. but i was pouring beer. he withdrew and went back to his whatever. but he kept touching me everytime i walked by. if you want what i have, then do what i've done. that's the long and the short of it. nice guy, quite handsome, well mannered, intelligent, fucked up. if that's the choice, fucked up trumps everything else every time.