Never a quiet night

Since arriving in London there are many neighborhoods that I just haven't been able to explore.  My world as a grad student has really consisted of classes, studying in the library, commuting between home and campus, and visiting a few pubs with coursemates and a few friends.  One place that I've had at least a passing interest in exploring was Vauxhall.  While Brit Boy and I were together he would regale me stories of good times had dancing in Vauxhall with friends and how it has a pretty cool vibe.  This has been supported by some friends who visit London periodically, so I figured it was at least worth checking out.

Well, accompanied by a couple of friends (a fellow student and a friend of his) I recently ventured down from my ivory tower to explore, get my dance on, and enjoy a much needed mental break.  The result of the night out?  Eh...  We went to a few places and the crowds were... overwhelming.  I mean, I'm fine with having to wind through a crowded bar or negotiate space on the dancefloor with my fellow... revelers?  but people really just seemed oblivious to the fact that other people existed and were throwing elbows right and left.  We visited at least three different bars and it all seemed the same.  However, I do have to wonder if it was the fact that we didn't really get out until later in the evening (honestly, I'm not exactly sure what time we did hit the first place), but it did seem as if people were already well-hammered by the time we arrived.

Whatever.  On the way home, my friends and I were crossing Vauxhall Bridge and chatting away when we saw a rather inebriated man standing/swaying close to the North side.  Oddly enough, it seemed like he was trying to hide behind a lamp post, without much luck I might add.  Anyway, as we got closer, it became apparent that he wasn't trying to hide but rather staggering his way across the bridge.  At a very slow pace.  As we approached he turned to me and asked for a cigarette.

"I'm sorry, I don't have any," I responded.

He attempted to focus on my face as he was processing my response and just kinda swayed from side-to-side.  "Oh...." he finally stammered.  "Well..." he started as his eyes showed that he had finally decided on one of the many of me he must have seeing on which to focus.  "Come back to Vauxhall..."  "No, we're good for the night.  We're out."  "Pleeeeaaasssee..." he slurred.  I had to wonder if he needed an escort for him to even find his own way back to Vauxhall.  Or to keep from falling over the bridge and into the Thames.

After I repeated that we weren't gonna return to Vauxhall he started to move but stopped short and turned to me again.  "Okay then..." he mumbled and started to lean toward me as if trying to kiss me goodbye.  I leaned away and said a polite goodnight.  "Oh come on... just a kiss," he responded.  "I'm good, thanks."  "I can make it worth your while," he said and moved his hand to his crotch in what I can only imagine he meant as a seductive manner.

"As tempting as that is," I said, barely able to hold in my laughter, "I still think we're heading home.  Good luck."  And with that my friends and I left him swaying on the sidewalk holding himself.  I hope he was able to give himself a good time.

Seriously?!?!

All I needed was the restroom.  Simple as that.  I had enjoyed a few beers and it was time to "break the seal."  I did not expect... well... what I got.

As I rounded the corner to where the urinals were I almost ran into this guy at the end.  Well, it wasn't really a urinal set-up.  More like a big long trough for guys to saddle-up to.  I'm not the biggest fan of this set-up, but I really didn't have much say in the matter.  Anyway, this guy was standing right at the end of the trough, reading a book.  Or a magazine.  Or something.  I just remember thinking it odd that he was standing there, pants undone, urinating while reading.  In a bar bathroom.

As he was the only other guy in the bathroom I went to the opposite end of the trough, turned away from him as best I could, and took care of matters for myself.  Being a bit pee-shy I just needed to go off into my own little world.  So I finish, button things back up, turn around to exit, and exclaim, "Holy... jesus..."

See, what I was not expecting to see when I turned around was him, facing me, pants undone, penis erect, pointing straight at me.  And it was... rather... large.  Rather...  yeah...

"Ummmm.... uhhh... excuse me...  I gotta...  holy jesus..." Is all I could mutter.  I sidestepped him and made my way to wash up and leave.  He followed me to the sinks as if to try to strike up a conversation.  I was having none of it.  I am, after all, a good Southern woman!

Don't ask me who I was channeling this past weekend.

This past weekend was Austin Pride. Saturday was, to put it simply, quite an interesting day. It started off bright and early for the Austin Pride Run 5k, complete with costume contest. Yes, I wore a costume. No, I will not post a picture of it here. I'll just say that the theme was "On the Beach" and I may or may not have been channeling Bo Derek. You can likely take it from there.

The rest of the day I tooled around on my bike around town, spending time with friends (some of which was poolside), and generally enjoyed an ungodly hot day. Perhaps it was the heat of the day that ultimately did me in regarding being able to handle the masses of Saturday night. Perhaps it was the heat that made them go all crazy. Perhaps it was just a combination that should never have happened. Like brown shoes with a black belt. Or capers and fruit pie. Or Dorothy Zbornack and anything backless.

So the gay bars were crazy mad busy. Many of my friends were out and about so I was enjoying hanging and drinking and chatting and dancing. Dancing shirtless. As one does. (Hey, if you got it...) At one point a big mob of amateur thugs wonderful people came walking up the stairs of the club where I was. Apparently someone said something about someone's mom or whatever and there were some fiery Latinas getting ready to "pop off" or something equally annoying. And the group seemed to be rushing through the club like a bunch of whirling dervishes, running into people, knocking people over, etc. I saw the train wreck coming and skirted outside to the balcony to get some fresh (albeit muggy) air and get away from everything for a moment.

As soon as I stepped outside and sat down an older gentleman walked directly up to me, stuck out his hand in greeting and said, "My name is XXXX (I can't remember), I am from Caracas. That is in Venezuela." He kept holding onto my hand. "Yeah, I know where Caracas is, I'm not an idiot," I replied. Without missing a beat he said, "You are very pretty. You're eyes are like fire." He kept holding onto my hand. Looking him dead in the eye I said, "Wow, that's nice. Can I have my hand back?"

Bitch, party of one? Yeah, I'm not sure who I was channeling at that moment.

No sooner did smooth operator walk away when some little twink boy walked right up to me, sat down next to me and asked for a cigarette. (Yeah, I was smoking. It just seemed like the appropriate thing to do at the time.) He had to be all of 22 years old, all bright-eyed and smiley. I gave him a cigarette. He put his hand on my leg and asked for a light. I lit his cigarette. He did some sort of smile, a shoulder lift, and what I can only describe as a mimic of a hair flip. I looked at him. I looked at what I assumed to be a friend of his closing in on us. I grabbed my drink and just walk away.

Mega-bitch, party of one? At this point I must have been channeling Shannon Doherty.

I went downstairs, found my friends, and decided it was time to call it a night. I walked outside to a massive throng of people walking up and down the sidewalk. And I gotta say, none of them looked all that happy. For Pride Weekend, people sure didn't seem all that proud or happy. I'm thinking it must have been the heat. I mean, I don't normally go from zero to bitch in 3.4 seconds.

I quickly got to my car and made my way home. I'm not sure I've been so happy to make it home alone on a Saturday night in quite a long time.

Well that was unexpected

So, there's this boy. He's tall. He's cute. He's funny, if a bit quiet. In fact, in the one-plus years I've known him, the total time we've actually had a conversation is prolly less than one work week. He's just this guy that is around. We see one another. We smile. Perhaps we make eyes at each other. I'm not sure.

Well, Saturday night was a bit of a throw-down dance off between me and a couple of friends. Suddenly this boy is next to me on the dance floor. We make eyes. We smile. We chat. At some point we exit the dance floor to cool off. In this particular club there is a wonderful spot overlooking the dance floor underneath an A/C vent, which is a just heaven on Earth after being on a crowded dance floor. We make our way there and chat some more.

Now, I may or may not have been a little inebriated at this point in the evening, so what we chatted about is a little less than clear to me at this point. I do know that at one point we kissed in a, "Oh yeah, we're going home together tonight," kinda way.

At some point after 3a.m. when we left the dance floor for the last time we hopped into a cab and started to make our way back to my place. Now, I have to pause for a second to say that me taking anyone back to my place at the moment is a big deal. Why? Well, considering I'm currently processing through all of my worldly possessions for my impending move across the ocean, saying my house is a disaster area is like saying the devastation to Galveston Island after last year's hurricane just needed a little sweeping-up. Well, somehow he convinced me that I had a reason for my place to be a disaster area, whereas his place was equally atrocious but he had no reason for it and we made our way to my house.

Upon arrival there is some kissing. Some clothes are discarded. Smiles make their way across our faces. Good times were had by both of us.

As we cuddle up and begin to drift off he asks me, "So, what took us so long to have sex?"

"Ummm... I wasn't sure that you were interested," I reply. "You're stupid," he says as he pulls my arms around him closer. We slept without moving, waking in the exact positions we laid down in.

The next morning, smiles once again spread across our faces. He asks if we should hang out again. I agree. We exchange appropriate information. We've text'd back and forth a small amount this week. But once again, I can't tell that he's interested.

Trust me. I understand the "Oh, let's do this again sometime soon" thing that is just said and not meant. I will admit that I've done it myself. I'm perfectly fine with this being whatever it was. I'm also okay with this being something more than just a random. The degree that it's something more...? Oh, I dunno.

But for whatever reason, this boy has been on my mind this week.

But... where are their clothes?

Friday night, April 30. Two days before the anniversary of my birth. I arrive in Washington D.C. to engage in some raucous events to celebrate said anniversary. Well, I'm not sure we intended them to be raucous. I mean, I am a good Southern woman. I don't do such things.

Do you really believe that?

We started off at Eatonville, a FAB-ulous Southern-style restaurant that serves up some mean drinks and even better fried green tomatoes. Since my friends and I readily admit to be the lushes that we are, we sat at the bar where our bartender Lauren took care of us. Drinks, apps, shots, drinks, food, shots, drinks, drinks. People wandered off on their merry way. Lauren explained her philosophy of people that "ain't shit." People joined our group. More food, shots, drinks... I think you get the idea.

Once we were well sauced, we piled poured into cabs and went... well... to a strip club. A male strip club. A male strip club in Washington D.C. For those of you that may not know, in Washington D.C., the strippers wear, well... shoes and socks. That's it.

It was definitely something to behold. If anyone says that there aren't enough guys willing to dance around on top of a bar, waving their business around, then you need need to head to D.C. The place, while not huge, was fairly large and had quite a few guys dancing around, shaking their money-makers.

Having never, ever, ever done anything like this before ever in my life, I had a few questions. What was allowed in my interaction with the entertainers. What should I expect? Where do I put the tip?

As it turns out, it's all very easy. One can touch below the knee and above the waist. The entertainer will likely just wave his ooh-hooo in your face. Place any money one tips the entertainers in their socks. Well that's all very nice. And boring. And Puritanical.

Well, leave it to me to push the boundaries. But I totally didn't start it. At some point in the evening, after a drag show (yes, they had drag queen shows as well) I was upstairs, enjoying the scenery, and decided to show my admiration to one of the dancers. I went up to him, smiled, and looked up at him as he was dancing on top of the bar. He waved... something... at me. I smiled again. I attempted to place the dollar bill into his sock. I missed. I looked up at him and smiled again. He laughed at my drunkenness lack of coordination. On the second try, actually having to watch what I was trying to do, I successfully tipped him. To show his appreciation, he smacked me on my head with his penis.

I was taken aback. I looked up at him in amazement, his cock just dangling in front of me. I looked him in the face. I looked at his cock. I took my hand and smacked his cock like a cat smacks a play toy.

He tried to scold me gently, telling me that I'm not supposed to touch him there, but I guess the look of bewilderment that I had on my face was humorous. He just laughed and shook his finger... yeah, his finger... at me.

Hold, please.

So I just got back from a rather interesting trip to D.C. for some birthday shenanigans. I shall try to get some stories up soon, but first I gotta see if I can remember the weekend. Or if y'all are old enough to hear some of these stories. Or if I might get indicted for revealing some of the things that occurred.

In the Heights

Last night I went to see In the Heights, a Broadway Across America production here in Austin for the week. The story explores three days in the characters' lives in the New York City Dominican-American neighborhood of Washington Heights. I wound up going as a guess of John Aielli, the morning DJ on our NPR station here in Austin, KUT, and I gotta say, he gets some great seats!

The show was fantastic. The musical numbers were riveting. The choreography was outstanding. The boys were... HOT!!!! I love shows set in New York City during the summer heat. The costumes worn by the boys were very appreciated. Oh, and the story was not bad, either. (I kid, I kid). The story was great. Everyone in my party except John Aielli cried when certain plot line came around. To be honest, however, John had already left the event after the first couple of numbers, leaving us, his guests, to enjoy the show. Did I mention we were in 10th row?

After the show wrapped, Ava Ghurl and I went over the Oilcan Harry's where they were hosting the cast party for In the Heights. We chatted with many members of the cast and crew throughout the evening, learning their stories, recent travels, how they liked Austin, etc. All the while trying to work my way into talking with the sexiest men on the cast. You know, just to get their views on Austin.

While during the play I had my eye on one guy that I had informed Ava Ghurl that I was hoping would do dirty things to me. Once I actually met him after the show, however, I thought he seemed a bit pretentious and... well... Yankee. Seriously? Wearing dark designer sunglasses in a dark bar at midnight? mmm-hrmmmm....

But, I did spend a good portion of the evening talking to a new addition to the traveling cast. He had been in the Broadway production and is venturing out for some time on the road. Today, we met up for dinner. I took him to get BBQ and Amy's Ice Cream - had to ensure he got those two experiences under his belt. Tomorrow, if we can make it work between his rehearsal and check-in for the night's performance, we may venture out to Barton Springs. I'm guessing that Barton Springs is something that he doesn't get to see very often in New York City.

Vanity, Cary. Cary, Vanity. Oh, you've already met!

Lake Season is fast approaching here in Central Texas. The weather is getting warmer, the Bluebonnets and Indian Paintbrush are starting to sprout, and the boys are starting to run around town shirtless. What does all this mean? Well, it means that Cary is busy getting his body ready for Lake Season. Not only am I running in the Capitol 10K and riding in the Hill Country Ride for AIDS, which are requiring a bit of training in and of themselves, I'm increasing my gym time, decreasing my eating, increasing my yoga, and decreasing my drinking. Sorry to make your head spin with all those ups and downs... and up and down... and spinning around... Oooooh, that makes me think about...

nevermind...

Since this is likely to be my last Summer in Austin for some time I figured it best to ensure that I am looking as good as possible for all the limited-clothing hot weather that Austin serves up so well. "How's it going?" you ask. Well, not all that well. I mean, the shoulders are definitely responding to the routines. As are my arms, my legs, my chest, and my butt (which I think *was* starting to get a little smaller, much to my dismay). But... my mid-section is standing there, arms crossed, sticking its tongue out at me, essentially going, "pbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbtttt!!!!"

I am not a happy camper. Now, the cum-gutters are developing nicely, but the rest is just so... BLARGH!!!! I'm not sure what else to do. Here's my basic weekly routine:

Cycling to work (15 mile RT): 5x/wk

Running (4+ miles): 3x/wk

Weight training: 2x/wk

Teaching yoga classes: 5x/wk

Taking yoga classes: 3x/wk

Training rides (40+ miles): 1x/wk

Since my weight is staying pretty steady and I can tell my muscle mass is increasing, it follows that my amount of body fat is decreasing, but just not from where I want it to decrease. People in the running group with which I've been running lately have been cajoling me to run with my shirt off, and I keep brushing them aside, insisting that my body is not ready for that just yet. However, if I can't get my body to a point where I feel comfortable doing that with all the work I've been doing lately, I'm just gonna go the other direction and start downing Bon-Bons, pizza, Tex-Mex, and bags and bags of boxed wine. Yeah, you heard me. Boxed wine!!!

I like to Hash!

This past weekend I was introduced to an event that I am amazed I was unaware of for such a long time. Apparently, this event has been occurring in Austin for 25 years without my knowledge. For this, I am so embarrassed, disappointed, and excited.

Hashing. For those that are unaware, it's drinking and running. Seriously.

Hash House Harriers are known as a drinking group with a running problem. And it gets so much better.

In Austin, every Sunday, rain or shine, the group meets in a different place to drink and run. Volunteers set up the trail, which is different every week. A few beers are enjoyed, and then the running begins. The trail is marked with specific marks, known as hashes, to tell you which way to go. However, there are many opportunities to go in one of many directions. It is in these instances when those that set the trail can mess with the runners and set up many false trails, increasing the overall length of the run for those poor souls that run off in the wrong direction.

At some mid-point in the run, a beer stop is scheduled where more beer is consumed. Then more running, until you reach the end, where more beer is consumed.

The trail this past weekend wound through a greenbelt in West Austin with lots of vines, thorns, steep slopes, and creeks. I may be a bit scratched up and bruised, but I gotta tell ya. It was the most fun I've had exercising in a very long time.

And yes, I've already checked. London as several Hash clubs, with runs occurring almost every day of the week. Looks like I know what I'll be doing in my free time during grad school.

What can I say? It's been a while.

It's been a long time since I've made a real, true, and significant post. Busy... work... blah, blah, blah.

However, recently I was able to take some time off of work and actually enjoy a quickly warming Texas spring. Texas actually does Spring rather well, which is annoying since every other year I have to pretty much miss the whole thing due to work. Oh well.

So, the other day I was at a local watering hole enjoying some lovely libations with some friends. A very dear friend, let's call him WASP boy, was in town for spell and this was the first time I have seen this friend in at least a year. WASP boy and I used to live together and have been through a great many things with one another - both good and bad. When we saw one another we immediately ran to each other (so cute, right?) and embraced in a pretty damn tight bear hug. In my excitement, and this isn't too unusual with me to be honest, I lept up and wrapped my legs around his waist while we were hugging. His response? Well, he started bouncing up and down like he's fucking me in the frontal rucksack position.

I'm gonna pause for a second to remind y'all that it's been over 3 months since I've seen Brit Boy and as a result, it's been over 3 months since I've had sex. It's even gotten so bad at work that by the time I get home from the office, I have no desire to take matters into my own hands. There just hasn't been a whole lot of... um... release in my life lately. Just wanted to let y'all know where I am currently.

Where was I? Oh right, riding WASP boy in the middle of the bar. Well, we complete our hug and make our way to get our drink on. That's when I notice it. The tightness in my drawers. I squirm. I shift. I adjust. My friend looks at me and asks, "Did I give you a hard-on?" "Well," I start. "A semi..."

At that point, three of my friends walk up and, upon hearing my confession, start inspecting the bulge in my pants.

"Oh you sure do," one of them says. "Yup, there it is right there," says another as he gives it a litle tweak. Now, it takes a lot to make me blush, but damn was I a bright shade of embarassed.

Oh, that's why!!!

Work. Ride bike to gym. Workout. Ride bike downtown. Meet friend for Happy Hour drinks. Roommate picks me up and brings me home.

Notice something missing? Oh yeah, dinner! Perhaps that's why only a couple of drinks made weeble and wobble.

Drunky-McDunkville

Transportation Conference. Full of engineers and lawyers. And a few politicians thrown into the mix. Sounds exciting, doesn't it?

Well, I can't really say that I've actually been attending too much of the conference. Gabbing, schmoozing, drinking. That's more my style at these things. So yesterday, when I faced the prospect of a 16 hour day with my co-workers, the last 10 of which were spent drinking, I was up for it. I am, after all, a professional drunkard.

What I wasn't really up for was the 10 hours of drinking in a full suit while it was 85 percent humidity.

*Le Sigh*

S.C.U.B.A. diving, tex-mex, and margaritas. Is there a better way to spend a Sunday?

I say DAMN!

As a side note to my adventures this weekend out in Spicewood, there is a lesson learned.

When, after drinking and hanging out in the hot tub for several hours, and you need to answer nature's call... if you choose to just run out in the field and "water the plants," make sure you either 1) put at least some chanclas on, and 2) don't stand *in* a fire ant bed.

Uncomfortable doesn't even begin to describe how my feet feel right now.

A Texas tradition

Spicewood, Texas.
Population 5,527

Not a place where you would usually find me. But there I was, sitting poolside on Saturday afternoon, enjoying a couple of nice, cold beers and watching the sun lazily venture toward the horizon. A friend of mine was having a BBQ housewarming gathering at his new place out in the Texas Hill Country. The weather was beautiful and the pool and hot tub were just fantastic.

We stayed up late, swapping manly stories, and made plans to make waffles in the morning. As the night wore on, each of our crowd started to make their way to their bedrooms. (It's a big, beautiful house out in the country). I curled up in my room and quickly fell asleep.

I was awakened just after 9:30am to my host coming into the room, wondering where her husband and another friend were. Cuz they weren't in the house, and a car was gone.

"Fuck," I said. "Well, when I went to bed around 3am they had started talking about going mudding," I had to tell her. So now my mind starts working. The party started around 3pm Saturday afternoon. We were drinking, casually, all day. By 3am Sunday morning, I know I was in no condition to drive, which was why we all were staying the night. And yet, these two f*ckheads thought it was a good idea to head out into the countryside and go muddin.

Oh, and they'd left their mobile phones at the house, so we couldn't call them.

I start picturing the Ford Explorer rolled over in a ditch, them layed up in the hospital. Or them sitting in the jail cell of the small town, backwater sheriff's office.

So, just as the rest of us party-goers are dressed and out the door to wander down to the river to see if maybe they had just driven down there to drink and ended up curling up all Brokeback style in the back, we get a phone call. I overhear "We did a really stupid thing."

They decided to go muddin, as we thought, and wound up with a flat tire on some rundown dirt road and were unable to change it. Without their phones, they were unable to call us. And so they slept in the truck, got up at daybreak, and then walked about 5 miles to the closest gas station.

To say they looked like hell when our host brought them back to the house is an understatement.

Hot DAMN!!

I think I may have bitten off more than I can chew.

I'm a flirt. A huge flirt. A gargantuan, colossal flirt. Brit Boy and I had a conversation about this at some point while he was here - I mean, just cuz I'm in a relationship doesn't mean I'm dead. So I flirt. Harmlessly. Shamelessly. And I think I got bitten by it.

I was out with Kelicious the other night, and we're just chatting away with all the cute boys in the bar - patrons, bartenders, shot boys, etc. The shot boy is just hanging out with us, taking a break, chatting away. He's cute. He's shirtless. He just got finished letting a patron take a body shot off of him. Classy.

He leans over to me, and asks if he can rub my head (I keep my hair cut pretty short). "Of course," I say. He leans over and rubs my head (the one on top of my neck).

"Oh, you meant *that* head," I reply, with a coy smile.

He put his hand on my leg, "I'll rub the other one anytime you like."

*eeep*

A size 7 feels so nice, I buy a size 8

Today was Sunday brunch. This means that a large faggle convenes over at a friend's place for mimosas (a.k.a. Buck's Fizz), trash talking, and various menu items from the W.A.S.P. Cookbook. Trust me - it's a southern thing.

Near the end of the brunch, our host brought out a pair of ill-fitting boots he received from his loving mother, offering them up to whomever they might fit.

Oh... did I mention these were Prada boots?

Well, after various of us tried to force our feet into the Cinderella shoes, it came down to three people. For one, the boots seemed slightly too large. For another, they were just a bit tight. And yes, dear goldilocks, one was just right.

So what's the point of me telling you this? Just as it seemed sure that Ms. Goldilocks was gonna go home with her Rice-A-Roni, a newcomer to the brunch blurted out, "Someone get me a salt tablet. I'll make my feet swell up so those damn things fit!!!"

Don't come between a fag and her Prada, m-kay!!

And I'm done...

Yet another Saturday night out on the town here in Austin. A good time was had. However, challenges are always lurking just around the corner.

Within minutes of arriving out tonight, I encountered SA Boy. I haven't seen him since he left my house almost 2 years ago. In line for the bathroom, I heard my name called. I turned and saw him. It was nice talking to him tonight, but it was definitely interesting.

When I started casually chatting with him he stated, rather presumptuasly, "you're single?" I had to reply that I was not. I mean even though Brit Boy is in Sydney right now celebrating Sydney Mardi Gras, we are committed to each other. Upon me saying, "no, I'm not," I saw the light in his eyes go out. I'm not sure what he expected. Cuz from what I remember he's not a casual hook-up kinda guy. But that's definitely the vibe that I got from him tonight.

And then there was Tina Boy. Also from San Antonio, this boy was brought into the group I was hanging out with by Kelicious. This boy was tweaking so hard on Tina that I feared for his future oral hygiene. I mean the clenching and grinding of his teeth made me cringe.

But even through all that, he was able to rub all up against me and make it known that it wasn't a simply admiration of my ass in my jeans that he was interested in. Hot? Yes. But DAMN!! Lay off the pipe, girl!

Anyway. It's late, and I need to be heading to bed. I mean, come on... it's sleepy time!

This time, I was ready

This Sunday started early. 8am. San Marcos for my scuba certification dives. Then it was over to C's house for a champagne brunch. I have no idea how many bottles of Veuve Clicqot we went through... but DAMN. I got there around 2pm, and by the time Sincerity picked me up at 6:30pm, the counter was littered with bottles. Then it was off to a dinner and drinks. Then off to the bars for even more drinking.

That's when it happened. About eight hours after I started drinking, I saw him. As I posted previously, it's not uncommon for him to be in town visiting family. Whether it was that I truly have let go of all those negative feelings, or perhaps it was the champagne, vodka, and tequila talking, but I walked right up to Kevin and said hello.

We had a nice, amiable chat. About what, I'm not really sure. But it seemed nice and friendly.

And then he kissed me.

I like to think of myself as a mature, emotionally stable person. Someone who uses logic and reason to move through a situation or a problem. Cuz you know... that's what mature, stable, rational grown-ups do.

(You know... you could at least wait till you finished reading till you started laughing)

Saturday night. I'm out with Kelicious having a few margaritas. Followed by a few more. And just for good measure, a couple more. We were having a great time, hanging out with C, JM, and a venerable cast of characters. I went off to the bathroom, and while standing in a line that seemed to last forever, who should walk up? Shot Guy.

"Oh Cary, I've missed you. How are you?" He snuggled up close to me. Put his arm around my waist.

"I have a boyfriend."

"Oh... When I saw you I was hoping..."

I feel a hand on my crotch.

"...um.. that we could..."

And then he tried to kiss me.

I tactfully declined. Tempted? Sure. Remember all those margaritas? But really... if memory serves me right, it wasn't *that* great.

And then I turned, left the bathroom. "Fuck, fuck fuck!!" went through my head. "Is this what the next several months are gonna be like?" I walked across the patio. Completely bypassed telling Kelicious what I was doing. Made my way through the bar. Got outside. Hailed a cab. And went home.

See. I told you. All the actions of a completely rational, sane, well-adjusted adult.