Archive for July, 2012

So, my first post in a while. What’s new? Got a brand new job, back in acting classes (with Shylock currently kicking my ass) and actually having fun with my life for once. Well, besides the joy of a custody battle looming.

It’s Friday night and, as has become the norm, I started the day at work, went home to catch some Z’s and eat (although I missed my AA meeting – two and a half months sober now) before heading out clubbing with my boy Justin. Clubbing sober is a weird yet enlightening experience; it turns out that the alcohol-induced illusion that I’m funny, charming and can dance is bought into by the drunk folk around me when I’m sober. Go figure!

So the plan for the night goes as follows: meet Justin, hit Plush and play wingman while he plays with the boys. If I’m lucky, I’ll meet the girl of my dreams and all will end well. However, I remember Burns saying something about the best laid plans o’ mice and men…

We met at 1:15, with Justin having already encountered his kryptonite: white. Yes, he was unusually drunk but a walk in the fresh air, some water, diet coke and nicotine finally brought him back to life and we were in the club by 1:45.

Let me set the scene at Plush for those who are unfamiliar… as the city’s only gay club it goes without saying that it’s a mixed bag; cheap drinks, great music and all kinds of folk – from the flamboyant to the shy, the single to the taken, the desperate to the needy. Some are there to drink, most are there to fuck, random straight best friends seek each other’s company as their friends pair off. Tonight I joined their ranks.

This is an unusual situation for me to find myself in at Plush. On an ordinary night one of the following three scenarios occurs: 1. We arrive in a group, so Justin does his thing and the rest of us party on. 2. Justin and I pair up as wingmen; if I see a girl I like, he distracts her friends and vice-versa and one (if not both) of us go(es) home happy. 3. We party, dance and smoke while chatting.

Tonight was different; Justin made a beeline for a guy we’d met the previous week, leaving me to fend for myself as I became the object of the affections of a surly-looking middle-aged Italian man whose shirt didn’t fit properly. Soldiering bravely on, I was saved by an invitation to dance with another of those lonely abandoned friends – no exaggeration, the hottest girl in the room – only to find out, unsurprisingly, that she was a lesbian.

Deciding to leave at that point, I reflected on the whole experience. Dancing? Check. Funny? Check. Charming? Not enough to turn a lesbian. Sober? Thankfully.

And Justin? Let’s just say his boytoy may be fifty shades of purple in the morning!

Time for me to go to bed… just another Friday night in the Spires.