Category: Gay

Categories
Gay Hollywood

Date Night

My date last night was perhaps the first proper date that I had ever had.  We were meeting to see if we could sustain more than a moment of initial attraction.  Isn’t that what a date is all about?  I had been looking forward to it all week not least because I am so eager to get over the hesitant, unwilling Mr. NYC…should I start using his name rather than some acronym?

Whenever one is transitioning from one relationship to another it is almost impossible not to compare what was with what is on offer.  So, in order to beat that particular demon we talked about last loves and expectations.  Frankly it was wonderful to just be in the same room as a man who one found attractive rather than the constant yearning of the past 6 months.   The more I sat with this strange new boy the more at ease I became and the more attractive he seemed to me.  But unlike the last I would have to work a great deal harder to capture this butterfly.

For a start-I am not and will never be his physical type.   If we have types…I suppose I may surpass types.   I am the charismatic, art collecting, goat rearing, F150 driving, Vivienne Westwood wearing anomaly so getting to have dinner with me is just about me and who I am.

Of course he knew more about me than I him as my life is flayed all over the Internet.   He looked at me with curious blue eyes.  At times he was deliciously coy. This man/boy is incredibly well-educated with a compelling story and good connections.   A bit deaf-or maybe I was mumbling.  Our recent experiences with men have confused us.  I urged him not to let these last encounters destroy what we love most about men…anyhow it is the very essence of jade that is peculiar to gay men and is as attractive to me as rat poison.   It is true to say however that we are both a little bruised by recent loves, a little reticent.   I want to meet men unfettered and with abandon.  It is my aim.

He is a recent émigré to LA so enjoying all that the city has to offer.  Irritatingly, unable to stop myself, I began a tirade against my adopted home and found myself saying things to him that I didn’t even believe anymore-it’s just easier to gripe about Los Angeles rather than take ownership of it.

Of course he is strikingly good looking…a willowy boy, tall, and slim like an 18th century romantic hero.   An extraordinary gait.   Floppy blond hair and the most beautiful nose.  He drank one glass of white wine, which scarcely seemed to affect him at all.   We ordered three courses because I knew that today I was going to go on a diet and start my gym training with David at Gold’s in Venice.

Rabbit good.  Bratwurst bad.  Cakes divine.

I have no idea if I will kiss his neck or sweep the blond hair out of his eyes.  I have no idea if we will meet in Paris or drive to San Francisco on a whim but there’s a chance that we may and if we don’t, well…I know I made good choices tonight.  Good for my brimming heart.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-q4foLKDlcE]

Categories
Dogs Gay Money Rant

Drug Companies Profit From Gay Self-Hate

Eating cheese and pastrami with lashings of piccalilli smeared over the top.  The inside of my mouth is burning.  My lips are burning with desire.  Not really.  My lips are just bored.  I am waiting for the mail to arrive so I can walk to bank and get on with the day.

I just scaled Mount Runyon with Sherpa Lil Dog, we saw two gorgeous yeti and had to: Alert! Avert! Affirm!    It’s simply no good for me to gaze longingly at the perfectly honed abs of my fellow Runyon climbers.

Yesterday I realized, after chatting with a friend of mine with HIV that the average drug company will make over $2, 000, 000 out of a single person with HIV during their life time.  Where is the incentive for those drug companies to educate gay men about staying negative?   Anyway, I am fast realizing that the sexual health education that gay men need is nothing to do with safe sex and everything to do with self-love.

The drug companies have no compassion for gay men, no desire to educate an underclass with no real rights, who are despised by most Christian bigots and have so little respect for themselves that they routinely get infected with HIV and become another $2, 000, 000 meal ticket for big pharma.

Pharmaceutical executives must be rubbing their hands in glee when another gay man converts from positive to negative.

This has to stop.  We must start educating the next generation of gay men to love themselves enough to make good sexual health choices.

I got to thinking about my friend Amanda and how we recently hit a bit of a rock.  I think deep down, even though she has gay men around her to dress her, she really has no respect for gay men. For many people we are clowns who have no right to complain or behave as anything other than grotesque queens.   We are, to her, useless absurdities.   Her notion that it is somehow ridiculous for us to have children, for us to have politics, opinions, etc.  She’s not alone; I think many people are outraged by all of that and more.

Whatever I may have written about gaybies in the past I now see gay men having children as a delicious act of rebellion.  It confronts homophobia head on.

Categories
Gay Rant

Spinster of This Parish? Not Today Thanks

I need something from you.   I need closure.  Don’t take this the wrong way.  Moving at the wrong pace.  I love you but…

You told me that you could not give me what I wanted-but I think you misjudged what I wanted.   What I wanted more than anything was that we could do all the things we said we wanted to do when we weren’t in a position to do them.  We had some really great ideas about what it meant to be together, time together, excitement together, exploration together.

You said you would fly to see me if only you could, then when you could..you couldn’t.

You may have become less free rather than more free, less brave rather than more brave and complain all the time about your lot without ever taking action to improve it.  Darling Lamb Head:  get a  job you love and a place to live and make yourself available.  Stop wallowing in self-pity and false promises.    How long is this charade going to last where you pretend not to be having a life because you don’t want to be found out?

I am afraid of the huge difference between us.   You see, I am not scared of all that life has to offer!  When I was your age, at the merest hint of an invitation I would have been on that plane, that boat, that train, I would have been in Paris and London and Rome!  You put all the reasons why NOT to before the reasons why you should.

If it had been me I would have come home triumphant!  Armed with stories I would have told my grandchildren.

Darling, I need you to not call me when you are lonely and make cooing noises that just makes me love you all over again.  I need you to set me free from the hope that we could ever be anything other than friends.  If that!

It simply isn’t fair or considerate-in fact it is down right cruel because I cannot call you when I am feeling lonely not least because you are not very good at being compassionate.  I don’t think we should see each other at all until we have got ourselves settled with other people.

I am going to meet this guy tomorrow and I am going to take him to dinner and then I am going to ask him if he will come to Paris with me.  You had your chance and all you could say like a willful, petulant child is NO!

I think we really did exhaust things this time.  We really may have pushed the right button.  Please, please lets hope we did.

So, as a delicious post script to the man I loved:

You know, the days we spent in NYC together were some of the best I ever spent with anyone..ever.  Lamb Head, you never let me write about that.  You kept me silent.   I wasn’t allowed to describe the joy, the love and the kindness.  Never allowed to describe our tender kisses just in case it hurt other people.  Our perfect moments sullied by your fear of what others might think.   Like holding hands in the street.   I can’t hold your hand in the street because I can’t bear the thought of the disapproving glances.   No wonder your mother thinks so badly of me because I never get to write the beautiful things..because you told me not to.   So, I want you to know that we had beautiful time.  I had a beautiful time with your son.  That he is capable of great love.  He knows how to love a man.  He knows how to make a man happy.

Just as it is meant to be.

The last thing he said this evening was that he didn’t make the huge changes in his life to be with me but that, I’m afraid, is the lie he tells himself.  He left the other for a relationship with men, not this man, not me, but with men and we must honour him for that, for it was his bravest hour.

We are tired of the conflict, tired of the unresolved feelings that causes so much distress on this roiling sea of emotion.  We must say goodbye now-help me. Help me say goodbye.

Categories
Gay Hollywood Malibu

Human being/Human doing

Busy, busy, busy!   Fled, after my morning meeting, to the bank and Malibu and back again.  The misty garden smelling of jasmine and other, sweeter perfumes.  I love the way the garden evolves.  Wood chip paths and great forests of Euphorbia down where the goats will live.

Meeting with lawyer re. company in Santa Monica-where I also bought English chocolate and piccalilli.  Had stove and blender fixed.  Kept an eye on Blankstein grilling via NPR.   Even if it is just political theatre it’s fun to think that this most ghastly of all men-Blankstein is having to play the villain role for all to see.

Goldman Sachs is just another human empire and it will eventually fail as they all do-eventually.  It is the way we do things here on earth.

Human being/Human doing.

The Christian Louboutin party at the Robertson store with the great man in attendance (wearing lilac slacks) was a very friendly, if soulless affair.

‘A’ gays including the poisonous Peter Dunham with his age defying boyfriend the celebrity dermatologist Peter Kopelson-we often take time ignoring one another passing on Runyon Canyon.  Peter Dunham, hideously scarred by acne and HIV, making small talk at the edge of the room with similarly scarred reptilians.  Peter’s talentless, screeching ‘artist’ friend Konstantine Kakanias arrived bound in a flimsy scarf that did nothing to distract from his unusually fat face.   Oh how one loves to loathe.  The most amusing line from Konnie’s on-line resume- Second Prize, International Award for blah blah blah…who the fuck boasts about coming second?

As well as the gays, some of whom I liked by the way-none of whom were wearing CL shoes there was a contingent of Iranian women with huge asses squeezed into badly cut denim jeans tottering around on red soled CL hooker heels.   These dusky gals baying for their photograph taken with Christian who willingly obeyed as only a man can when he is selling most of these women over a thousand pairs of his shoes-each!  It was like a fetish party.  I didn’t recognize any of the women other than the ubiquitous Tracy Ross-saw her at Prada party too.  Dull.

One woman arrived in McQueen but the ensemble was so badly put together she looked like a Michael Jackson Halloween clone.  Sad.

There have been a glut of ‘recessionary chic’ soiree held in small stores across Beverly Hills and West Hollywood, usually with red carpet facilities but there was none last night.  Tomorrow will be the shoe-signing event when Christian signs shoes. My friend Jamie is going, one might want to link to her blog to find out how that went.

Dinner with Peter Scarf at the Mercantile before he went off to drink at some hip club somewhere.

Sweet, late night conversations with lamb head made me content and happy before I slept.  Oh, if only..

Categories
art Gay Love

Stephen Fry: National Treasure

Gore Vidal with Dennis and Elizabeth Kucinich

The past few days have been lovely.

Breakups are never usually times to relish but this breakup has been very good to me.

This is exactly the time in my life to take action and find a new perspective.

I took action by finding my peers in gay AA who might, in turn, shed some light on my relationship with the other.

In the scheme of things I was just an inconsequential blip in his life and I would be kidding myself if I thought differently.

I certainly could not compare with his other enduring relationships.    Anyhow, we seem to be communicating like friends and I am largely over what he may or may not be doing-though sitting here alone writing causes me a certain doleful curiosity.

Let me tell you about the past few days.

On Saturday I went to the Gagosian Gallery in Beverly Hills to see the Andreas Gursky show with my friend Dom.  We ate lunch at the Montage-he had the steak tartar and I, the charcouterie.

The Gursky show was good but uninspiring.  Huge photographs framed in monstrous oak frames.    Big forgettable pictures…that’s all.

Huge photographs of the insides of neutrino splitting machines buried miles under Japan and filled with super purified water.  Satellite images of the great oceans.  It was all spectacle and no substance.

After our gallery visit I bought a pair of very baggy white trousers in some outlet store.  Gucci $48.

We popped into the new Missoni on Rodeo designed by my once boyfriend Patrick Kinmonth.  The outside is PERFECT, like a huge basket, woven metal softening the corner of Rodeo and Little Santa Monica.

The inside, however, is a bit of a mess.

I suppose the concept is the shopper wanders down a grand boulevard with variously sized vitrine to grab ones attention.   It was too theatrical.

The men’s area, the woman’s area, the home store etc.  It doesn’t work, it’s a mess. The interior finishes are very beautiful but the layout left too much to be desired.

Again, the outside is exquisite.

I could tell you very wonderful stories about Patrick but I will save them for another day.

The last time I saw Patrick Kinmonth he was reclining on a velvet sofa at the Chateau Marmont with Mario Testino.

He drawled that I could have been so much more than I was.  He is, after all,  a very grand queen; something I long abandoned aspiring to be but glad that I had the chance to meet.

For a few glorious months at the age of 21 he totally indulged me.

Sadly, I didn’t really fall for him.  I fell in love with his impeccable style.

Actually, he may very well be the Diana Vreeland of our age.  That plaudit might have been reserved for Hamish Bowles but Hamish doesn’t dress well enough or take enough care with his appearance.

Saturday night we celebrated Josh’s continuing testicular cancer treatment.  Every one of his friend brought ball-shaped hors d’œuvre to commiserate his recent loss and the chemo that began today.

He is an incredibly brave 29-year-old and described his cancer as an ‘inconvenience’.   I have huge respect for that young man.

GLADD awards and party on Saturday night that I was not invited to.  Odd really as I was the only out gay man in recovery ever on a Dr Drew show.  I am definitely not pretty enough for GLADD.

I suppose that this was the Velvet Mafia’s way of expressing their disapproval.   The sex addict message is not one the gays are eager to hear.

Even though conversion parties, bug chasing and crystal meth are discussed at length amongst the young gay men I know.  Perhaps this is only a myth?  A meth myth?  It is much easier for the gay community to concentrate on attacks from the outside than focus on the damage we do to ourselves.

Dane

On Sunday I met Gore Vidal again (the last time was with Dennis and Elizabeth Kucinich during Dennis’s run for President) he described the sad state of the USA, describing it as rotten and then said (rather surprisingly) that he would like his bones buried in France and not, as he has always said, beside his lover in Washington.

I wonder if he was just being dramatic.  It was lovely to see him…  even though he is beyond frail.

Others at the party included the divine Ben Barns who played the other Dorian Gray, he told me how disappointed by the film he was.

Quite right!  Not nearly as interesting as our deeply flawed Dorian.    Eric Mc Cormack, Rufus Sewell and Michael Sheen all friends from different places and all at Stephen’s party.  I had a wonderful time.

So nice to be included by someone who the British might describe as a National Treasure.

Stephen is, of course, the most gracious of all hosts.  The food was excellent, the Pellegrino..well there’s not much more I can’t tell you about Pellegrino.

I took my friend Dane who looked a bit like Tarzan.  He was wearing a tiny black vest… nipples like peanuts.

Met a British director called Toby and after Stephen’s we decided to hit WeHo where I met a whole host of adoring sex rehab fans but regardless of their drunken attempts to get into my boxer briefs-I slept alone.

It is simply too soon to start meeting folk again-especially after the feast of affection, love and intimacy I have gorged myself on this past few months.

If I miss anything about dear old HIM I miss that I will never kiss him again, that he will never nestle in my arms and sleep as lovers do.  Hey ho, that’s going to be a hard one to replicate any time soon.

Categories
Dogs Fantasy Fashion Gay Love Rant

Parking

Whitstable Carnival 1967

So.  My main obsession as of the 15th April is not some stray boy but this: I now have an assigned parking place at my apartment building in Hollywood.

I am free to come and go without fear of having nowhere to park.

This may mean nothing to those of you who live in parking heaven-like Kensington London or Bourke Street Sydney but to me in Hollywood club land where every miserable Saturday night I spent HOURS looking for somewhere to park  it is like driving through the pearly gates.

Bloody Hell!

I can now glide effortlessly behind my mechanized gate and slip into a glove of a parking place. Bliss.

Implications:  less gas used in car, less walking to and from the house, less time squandered looking for parking, accurate departure and arrival schedule.  I no longer curtail my pleasure in fear of no parking.

Oh brother, that I conned myself into not paying for assigned parking because I would save money!  I ended up paying $700 in parking tickets last year.  Can you believe it?

The little dog and I have an exciting day ahead of us.   Very glamorous party in Beverly Hills.  Dinner with Dane.  My morning meeting in West Hollywood first though.  Let’s get reconnected with God and AA and start today as I mean to go on, getting stronger, refilling my poor depleted heart with the love of mankind and not one man but all of you-the great collective.

Why in hells name is love so fucking painful?  Why do I do this to myself?  Why?  What lesson do I refuse to learn?

I know things are bad when I start imagining that I am a great chanteuse wearing Chanel.  At least YOU got a laugh out of it dear readers.

The truth will set me free.  That is all we have.  At the end of the day, that is all we have.

P.S. And I promise this is not some morbid recall.  One of the best things you know who did for me when he was being eager-beaver-boy was to start editing my blog for publication.

I must admit that it was really rather good.  This makes me think that I should pull out those ancient diaries and start cobbling together some sort of autobiography.   It would be selfish not to really, wouldn’t it?

Categories
Death Gay Love

Moving On (back to god)

Hours of conversation with a friend this morning and later this afternoon.

Feel like the skin has been burned off of 90% of my body.  Vulnerable to the memory of the Big Dog.  Remembering her broken and bloody body.  She comes to me and reminds me of what I am capable of.

The conversation was at first a crude attempt at land grab in the emotional terrain we had been inhabiting these past few months  but after a while we settled into a healthy dialogue about much-needed closure.

The last vestiges of what was are now stowed away.  The resentments are dealt with, every fact revealed, keeping my side of the street totally clean.  For that I am proud. In the realm of full disclosure I am king.

I had to listen to truths I would rather not hear.  I am smarting from words like ‘damaged’ and ‘unhealthy’.   I just took them on the chin.  It would be easy for me to fight back, to make excuses, to tell the story of my life but really..I consider the source.  Everything I am left with is for me to deal with without recrimination or harmful actions to the other.

The little dog is restless tonight, unable to find a place to get comfortable.  He perfectly reflects the way I feel.  After Josh’s cancer party we walked the streets of Hollywood and I gazed at men longingly, as if strange flesh would make my head ache less.

I wish that I could drink, sit in some bar somewhere and get totally wasted.  I wish I could take drugs like vicodin or morphine.  I wish I could open my veins to let out theses screaming demons.    I have only one solution and that is to pray.  That is my weapon of last resort.  As the obsession shrinks, the man diminishes, the heart fills full of love once again rather than the desiccated scarcely beating leaden thing that fills the place where my heart should be.

If I pray to that God others have such a problem believing in then all will be well.  I have been embarrassed by my belief in God when that was all I really had, what I came to believe, that gave me succor and a will to live!  I am alive today.  I did not die when I wanted to.  I chose to live so now I must live the best life possible however ‘damaged’ I might be.

Oh damn you addiction.  Damn you for taking me once again to the brink of oblivion.  Damn you for blinding me to the consequences.  The unenlightened live in a world without consequences.

The greatest insults were not leveled at me today, the ones I truly deserved.  That I had been willful and disobedient before my creator.    God had shown me the path to happiness elsewhere and I ignored it.   How embarrassing!  How totally and utterly embarrassing that I should have got caught up in some suburban drama, a bit player in some bad soap opera.  Acquainting myself with those who do not have the willingness, honesty and open-mindedness required for living a serene existence before God.

I am crushed by own actions.  I have no one else to blame.  I now retreat into what has held me for 13 years, that has continued to show me forgiveness and opened its doors and arms to me.  It is my true love, it is the only path I know that will help me achieve my initial desire when I first got sober:  Peace of Mind.

Remember the relief you felt when you first saw the word God written in the 12 steps?   I offered myself to God because I had nowhere else to turn.  Tomorrow I will do the same thing, I will sit with men and women who came to believe, who daily turn over their extraordinariness to a God of their understanding so that they might live a humble life with Peace of Mind their goal.

I know that they will understand, that they will forgive me and help me to forgive myself.

Categories
Gay Love Rant

Closure

Some people don’t like being blogged.

I’ve pissed off many people writing this blog .  Joe, Clare and Xan are just a few I can remember being outraged by my representation.  Perhaps they’re right, perhaps I shouldn’t have written about them so publicly and kept a private journal instead.

Of course I’ve edited certain events so they do not include certain people, intimate encounters, lovers… like during my recent trip to NYC.

I’m probably a lesser man for doing this.

As time marches on and the drama of the present recedes into the past we are just left with the written word.  Those who were angry or felt betrayed in the moment for me having shared what I felt or experienced are no lesser friends now than they once were.

In time, when weapons have been laid to rest, or love affairs are truly over those of you who have been mentioned may look back at this blog and remind yourself of a different time, a different space and may think twice if it was indeed a bad idea to have a record of where we once were.

I have kept a journal since I was 19 years old.  There are many leather-bound diaries sitting in a box waiting for some imaginary biographer to decipher my illegible hand writing.   This is my journal now-for good or bad.   It’s no longer the validation I crave.  It is simply that I must.  Every day I write these words and I know that I am alive.  This blog keeps me alive. Sometimes it is all I feel I have.  The blog and the Little Dog.

As for closure, you know we are lucky when we get it.  Some, like Kristian’s friends are not so lucky.  I had a little much-needed relief today from the drama of the past few weeks.  I’m cramming the love genie back into the bottle and as the magic vanishes so I am left in my own skin.  Acknowledging the knowing looks from those who warned me to avoid him… but so glad I got to taste for just a few moments what I’d been craving for a decade.

Tonight I’m going to a party that has been thrown to celebrate the recently removed testes of a good friend.  Some people are having a very hard time right now.  It’s best that I think about them than my own miserable self obsession.

It’s sad when you can’t imagine kissing someone you have kissed, you can’t replay the words ‘I love you’ when that was all ever needed to be said.

Categories
Gay Rant

I am the happy WIDOW

At night.  On my own.  One more time.  By myself.

I am lip-syncing Judy Garland torch songs around my drawing-room.   After Judy I shall perform for the little dog a medley of miserable break up songs.  But actually I am not unhappy.

I am having rather a good time.  Listen, it’s all OK.  I am pretending that I have long hair that I can twist into a chignon.  I am pretending that I have long smooth legs and perfect breasts.

I got a bit irritable today.  Christ what was I thinking?  Trying to hold on..that’s what I was doing.  At least as one gets older and the break ups happen the fall out is less toxic.  I am trying hard not to be mean-after all he was totally out of his depth.  I might try to con myself into thinking that I did all the work but that simply isn’t true.  He fell into a snake pit-unwittingly.  Poor lamb.  Falling in love with me is like biting into something that smells wonderful but is actually totally rotten.   Like an old pineapple.

His life was really just how it was meant to be before he met me.  An ordinary gay man in an ordinary closet just about to have a cast of extraordinary characters unleashed upon him.  It must have felt like he was walking around a movie studio.  The freaks and the clowns and the whores.  And me, the most freakish, clownish whore of them all.

I only told him one lie whilst I was with him.  Just one.  When whoever wrote to me chastising him for leaving her.  I didn’t tell him how vicious they had been.   I didn’t tell him because he was being so brave.  He was already in such torment.  I know what it is to live a lie.  To live in the dark.  I know what it is like to be scared of who you are.

And as I unravel the short time we spent together I have to ignore that he hates me writing this-but that’s how we met.  The blog.

Sad note from a friend of Kristian’s today.   There’s no getting over some people.  Kristian, Dione and Justin will live on in my heart forever.

What a fucking palava!  If I died right now (and I think about that all the time) if I died right now I have had a fucking blast!  Actually, I hope that there is one great passionate love affair before I die.  Some one with as much flair and enthusiasm as I have. As brave as I am.  As magnificent!  Someone who is as anarchic and as manly and womanly and I am.

What a surprise, who could forsee? I come to feel about you what you felt about me.  Why only now when I see that you have drifted away, what a surprise what a cliché.

I am not wearing a black velvet jewel encrusted gown.  I am not wearing a wig.  I am not wearing makeup.  But I wish I was.   When I think of my totally uptight male film industry friends (like the fat pig agent) I take time to wonder how many of them could express themselves like that?  With verve?

You know what?  Every person I have ever fallen out of love with has come crawling back to me.  Every one.  They never somehow forgot what they were first attracted to.   Arrogant huh?  I don’t care.  Not tonight.  Look, my first boy friend was Fred Hughes.  One can’t get more glam than that dear.  He had his chance dear.  He had a moment in the fucking sun.

Maybe just one never came back to me and that was Matty but he was oddly like the last one.  A kind of blank canvas.   An ordinary boy hankering after a bigger life but not brave enough to take what was on offer.  The fact is-I am not a civilian.  Never was and never will be.  The ups and downs are all part of the deal.  Emotional Boom and Bust.  And fuck it I would rather have that than the parsimonious, mediocre life on offer to most.

Nobody expected anything from me and look what they got!

I’ve been to paradise but I’ve never been to me..

Ranting on a Friday night before I go out to dinner.   Perhaps I might take other risks tonight.  Perhaps I might take the truck and cruise the streets.  I have a parking place now.  A Hollywood parking place.  I can go where I want and a have a place to park when I come home.

Take my hand, let me take you love to love land..float on..

Now I am smiling and jigging about to the Doobie Brothers.

No Joni tonight.  It’s toooo depressing darlings.  Not Joni nor the Brokeback Mountain theme.  Not tonight.  Now, it’s time to flush this toilet and go out for dinner.

Thanks everyone, thanks for being there.  I don’t know what I would do without you.

Categories
Gay Hollywood Love

Indelible/Irrevocable

Had a great night out with my friend Ryan.  We headed over to Tod’s shoe store on Rodeo in Beverly Hills for a party that a bunch of worthy LAers  were throwing to welcome Jeffrey Deitch the new MOCA director to a bunch of LA’s finest.  Jessica Alba, Kate Beckinsale, Angelica Huston etc etc.

Met up with Miggy and her girlfriend and their charming journalist friend from the Sunday Times who had seen the sex rehab show.  He seemed really impressed. It is so odd to have left something indelible in the life of another.    It is even odder to have people come up to you who are well known (famous even) telling you how much you have helped them.   Ended up chatting to Gavin Rossdale about our friend Sebastian Horsley who is best known for crucifying himself in the Philippines-with real nails in his palms.   He then fell off the cross.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p0n_ys40CrM]

Leaving something indelible stayed with me throughout dinner at the 101-where we ate the Thursday Fried Chicken Special of course.

I was going onto another party but bailed after dinner,  I need to be on my own.  To get used to it once again.

Indelible, irrevocable-something irrevocable.  Changing somebody irrevocably.  I may have done that too often to count on the fingers of two hands.

This time I am changed irrevocably.   Something has shifted in me.   Most of the people I have gotten close to recently have in some way been associated with or saw the sex rehab show.  My generous NYC friend, my recently ended relationship and Jennie, let’s not forget Jennie.  I think it maybe time to reconnect to those I knew before.

I think that even though these new friends know my story they don’t really take how seriously I believe in the power of recovery.   I really do believe in the tenets of AA.  I really do.

I came so close during the past month  to using alcohol and drugs because I so desperately wanted to fit in with my new friend.  I told him that I would take drugs so our sex life would get better.  I thought about taking a drink.  I seriously considered it.  But if I had what would I have been left with now?  Nothing.  No relationship, no sobriety, absolutely nothing.  At the end of the day all I own is my sobriety and my name.

There are fire trucks outside the building.

So, I pass through to the other side.  Where I am on my own again.  With out recourse to long, late night conversations.  I am on my own and happy to be so.

The other burgeoning relationship in my life is with a young man who came to me for help with his sex addiction.  He came along at just the right moment.  To help him recover from a masturbation addiction.  He checks in every day and God, yet again, is doing for me what I refuse to do for myself.  Rather than drowning in self-pity I am helping a man less fortunate than myself and so, yet again, I am changed, refocused.

I had a short text exchange with the other this evening and rather than making me hanker for him it just made things easier to deal with.  My darling New York boy is on his true path and that, I suppose, is something to do with me.  A helping hand out of the darkness and into the light.  An irrevocable change.

How many people fall in love with the person who helps save their life?  Not many.  Who is falling in love with the firemen or the nurse or the doctor?

Very sleepy now.  I need to sink under the sheets and tomorrow-well perhaps I will be able to write the other stuff I write.   Maybe.

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