I was thinking about one night in particular tonight. I was laying in bed unable to sleep and put the iPod on some old favorite tracks. Old as in back to my troubled years. And by trouble I do mean drug years. I was the VIP room princess remember? So as I listened to some classic Siouxsie and the Banshees (Fear, of course) I was remembering this one night that me and my roommates, and two close friends were all, erm.. awake and stuff. We were driving around downtown San Francisco (Union Square to be exact) after the clubs had closed down. There was this muscle guy that tagged along. He wanted me. Heheh. But he also wanted to be hurt. Like bit and hit. We were in the back seat. I was kinda turned on, but mostly grossed out. I pinched his nipples once or twice but it was just not what he needed. One of our friends with us however was glad to oblige (ew, i would have NEVER…) and we dropped the two of them off at the next light. When I have these weird piece-y memories I am shocked at some of the things I lived and witnessed. I am lucky I was such a prude. I was the biggest slut in town that never actually put out. Of course at that time I’d have rather stayed up for seven days than have sex. I figure that the addiction kept me safe from disease.

Why do I drag up the old times? Still to this day I am fascinated to have lived through it I guess. I’ll take the odd out of place memories over what could have been any day. And as for causing pain, well I can do as directed without cringing now..

Hmm. Well that story didn’t take long to tell. Do I have another? Let’s see.

Oh yeah, there was this other time that I was still hanging out with the drug dealer. He was hawt. But he would never fool around with me because he ‘liked me too much’ and wanted me to not have his problems. I think he may have been HIV positive now that I look back. He had no issues with giving me free drugs though. Oh, and teasing me by wandering around his apartment in a towel. He lived in the really bad part of San Francisco. The not so nice end of Polk Street. We had quite a few adventures, aside from when I was stalking him and trying to kiss him in clubs. Once we got to know each other it was different. I went to his place a number of times. Once we were locked out and had to go up on the roof of the building. Heh. Nothing happened tho. He once gave me a photo of him and his mom. That was nice. One night we drove out to Santa Cruz. Well he drove my car. I was along for the ride. We got there in twenty minutes because he never dipped below 100 mph. Heh. That was fun. I had to work the next day though so he drove even faster on the way back to SF. Good times.

Insomnia will drive me crazy.

I think it is amazing how many stories I have. There are good times, bad times, drugs, family, boyfriends, girlfriends (not in that way, but important folks in my life). I would give so much to get back in touch with some of those people. Especially two. Steve and Laura. Mostly Laura. Her and I had sooo many years together, She was my best friend. She even pretended to be my girlfriend during that awful ‘coming out’ time. My parents were catching on before I was ready, you see. She was there to hold my hand and junk to put them off the scent for a few months. Gawd was she hawt too. We remained really close until she got married and had kids. Richard and I were a new couple and I was career focused. We were in a whole different place. I let her drift away. I regret that more than anything. I wish I knew how to find her. I have this tendency to throw people away. It is not good.

Sure I have other close friends. Patrick has been loyal to me even since I have come to San Diego. I don’t keep in touch, but he is there for me. I am thankful for that. I need to try harder to maintain that friendship.

Gosh, I’ll type anything when I can’t sleep. But you know. I would blog the opening of an envelope.

I had gotten home late (again) and didn't see either of them. The next morning I was eating breakfast before school when my mother handed me my open mail. She told they knew what was going on and warned me to avoid my father. She told me that he had wanted me gone but she got him to agree to let me stay six months (or something). She then threaten me that I'd have to leave immediately if I "flaunted" (being gay) in front of my brother, or if any relatives found out. Later that day when my father got home I was there. All hell broke loose. He said the most amazingly cruel and disgusting things. He may have hit me too. I don't remember. It's like recalling a blurry nightmare. It seems like a bad time, and it was, but from there my mother and I got closer. It was as though she was just showing rage to warn me about how upset my dad was. We began talking. Really talking and doing things. She helped me to talk to my dad. They visited after I moved. When it was time to graduate, both parents and my brother came to the ceremony. I never really saw my family all at once those first two years on my own, but I saw my mother all the time. When I moved in with my friend Patrick she asked if we were "more than friends". We weren't, but she didn't believe me for a while... She had met Richard (and knew who he was to me) before any of my family. She finally got so comfortable as to talk to her friends about me, and her mother and sister. All the relatives who were to never find out! And she slowly brought my father along with her in her quest for acceptance for me. My parents are now my closest friends. They have us (Richard and I) over all the time, and they visit us. We go to dinner often, day trips, they were supposed to go to Mexico too. Richard has even met my grandmother! It really is an amazing thing to have the support of my whole family for my life as it really is, with out "hiding things" from this relative or that friend, or any of that drama that I know is usually the reality in a gay man's life. It is all because of my mother.