Gay and drunk; drunk and gay

I forget that I miss the days when I had discretionary income, and would spend limitless (almost) hours on patio's with waitresses and 'friends' who would all pretend that I was just as skinny as they were, while we all acted foppish and discussed the merits of classic Cher versus new Cher or Madonna. I miss the days when my debit card went through without hesitation, and I did not have to wonder if I should use a credit card, just in case. I miss the days when I would say 'she' in reference to a 'he' and go out at midnight, coming home hours later. I do miss it. I forget that I miss it, because I am, to be honest, quite happy with my relationship and I know that there's no real desire by him to go to a bar. And I know that bars are often meat markets (thankfully!) and I have no business there. But still, I love a twelve minute extended dance remix of a song that didn't sound worth a damn at three and a half minutes ~ funny how it sounds so much better when sped up to a dance tune with nine extra minutes!

Today my friend Jason sent me a text. Jason and I used to be friends, we used to be gay, foppish friends. We have (or had) mutual friends and we learned that we could have great fun together, if we kept the time to a minimum. (Don't we all have friends like that?!) Jason wanted to go to lunch, and when he picked me up (leather seats so soft, dash board recently set to shine, dance c.d. in the changer) I thought, "hhhhmmmm." We went to lunch at a patio restaurant to meet a friend of his and I thought, "oh boy, here we go. I can't afford this anymore." And yet, true as it was that I did not need to spend the money, when he dropped me off two hours later and my buzz from sangria and margaritas was deep set, and I had been foppish and foolish and saying all the superficial gay things, I knew that I missed it. Missed it! So much.

Oh how I missed it. Afternoons with gay guys in cute, matching clothes. Sunglasses. When we laugh at how the warm weather makes them sweat and we 'glisten' and we order another round.
I found out that I really like his friend and probably would even sober. We hold similar jobs and know several mutual people through work. (He's in a much higher position and way more paid than am I, but still, it's the same industry.) And I enjoyed my time again with my old friend. So much so that I said what I have known I would say all along. . . . "If you can't find a place quite fast enough, you can come stay here for 30 days. I won't let you go homeless."

Lunch had centered around his need to drop his standards some. His roommate of several years just left town and the roommate owned a beautiful home. So really, Gay Friend was just living in the lap of luxury. And honey, that ain't tha real world. Which both of us told him. But still, he's had little luck finding a place, and I can understand it. I jumped on this place maybe all too quick. His contigency, to go stay with a mutual friend for a brief while, I think is probably ill advised. While he's a nice guy, I think the plan has some serious short comings. Oh well.

I told him on the way home how seldom I splurge like this anymore, because I've had a serious decrease in income. But I told him if he needed to stay here, rent could be evenings just riding in his car, leather seats, windows down, with gay music playing. I want to watch the lights fly by on the interstate while wind and Cher fly through my hair.

It would be fun ~ for just 30 days.