Roundup - Day Two - 6:00 p.m. until Midnight

Don't get your hopes up. There's nothing to report after midnight.

I arose from the nap and took a look at my totally inappropriate wardrobe. I'd packed chinos, blazer and several ties (one must be prepared), but I knew by now that I'd be the ONLY one in chinos, blazer and a tie, so I opted for just the chinos and the tie, instead.

I meandered on down the hall and into the grand ballroom (don't you love that phrase, "grand ballroom"? it sounds like a roomy pair of bluejeans, n'est pas?)

Being 6'5" is a tremendous advantage in crowds. I scanned the room like a radar beacon, in search of ... well, to be honest, the most "interesting looking" table. I saw a bunch of likely suspects, some of whom I knew, and asked them if I could join them.

Dinner was lovely, but I didn't really "connect" with any of the folks at the table. However, a meeting was to follow, and then disco dancing, starting at 10. The meeting was particularly moving since we ended with a "sobriety countdown" during which people with the longest sobriety sit down first and then we "count down" the years until, finally, we starting counting backward from 12 months to 1. After that we count down the days.

We wound up with two absolute newcomers left standing, each with exactly 48 hours of sobriety. This was not to embarrass them but, rather, to embrace them in the community of recovery. It was very moving and both of them shed tears of gratitude.

We cleared out for a few minutes while the dance space was cleared in the center of the room and the DJ set up his equipment (his day-job is as a drug and alcohol counselor at one of the country's major rehabs). Within a half hour the dance music started, the lights were dimmed, and folks started to filter back into the room.

I started table hopping and eventually found my friend, whom we'll call "D", who was the chairman of the entire event. He was sitting at a table, catching his breath, with another fellow whom we'll call "Y".

What follows is right out of high school. "D" leaned over and whispered in my ear that "'Y' is into older men and he thinks you're really hot!" Keep in mind that Y is sitting at the same table, not four feet away. I thanked "D" for passing along that note during study hall but that I was actually not in the market for anyone just at the moment and, in fact, hadn't really dated anyone since the 70's and was fearful and reluctant to try.

Dysfunction reigned supreme as I played into the co-dependency that "Y" had initiated and into which "D" had plunged.

Needless to say, things fell apart quickly and "Y" fled, practically in tears, thinking that it was "all about him" and that I probably thought he was a disgusting, ugly, troll... or something like that. Which was not true. "Y", in fact, is a handsome fellow, tall, late 30's-early 40's and eminently "do-able" as we say in the biz. This was not about rejecting HIM. It was about MY fears.

At any rate add another successful rejection of hot, steamy, one-on-one man-sex to my belt for the weekend. That was notch number 3 in my holster.

I have no idea where the rest of the evening went, but I was so demoralized at that point that I decided the best thing all around was to retire to my corner for the night, which is exactly what I did.

And so, at midnight, it was off to bed.