How can you tell if someone is expressing interest in you? No, seriously, I mean it. How can you tell?
Being gay and of a "certain age" means having grown up without the benefit of acquiring the usual social skills that heteronormative kids get when they start dating in high school. While they were busy doing that, I was busy hiding in my bedroom waiting to be rescued.
Now, years later and without the benefit of drugs or alcohol, I find myself trying to decipher the words and body language of somebody I like. A lot. Who is cute. And smart. And an ex-actor like me. Yesterday, for example, he asked me what I was "doing for Easter." I looked at him blankly and said, "nothing." He then proceeded to tell me that he was going to a gay-friendly church downtown and how inclusive the place was and how comfortable he felt there, etc. I nodded and thought, "well, how nice for you -- Catholicism caused me nothing but self-hatred and guilt. But by all means go and enjoy! Who am I to criticize."
I thought, later, "You big dope. He was practically THROWING an invitation your way." I think. I'm not sure. Boy, wrap up some obliqueness with some low self-esteem, and you'll wind up like me -- clueless.
If any of the regulars are out there, I'd appreciate some advice.
STAT!
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dating. Show all posts
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Friday, January 07, 2011
I Dated
I need to put it out there that I went out on a date last week. It was the first "real" date I think I've ever been on.
Growing up in the 50's and 60's didn't provide a lot of relationship-testing dating opportunities for a gay kid from the suburbs of Wilmington, Delaware. I couldn't exactly ask the captain of the football team to go to the prom with me. So I didn't go to my prom.
"Jack" is a guy I met a year or so ago at a 12-Step meeting I sometimes attend on Saturday nights over near the Willow Grove naval air station in Pennsylvania. He's fun and kooky -- and fairly new in recovery (more than a year, but less than 2). I hadn't seen him in many months when he resurfaced at the meeting about 2 months ago. He asked me if I'd be willing to help him with one of the Steps, to which I happily agreed. We never quite got it together to do the step work but he called me the week before Christmas and wondered if I'd go out to dinner and a movie with him. I didn't think anything about it, other than as an "activity" a couple of guys in recovery could do together.
But I talked about it, with my sponsor and with some friends and the feedback was all the same... that this was a "date."
As dates go, it was catastrophic. The service was terrible at the restaurant. The food practically inedible (Thai/Malay). The movie he picked, one of the "Fokker" flicks, was gawd-awful and his movie etiquette was abysmal (he yapped and commented throughout, much to the chagrin of me and everyone around us.).
But it *was* fun. And I did have a good time. And I do like him. Even if he wants to live in half a dozen cities and is converting to Judaism (whatever for? didn't he get enough guilt in his Catholic childhood?).
I went out on a date. With a guy. What next? A goodnight kiss? Cue Katy Perry!
Whodda thunk it?
Growing up in the 50's and 60's didn't provide a lot of relationship-testing dating opportunities for a gay kid from the suburbs of Wilmington, Delaware. I couldn't exactly ask the captain of the football team to go to the prom with me. So I didn't go to my prom.
"Jack" is a guy I met a year or so ago at a 12-Step meeting I sometimes attend on Saturday nights over near the Willow Grove naval air station in Pennsylvania. He's fun and kooky -- and fairly new in recovery (more than a year, but less than 2). I hadn't seen him in many months when he resurfaced at the meeting about 2 months ago. He asked me if I'd be willing to help him with one of the Steps, to which I happily agreed. We never quite got it together to do the step work but he called me the week before Christmas and wondered if I'd go out to dinner and a movie with him. I didn't think anything about it, other than as an "activity" a couple of guys in recovery could do together.
But I talked about it, with my sponsor and with some friends and the feedback was all the same... that this was a "date."
As dates go, it was catastrophic. The service was terrible at the restaurant. The food practically inedible (Thai/Malay). The movie he picked, one of the "Fokker" flicks, was gawd-awful and his movie etiquette was abysmal (he yapped and commented throughout, much to the chagrin of me and everyone around us.).
But it *was* fun. And I did have a good time. And I do like him. Even if he wants to live in half a dozen cities and is converting to Judaism (whatever for? didn't he get enough guilt in his Catholic childhood?).
I went out on a date. With a guy. What next? A goodnight kiss? Cue Katy Perry!
Whodda thunk it?
Friday, March 20, 2009
I'M CURED!!!!!
It's official, I'm cured! I took this on-line test, which proved it!
I would've taken the dating quiz but our office IT department is administered by the Department of Truth / Division of Big Brother and our blocking software tossed me out with the admonition that I was visiting A DATING SITE which, apparently, IT is against (as well they should be -- those nerds haven't had dates in years).
It's the first day of Spring, it's snowing in New York and it's Friday.
The weather can do whatever the f*ck it likes. Mother Nature cannot stop the calendar.
July will happen.
| Disorder | Rating |
| Paranoid Disorder: | Low |
| Schizoid Disorder: | Low |
| Schizotypal Disorder: | Low |
| Antisocial Disorder: | Low |
| Borderline Disorder: | Low |
| Histrionic Disorder: | Low |
| Narcissistic Disorder: | Low |
| Avoidant Disorder: | Low |
| Dependent Disorder: | Low |
| Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder: | Low |
-- Personality Disorder Test - Take It! -- -- Personality Disorders -- | |
I would've taken the dating quiz but our office IT department is administered by the Department of Truth / Division of Big Brother and our blocking software tossed me out with the admonition that I was visiting A DATING SITE which, apparently, IT is against (as well they should be -- those nerds haven't had dates in years).
It's the first day of Spring, it's snowing in New York and it's Friday.
The weather can do whatever the f*ck it likes. Mother Nature cannot stop the calendar.
July will happen.
Friday, February 08, 2008
Friday? Already?
I can feel the excitement mounting. A week from today I'll be driving south to Rehoboth Beach, Delaware for the annual "Roundup."
A roundup is (usually) a weekend get-together in some resort town of several hundred like-minded people in recovery (in our case, LGBT people). There'll be workshops and games and hanging out and reconnecting with old friends from all over and making new friends who'll be there for the first time.
Last year we had nearly 400 people at the Rehoboth Roundup. That's quite a crowd for a beachfront hotel on the east coast... in the middle of February. Needless to say, nobody comes for the sunbathing or to frolic in the surf.
Last year I got to three roundups; the Rehoboth one in February, the 1st ever New Jersey roundup in September and the Philadelphia roundup in October. For my money, Rehoboth is the best of them all (I haven't gotten to any of the truly humongous roundups. I understand the one in Key West is... well, it's Key West without the booze).
I just made my dinner reservation for next Friday night at The Blue Moon restaurant. I made it "for two" on the outside chance that some guy actually would be willing to have dinner with me.
I don't talk much about dating because I haven't been on a date since 1999 (a blind date which was a catastrophe). Prior to that I hadn't really dated since the 70's. But I'd like to change that. There is one guy who is a regular at these things whom I'd like to ask out. We'll see.
Rather than dwelling on what a miserable week it's been, politically speaking, I'd rather look to the good times ahead.
And if and when the time comes that we have President McCain and Vice-President Huckabee???
I'll kill myself.
But I'll worry about that then.
Have a lovely weekend everybody. I intend to have one.
A roundup is (usually) a weekend get-together in some resort town of several hundred like-minded people in recovery (in our case, LGBT people). There'll be workshops and games and hanging out and reconnecting with old friends from all over and making new friends who'll be there for the first time.
Last year we had nearly 400 people at the Rehoboth Roundup. That's quite a crowd for a beachfront hotel on the east coast... in the middle of February. Needless to say, nobody comes for the sunbathing or to frolic in the surf.
Last year I got to three roundups; the Rehoboth one in February, the 1st ever New Jersey roundup in September and the Philadelphia roundup in October. For my money, Rehoboth is the best of them all (I haven't gotten to any of the truly humongous roundups. I understand the one in Key West is... well, it's Key West without the booze).
I just made my dinner reservation for next Friday night at The Blue Moon restaurant. I made it "for two" on the outside chance that some guy actually would be willing to have dinner with me.
I don't talk much about dating because I haven't been on a date since 1999 (a blind date which was a catastrophe). Prior to that I hadn't really dated since the 70's. But I'd like to change that. There is one guy who is a regular at these things whom I'd like to ask out. We'll see.
Rather than dwelling on what a miserable week it's been, politically speaking, I'd rather look to the good times ahead.
And if and when the time comes that we have President McCain and Vice-President Huckabee???
I'll kill myself.
But I'll worry about that then.
Have a lovely weekend everybody. I intend to have one.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Reaching Out
Ever since I got sober I've had more than my fair share of well-meaning friends who were "noodging" me towards dating. Oh, not during the 1st year of recovery, when such things are frowned upon (no distractions), but later on, in year 2, 3 & 4 (up to 9, where I am now). I've mostly ignored their good-natured comments, hoping that the surprise of a "non-dating gay man" would eventually lose it's cachet and they'd move on to greener pastures.
Alas, it was not to be. Several friends in particular (although not my Sponsor) have niggled and badgered and cajoled and generally made pains in the asses of themselves over the fact that I keep running away from golden opportunities to get laid and/or married.
These are mostly straight men who think gay men get laid all the time and they just can't understand why anyone would turn down getting laid when the opportunity presents itself since they're married and almost never get laid.
I've tried to explain to them that I'm in no big rush to repeat any of the mistakes of my past regarding boyfriends, and that I have certain, few, requirements regarding any potential fuck-buddy/husband material. First and foremost being, NO LAWYERS.
I've gotten better about all my other previous requirements. I no longer insist on the age thingie (the same age, or nearly so), economic thingie (okay, we can be about 20% apart in terms of income) or height thingie (I've given up on hoping to meet another 6'4" hunk like me -- JUST KIDDING).
Still, my friends have pushed. One has gone so far as to "set me up" not with a boyfriend or a date, but with a telephone conference with another gay man who went through something similar in his recovery, until HE found the boyfriend of his dreams, and they've lived happily ever after for the last 15 years. So I did spend a half hour on the phone with him yesterday afternoon, and practically the first words out of his mouth were, "there's NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU", which were very reassuring because I am starting to feel like some kind of a freak. He had a similar childhood and he talked about his trust issues and how they kept him on the sidelines for a long time, too. Mostly, though, we talked about how hard it is to restore trust in others and to "un-do" a lifetime of habits acquired in self-defense as children (shutting down, isolating, running away, unfinished projects which fulfill the prophesy of unworthiness). It was a very nice, very revealing conversation and we finished by me asking if it would be okay if I called him again sometime. He was very gracious and said yes.
I saw the friend who arranged this telephonic tete-a-tete this morning. I told him that I had spoken with his other friend yesterday afternoon. He wanted all the details. I told him they were none of his fucking business. I love seeing the looks on people's faces when I set boundaries with them for the first time. They go into shock.
I love my friends.
They're crazy as shit, but I love 'em.
Alas, it was not to be. Several friends in particular (although not my Sponsor) have niggled and badgered and cajoled and generally made pains in the asses of themselves over the fact that I keep running away from golden opportunities to get laid and/or married.
These are mostly straight men who think gay men get laid all the time and they just can't understand why anyone would turn down getting laid when the opportunity presents itself since they're married and almost never get laid.
I've tried to explain to them that I'm in no big rush to repeat any of the mistakes of my past regarding boyfriends, and that I have certain, few, requirements regarding any potential fuck-buddy/husband material. First and foremost being, NO LAWYERS.
I've gotten better about all my other previous requirements. I no longer insist on the age thingie (the same age, or nearly so), economic thingie (okay, we can be about 20% apart in terms of income) or height thingie (I've given up on hoping to meet another 6'4" hunk like me -- JUST KIDDING).
Still, my friends have pushed. One has gone so far as to "set me up" not with a boyfriend or a date, but with a telephone conference with another gay man who went through something similar in his recovery, until HE found the boyfriend of his dreams, and they've lived happily ever after for the last 15 years. So I did spend a half hour on the phone with him yesterday afternoon, and practically the first words out of his mouth were, "there's NOTHING WRONG WITH YOU", which were very reassuring because I am starting to feel like some kind of a freak. He had a similar childhood and he talked about his trust issues and how they kept him on the sidelines for a long time, too. Mostly, though, we talked about how hard it is to restore trust in others and to "un-do" a lifetime of habits acquired in self-defense as children (shutting down, isolating, running away, unfinished projects which fulfill the prophesy of unworthiness). It was a very nice, very revealing conversation and we finished by me asking if it would be okay if I called him again sometime. He was very gracious and said yes.
I saw the friend who arranged this telephonic tete-a-tete this morning. I told him that I had spoken with his other friend yesterday afternoon. He wanted all the details. I told him they were none of his fucking business. I love seeing the looks on people's faces when I set boundaries with them for the first time. They go into shock.
I love my friends.
They're crazy as shit, but I love 'em.
Friday, September 28, 2007
Miscellaneous Friday
The last time I checked, Generals and everyone else in the military... and in elected offices, for that matter, are sworn to uphold the Constitution of the United States of America.
They are not sworn to uphold the religious literature of their choice, nor are they sworn to uphold any particular religion-based value system they may have been subjected to as children.
I am at a loss, then, to understand which part of the Constitution General Pace was upholding when he mouthed off to Congress the other day, reiterating his personal beliefs that homosexuality is immoral and that that was reason enough for the DADT policy.
If he believes, which he apparently does, that his personal beliefs trump the Constitution or the will of Congress, under what set of rules does he think this? By virtue of the fact that he's at the top of the military heap, therefore what he thinks and believes goes?
Or, perhaps, it's just a personally-held belief that he's right and everybody else is wrong.
I can think of a few other people in D.C. who feel the same way. Some of them occupy the White House. Most of them are unrecovered drunks. I wonder if General Pace enjoys a few cocktails now and then? Or more?
====================================
Follow-up to yesterday.
Like all dysfunctional families everyone in the office has chosen to pretend like nothing happened. Ah, there's nothing like an elephant in the living room to remind me of my childhood!
====================================
The Dating Game.
My friend Alan, who blogs over here, and often posts here, astonished me by expressing his opinion that I'm on the verge of dating again. AND, he added his belief that I'm a catch.
From your keyboard to God's ears, Alan!
There is an adorable little investment banker who's started appearing at my morning 12-Step group recently. Too bad he's taboo for the 1st year of his sobriety.
Have a great weekend, all! I know I will.
They are not sworn to uphold the religious literature of their choice, nor are they sworn to uphold any particular religion-based value system they may have been subjected to as children.
I am at a loss, then, to understand which part of the Constitution General Pace was upholding when he mouthed off to Congress the other day, reiterating his personal beliefs that homosexuality is immoral and that that was reason enough for the DADT policy.
If he believes, which he apparently does, that his personal beliefs trump the Constitution or the will of Congress, under what set of rules does he think this? By virtue of the fact that he's at the top of the military heap, therefore what he thinks and believes goes?
Or, perhaps, it's just a personally-held belief that he's right and everybody else is wrong.
I can think of a few other people in D.C. who feel the same way. Some of them occupy the White House. Most of them are unrecovered drunks. I wonder if General Pace enjoys a few cocktails now and then? Or more?
====================================
Follow-up to yesterday.
Like all dysfunctional families everyone in the office has chosen to pretend like nothing happened. Ah, there's nothing like an elephant in the living room to remind me of my childhood!
====================================
The Dating Game.
My friend Alan, who blogs over here, and often posts here, astonished me by expressing his opinion that I'm on the verge of dating again. AND, he added his belief that I'm a catch.
From your keyboard to God's ears, Alan!
There is an adorable little investment banker who's started appearing at my morning 12-Step group recently. Too bad he's taboo for the 1st year of his sobriety.
Have a great weekend, all! I know I will.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Flirting with Straight Men
I love hanging around, and flirting with, straight guys. I've always liked it. There are lots of theories why.
Theory One. Avoidance
My first lover was straight and married. I was 19, he was 39. There was no love involved, it was pure, hot, man-on-man sex. My first crush (after the first boyfriend.... don't ask) was on a straight guy. He was another sailor. My second crush was also on another sailor. When I finally got out of the Navy and got myself a gay boyfriend I didn't lose any time in finding a bajillion reasons why he was unsatisfactory. When I got honest, though, there was only one reason I dumped him. Because he cramped my drinking style.
But nothing says "Keep Away" like dating some straight man who's gonna run home to momma after a night of hot, sweaty, deniable, sex.
Theory Two. Self-loathing.
I was never entitled to any happiness. Growing up in the sort of dysfunctional family I had, I wouldn't have known a "happy relationship" if it'd come up and bit me on the ass.
As far as I knew, sex went hand in hand with unhappiness. It was just another way of self-medicating (until I discovered booze). I was not worthy of being loved. I'd heard that message often enough as a child from people who would be horrified to know that that was the message that they sent me. And long after those people died I continued to act as judge, jury and executioner of my own, continued misery. It was a dirty job, but somebody had to hate me.
Theory Three. Fear of Success/Failure/Happiness.
Groucho Marx once said that he would "never belong to a club that would have" him as a member. I related to that. I was such a mess. I'm not such a mess now, although I'm still tip-toeing through the mine field of my past, trying to find some serenity and love and peace in my present and future. It's gotten lots better. So have I. Now I believe that I am loveable, and that I am just as deserving as the next person to live happily, and paired if I so choose, as the next person.
But even in sobriety I find myself still retreating to the safe haven of flirting exclusively with straight men and leaving skid marks while escaping any possible romantic involvement with gay men. What if I find some guy who loves me? What am I supposed to do with that? I'm sure I'll fuck it up and make the poor SOB miserable. Better to avoid love altogether and stick to nice, safe, distant, emotionally unavailable straight men.
But there's just one teensy little problem with flirting with straight guys.
These days most guys ain't so straight. As a matter of fact, even in the old days guys weren't so straight either. I can think, offhand, of at least 4 guys I knew in college who would've happily bedded down with me for at least one tumble in the hay, if not more. 4 guys who were, for all intents and purposes, straight as arrows. In one case, he and I both had permission from his girlfriend (which was kind of weird). She told us both, flat-out, before she disappeared for the summer, leaving the two of us alone in the house, that if he was ever going to "fool around that way" she would've preferred that it would be with me. She literally gave us permission.
And FYI, no we didn't. I knew I'd never be able to look her in the eyes again if we'd had. But we came close that summer. I think that today all three of us are relieved that nothing happened that beautiful summer 30 years ago. I'm not sure what their grown children would've thought of it. Or their grandchildren, for that matter.
Look, I'm pretty sure I don't want to entice straight men into a lurid life of homosexuality. But God help me, it's a helluva lot of fun trying!
Theory One. Avoidance
My first lover was straight and married. I was 19, he was 39. There was no love involved, it was pure, hot, man-on-man sex. My first crush (after the first boyfriend.... don't ask) was on a straight guy. He was another sailor. My second crush was also on another sailor. When I finally got out of the Navy and got myself a gay boyfriend I didn't lose any time in finding a bajillion reasons why he was unsatisfactory. When I got honest, though, there was only one reason I dumped him. Because he cramped my drinking style.
But nothing says "Keep Away" like dating some straight man who's gonna run home to momma after a night of hot, sweaty, deniable, sex.
Theory Two. Self-loathing.
I was never entitled to any happiness. Growing up in the sort of dysfunctional family I had, I wouldn't have known a "happy relationship" if it'd come up and bit me on the ass.
As far as I knew, sex went hand in hand with unhappiness. It was just another way of self-medicating (until I discovered booze). I was not worthy of being loved. I'd heard that message often enough as a child from people who would be horrified to know that that was the message that they sent me. And long after those people died I continued to act as judge, jury and executioner of my own, continued misery. It was a dirty job, but somebody had to hate me.
Theory Three. Fear of Success/Failure/Happiness.
Groucho Marx once said that he would "never belong to a club that would have" him as a member. I related to that. I was such a mess. I'm not such a mess now, although I'm still tip-toeing through the mine field of my past, trying to find some serenity and love and peace in my present and future. It's gotten lots better. So have I. Now I believe that I am loveable, and that I am just as deserving as the next person to live happily, and paired if I so choose, as the next person.
But even in sobriety I find myself still retreating to the safe haven of flirting exclusively with straight men and leaving skid marks while escaping any possible romantic involvement with gay men. What if I find some guy who loves me? What am I supposed to do with that? I'm sure I'll fuck it up and make the poor SOB miserable. Better to avoid love altogether and stick to nice, safe, distant, emotionally unavailable straight men.
But there's just one teensy little problem with flirting with straight guys.
These days most guys ain't so straight. As a matter of fact, even in the old days guys weren't so straight either. I can think, offhand, of at least 4 guys I knew in college who would've happily bedded down with me for at least one tumble in the hay, if not more. 4 guys who were, for all intents and purposes, straight as arrows. In one case, he and I both had permission from his girlfriend (which was kind of weird). She told us both, flat-out, before she disappeared for the summer, leaving the two of us alone in the house, that if he was ever going to "fool around that way" she would've preferred that it would be with me. She literally gave us permission.
And FYI, no we didn't. I knew I'd never be able to look her in the eyes again if we'd had. But we came close that summer. I think that today all three of us are relieved that nothing happened that beautiful summer 30 years ago. I'm not sure what their grown children would've thought of it. Or their grandchildren, for that matter.
Look, I'm pretty sure I don't want to entice straight men into a lurid life of homosexuality. But God help me, it's a helluva lot of fun trying!
Saturday, March 10, 2007
You call this "dating?"
I have a "date" today, only neither of us is using the "d" word to describe what it is that we're doing.
My friends all think it's "dating", so I guess it is. I just don't want to jinx it by calling it that. As far as I'm concerned it's just two gay guys going into Manhattan to see a show then have dinner at a quaint little French bistro I just adore on the West Side called "Chez Napoleon." (My friend Bev will instantly attest to the quaintness of this place, since I once dragged her and Walt there, too... only that wasn't a "date", but I'm stalling, aren't I?)
Oh, alright, if two gay guys are going to be dining at a quaint little bistro AND seeing an off-Broadway show together (it's "Bill W. and Doctor Bob", about the two founders of Alcoholics Anonymous, which, by the way, has no opinion about this show, but the NYTimes critic did, and she loved it) and, I'm stalling again, aren't I?
OKAY, IT'S A "DATE"! THERE. SATISFIED NOW???!!!
Sheesh.
My friend Rosemary practically beat the crap out of me yesterday morning until I admitted that it was a "date." So why am I still putting quote marks around it? Am I that afraid?
YES.
This is so stupid. It's just dinner and a show with somebody I really like, have known for at least 8 years (I met him not long after I got sober), and somebody who's a lot of fun to be around and who makes me happy and feel good inside and ....
Would it be okay to refer to him as "My Activity Partner"?
I'll keep you posted.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
Rehoboth - Day Three (ABOUT FRIGGIN' TIME)
So I woke up bright and early on Sunday, having fallen asleep by midnight Saturday night, alone and lonely in my bed by the sea.
I watched some early Sunday morning TV (infomercials, History Channel "All Nazi Germany - All The Time" rehashes of WWII, stuff like that), then decided to pull myself together for our final morning together as a group. There was to be a big group breakfast in the ballroom, from 9:00 until 10:00, a farewell address by a visitor from Texas from 10:00 til 11:00 and then a special meeting of the organizing committee to elect officers for NEXT year's event.
I had only registered for two nights stay and thought it odd, as I walked down the hall, to see "express checkout bills" tucked under a number of other guest rooms. But I just thought they'd neglected me and didn't worry about it.
I found another likely bunch to breakfast with, all sitting together at a table "down in front at ringside". They waved me over with much enthusiasm, and who was I to refuse?? I sat next to the cutest guy at the table, a dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty named "Bob." We started flirting immediately. We flirted all through breakfast. Something started to ring slightly odd with Bob, though, and with all the other guests at that particular table. Eventually, just before the guest speaker started at 10:00, it sort of came out that Bob, and the others, were all residents of a halfway house down at the beach. DAMN! Where were the oceanside halfway houses when I was trying get sober???!!!
Anyway, there went Bob. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. There are certain "rules" in our fairly organizationless 12-Step programs, one of which is "no dating in the first year of sobriety." Bob, unfortunately, still hadn't even officially started his first year. It would be some time before Bob was "on the market" for real.
The speaker kicked ass, though. She was Tex-Mex from San Antonio. She had a rip-roaring story of drinking and drugging, a fairly horrific bottom and then a marvelous recovery full of miracles and gratitude. She'd even "discovered" she was gay in sobriety, had found herself a girlfriend who lives in Tampa/St. Pete and, at the end of this school year (she teaches), is moving to Florida so they can pursue their dreams together.
It was inspiring. It was magical. It's looking pretty doubtful that that kind of miracle is in MY foreseeable future!
After the meeting broke up I realized that something was amiss as I saw people heading out to leave the premises, so I wandered down to the front desk where the nice lady behind it explained that, despite any misapprehension I might have to the contrary, I was not leaving until the next day.
Well, nobody tells THIS alcoholic when he's leaving and when he's not. I informed her that there must be a glitch in the system and yes I was leaving. She disappeared into the back to "speak with the manager." She reappeared in less than a minute and I was all checked out. I went back upstairs to get my luggage. As I passed the ballroom, one last time, I saw a pair of lovely eyes staring at me. So I stared right back and wandered right over.
We said "hi." We yakked aimlessly for a minute or two. We kissed gently. He gave me his phone number and whispered, "you always have a place to stay when you come down", for he is a full-time resident of Rehoboth, and we parted.
OKAY! THIS IS A START!!!
I'm not going to rush into anything. I'm not going to "force" anything. I will call him, this weekend, it having been two weeks since we saw each other. And we shall see what we shall see.
And now you know why I didn't rush into publishing this. I wanted to make sure I wasn't making most of it up, by allowing the memories to calm down in my mind.
I'll keep you posted...
I watched some early Sunday morning TV (infomercials, History Channel "All Nazi Germany - All The Time" rehashes of WWII, stuff like that), then decided to pull myself together for our final morning together as a group. There was to be a big group breakfast in the ballroom, from 9:00 until 10:00, a farewell address by a visitor from Texas from 10:00 til 11:00 and then a special meeting of the organizing committee to elect officers for NEXT year's event.
I had only registered for two nights stay and thought it odd, as I walked down the hall, to see "express checkout bills" tucked under a number of other guest rooms. But I just thought they'd neglected me and didn't worry about it.
I found another likely bunch to breakfast with, all sitting together at a table "down in front at ringside". They waved me over with much enthusiasm, and who was I to refuse?? I sat next to the cutest guy at the table, a dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty named "Bob." We started flirting immediately. We flirted all through breakfast. Something started to ring slightly odd with Bob, though, and with all the other guests at that particular table. Eventually, just before the guest speaker started at 10:00, it sort of came out that Bob, and the others, were all residents of a halfway house down at the beach. DAMN! Where were the oceanside halfway houses when I was trying get sober???!!!
Anyway, there went Bob. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't. There are certain "rules" in our fairly organizationless 12-Step programs, one of which is "no dating in the first year of sobriety." Bob, unfortunately, still hadn't even officially started his first year. It would be some time before Bob was "on the market" for real.
The speaker kicked ass, though. She was Tex-Mex from San Antonio. She had a rip-roaring story of drinking and drugging, a fairly horrific bottom and then a marvelous recovery full of miracles and gratitude. She'd even "discovered" she was gay in sobriety, had found herself a girlfriend who lives in Tampa/St. Pete and, at the end of this school year (she teaches), is moving to Florida so they can pursue their dreams together.
It was inspiring. It was magical. It's looking pretty doubtful that that kind of miracle is in MY foreseeable future!
After the meeting broke up I realized that something was amiss as I saw people heading out to leave the premises, so I wandered down to the front desk where the nice lady behind it explained that, despite any misapprehension I might have to the contrary, I was not leaving until the next day.
Well, nobody tells THIS alcoholic when he's leaving and when he's not. I informed her that there must be a glitch in the system and yes I was leaving. She disappeared into the back to "speak with the manager." She reappeared in less than a minute and I was all checked out. I went back upstairs to get my luggage. As I passed the ballroom, one last time, I saw a pair of lovely eyes staring at me. So I stared right back and wandered right over.
We said "hi." We yakked aimlessly for a minute or two. We kissed gently. He gave me his phone number and whispered, "you always have a place to stay when you come down", for he is a full-time resident of Rehoboth, and we parted.
OKAY! THIS IS A START!!!
I'm not going to rush into anything. I'm not going to "force" anything. I will call him, this weekend, it having been two weeks since we saw each other. And we shall see what we shall see.
And now you know why I didn't rush into publishing this. I wanted to make sure I wasn't making most of it up, by allowing the memories to calm down in my mind.
I'll keep you posted...
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