I think I’m getting too old for this shit.

Saturday night, I went to a party. Little arty bohemian, alterna-crowd, lots of youngish folks in the early-to-mid-20’s, I reckon. There was mingling and conversation on the beautiful garden patio, folks were drinking, smoking, playing guitars, while others milled around a keg of beer and danced inside.

There were a couple of DJs spinning some old school Dance Fever tunes: mixing rap, trance, house into Bel Biv DeVoe then into old school Prince… and then back into Boogie Woogie magic. Then some fancy folks showed up with a wine delivery at 1 AM….and glam girls showed up around 3:00 AM straight from the nightclub.

The crowd was an interesting mix. Cute alterna gay boys, a few hot alterna straight boys (who might not have been so straight after that last beer)…lots of sassy straight girls with their hunky tattooed boyfriends (who were very straight…even after that last beer)….and some very sexy smartass ladies of indeterminate orientation. Should have been a lotta fun, right?

Trouble is….I spent a majority of my time at the party engaged in typical party mode: smarting off, dancing, laughing and engaging in gossip, while this little voice in my head kept telling me something was wrong.

Girls...give me guidance!

Back to this subject in a moment. The prelude to this is the other night before going to Les Nubians, as I was getting ready, I had a total confidence meltdown. Now, these aren’t totally uncommon. Every now and then, I hate my clothes, my aging saggy body, my greying hair…that’s just normal, we all go through it…they talk about it on The View all the time. I just find a cute outfit, drink some more coffee, or put on my contacts lenses…and I’m okay. Usually, it’s just a quick fix. But as I was styling my quickly graying hair…the thought raced through my mind that I was on the verge of becoming that slightly older gay guy that you see at parties and you wonder why is he there.

I don’t know if you know the guy that I’m talking about. It’s not the 49 year old gay guy who decides he should be a raver. It’s that other guy that you see at parties and events. He’s clearly cool – he not a poseur…he’s not unwelcome…but he is slightly advanced in years…and you always wonder (well at least I do): How does he stay connected to the scene? Why does he stay connected to the scene? Is he nice? What’s he like? Is he sad? Why is he alone? Isn’t he a little too old to be here? Why is he here?

I suddenly was shaken to the core of my being. This very strange hyperawareness of my existence started creeping in...and I was suddenly anxious. Anxious like my freshman years of high school and college…anxious and totally lacking in confidence…. It was nerve wracking, ‘coz even though there are times when I hate my gut, my grey, etc….I still have some core identity that quells the doubts, pulls it all back together, snaps it all down….and I’m ok. I usually know who I am, and know where I fit in. I know my scene and I feel confident in my place in it. But all that crashed and burned in a few seconds.

I had the same identity scare at the party. Suddenly I didn’t feel young and edgy…suddenly I didn’t feel anything but old, a tad too cynical, a little irritated by the party chatter, very irritated at some drunk boy’s sloppy advances, annoyed by the drunk girl spilling wine on her white capris…and incensed by the punk rock boy’s puking red wine on the kitchen floor…..and for a brief second, I felt like an outsider to this little world that has been my scene, so to speak, since I was in college. I suddenly felt like I didn’t belong – like I was just a welcome visitor, a spectator and not a willing participant. I felt like Diane Freaking Fosse.

I’m now wondering if the parties and the events and the things that used to matter really even matter to me anymore. I had a great time at the concert the other night and it’s not like I think I should just stay home and knit sweaters for the poor. I want to see my friends and hang out… I just wonder if I should be doing that at 4 AM with a bunch of 21 year old kids. And I do choose to hang out with 21 year olds, can I be comfortable in my 32 year old skin?

I guess this post sounds really whiny….but I’m really out of sorts. I thought that knowing where you fit in and where you don’t was a teenage crisis, not something I’d be wondering about at this point in my life. And I am starting to question whether I am a stopping point, or a point of new departure. Glamour Magazine says cut your hair, change your life.

I’m thinking a new hair do isn’t gonna do the trick this time….

Me...and my alter ego.

A case of mistaken identity…

Okay...more than ever, I am sure that I need a total overhaul. So...yesterday was Black Gay and Lesbian Pride and the paper has a booth at the event. I got a little dressed up, ironed a shirt, put on my bling and headed on over to Forest Park to pass out copies of the paper and the Pride Pages. The festival was fun, and ended with some very dramatic dance moves as the queens had this mini-ball, Paris is Burning, drag-o-rama, runway dancethon fashion showdown.

Yay! High kicks and spins and twirls for days!

I of course was so very tempted to join the fray…but when I do runway…it’s the wrong way….and the last thing I wanted to do was attempt a high kick and have my flip flop fly into some queen’s face.

So… it was down to Clementines afterwards...and that was fun. I ran into some folks I haven’t seen since I was a florist (Happy birthday, Michael!)…and Yay! More good times…

Then...once again…things got very strange. At one point, some fella pulled my shirt outta my pants…hee hee silly rabbit…the Trix aren’t for you….and I skipped off, flattered, but a little out of sorts. Then…and this is the strange part, folks, this ultra super dreamy…like way-wicked-super-dreamy fella comes over and whispers in my ear…

Can you see my soul??? You can see my cat Varla in the background.

I couldn’t understand him...and I turned around and then he starts this whole rigmarole about how looking into someone’s eyes gives you a glimpse of their soul….I have pretty eyes...a great smile…luscious lips…..blah blah blah….it’s 10:30 PM on a Sunday at Clementines…we’ve all heard this spiel before.

I wasn’t buying it and then he starts getting a little aggressive. OK – this is unexpected…. Super dreamy fellas trying to cop a feel….it got my attention, but still seemed a little out of character for someone so dreamy and especially since the crispness had left my outfit, my hair was looking a little Heatmeisery and my bling was leaving a welt on my neck.

So…he leans over again and starts talking about how he wants to party….then he specifically brings up drugs…huh? Then he says I look like the kinda guy that could score him drugs...or has drugs for sale!!!!!!

Oh, no! He did not just say I look like a drug dealer. And…oh…as he continued on….he did not just say I look like a coke dealer!

Ya know, I’ve encountered a lot of folks during my life…but my cadre of friends aren’t dealers, which I try to tell him ever so politely and then I start getting rude. He insists….saying he’s got money….blah blah blah…. I’m convinced he’s some hopped up Narc or some total coke head….either way, when he goes to the bathroom, I split…I headed off to the Upstairs Lounge to see my friends, where I drank a Coke and calmed down. And things, for that moment in time, seemed to be okay…..

Tonight I am going to see The Human League at the Pageant. I’m hoping trouble doesn’t find me tonight…otherwise, this little squirrel is going to batten down the hatches and hibernate for a good long time.