The Death of Imagination

So what am I being a baby about now? Something that happened at the monthly cocktail party last weekend--or rather didn't happen.

To explain, I'll have to go back a month. At the previous cocktail party I was stressed. I ended up inviting too many and the first hour was just me running around trying to take care of everything--making sure there was enough ice, the newbies knew where the glassware was, nobody was trying to open a bottle with a hammer, etc. Eventually, things calmed down and I was able to enjoy myself, but in the meantime I bitched to a lot of people about how annoying it was.

One of them was my new friend Hot David. He suggested I hire someone for next time and I told him that if that's where this was headed then I wasn't interested. I said I would be willing, however, to ask some of the regulars for help. Like maybe assign one of them to keep an eye on the ice bucket, another to make sure recycling wasn't going into the trash, etc. He encouraged me to do this and offered to come early to help out himself.

Flash forward to Saturday afternoon. I sent a message to a chat group with a dozen of these friends (all couples) and Clint in it, prefacing it by explaining how poor Clint was sick and couldn't fulfill his usual duties. At first, I got no response. Then someone asked what Clint had--not because they were concerned about him but worried they might catch something. He replied saying he had a "stomach bug" and one-by-one I watched half of them cancel.

It was deflating to say the least. Oh, and how do I know they weren't concerned about Clint? Because not a one asked what they could do for him, nor has a single one of them inquired about him since. What makes it all the more baffling is that most of them spend these evenings on the back porch anyway and they all know the layout well enough to know that Clint's bedroom and bathroom are downstairs, so their contact would be minimal with him even inside.

I reached out to a friend for support and he basically took their side. I told him I understand that they might have legitimate health concerns, but the fact that none of them asked what they could do without attending (e.g. doing an ice run or something) made their decisions feel awful selfish. (But, you ask, haven't they checked in with me to see if everything turned out okay? Also no.)

We were supposed to meet for brunch this coming Sunday, but you know what? I just don't feel like it. I'd have to deal with them all telling me, "Sorry I didn't come on Saturday BUT..." while I sat there with a sympathetic expression on my face not saying what I actually thought. To hell with them.

Oh the party? A smashing success. I made a point of not mentioning it unless the other person brought it up or had explicitly asked me to remind them and that kept numbers down to a reasonable three dozen or so. I actually got to talk to everyone and even make some fun cocktails and one of the guests took over the kitchen to make some warm appetizers without me wanting to kill him. Hot David made sure someone was answering the door and El Huevón showed up with an extra big bag of ice, despite having spent the entire day getting sunburned at the state fair. You don't need a lot of friends, just the right ones.

I'm coming off a full week of daily hookups and, man, is my penis tired.

It all kicked off a week ago Friday. I was lunching with El Huevón when the smoking hot young guy I was supposed to spend the afternoon with cancelled on me like I pretty much suspected he would. (See previous posts.) I debated looking for a substitute--I was concerned it might lead to invidious comparisons--and ultimately pulled the trigger. I ended up with a cutie I'd been trying to chat up online through various channels for almost two years; it was quite the fun time.

Things only snowballed from there. I picked up someone at the bar that night. The next day, my morning hookup cancelled (again, as I suspected he would) and the guy who made out with me at El Huevón's afternoon gathering slipped away but I scheduled someone else who was also a great way to while away a couple hours. And so on for the new week until Friday came by again and I had a rematch with my previous substitute.

The second time, he stuck around for the rest of the night. We drank on the porch and probably would have gotten horizontal again but I had an Israeli friend in the process of moving arriving in the evening and staying through the weekend. Knowing that was the case, this lovely gentleman kept a respectful distance (though we did manage to hang out for a couple hours on Sunday night) and then popped up on Friday afternoon to stay and spend the whole evening with me.

Reader, I married him.

jk. There's something going on here, but it's too early to say what yet. The sex is fantastic, but we spend as much time in cuddling and pillow talk as we do going at it like frenzied rabbits. We have things in common and we've been talking about what we'd like to do together--hiking in the woods, trying new restaurants, going to concerts, etc. In the course of a week, the paradigm has shifted from "if we see each other" to "next time we get together" and it's a nice feeling that I'm trying to enjoy for what it is rather than force it into some preconceived form.

So we got off to an odd and unpromising start when I woke up shivering non New Year's Day despite having just slept in a brand-new set of the thickest and warmest flannel sheets I've ever owned. That led to temperature check which led to a COVID test which led to staying home and isolating for two weeks. Then literally my first day back at work, I caught a head cold that knocked me down for several more days. Things went better after that, though I am just getting over a sore throat that threatened to wreck Mardi Gras and Valentine's Day for me.

Not that I had any great plans. Tuesday night, I went over to JR's to see Saltburn so I could finally participate in the discourse. I'd been fascinated with it since the first trailers but I didn't expect it to receive such mainstream attention so I was in no hurry to see it. I did a decent job of avoiding spoilers but they still managed to suck a bit of the enjoyment out of it. Like many, I was also disappointed by the ending, which seemed to undermine the story and the development of the main character, making both less ambiguous and interesting.

This was my second time this year hanging with JR in a low-key sort of way. The first time came after the memorial for ChefBearItalia. I stayed until the end, hoping maybe my friends would invite me back to hang out with them for a bit, but they didn't and I started heading back. Realising that Clint was not likely to be very interactive that evening and not wanting to stew alone, I reached out to JR and invited myself over. We rewatched Barbie, ate a little dinner, I called my mom for her birthday and then went home.

It was exactly the kind of intimate unstructured time I've wanted with him since we first met. The only thing lacking is some physical intimacy. I'm hoping that eventually he'll relax to the point where he'll accept some friendly cuddling. He has gotten better about that in other contexts (such as a friends' Lunar New Year Party last weekend), but I think one-on-one is harder for him. I particularly worry about him becoming touch-starved once his dog passes away, since his dating life is as quiet as it's ever been.

As for my dating life? It's still very unsettled. Once again, none of the possibilities enumerated in previous posts (plus a couple more which had cropped up since then) have panned out. Overall I'm getting pretty tired of folks telling me, yes, absolutely, they do want to get together and then somehow never making any plans, even though I've been guilty of that myself. The closest I've come to a steady thing is my mustachioed electrician, who seems very chuffed that I've taken to calling him "lover" after we've gotten together two or three times. Unfortunately he's signed up for lots of long hours and overtime in order to make the pots of money he needs for the dream house he wants to build, leaving him with almost no time free to drive the hour each way up here to frolic with me.

So against that background, it was pretty crazy what happened yesterday. First, let me introduce Big Dick Down Low Daddy or BDDLD (not to be confused with Big Dick Rick or any other Big Dicks I might have mentioned here). He showed up out of the blue at Daddy Daycare late last November, having been invited by one of our mutuals. To the extent that I have a type which Monshu was the embodiment of, he was a classic exemplar, a burly bearded white-haired daddy with a big smile and roving hands. He convinced me to blow him in the restroom after refusing to give me his number and I impulsively asked him to ditch the Daddies and come back with me, which he did.

It was a lot of fun, though not as much as it would have been if we hadn't both been fairly loaded. Fortunately, we got a rematch the next day when he came back to retrieve the cap he'd left behind. At the time he told me he was usually "one and done" (presumably to avoid getting too attached to anyone). So I'd filed away the bonus session as a fluke owing to unusual circumstances. He mentioned he'd try to come to a future event and I joked about him making his way through our circle of daddy-chasers like a new illness. I didn't abandon all hope of getting with him again, but I didn't consider it especially likely either.

Then, a couple weeks ago, he came down again. I hadn't been feeling great and was planning on a quiet night in when he texted and asked if I was coming to the meetup. My response was swift: "I guess I am now." This time we didn't even make it to the bathroom and I was probably present all of 30 minutes before we left together. I joked that it would have made much more sense for him to stop by on his way into town instead.

So when yesterday I saw a phone call from him (via Messenger, our only channel of communication), I thought maybe he proposing just that. He was actually calling just to tell me that he wouldn't be coming down because he had too much to do before leaving for Florida in a week or so for an extended stay that would keep him away until at least April. So why tell me? Because he saw me comment in the group chat, realised all this, and hoped to rendezvous again in two months. "But I started thinking, I'm kind of a one-sided guy, maybe he doesn't want to see me again."

It was kind of touching, after having so many folks tell me they like me and want to be with me and then not follow through to have someone reverse the script and tell me not to expect anything only to then ask, "We are going to see each other again, aren't we?" Will we? Only time will tell. But it gave me a certain warm fuzzy feeling which set the tone for the evening.

So I didn't really care later when, at the gathering, I saw Useless Fuckboi and he studiously ignored me despite having texted only a week earlier inviting me to get a drink with him (and again afterwards to explain that he "needed time with my friend", i.e. date). And I flirted with the cute boy in the ice cream parlour without any real expectation of it leading anywhere (even though we did spend a chunk of today sexting each other and planning a future session). And I took it in stride when a little cutie showed up at my elbow at SoFo and practically begged me to chat him up. A friend asked me today if all this fleeting attention was making me "jaded". I'm not sure that's the word I'd use. I'm trying to enjoy it without expecting anything to come of it--something I was terrible at in my youth and seem to finally have something of a knack for now. Yay, wisdom of age!

"Cuffing season" has arrived in the Upper Midwest. This is the time of year when gays supposedly pair up to get through the winter before returning to their whoring ways when the weather gets warm again. It's a term I've been hearing used jokingly for several years but I've never really experienced it myself. But lately? Daaammmn.

So, Saturday night I was hoping to get together with this hot Italian bear who works the Christkindlmarket. Our texts were heading in a good direction and then he just stopped replying. Eager not to sit around feeling like an idiot, I headed out to join a friend who was celebrating his birthday at 2Bears, stopping on the way for "one drink" at the Anvil.

Surprisingly, it actually was one drink, in no small part because I found some cuties out back to flirt with. One of them I looked up on the el ride south and sent a friend request. Almost immediately, he was in my DMs begging for me to do him so we set something up for Sunday evening. When that failed to happen, he asked if we could meet Tuesday evening instead and I agreed, knowing he'd probably cancel.

He did, of course, but in the meantime Hump Day had hit me up asking if I was free. I told him I had tentative plans but I'd keep him in mind, knowing he wasn't likely to try to schedule with anyone else. So when your man cancelled (via a long wheedling text all but begging me to give him another chance this Saturday), I gave it a respectful hour and reached out.

As a result, we had a really lovely evening together. I still don't feel the same way I did before our split over the summer (I tried very hard not to approach things yesterday evening with the mentality that this was a modest substitution for what I really wanted to do) but he did quite a good job of reminding me of the qualities that have always attracted me to him, like his playfulness and eagerness.

When I looked at my phone afterwards, there were 7 or 8 messages from the trans bear I last saw a week ago Friday (who I will henceforth be referring to as "Socks" for my own obscure reasons). He'd first texted about a half an hour into my sesh with Hump Day asking if I wanted to hang out. I initially assumed he was trying to plan something for later but, no, he was ready to hop into a Lyft and show up at my house at 9:30 on a school night for sloppy seconds because "I want you, you weirdo". So if Hump Day had not been available, I would've had an alternative to my alternative.

And that's not all. On Blackout Wednesday, I'd run into two guys I've been trying to get with off and on for at least half a decade, Big Dick Rick and ChefBearItalia. BDR and I had actually been ready to go home together but he was so drunk he got lost trying to follow me out of the bar and I was so drunk I mistyped my phone number, with the result that he sent a naughty text to a complete stranger.

Fortunately, I thought to reach out to a mutual for his number. He hit me back immediately and asked for a picture. This gave me pause, because at least three times now someone has done that and then immediately ghosted me afterwards, but I complied and was rewarded with a promise to find some time after this week.

This got me thinking of the last person who'd ghosted me and I did what I often do--take advantage of the momentary lift of some positive attention to reach out to someone who's disappointed me but I still want. And--to my surprise--this also paid off, with him immediately hitting me back, sending me smut, and telling me he'd also try to find some time for me soon.

Now, while I was outside the bar waiting in vain for Big Dick Rick to come out, I happened to plop down on a bench next to someone I initially didn't recognise. This is ChefBearItalia, who I first met at a house party in Naperhell before Monshu died and seem to run into again roughly every other year. I'd actually seen him at SoFo this summer, sent him a message about getting together, and heard nothing.

So it's not particularly surprising that I forgot all about the encounter until yesterday, when I idly messaged the last number I had on file. Today, about a half hour before Hump Day was to arrive, CBI hit me up on Messenger. He also sounded eager to get together with me sooner rather than later but before we could finalise some plans I had to jump off to answer the door.

When it rains, it really comes down in torrents.

It's flattering, but also a bit overwhelming and perhaps even detrimental. Two or three weeks ago, when I felt like I was putting more effort into this realm than I thought I was getting back, I reminded myself what a mug's game basing your self-esteem on the windsock desires of gay men is. And while I still fundamentally believe that, the lesson risks getting lost in the whirlwind of gay male desire surrounding me at the moment. I'm hoping for some balance soon but right now I just want to enjoy the ride for a bit.

What the hell, here's a fun story from the weekend to balance out my bellyaching.

Friday night, Daddy Daycare took place at Farragut's again. The windows were open and there was a big nerdy bearish guy sitting in one of them. As per usual, our group took up the rest of the forward space, from the front wall to the bar. Apparently a couple of our number--including Kayla--attempted to draw him in and got rebuffed.

Finally my buddy CD, the event organiser, came up to me and said, "Someone should make friends with that guy and it should be you." I was two or three whiskeys in by that point (I'd taught the bartender how to make a Boulvardier) and in a very up mood so it was easy to go up to him and ask if he'd been responsible for playing the last three songs on jukebox, all of which had been favourites of mine.

He hadn't, but he advised me that it might have been the bartender. I noticed he had a posh accent and asked if he might be English, but turned out to be a Kiwi from a small town north of Wellington. "Even my New Zealand friends think I sound English." He mused that it might have been due to attending the University of Singapore, where he'd gone to study one thing and ended up majoring in the history of Vietnam. He's now an assistant professor at the university where I work. Well, that did it; as soon as he found out I was in the Library, he asked, "Can't I rant for a little bit?" and went off on what he saw as the flaws in our business model. Happily, they had nothing to do with our behaviour and everything to do with the administration's idiocy.

One by one, my friends drifted away from the bar. Several stopped by the window to say their farewells. The organiser found me and said, with enthusiastic respect, "You're the bear whisperer!" When I checked my messages, I found that Kayla had taken a creeper shot from behind and shared it to a four-way chat with RJ and Clint with the caption "I think everyone in our group tried to engage this guy and failed and this is him and Da after 20 minutes." To introverts like the three of them, this is basically a superpower. Kayla once told me, "You're fearless! You'll talk to anyone." And while he's not quite correct, it's lovely to have my strengths recognised and praised.

Wednesday's no-show has been pestering me to give him another chance. When I initially said, "Let me think about it", he got all pissy, as if by saying that I was "questioning his character and interest". I mean...yeah? I made the date because you wanted it, but you never texted me to work out the deets, ignored a request to confirm, and ultimately blew me off. But how dare I base my opinion of you on your actions rather than, I dunno, your opinion of yourself? That probably should be my cue to bin him but for the time being I'm still keeping him in the "might be fun to fuck again sometime" category.

Thursday's sushi date went well even though he showed up half-an-hour late due to misjudging the distance via CTA. He kept me updated on his progress, however, and was extremely apologetic, going so far as to make a little bow of contrition when he arrived and thank me for waiting for him. We had a nice chat which ended with him taking back some dinner for his husband, who he brought to cocktails with him on Saturday. All-in-all, he seems worth cultivating even if we never get naked together again.

Friday our intention was to stay in, but someone who used to be a good friend and has been blowing us off for the past year actually accepted a last-minute invite to come over for a drink. When it seemed to be turning out to be just a casual hang, I invited over someone else who I've been trying to get over to my place for two months or so. He was a perfectly decent guest but it doesn't seem like he's into me at all (my friend discreetly withdrew to let us get it on only for this guy to say he was off to Cellblock), which is frustrating but not surprising at this point.

Today I'm dealing with the usual event drop after an above-average Mem Day weekend. I'm not exactly sure where to lay the credit for the latter; I guess just the cumulative effect of trying to make better decisions about what is going to give me happiness and satisfaction rather than leading me into anxiety and brooding.

We kicked things off Thursday with the welcome party at Jackhammer. Clint wasn't feeling up to going out so I donned some leather and went over to Randall's alone to pre-game. There I ended up meeting yet another bartender, a charming Lithuanian named Arina, and striking up a conversation with yet another nice straight guy, who introduced me to a peppermint schnapps I actually like. At Jax I immediately ran into a circle of pals from the old Bear Pride days and mostly chatted with them, though I did meet some new folks. It was busy but not too crowded and I found someone fun in the Pit to take home for some good times.

It ended up being a late night so Friday I wasn't up to much. We've still got the issue of demo work being done across the street starting every day but Sunday at 8 a.m. or close to it, so sleeping in is a dodgy proposition. I was a bit at loose ends for what to do in the evening since the weed event at SoFo held little appeal for me. Fortunately a couple of our friends suggested a backyard hang at their new house which I hadn't seen and was eager to visit. It was more beautiful than I'd imagined--and a mere four blocks away!

Around 9 pm I realised I needed food and stumbled over to the chicken fingers place on Sheridan. I was drunk enough that a nightcap at Anvil seemed like a good plan. I didn't really see anyone I knew but I did end up chatting with a lovely Belizean man and getting so distracted that I left my bag behind. Luckily I only noticed this around 11 am, which was right about when the bar reopened, so it didn't ruin my sleep. Clint heard me tearing around the apartment and volunteered to drive me over to look for it. It was, of course, exactly where I'd left it, pressed up against the foot of the bar where the bartenders never spotted it.

To celebrate, he took us to Tweet for brunch and we almost immediately schnagged a deuce on the front patio. Clint was in a rare mood, constantly laughing and singing and generally being a beacon of brightness. He didn't want to drive to the IML vendor mart afterwards so we went back home and switched to CTA. The hotel was chaotic and crowded, but upon arriving at the mart we immediately met a dozen people we knew. One of them, an aggressive Italian, kept demanding ussies and we were happy to slip away to another room for browsing and voyeurism.

Eventually we washed up in the barroom at the north end of the hotel and found a generous bartender who was essentially pouring doubles and charging for singles. At that point, it became pretty clear we weren't going anywhere for a while, but we were both enjoying the atmosphere immensely. Finally as it got late I suggested we head north for some food before going out, which brought us to South of the Border on Morse since the other mooted possibilities were already closed or closing.

Again, we pregamed at Randall's. Again I chatted up an amusing straight boy, this one a graduate of SLU law school. Then we crossed the intersection to Jackie's and saw a line the likes of brought me back to the Bear Pride days. Clint went up front to check whether his pass gave him priority access and it did so he abandoned me tout-de-suite. But the line was very social and I made new friends on all sides during the 45 minutes it took us to crawl to the door. There was a similarly long line for the downstairs so I decided again just to hang in the front bar with pals again. There was a gorgeous Asian bear from Twin Peaks in SF who I tried to bag but though he was very kind I saw his eyes darting all around and decided to make it an early night.

Sunday morning was a little stressed. RJ had planned a brunch in Evanston at 1:30 and seeing that it was after noon and Clint wasn't stirring, I intuited that he was bailing. Fortunately he was still able to give me a ride so I was able to arrive ontime. LeTour is a cute place and we loved the staff. The young bartender was a little flirty and very solicitous and our server was *very* California and made us all fall in love with her a little bit. She also tipped us to an afternoon happy hour with raclette so we'll have to find a time to do that soon.

After dessert at Café Coralie, I got dropped at home to find a mess on the porch with our neighbours fit to be tied from the noisy power washing next door. It made me happier than ever to peace out and head to my powerlifter friends' barbecue steps from the Howard Street Station. As evening drew on, various folks peeled off to head to other locations, mainly SoFo, but I wasn't eager for another late night (which I knew that would probably turn into) and I was enjoying the quiet company so I lingered and lingered.

The next morning, I awoke with a bit of anxiety about having lingered too long. It took me a bit of time to push through that and get myself on the road to Sidetrack, but I eventually managed and found the boys in the atrium. We headed up to the roofdeck just as it started to fill up and shnagged a good table just opposite the bar. It made a good seat of operations from which to run around the bar and I ended up with a lot of new names for my "New People" file, some of whom are local and I'll probably see again. RJ made plans to hook up with an out-of-towner I introduced him to and I'm having my usual mixed feelings about that but I drowned them in a negroni at SoFo after another unsuccessful attempt to dine at Middle Eastern Grill turned into a quick run to Jet's.

I ended off the weekend as it began: With a shot of Ullr at Randall's. I still have some emotions to sort through (probably with the help of Clint's overtaxed ears), but overall a successful time with only a few stressful patches. Could it be I'm finally getting the hang of this?

Being a man of the world is exhausting sometimes.

Yesterday I headed over to Jax for the monthly non-bear tea dance. It was lovely weather and the place was packed. Among the mostly unfamiliar faces, I noticed one that had stood out to me the night before when I'd visited the bar briefly after my regular cocktails. He'd been prowling the downstairs in heavy denim jacket and I'd considered approaching him but I was kinda tired and kinda done so I just headed home.

If I had, I probably could have taken him home. As it happens, what I ended up doing was procuring him for another. Not intentionally of course--when I chatted him up Sunday afternoon and bought him a drink, I had every intention of getting his digits. But when he casually said to me, "Your friend is very cute," I pretty much knew how things were going to turn out.

The friend is a fellow chaser with highly overlapping tastes and more game than me. I tell folks that I consider him a valuable source of intel. "I've never been anywhere in Chicago where he hasn't been before me," I told a friend earlier in the day. I try not to think of him as competition, but that was sorely tested yesterday as I watched him swoop in and make off with someone I'd hoped to have a little fun with.

The worst part is how it almost wrecked what was otherwise the culmination of a very nice weekend. I even messaged Clint when I got home, dejected, and said, "Tell me to stop being a dildo." I mean, I was literally on my way out the door when a cute guy stopped me, chatted me up, propositioned me, and gave me his number and yet I was moaning about not being attractive enough or whatever.

So I magnanimously sent my pal a text telling him I hoped he'd had a good time. I may even have meant it--why should I begrudge anyone a little pleasure? I even joked that I'd take the drink that the guy "owed" me off him as a finder's fee. I hope we can have a laugh over it next time we're together. And I hope I can kind to the guy if I see him again, even though right now I pretty much want to tell him to go to hell. (Though he already lives in Indiana, which is pretty much the same thing.)

Terrific weekend all around, even if it did once again revolve a lot around drinking.

This actually started Thursday night since a friend was celebrating a change of employment at Jackie's. I ended up staying out later than I meant to because one of our mutuals (the man who introduced us, in fact) had rehearsal and ended up not arriving until after 11. Fortunately I ran into an acquaintance from Anvil and we had a really nice chat about reading while I was waiting for him to arrive.

Friday I had a catch-up lunch with my favourite Chilean, who took me along on a trip to doggy daycare and then to lunch across the street at Spacca Napoli, my favourite pizza place. I agonised to him a bit about my issues navigating the gay social scene and he was--as always--very patient and supportive.

That evening our friends Brendan and Josh hosted a gathering at their place. I love Brendan's style of hospitality. It's so welcoming and generous I have to remind myself he's not a Southerner. The two of them made a gigantic pot of congee and assembled a bar of add-ins such as marinated tofu, fried mushrooms, and something new to me called "olive vegetable" (橄欖菜), a combination of pickled Chinese olives and mustard greens that Brendan described as "pure MSG".

There was also good conversation (plus a little cuddling), so--despite my best intentions--I ended up staying out till something like 2 a.m. This made for a rough Saturday, as as well as being tired I also had some tummy trouble that wrecked my anus and made me kind of grouchy all day. Fortunately I'd done some cleaning the weekend before and clintswan jumped in after his nap to help so there wasn't a crunch to get the place ready.

It may have been the most successful one of the year so far, despite the absence of BB and a couple other regulars. I had several first-timers, but this being Chicago one turned out to be a coworker of one my of my regular guests and there may have been some other connexions that I missed. I had to do a little more mixing than usual, so it was once again Clint to the rescue, answering the door and getting folks settled so I didn't have to keep running out of the kitchen.

Just after midnight, he peaced out and scooted over to the bar. I came over not much later. (SquareBear and Kayla graciously stuck around and helped me tidy up, with the later waiting for me to change so we could walk over together.) I finally managed to have the conversation I wanted to with Kayla about getting counseling for his PTSD and we made an interesting friend down in the hole, but the highlight of the evening was seeing my new crush.

I'm going to call him Big Chick because he first came to my attention as a doorman as Big Chicks, my regular bar when I lived in Uptown. I don't recall ever having a conversation with him back then, but I was familiar enough that I thought nothing of casually addressing him by name outside SoFo sometime last fall. At the time, I remember being taken aback by his friendly reception (he didn't remember me, but he seemed chuffed to be remembered); he went so far as to add me on social media, but I really didn't think much of it.

All of that changed two weeks ago when I ran into him at the tail-end of a crazy evening that began at Farragut's, escalated at SoFo's Onesie Night (where I did something I would normally only have done at Touché), and inevitably ended up at Jax. I came over and started a conversation about music and before I knew it he was telling me he just wanted to find some place to make out with me. "How about my house?" I suggested and took him home.

It was wonderful--so much, in fact, that I focused on playing it cool and avoided messaging him. I did suggest we meet for dinner but didn't follow up when he didn't follow through. Then the next weekend, when I was at home getting over a sore throat and feeling sorry for myself, I tried again and we made a dinner date for Thursday at Anna Maria which went extremely well. So when my Sunday game was cancelled, I offered him that afternoon and he accepted.

So now here we are at last Saturday and he shows up after his shift at Chicks with a new clutch of pals just as I'm deciding it's time I headed home. One of them wanted to hit on me, however, so he insisted on buying me a drink "so I can keep you here". I humoured him, but really I only had eyes for BC, who was as charming and affection as that night two weeks back. There's no question that if we hadn't made plans already we'd've been back in bed together.

I came home on a cloud, so I guess it was inevitable that I'd wake up to rain: He texted me about 1 pm to cancel, saying he needed to prepare for a job interview the next day. It was a legit excuse--he'd talked a fair bit at dinner about the new position he hoped to be offered--but I was bummed of course (though cushioned by the highly-successful cocktail night).

I considered taking my copy of Rushdie's Victory City to the sun-flooded front room and finishing it while I rehydrated, but then my pals reached out and convinced me to join them at SoFo for daydrinking. I wasn't that eager to go drinking for a fourth day in a row, but I really wanted my friends around so I agreed.

It was a great choice. The bar was a bit crowded initially, but there was some sun on the patio so we met up there, alternating between outside and a table in the back once it got a bit chillier. My Hispanic Twin told me I was manifesting "Big Daddy Energy" because I was getting flirted with from all sides.

At one point, I was outside chatting with four or five pals when a gorgeous Punjabi man stepped out and immediately came up to us. He draped an arm around me and hit us up for cigarettes, but when it turned out that none of his smoked, he left it there and stayed to chat. He was an oncologist in town just for the weekend and I did my best to sell him on a return trip to Chicago in summer.

By now it was getting late and I was getting hungry so I traipsed up the block to Cuckoo and had dinner with Benty, Kayla, and another pal. As we left, the bus came along with perfect timing and swept me back home, which was for the best since otherwise I might have been tempted to return to the bar. Instead, I capped it in the best way--dishing with friends--and was able to sober up completely before bedtime.

So I let BB have it.

The last straw came three weeks ago. He'd confided in me about a bad trick and I was checking in on him, only to find that he'd invited the same guy over again. I encouraged him to cancel but he said he felt obligated to follow through. "You cancel on me the same day all the time," I told him. "You did it twice just last week." "Yeah," he said, "but you're used to it."

I don't have to tell you how spitting mad I was at that.

I spent a week having angry conversations in my head, dusting off every unresolved grievance from the tumultuous past year of our failed romance and stottering friendship. I knew there was no point in initiating a conversation he wasn't interesting in having, so I just ignored him and focused on other things. (It's not like I don't have enough social drama without him, but that's another post.) About a week later, he texted asking if I was in St Louis for the holidays and I just replied "No." A couple hours later, I followed up asking why he wanted to know and he admitted he thought "everyone was mad at me", so I told him, you got that right.

In the meantime, I'd had a conversation with the best of our mutual friends [hereafter OMF) which turned into an hour-long vent about him. The solidarity honestly made me feel much better. We're his only two good friends in Chicago and--as self-isolating as he is--I honestly don't think he can get by without anyone to hang with. So when he replied that he "didn't care" about my reasons for being upset with him, I knew it was a bluff.

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