"Don't talk to me / About people who are nice!"

As mentioned earlier, the Game Night was a smashing success. So I sent out a flurry of e-mails thanking various attendees and suggesting another get-together in January. A couple days went by without me hearing from Dr Max, which is a bit odd since he's usually the most reliable correspondent in the pack. So I texted his partner Mohrenkopf asking if everything was "hunky dory" and he replied, "You're probably asking because monshu told you I mentioned to him I'm moving to SF at the start of the year." Um, what?

It's damn annoying, because we simply don't know enough gay guys who (a) both monshu and I enjoy hanging with and (b) will actually do stuff with us, let alone ones who are this local or this thoughtful. (I came home that night to find a bread-and-butter card from them. Who even sends those any more?) We've been slowly drawing closer to these guys for years, and just when we get to the point where we're doing things regularly together, they up and go.

Oh, well; in many ways, it's the story of this year. I met a lot of good guys at the big bear Halloween party last year, but I never managed to get together with any of them more than once, if that. Now they clutter up my Facebook feed like so many broken promises. We met a nice couple, new in town, at Bear Pride who came back to our house for drinks and talked a good game about future outings and such, but naturally nothing ever came of it. Bear Pride was also the last time I saw this really great couple we'd met through Colette. That is, until his cocktail party two weeks ago. They were supposed to meet us for dinner beforehand but cancelled at the very last minute; I've been waiting since then for an offer to reschedule, in vain

Then there was Tuppers, who burst on the scene in July, finally taking me up on an invitation I'd made back in January. For a while there, we were seeing him every week or two. We were one of two couples invited to celebrate his birthday with him. The next day, he wouldn't answer my texts or e-mails. Finally monshu got in touch last week to invite him to Thanksgiving and received for his pains a chilly note informing us he had other plans. At least the straight couple he introduced us to has been willing to get together again.

There are more--like the old friend-of-a-friend who was finally calling me again, but only, as it turned out, because he thought I could get him a job; when that didn't pan out, he became scarce. Or Daddy Bishop, who promised me lunch but hasn't gotten back in touch since I gently rebuffed his offer to eat my ass out. It's all getting very discouraging. Where is the fabulous gay bourgeois social life I was promised? Here we are, with a beautiful place in a neighbourhood crawling with homos, and it's a struggle to get anyone in the doors.