I'm going to Rochester this weekend to visit my best friend from there, Bump, and my favorite Rochester ex-boyfriend, Dave. Things are pretty frosty between the two of them lately, and also between a third person, Brian, who joined their little group after I had moved away. In the last few months, Bump has been telling me about his latest hobby -- rolling X. And that's not all, he has a collection of viagra as well. At 43! Maybe if he lightened up on booze and cigarettes, maybe he wouldn't need these. As for Dave, he's still smoking heavily although he's tanked up on pain-killers for the cancer. *sigh*

I love them both. I don't know their friend Brian too well, but right now he's in the dog-house. Bump says that all Brian does is complain that he's fat and takes anti-depressants like Prozac. They are not presently speaking to each other.

The plans for this weekend, much like any other weekend, is to sit around drinking and smoking. The current M.O. for those three is to attend a piano bar to drink, be bitchy and not talk to each other. Oh, and sing show-tunes, which must turn the place out. Then they stumble around the corner to the dance club. Yeah I know -- it sounds lovely.

Other than that, we'll watch movies on cable. I AM looking forward to seeing my friends, but I'm kinda relieved that we weren't so much in that habit (or *were* we?) when I lived there. Bump's already offering me items from his personal pharmacy, but I really don't have much interest. Viagra? Puh-leeze!

Bump feels I should be up for a little blue pill because of our last discussion on sex. When he asked for my details, I realized I hadn't had an encounter in a while -- much to his dismay. I think it's been about a month. Since I didn't think about it until he asked, that goes to show you how unimportant it has suddenly become. Hanging out in bars for pick-ups hasn't done anything for me lately. A couple of nights ago -- and probably after I talked to Bump -- I went out to see if I felt any different. I went into one bar, visually surveyed the clientele, and turned on my heel and left. I went to a second, neighborhood bar in Clifton that was almost empty, and sat solo, drinking a Fosters (Australian for Shit). I relaxed, happy with my thoughts and listening to off-beat 80s, maybe late 70s, music, like early Go-Go's. I could see from the mirror behind the bar that the guy sitting next to me would take these side-long looks at my crotch.

So, I don't think I'm missing out on anything. I wonder if I'm turning to a new page.

D, C & I went to see David Sedaris. The lines were around the block, and a mob mentality was beginning to break out as we waited to get in through one set of doors to a sold-out performance. All I could think was: I hope the other doors aren't locked, I hope the doors open out. I hope the sprinkler system works. True Confessions: I have never heard David Sedaris. I have one of his books, unread, on my unread book pile. He's a hit on PBS, but even though I listen to PBS sometimes, I haven't heard "This American Life" where he is apparently featured. He is hilarious, so sayeth everyone.

He was pretty dark. Don't get me wrong, I let out a guffaw or three, but I didn't find him as rip-roaring as some of the hard cores around me did. If he cleared his throat, he had them rolling in the aisles. He has a rambling sort of style: Stories that begin with one vignette don't stay in that spot for long, and don't come back. (No doubt like one of these blog entries.) He had a question and answer period, and generally people asked how members of his family were doing. "Do Billie Holliday!" the woman sitting next to us shouted. Sedaris refused. It wasn't bad, but it was sort of lost on me.

And well well well, a few of those same slashers were there: Is Cincinnati really this small? I made sure I waved and said "hi". They looked at me wondering who I was. (If you've read some of my earlier posts, I've had it with that. There's talk of a halloween party, I don't think I'll go. C was invited because she's a neighbor; D was invited because he jogs with them. I would be (again) their tag-along. I go, feeling hopeful; chat with tons of people and make happy happy; everyone laughs and is very engaging; then everyone leaves -- no phone numbers exchanged, no connections made. What a disappointment. I'll read a book -- a David Sedaris book perhaps -- instead.)

After Sedaris, we stopped in at a ritzy bar/restaurant that I've always associated with Older Gentlemen and Their Young Admirers. (True enough, there were a few of those couplings there.) The service is generally bad, served by 19 year old snub-nosed skinnies with mod hair who definitely meet the criteria "Twink". C & D ordered drinks with cream in them; I ordered Rum, Amaretto and added Coke to create something that tasted like Cherry Cola (c. o. l. a. cooo-laa!) As usual when we get together, we whooped it up and had conversations that ran the gamut, staying late enough to almost close the place.

The topic I'll type about here (me! me! me!), was the epiphany I had on Trust Issues -- baggage going deeper and further back than I thought. I told them it was so immense that it was easier to consider being single rather than dealing with it. "Get yourself to a shrink, man!" D said. And what for? I said back, I want to solve it; not mull over challenges in potty training. ha ha ha.

Well, I AM thinking about making a call. But I want to think about it some more. And now... it's time to get happy.