Good Dog

Krissy and I went to see Lesley and Matt's play. We had to pick up Gordo at UCLA. Then we ate yakitori and drank beers and waited for Pam and Tom. Then we went to the play. Then I drove Gordo home and met my pals at Liquid Kitty, where a very forward guy asked if he could buy me a drink. I let him, but I shouldn't have. He kept putting his hand on the small of my back and paying me the following compliments: (1) "I like your height." (2) "You have a great body." (3) "I like your turtleneck." Yeesh. He and his friend found their way over to where my friends and I were congregated, and I kept being certain that the other guy was going to suddenly shiv Tom in the gut or something. I just knew we were all going to end up murdered and in a ditch somewhere.

But I was wrong. We just got a few free drinks out of the deal. And had to spend far too much of our evening making nice with two guys who bored the shit out of us in an overly familiar way. In the end, I don't think those drinks were free. Lesson learned.

Tom and Pam and Krissy came back to my place, and we ordered pizza and watched the Ali G. movie and drank a few more beers. And if it weren't for people and their annoying work obligations, I'm sure it would have turned into the finest of pajama parties.

I was tired most of the time. Ready to call it a night long before the night had even begun. But that's the way it goes. In the end, I'm always glad I persevered. In the end, I'm nearly always glad I chose this rather than that.

The coming nights are full, too. I like having so much to look forward to. And yet I find myself shrinking from the idea of it all. I shouldn't give myself so much time for second-guessing. The second guess is always the wrong one.