about P.

I was updating my "featuring" section over the past few days, and I realized that I still have P listed there. And as I tried to edit his description appropriately, I fell short. Because the truth is, I don't know what to say about him anymore. He has, in a subtle yet simultaneously forcible manner, removed himself completely from my life. I haven't spoken to him since he left Colorado at the beginning of the year. I see him online sometimes, and I don't even have to keep my hand from clicking on his name to send a message. (Which might not seem like a big deal, but you should see me try to do the same when I notice Edward or nonboyfriend's name pop up on the screen.) I don't have the slightest idea what's going on with his life. My last memory of him is him looking at me, eyes pleading, begging me not to ask him the questions I so desperately wanted to while we were at a mutual friend's house. He promised me he'd explain some other day. I told him I could wait.

And then I forgot to ask him. I couldn't remember the details about what, exactly, I'd needed to say to him, through my drunken haze.

And it breaks my heart to think that this might really have been the last chance I got to speak to him. And I blew it. I was too damn drunk to function properly, and then too embarrassed to admit as much when he asked me about the conversation a few days later. Our single conversation since was contrived and painfully limited in scope. So reading over his description in my blog, one I wrote over a year ago, physically hurts. I see myself writing words like "soulmate" and "unconditional love" and I realize it's entirely possible that I've lost all that. And what's maybe most interesting and at the same time most painful, is that I'm not mourning the loss of a lover. I'm mourning the loss of a friend. Because he isn't my friend anymore. He hasn't been my lover for some time, and that was something I could deal with. Especially because things never really, fundamentally, changed between us - there were only the logistics of whether or not we were sleeping together that month. He still knew me better than anyone, and I, him. He still understood me without words and knew exactly what I wanted and needed from him. He was never afraid to talk to me, to yell at me, to try to smack some sense into me (metaphysically... he'd never lay a hand on me in any way I didn't want him to). And that is gone.

Because he is moving a world away. And doesn't think long-distance relationships, of any kind, can work. Never mind that before he decided to make this move, he came to me, nearly in tears, saying he couldn't decide between being with me and living out this dream he's had forever that would take him across the globe. Of course, without hesitation, I told him to go for his dream. How could I have done anything else? But sometimes I think he interpreted that as me giving up on him. At the same time, that doesn't make sense, because he knows me better than that. Or at least he used to. Maybe now he doesn't care to.

The last few times I've spoken with him, I've gotten the distinct impression that he's ashamed of me. I have done a lot of shame-worthy things in my life. Very few, if any, of them have been in the past year that he's been treating me like he doesn't want to know me. I remember the last time we hung out before I left for Spain. It was me, nonboyfriend, gayboyfriend, P, G, and Roomie. We went dancing. Myself, nonboyfriend, gayboyfriend and roomie were all sufficiently sauced. We were, admittedly, not at our best. And there were some silly stupid decisions made, but nothing tragic. Everyone went home together and everything was fine. Nevertheless, in the morning, P lectured me about my relationship with nonboyfriend, getting all protective-older-brother-esque on me. I don't think I reacted particularly harshly.

But since then (although he knows I'm not with nonboyfriend any longer), P has seemed distant. And ashamed of me. Acting like he's gracing me, humoring me, with his presence. Like he's just barely tolerating me. I just don't know what I could have done to fall so far away from him. And with all he's forgiven me for, how could this really be the final straw? Or did I really just fall away and get forgotten? I'm not sure which is worse.

And this song has always made me think of P. He would know why.

I love this city.

It always seems to go this way, where the last few weeks I live somewhere are the most fun. I guess that's not a coincidence - maybe it's a lack of inibitions, knowing time is limited. Whatever it is, I've had basically the best weekend I've had in a year. And it's only Friday afternoon.

Wednesday, I spent the evening with my beloved Essin Em, who, unfortunately, fractured/sprained her ankle while on a date on Tuesday. Of course, it's her right ankle, so she can't drive, so I went over there to help her out, and bring movies/dinner/run errands and what not. We talked about how much women can suck and what defines a relationship and had the same kind of fabulous deep, funny, authentic conversation I've come to expect and so enjoy when with her. We watched Sex and Breakfast, which was thoroughly disappointing, and I headed out around 11:15.
While en route, a friend who lived in the neighborhood called and insisted I come over to his house. So I did. And I'm not so much at liberty to go in to details, but I had an excellent time, and heard some things I really needed to hear. I'm feeling much better about life.

On Thursday, my friend gave me a ride to the store I used to work at, where they'd asked me to pitch in. I'm beyond broke, so I agreed, and worked the regular 8 hour shift. It's by no means a hard job, and the money is decent (it better be after I've worked for them for five years), so depite a little stress and having to wear my friend's clothes to work (I didn't have a change), everything went smoothly. And P met me for lunch, and graciously paid, since I hadn't gotten the paycheck.
I love how our friendship has evolved. I've known P since we were 14, and while we've always flirted with one another (and at times it's gone far beyond flirting), I'm so incredibly comfortable in his presence. I can't even verbalize how lucky I am to have not one but TWO people in my romantic(ish) life who make me feel so fabulous. (Granted, I'm not currently sleeping with P, but I will always consider him and I semi-romantically involved. It's complicated in the best way possible.)

I got home from work about 6:30 and passed out hard until almost 9. I hadn't slept much the night before and I desperately needed the powernap. My gayboyfriend and I had made tentative plans to go out to the gay bars that night, and so I recruited my favorite roommate, and P's hetero-lifemate (who is also an old and close friend of mine and has a thing for my roommate), G. My gayboyfriend, P and G all got to my house around the same time, and after a debate about who was driving/drinking/paying for those drinks, we headed out in P's car. (P doesn't drink much, ever, but the real challenge was getting him to drive which meant he'd be closing out the bars with us. We suceeded.)
We went first to the somewhat catch-all gay bar, where drinks are reasonably priced and there's a mixed crowd. Thursday nights are usually the biggest night there, but it was actually a little slow. Roomie and her coworkers were at a gay dance club a few blocks, so after a few drinks at the bar, the boys and I walked over there to meet up with her.
Now, this specific club is interesting. It's a huge space, with two (and a half, arguably) dance floors, separated so they're basically in different rooms, and a fabulous patio. It looks run-down from the outside, but the drinks are ridiculously cheap (and it was 2-for-1 night) and they play both house/pop and country. (On separate dancefloors, obviously.) It was more crowded than I've seen it before, and with one more drink and a shot, the boys and I all got on the dancefloor. It was somewhere near midnight.

And we didn't stop dancing until the bouncer literally hussled us out of the bar. I don't usually dance at clubs because I'm self-conscious, but I saw how the boys were letting loose, and decided I could do the same. And anyways, you should SEE me move my hips. I've gotten more than a few compliments on that. (Hell yes, belly dance.) I danced with Roomie and her friends, with P, with G, and with Gayboyfriend. I stepped away to get another drink (or something) and when I came back, P was dancing, which was fabulous enough because he was being shy, but he was dancing WITH A BOY. Who had his hands all over him. And P was loving it.

Now, usually this wouldn't be a big deal, but, well, those of you who know P... it kind of was. You could tell he loved the attention, and I loved seeing him love it. I was dancing with G/no one in particular, and all of a sudden, I was sandwiched between G and a random gay boy. It was funny because even though I knew they weren't interested in me (G is straight but there's nothing there), I felt so wanted and fabulous. Because even if they didn't WANT me, they wanted to dance with me. Which was more than enough.

The rest of the night went largely like that. After a while, P's dance partner came over and started dancing with me, which was also fun. By 1:30, I was drenched in sweat and jealous of all the boys who could take thier shirts off. So I took mine off. Which totally got me attention from a few gay men around me. It was the definition of fabulous. I have never had so much fun at a club.

And here's the real clincher (although the late-night diner food was fabulous, as well)... I was dancing so hard that I didn't want to carry my purse with me. So I set it underneath Roomie's on a stool around the table we sort of had. When they turned the houselights on to try to hurry us all out, I went over to pick it up. And there was no purse. Anywhere. Roomie had hers, but mine was gone. I started freaking out. Random boys who we'd been dancing with noticed my distress and offered to help me look for it. We couldn't find it. I went to talk to the bartender in the room we'd been dancing in, praying that someone turned it in. He hadn't seen it, but told me to check security/at the front. (The club has something like 4 or 5 bars.) I asked the cowboy-hat clad bartender, and he said he hadn't seen it, but told me to wait til people cleared out and we could look for it again. I sat at the bar, trying not to freak out too much. My friends had already been hussled out, and I saw them looking at me through the door, genuine concern on thier faces. A tall, lean man with gentle facial hair and a cowboy hat walked up to me, hands resting behind his back. I thought he might ask to take my number in case they found it. I had pretty much resolved myself that my purse was gone. Credit cards, brand-new I'm-21-now ID, checkbook, phone... everything.
"Is your name Sasha?" I nodded.
"What's your pin say?" The tall cowboy asked me.
I thought he'd asked me for my pin number.
"I'm sorry, what?" I responded.
"What. Do. Your. Pins. Say?"
Suddenly I understood. I call them buttons, and I'd recently put them on the strap of my purse.
"OH! Oh my god!" I literally jumped up. "One says 'Musgrave,' and the other is black and says 'Let's get one thing straight - I'm not.'"
The cowboy pulled my purse out from behind his back. I squealed and hugged him. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! You're AMAZING!"

The bear standing next to him asked to see my Musgrave pin and was relieved to see it was an anti-Musgrave button. (She's a Senator who's sponsored the Federal Amendment to ban gay marriage.) He made a joke about thinking I was in the wrong place. I laughed and hugged him too. My cowboy and the bear escorted me out, and the Roomie, as soon as I came out, pruse in hand, thanked them agian and handed them a $20.

I was just utterly amazed, because nowhere else would that have happened. In most clubs, in any city here in the states or I imagine in the world, my purse would have been history. Instead, someone picked it up, turned it in, and then held it safely and made sure I was who I said I was before they gave it back. That's just incredible to me. And one more reason why I love this community. We're here for each other. It's primarily a men's club, but I not only had the best time I've ever had, they took fabulous care of me. Where else could I find something like that?

I LOVE this city. And it's things like this that make me think this is really where I belong.