To SmallTown and back in 48 fun-filled hours! Whoo-hoo!
It wasn’t bad, actually, and another 12 or even 24 more hours would not have been the worst thing.
Still, all that quiet was unnerving. Fucking BIRDS woke me in the morning!
That’s not right.
Paying the same amount for a pitcher of beer that I would pay for a pint, well, that IS something New York could learn from SmallTown.
Saw family, saw friends, laughed a lot.
Came out as bi to half my friends. Would have come out to them all, but, mm, timing. Besides, one of the people I told is unlikely to keep the news to herself, even though I asked her to.
Ts. knows everything about everyone, and tells all to all. So be it.
Found out something bad a friend had gone through, long ago. Those who heard this were suprised, but not shocked. Certain things made sense, in retrospect.
What was striking, however, was the guilt carried these decades later by the woman who told us. She was a kid, in no damned position to do anything, and unlikely to have found help from anyone in a position to help, and still, she feels she should have done. . . something.
If nothing else, I hope she got a bit of relief telling us. I fear she has not.
Really not happy smelling like an ashtray after my night out. Yes, in this respect, at least, smelly New York is less smelly than SmallTown.
Found out S. and her husband will be visiting New York at the end of this month. I hope we can at least squeeze in time for a beer. At a smoke-free bar.
T. and I firmed up plans for her visit in August. I know: August in New York sucks (hot, smelly, hot & smelly), but she has time and I have time and what the hell, we’ve been through worse together.
Now I have to decide whether to go back for a class reunion this fall. Shees, and I have issues with Facebook; don’t know that I’d do much better face-to-face. . . .
AbsurdBeats 
As a small town resident and parent, I wanted to ask if you’ve told your parents. I don’t know them and don’t know your level of relationship with them, but if you’ve told someone who likes to “share”, it’s going to get back to them. And they would probably much rather be able to say “Yes I know” than be surprised.
Nothing squashes the rumour mill faster than foreknowledge and few things hurt a parent more than being the last to know something about their kids.
No.
I honestly don’t think it would matter—much—to them, but our relationship is. . . constrained. Fine within its limits, but also clearly limited.
And Ts.’s gossip lines run generationally, that is, I doubt if the info will make it to my folks. If it does, I’ll tell them the truth: That I would have told them if and when I started dating a woman.
Perhaps that is an unsatisfactory response, but, given the aforementioned constraints, it’s the best I can do.