uh, not my air. BC's air.
this is what i love about parties - the sense that you're riding a razor thin line between social disaster and the best orgy in town. it's hard to maintain that delicate balance. thanks to my roomie's near-obssessive (love you!) drive to throw an annual oscar bash that rivals most gay parties i've been to, sunday night veered from the ecstatic (the best gay jello mold dedicated to superman i've ever seen) and the bizarre ('baby in the corner', dedicated to jerry orbach, mustered out of matzoh crackers.)
but, lo, there in the dark corner under the tea lights, lurve blossomed. my friend BC took one look at T-- (tall, gregarious, gorgeous T--) and lost his heart. i could see the vibes rippling off him like microwaves. and, to my surprise (not to mention the dismay of roomie) the vibes were received loud and clear. yes, BC has a voice that's pitched somewhere higher than jennifer tilly's but that's ok. love grows in all sorts of fallow ground.
when i said i hoped they went out, A-- mildly freaked out, but that's ok, too. you see, in our friendship circle we function very differently. A-- is the traffic cop, bringing red flags and danger signs to everyone's attention; i am the bystander, watching the accident from the curb thinking that the drivers were both adults and should have known better themselves. to A-- BC is a big red flag; to me, he's a mild diversion.
we're all adults, right?
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