2002-04-26 || 8:41 p.m.

|| joe's birthday. ||

last night = best night ever. walking along south van ness with brian, carrying a birthday tidings mini-keg of grolsch into the phone booth. kissing sweet joe happy birthday. conspiring with alene. m and r and s and j, all ties and coats and lanky arms. laughing too loud and ashing onto paper coasters. i got up to go to the bathroom and looked hard at myself in the mirror. i came to the frightful realization that i am getting older. my face is slightly different. i look tired. there is a settling of something at my eyelids and mouth. i try to superimpose me at twenty over this face and find the differences. same hair, really. same sweater coat earrings. but. there is something.

once we were good and liquored up it was decided we would go to popscene. to be funny. because it had been years and years for the most of us and we could overtake the dance floor, we could edge out the wee fancy lads and ladies. i drove b and joe and ross, all the while scanning the stations for something booty. joe yelling about how he so badly needed the venga boys (i changed it from beta boys, sorry. joe totally schooled me.) right then but settling for kylie minogue. switching to a delphonics song, gushing at the falsettos. we pulled up in front of the club (a spot just for us!) and. there was dancing. morrissey impressions. choreographed moves. a round eighteen-year-old steven paul-type in a cardigan dancing awful close. thirty minutes later and we were sitting, stalking nineteen year old roger daltrys wearing pumas, bellyaching about having to go to work in the morning.

the ride home with my lovely boys. crossing the bridge with marvin gaye low on the radio. feeling tired and old and sweaty and terribly glad these fellows are around.

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