2000-07-24 - 16:07:45

In a way it was cool that she read this because she knows me so well in person, it was neat to hear from her about the differences she percieved between myself through the diary, and myself as she encounters me in person. Like, she said it was weird reading my diary because she didn't see any trace of what she feels is my defining characteristic in real life - my compassion/generousity/kindness towards others - Like in person I always seem to be thinking of other people and doing things for them and she said it was strange that none of that showed up at all in my diary. She also said I sounded much more confident and sure of myself in my diary than in person . . . It strange to hear that because in person I didn't realize I wasn't projecting the confidence I feel, and I didn't realize that my diary seemed so much less compassionate as my live self . . .

That night I went over to Leslie's and had the most fantastic experience with the wind. Several of us were on Leslie's back porch talking and the wind begin to blow behind us and we could hear the leaves rustling in the trees -- Then all of a sudden the wind grew fierce and the windchimes on Leslie's porch went balistic and we all ran out into her back yard to spin in the wind and witness - It was a severely strong wind I have ever felt and it stirred up dust in the air until the sky was pink -- The wind would still and be quiet then blast again like waves and Chrissie seemed to be channeling it. Then I brought out Leslie's drum and began drumming with it. I told Chrissie that I thought something was brewing . . . and she said that it was the winds of change . . .

Friday I went out to a booty club with Larissa and Allen and Yun and Jim - I never thought I'd end up in a club like Liquid Assets, but Larissa and Allen used to work there so they got us in free because they knew the cook, an older black woman named Momma - Momma took good care of us and let us in and then we ended up getting free drinks at the bar -- It was a little odd being the only white people in the place, but I got used to it. We danced and it was cool because the atmosphere was much more free than at normal dance clubs -- it was alot more sexually charged and people were unafraid to be sensual in their dancing - I was glad I went. Before and after that we hung out at Tripps - where we can always count on strong drinks and a good time.

Saturday I went on the most horrid date in the world, so horrid I don't even want to grace my pages with a description - suffice it to say the guy was a cheapskate and a friend of pigboy's - After 4 hours of sitting in a bar with him without him even ever ordering me a drink, not even a coca-cola - I ditched him and got a ride to Billy's party with a friend.

Billy's party was the most wonderful turnaround to my evening - I have been waiting for his party for an entire year. At last year's party, in his then tiny apartment, Jim and I arrived at 2 am to find a hundred people dressed in black drinking - Carly had party favors to go along with her Michael Jackson mirror, and the party lasted all night and ended with a group of people going to Catholic Mass on Sunday morning. So I was pumped about it - This time Billy got a keg of PBR which made me laugh since Billy is so selective about drinking German beer himself. It felt so good to be among friends. Sarah and Rob came all the way from Macon for the party - and it was meaningful seeing them, too.

Sarah told me that her dad had gotten my letter. He is going to die sometime this week of brain cancer - he has been slowly dying over the last year - When I first spoke with him last year he had just gone in for tests and he was his normal big burly self - but he had mild aphasia, at times he would forget words. Like, I asked him how he was doing over the phone once and he said "Well, I'm going to the . . . to the . . . to the place where doctors work for more tests" He had meant to say the hospital, but couldn't find the word. Anyway, the last time I saw him he was in a wheelchair with his head now bald and covered in scars - And I was very moved, because this is the man that was my second father growing up - stern yet loving, and he had been my youth-choir director and bible instructor - So I wrote him a letter telling him how much he had meant to me and thanking him for the gifts he's given me and in the letter I wrote the words to a song that I will never forget that he taught me -- and Sarah said that when he read the letter, even though he hasn't been able to speak in several months and hasn't been able to make any musical sound or hum for 6 months, he started humming the tune to the song . . . and everyone cried. Sarah told me this in the middle of Billy's party and we had a moment together and I almost broke down myself, but Sarah quickly chastised me - "I can cry at home. I came here to party. Let's change the subject!" So we did and we had a good time

Carol was there too, and she had brought the pictures with her that she took of me in May. She had done a photoshoot with me for a photography project and spent 3 hours with me taking pictures while we hung out together . . . and they turned out so beautiful. I couldn't believe it was me. It was really touching to me - and so strange because she caught me in so many different moods and angles -- Normally in a photo I only see one me - the me that is smiling or the me that is looking at the camera and trying hard not to smile because all my other pictures have me smiling - but in this case she caught me off gaurd all over the place. It was strange seeing myself as other people must see me in expressions that I've never seen in a mirror before.

Then I hung out with Billy - and to my delight he took me aside and brought me out to the front of his house to sit on the sidewalk and smoke with him, alone. I admit, I have a crush on Billy, even though I know he's supposed to be gay or non-sexual or whatever. I told him my story about what the psychic told me in New Orleans, which I knew would greatly interest Billy since Billy is so German . . .

more to follow . . .