Last night, I successfully had fun with new friends, new gay friends. There has been this void in my life for the past few months since Peter moved to California where I have not had homo friends to call on a whim to do things with me, but I am resolving that, making friends and it feels so good to make friends. I want the whole world to be my friend, especially the whole gay world. Sometimes I am shy and convinced I will spend all my nights lonely and bored until I die. And then there are days where I don't get off on pity, where I am in a deliriously happy mood and want to talk to and befriend everyone. Yesterday was definitely one of the later type of days.

I met up with Wyatt in the afternoon and went with him to Chelsea where we met up with Paul and Carl to go to galleries. Wine was downed first, then some mojito like drink, then beer, then rum and more rum. By eight I was trashed and in addition to galleries, after Paul and Carl left, we crashed some small reception at Eyebeam, pocketed cheese wheels there and then crashed a sonogram benefit at the Chelsea Art Museum, also serving nice little finger foods. I don't know if I can tell you happy I was because it was one of those states beyond the realm of the verbal, but still one of those states where your verbal skills are superb and so you talking so much trying to delineate this state, your feelings in language. My head was in the clouds, so happy to be out in this city, to be surrounded by the company of intelligent, cute homos. Surely, the coffee, multiple types of liquor, cigarettes, and Zantac had something to do with the state, but there was something else mainly responsible for propelling me forward and forward, some sense of love for everything that surrounded me, a love I wanted to glow and glow, and knock down any obstacle this world might have tried to throw in my path.

After the free booze train ended, we rode the subway down to Canal Room and saw Fischerspooner play. Guestlists rock! Fischerspooner, however, don't. It was fun to see them, although I can't take them seriously and know that Casey is just a pop star, that he would be nothing without his producers, or without the people who wrote the songs. For one hot half a minute, I had so much respect for them. Their last song before their encore, predictably, was "Emerge," and thirty seconds into the song with the crowd wild and dancing, everyone there in some small or large part having come to hear them play this song, their purchases now being rewarded - thirty seconds in though, Casey cut off the music, told the crowd that that song was dead, that they didn't want to hear it, and the band walked off the stage. I would have thought that was so awesome if they teased the band with their hit and then didn't play it. But of course, they came back on stage and played it to an even wilder crowd.

After the show, Wyatt and I went to the Metropolitan, where his friend Zack was and I talked to them for the rest of the night, drinking beers and hoping the Morrissey songs I put on the jukebox would come up soon. I smoked too many cigarettes, danced to a few songs, kissed some birthday boy, and stayed till three something. But the most exciting part of the night was perhaps seeing Wyatt breakdance. I had no idea he had these insane dancing skills, but seeing him do flips on the floor of the Metropolitan, I had to stop dancing and stare in awed respect. This, his awesome dancing skills, make me like Wyatt even more. I walked home, thinking how awesome each of those homos I hung out with throughout the night were and are, how I am going to hang out with all of them and new ones as much as I can, that life is only fun when you are living it, and I am going to.