The Good Friend

I know that the main reason behind my blog change was to eliminate the repetitive whininess of my posts, but I'm a little drunk, so that's kind of moot now.

No, I'm not even tipsy, which makes the story that much sadder.

I just had one of the worst nights out ever, and I've had some pretty bad ones before. So I need to share, vent, get it off my chest.

Last weekend, my friend Charlie (with whom I had gone on one date, after which we decided there was no spark and we would be just friends) called me, and we both wanted to go dancing soon. We agreed on Thursday night--tonight--because neither of us have to work tomorrow. So I met him down in Chelsea near his apartment, where, I should note, a friend of a friend was obviously trying to avoid me, and we went for drinks at G.

We ultimately planned on going to Splash, so we left after a couple drinks and some frank, open, share-only-with-close-friends conversation and establishing that he wanted to get lucky and I just wanted to have fun. We decided to dance some before getting more drinks, and he noticed a fairly cute guy dancing with his big girl fag hag, who, it should be noted, looked like she was not having a good time. He thought the guy would be good for me, but I wasn't impressed by his looks. Not ten minutes later, he sauntered up to the guy and started dancing (read: grinding) with him, leaving both me and the big girl fag hag on the sidelines to only look on in mild disgust as they began to make out and finger each other on the dance floor. I quickly turned away and ordered a $3 Long Island iced tea and drank as I danced by myself.

After a bit, Charlie came back to me, ordered a drink, and told me he kind of wanted to fuck the guy. I, being the good friend that I am, said he should. Before he took two sips, he was back dancing/making out/dry humping the guy. Oh, but wait! It gets worse.

In a short break, Charlie had the balls to go up to a cute guy standing alone near me and tell him something starting with the words "my friend," and a point at me. It was clear he suggested this cute guy talk to me, and he eventually did. We engaged in small talk briefly, and he told me straight up he was looking for someone to hook up with. It was pretty obvious he wasn't interested in me, though, especially considering he then ditched me without even saying, "Nice to meet you." Seconds later, he literally disappeared.

So then Charlie came back to me dancing alone at the bar with the go-go boy's crotch hovering a couple feet above my head, and said they were going to go downstairs for 10 minutes, but he'd be back. I, being the good friend, told him again to fuck the guy, and expected him to return with it out of his system and we would be able to have some fun for the rest of the night.

Half an hour later, they came back upstairs and Charlie asked me if it would be okay with me if they left and went back to his place. I, being the good friend, of course, said it would be fine, I'd finish my drink and leave. It was midnight after all, and I had gotten some action of my own before meeting up with Charlie, so I wasn't about to cock-block.

But still.

I downed the rest of my Long Island, weaved through the crowd on surprisingly steady legs (I'd had 3 of those and a rum and coke at G), and sulked my way back to the subway.

Now I'm home, not drunk, not horny, and on the verge of tears because I obviously have psychological issues to deal with. I really need to find a mental health professional to work through this with me. Charlie did text me to say thank you, but I still feel like crap.

Utterly worthless crap.

I mean, what does it say about me that my supposed "friends" would rather get some ass than spend a few hours dancing with me? That they would leave me alone in a bar where they have already forced someone to talk to me, where they know I'm shy and unable to approach people, and where they know I'm unhappy?

It's pathetic. It's embarassing. Now I know why all of my true gay friends are partnered already. They wouldn't ditch me for a mediocre looking power bottom.

Charlie said he would call me tomorrow, and I really should tell him how I feel. No, I will tell him how I feel. It was not cool, no matter that I said it was. I'm pissed at him, I'm pissed at myself for taking this so personally, I'm depressed that I can recognize I have a problem--ok, problems (neediness, low self-esteem, nonexistent confidence, social anxiety, to name a few)--but I don't know how to conquer them, and I'm generally disappointed in the way the whole night unfolded.

But here's the dilemma again (isn't there always one?): I like Charlie. I enjoy talking to him and spending time with him one-on-one. However, now I know that our personalities are so different that I doubt they're even slightly compatible. If we ever do anything more than talk, it'll always end the same way. Either I'll hold him back from doing what he wants or he'll force me to do something that I'm not comfortable doing. I can tell already. Friendship should be a compromise, but I still think that we're too far to the extremes to be beneficial to each other. I might have to just let him go.

Which sucks because I'm really lonely and he was at least there. Where are all the good friends like me?