There once was a time, a very fun and exciting time, when Grey Cloud and I would spend our weekends running from one fancy bar to another, tossing down the credit card and going nuts at The Redwood Room, Le Colonial, The Top of the Mark...we danced on tables and were amazed by the receipts we found in our pockets the next morning.
And while I am desperate to impress and befriend literally everyone on Earth, there are few people so hard to crack as Grey Cloud. He does not offer praise, he refuses to acknowledge success...I'd given up.
Last night, we ran from one fancy bar to another. And at Boulevard, I realized the dramatic change sobriety has afforded me. Grey Cloud, who would be horrifed I'm telling you this, said he was proud of me. I have burned his words into my brain, they mean so much.
Who doesn't love sunshine blown up their ass every day of the week and twice on Sunday. But the praise that seems to have the greatest impact is that from those who never give it out.
He drives me nuts, he's weird and moody, but in this rare moment of sincerity, charm and aesthetic praise from this straight man whom against my better insticts, I love very much...well, shit.
I was speechless...