tonight i went to the quintessential west hollywood aa meeting.
and by quintessential, i mean a room full of fabulous, sculpted, tanned hombres, and a singular, stringy haired, swollen hen.
i always love being in a room full of men, even if i am sporting the rehab uniform...track wear covered in stains and iffy smelling armpits...but i was the last dot on this particular room's radar (read: gadar).
for my canucks up north, west hollywood in the city of angels, in "canada's ass", is the wellesley and charles of toronto.
the speaker was young, with a fairly typical recovery trajectory. in and out of rehab and the program until he planted both feet in the mud and stuck it through. what i loved so much about this meeting was his articulated vulnerability, and yet he spoke in front of 200 people and shook his demons out; like a dusty, old rug, watching them flutter down from a four story walk-up. unfortunately, he articulated very quietly, so when the heater kicked on (yes, we have heaters in los angeles), it vacuumed out any potential for sound, and a spiky-haired, leather-clad chap, leaned towards me and commiserated,
"i can see you can't hear a thing he's saying either..."
i rolled my eyes and nodded in agreement.
"i bet you if he was at a bar he wouldn't have a problem speaking up..."
[oh, no, he didn't...!]
such is the fellowship of aa that rocks my world...
as we were leaving, b, r, c. and i went over to the restroom area. c., 19 , is a heroin addict and ends every sentence colloquially with, "that's right" in a nasally thick, OC accent (think surfer dude)...not to be out done, i threw in a "true dat" the other day and nearly left r, 18, c, 19, and n, 22, convulsing in teary-eyed laughter at my uberuncoolness...but, i digress...c. popped out of the restroom, a thin sheath of anxiety on her framed face, and marched right up into my personal space.
"what's up? are you ok?", i asked, rubbing her arm.
"are you still, like, do you still do the period thing?"
"sorry, what?", i fumbled.
"like, are you too old? do you, like, still get your period?...um, like, do you have a tampon?"
[keep it together, henriette, keep it together, henriette, keep it together, henriette...]
"yeah, but i have tampons back at the center", i breathed slowly.
"oh, that's ok. i just stuck a whole bunch of toilet paper up my vag..."
who says youth is wasted on the young?