"20D, Arctic Blonde." Laughter rippled out quickly through the audience to about a 5-person radius.

The guy up on stage was telling his story. Ron and I were typically irreverent, making fun of people's clothes and hair styles. Our whole group was getting a reputation for outrageousness. And the Living Sober Conference was the perfect opportunity to really let it rip. We were born entertainers, Branch, Michael, Ron and I. And we never missed an opportunity for attention.

Besides, that queen up there was telling over 5,000 people how she used to work the graveyard shift in the intensive care unit at the hospital, tweak all night on speed and do the patients' hair and make-up while they were in a coma. "Mother's condition hasn't changed at all, but she looks fabulous!"

Living Sober is three and a half days of gay and lesbian sober celebration. There are dances, meetings, raffles, workshops, and boy did I do workshops! Well, that first year I only did about twelve, on light little subjects like anger, depression and dating in sobriety. I had emotion exuding out of my pores.

On the third day of the conference I was up in the balcony watching the Al-Anon musical, cleansing my soul with tears. There was a family on stage, albeit a drag queen family, but a mother, father and children nonetheless. The mother was an alcoholic, the father a raging co, and the kids totally dysfunctional. It wasn't exactly like my family, but I couldn't stop crying anyway. There I was in the dark, watching the devastation of alcoholism on the children, when an arm went around my shoulders. It was an acquaintance who lived in my neighborhood who came over to soothe me. "Don't worry hon, everyone sits in the balcony alone crying over the Al-Anon musical at their first Living Sober conference." We both burst out laughing. I was healing.

Branch, Michael and Ron were already there sweating to the dance rhythms of Madonna when I got to Civic Center and waltzed onto the dance floor in Larkin Hall. I was late because I had given myself a new haircut and put several blonde streaks on the front, with one asymmetric stripe of blonde across the back. I had on my "Parisian sewer-slut" outfit: tight black jeans and army boots with a short black and orange horizontal striped T-shirt, my belly-button just peaking out. Ron screamed when he saw me.

"Hello dahling, you look fabulous!"

Ron had on his "Jacob Marley collection" of chains made into a harness, with leather pants and arm bands. Branch had his shirt off, nipple rings and tattoos everywhere, and was grinding away to "Get into the groove, boy you got prove your love to me-ee-e….yeah." Michael was as droll as ever, making a remark about the trash they just let in the door.

I joined the three of them, making sure to dance at the right angle to check out the hunk with the hairy chest and beard behind Ron who was cruising me. God was he hot, and he was smiling at me like the cat who ate the canary. When the song ended he came right over.

"Wanna blow this pop-stand?"

"Something like that," I said with my typical Scorpio subtlety.