Indeed! We went to gay bars alone, because that was what the gay bars were for — meeting people and stepping into the community.

That always felt "normal" to me.

I'll tell you what did not feel normal, though: Going to clubs alone.

I love to dance, and while I'm not terrifically skilled, my enthusiasm make ups for it sometimes. But back in my 1990s clubbing days, I started out afraid to go to clubs by myself. I didn't think it was the done thing, and I thought people would look at me badly.

I used to go instead with my friend Howie, who was an extroverted, neurotypical hootenanny. (That's a compliment. Everybody loved Howie, and Howie loved everybody right back.)

One Saturday, we were supposed to go to RezErection at the Limelight, but he called me up and begged off because he had to cover somebody's shift at the restaurant where he worked.

I told him I was sorry we couldn't go, but that I'd make productive use of my time by doing laundry or something.

It just didn't occur to me that I could go by myself, which he laughed at kindly.

"What do we do when we go together?" he asked.

"Well, let's see. We stand in line, we pay, we go in, and then we go up the steps and have a couple tokes in the corner. You go into the retro disco room, while I keep going up to the techno room where I take my shirt off, zone out, and dance.

"Exactly," Howie said. "And then we run into each other four or five times during the night, sometimes just waving at each other across the back room. Or we'll have a drink together at some point and then go back to doing our own thing."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, Mr. Anxious. You really think anybody knows or cares that we're there together?"

"Um, well ..."

"Exactly! Now go trance out tonight like you do and spare a thought for poor lil ole me serving drinks at a crowded bar."

So, I did. And nobody thought badly of me because I was there by myself, which probably nobody realized or cared about anyway.

And that ended my aversion to soloing at clubs.