Has It Been That Long?

Seven years ago, today, I moved to Los Angeles and it almost passed without notice except it is also my friend Michael's birthday. In 2005, the drive from San Francisco started early that October morning and, with my little reliable Honda stuffed to the brim, I arrived at my new apartment in time for dinner – vowing to never ever make that trek again.  Save for once when I was a passenger in my friend’s car, I’ve kept that promise.

I’ve had an interesting ride over these past calendar days. Although I can count them on three fingers, I’ve dated (yes, you read that correctly), and some friendships have faded away while some have gotten even stronger. There has been drama and then really high drama, but overall, it’s been a great ride. Finding my niche in this land of make believe hasn’t been easy, but as I said to my boss during the recent NBC Emmy Award Party, “I live for this shit.” 

I suppose the good thing about my anniversary passing so quietly is that there really is no need to celebrate. I’ve been in California for twenty years -mind boggling sometimes when I sit and let myself think about that number. There are relatives on the east coast who only see me as a shadow of a stranger who flies in once a year. People have asked me over the years if I feel as if I’ve missed anything. The answer is simply no. I’ve not missed a second of my life because this is my life, and It took many years for me to realize this, but my life is here. 

I’ll always feel a connection to the east coast. It’s where I grew up and spent my childhood. Where my parents are now the only original inhabitants left on Carney Street, where my high school friends still live, and together we can all be instantly 17 years old again, and most importantly, it’s where my grandmother is in her final resting place - a spot that gives me enormous comfort at each and every visit.

Seven years from now, will I still be in Los Angeles?  No one can predict that, least of all me – but, in a way, we’re all still growing up in the places we find ourselves.  Whatever the time frame, it’s just truly wonderful to find yourself in a place you can call home.

Tis the Season To Fall Into A New Me

This month is perhaps one of the busiest that I’ve ever had on my calendar in my life. Starting with another festive gay days at Disneyland that just came to a close this weekend, to a business trip to New York City and ending with an Atlantis Halloween Cruise to Mexico, the only thing that saddens me is that I have no time to get to my desert paradise. 

Once again, Disneyland accomplished what I always expect it to – take me away from the world and transport me to a place where there’s no room for any of the real world’s outside negative energy - unless you count some of the gay boy’s attitudes, but even that was not the norm over the course of the three days.  My friend Steve joined me for the second time this year and it was non-stop from our arrival on Friday to this morning. This time, the only thing that made me nervous was the debut of “the speedo.” No, not the name of some strange new attraction in California Adventure, but the small bathing suit that I wore to the big Sunday afternoon pool party, Plunge! Keep in mind, that never in all my years have I worn such a suit – I’ve been relegated to board shorts or long trunks and only because of my visits with the devil in his playground this year have I gotten the confidence to first, purchase not one but three of these pieces of water attire, but second to wear one  in front of gay boys whose main job is to dance on a box at parties.

What no one sees in my in-your-face flirtation is the still fat- boy inside who couldn’t even make it to the end of the fence for the 500 yard dash in middle school. And once I shove him underwater, despite his struggles to get back to the surface, I keep him submerged as best I can, and this past weekend, I think I did a pretty good job. He broke for air a few times during the Gay Disney pool party but during the beach ball fight that was raging on the surface, he got hit on the head and returned to the bottom where he belonged.

It’s been a long road to this point – since January, I have woken up at the crack of dawn and weathered freezing temperatures in the winter to sweat myself to a more healthy self. And for the first time this weekend, I thought of my former roommate and wondered what he would have thought of this time in my journey. We would have had a good laugh, I’m sure.

Bookmarking the end of October is perhaps the biggest test to that fat little boy imaginable. 3000 gay men on a Halloween cruise to Mexico. Although it was not the reason I began these early morning cross fit hellish classes, it certainly was one of the inspirations that kept me going. What I love about them is that they’ve given me confidence that I’ve been lacking for years and to anyone who wants to feel better and get healthy; this is the way to do it. There are no pills to take, no silly ab machines to give you a slimmer waist while you do the dishes, its hard work, determination and keeping a personal goal in sight that will produce the results.

I still have a ways to go to quiet the fat, unpopular boy all the time, but this October is putting me on the right path. It might be hard to get around that fence, but I’m doing it just the same.

Welcome Home - Again

“I envy you and your new chapter,” a friend of mine said to me when I told him I was moving again. And then I thought, seriously Jimmy? (That’s what I call myself, but don’t try and call me that without special permission) Another move? Another new chapter in your life? Since I was 24, I have become an expert at moving – from Boston to San Francisco, back to Boston, returning to San Francisco to at last, Los Angeles. In the city of Angels alone, this marks my third address. It will be, with every strong intention, my last one in this Hollywood hangout.

It’s a lot of work this moving – packing, throwing things away that I no longer need and discovering things I’ve forgotten (like my Disney Villain Dolls). I’ve spent the last few weeks immersed in boxes, bubble wrap and change of address forms. It was very advantageous that NBC just moved us to a new building. I not so stealthily stole the moving boxes from my office and when the day arrived, my logistics planning paid off tenfold.  Every installation happened at the same time and for once, maybe because the moving gods were kind to me, they gave me a hot Time Warner Internet Installer. I was done by noon and had plenty of time to keep my DMV appointment to get a new license. Twenty-five dollars is a small price to pay for a “lost” license to rid myself of looking at a bad karma address for the next four years.  

No matter how uncomfortable or inconvenient, I had to once again write yet another chapter of my very colorful life.  Through it all, as always with me, I did what needed to be done and took my fate into my own hands. No one was going to tell me where and when to vacate my current residence. However, I realized that this move will be my last in Los Angeles until I can afford to buy my dream home in the desert. With a perfect apartment in a great neighborhood and without a worry of someone else’s nasty boyfriend taking up residence in the space I’ve rented, I finally feel I can relax. (Because when I get a boyfriend, you can be sure he's nasty in all the right ways.) 

I’ve gotten back on my feet and can breathe a sigh of relief. So while moving is stressful and the circumstances that became the catalyst to this latest address could not have been predicted, this move has been the best one yet. But, no matter what life throws at my doorstep, I know that I will always be in charge of choosing where and when to put down the welcome mat.

Les Philosophes

This is my fourth time in Paris and with every visit; I love this city more. The last few days have been filled with great pastry, delicious meals, coffee that keeps me up until all hours and all too rare time spent with one of my best friends.

Today, after a lazy morning start, I made my way to the Bateaux Mouches for a ride down the River Seine. I’ve walked along its banks numerous times, but this was the first opportunity I had to sit back and take a water side view. Of course, it’s school vacation and the second I saw the four busloads of children piling onto the dock, I almost waited another hour so I could avoid them.  But the company contained the little French boys and girls to the front and I happily took a seat in the back.  I marveled at the sheer beauty of the buildings and how nothing in Los Angeles compares to this architecture. The smoothness of the ride, the visual majesty on either side of the river’s banks and the fact that I have been lucky enough to experience this city for the fourth time, humbled me today. And then, as we passed under the bridge where all the couples add their locks to symbolize how they fell in love – I wondered who comes to cut them off when they break up. For there’s nothing like adding my own bit of humor and bitterness to any great philosophical musings I may have.

With the sky a bit overcast, I wondered around the streets, hopped on the Metro and ended up in the Victor Hugo café not far from where I’m staying. I even went in to a hat store, but alas, I just cannot carry off a chapeau no matter how hard I try. So, despite the soft sell from the mistress of the shop, I declined the accessory and came back to the apartment for an impromptu nap.

This night, despite the name of the restaurant, there were no heavy topics of conversation between us, and the only real debate was how much I could resist ordering a second crème brulee. (I've lost the one ab that I had when I arrived in this city, so why not have more and deal with that later?) And as the dark finally chased the light away at 10:30 pm, Josh and I made our way back home. And then I thought, I hope everyone has a best friend like this. One that, with or without living abroad, can make a magical city even more full of pixie dust. 

Parisian Dinner Therapy

If I were to choose one city where I could get lost forever, it would Paris. Maybe that's why one of my favorite movies is Midnight in Paris. And, yesterday, I wandered from The Bastille, past Notre Dame, along the River Seine and back again. I stopped into a cafe, had lunch and watched the people walk by and for the first time, realized what it must be like for my friend, Josh to be living here. It would be daunting to be so far away from the home you know, even though that new home is this fantastic city of lights.

And that's just what we talked about during our dinner at Le Petit Marche. The wine, like any bottle I have had so far, and yes, that was correct- bottle - was fruity, yet not sweet and complex carbs be damned, I ate every last bite of those mashed potatoes. How do they get them so creamy? I could have cared less - I devoured them. And over the perfectly baked creme brulee, our dinner conversation continued into areas that would make my professional friend proud. Maybe it's the atmosphere here - the dark chasing the light from the sky at 10 pm, the sound of laughter from the neighborhood restaurants,or the easy, lazy way they have of enjoying their meals-but all of it combined has proven the perfect relaxation to the recent craziness that has been going on with me.

While the stories are different then when I traveled with my mom here, it's a great feeling knowing that she has experienced all of this with me and that makes me really happy. And being happy is what it's all about for me - enjoying life - taking no one for granted and realizing that every path and decision you make in life brings you to where you are today. If I had never moved back to Boston - this trip and more importantly - this friendship, would not exist and I can't imagine what my life would like without that.

So, get lost in the city that you love the most and know that where ever you are in life is where you are supposed to be. Where you go from there is anyone's guess, but make the journey with a friend who makes the trip worthwhile.

Viva Las Vegas

The first time I stepped foot in Las Vegas, I despised everything about it. My friends and I had gone to see Celine Dion during her first go round at Caesar’s Palace and the escape from the San Francisco weather was more than welcome. I did not expect to be so taken aback by the sheer audacity of Sin City. The sweat pants worn by overweight women, the breasts overflowing over the breakfast buffet and most of all, how the customer service improved when you slipped some greenbacks into the host’s palm. 

This is everything that is wrong with this country, I thought. It's just disgusting. And, besides a fabulous concert by the Diva herself, I was ready to come home. Flash forward to when I turned 40 – the first time my hair was a platinum shade that all my Bay Area friends politely endured. My once and forever, almost boyfriend and I were celebrating a milestone year and when he suggested Vegas, I was extremely hesitant to join. But that weekend, I looked at the desert oasis in a whole different light. I embraced what Las Vegas represented and all that she represented. She makes no excuses for what she is – and lays her cards on the table so that you either play the game or fold. And that is an attribute that I admire – no matter if it’s in a person, place or thing. 

That weekend was magical and it’s one I will remember for the rest of my life. My wonderful, dear friend Doug was with us and it’s a memory I will treasure for the rest of my life. We drank, we ate and we drank again. My once and forever climbed into bed with the fat girl who had eaten the midget (a whole different blog) and sobering up, I escorted him, past the crack whore in the Luxor elevator, back through the blinding light to our hotel. Yes, it was dawn and there was activity all over the strip and I loved every single second.

This weekend, I leave for Las Vegas for a whole different experience – the annual meeting of the NBC affiliates. It will be one entire week of breakout sessions and being on stage to smile, sparkle and charm each and every promotion director I have spoken to over the course of these four years with the network. My hair is once again a lighter shade and although I won’t be able to indulge in the debauchery from seven years ago (surprise, you’ve figured out my age), I know that Las Vegas, in all her bright light splendor, has reinforced what I already know - You can do nothing but respect and love anyone who shows you what they are and makes no excuses for it.

Happy Pride

I remember watching my very first gay parade back in Boston in 1984. I was working at Mrs. Field’s Cookies on Charles Street and had no idea that such an event existed. Suddenly, there they were -hundreds of men and women marching past the store and exploding en masse through its doors buying every sweet concoction on the shelves. I was often times the only one in the tiny cookie palace on the weekends and this day was no exception.  Taken completely off guard, I feverishly tried to make as many sugary sweets as was possible while being strangely excited by all these boys who were suddenly in front of me. Yes, because back then, believe it or not, I was firmly in the closet.

And among the crowd was the handsome man who always came into the store for a double chocolate chip brownie. I never got his name, but I can still remember his face and how he had the most delicious looking lips I have ever seen. I always gave him a free milk or soda and never charged the full weighted price of the brownie.  I didn’t realize then why I was so attracted, or rather, I should say I didn’t want to give voice to what I knew was the truth.

The parade passed me by that year as I looked out from behind the counter, and I looked forward to when I would see my favorite customer again. As the years went by, I had many opportunities to join in other celebrations – romantic and parades alike. And as I’ve gotten older, my participation has faded and I escape to quieter destinations. There’s something soothing about being in Provincetown or Palm Springs when it seems all the gay world has congregated in the major cities. It doesn’t mean that I’m not proud – as some may question.  I like to think that it is just a reflection of the person I have become.

What kind of person is that you ask? Okay, maybe you aren’t asking that, but for the sake of argument, let’s pretend you are.  Thirty years after my first pride experience, I’m still a work in progress, one who took the gay scene for a great spin when I came tumbling out of the closet and  is still as proud to be whom I am today as I was back then. 

The one thing that hasn’t changed, though is my desire to meet that someone who makes me feel the way I did when the boy with the luscious lips came into the store. It is that thrill of seeing someone in person, finding that one spark – that uncertain something that makes your pulse beat faster and causes you to feel flustered that no matter what anyone tells me cannot be duplicated through a computer screen. It’s an emotion I’ve felt a few times since, but, not one that’s been of any recent memory. Every time I come to the desert or board a plane or go someplace new, I wonder if this will be the moment it happens. Who will take the seat next to me on this cross country flight? Who will be eating next to me at the bar of my favorite restaurant? What could that moment bring? And when it doesn’t happen, I still never lose the sense of hopefulness that it could happen the next time. For as bitter as I may seem or how I portray myself, there is still that young boy who is watching his very first gay pride parade, staring at the object of his affection and reveling in the celebration that will follow.