Life After the Stage

Mom's Birthday Dinner

2012-01-23T19:52:00.000-08:00

So - Here it is January 2012 and I am still prattling on about my trip to New York and Vermont. I just wanted to finish up my scrapbook today and let you know that Mom's Birthday dinner was a huge success. There was a little bit of a panic as Orlando had to deal with a flat tire on our rental, in what felt like a very humid sticky Indian Summer. Aerial Restaurant was a hit with the family. Everyone was all smiles! She did indeed have a very Happy Birthday.

Remember when she asked me to think of all the things she did well? I did. In my Birthday toast I mentioned them. Family members all nodded in agreement with me. All agreed she is indeed an accomplished cook -noted for her fantastic raspberry pies and lasagnas. Everyone also agreed she is a talented actress with excellent comic timing. (She retired from the amateur stage in her 60s). Most of all, she is a good mother. As her sons, we all felt loved and cherished and important growing up. I could have gone on and on about her being a brilliant Art teacher, a great story teller and a wonderful hostess but the Mother part seemed to be the natural conclusion.

My father and my eldest brother had some terrible issues allowing me to grow up would not let Orlando and I pay for this dinner. Orlando and I had budgeted for this trip. Albeit it was pricy-it was possible that the whole thing would be paid off with a couple of months. I was unsuccessful in fighting off my brother's fistful of cash he shoved at me , and poor Orlando was cornered by Dad. My father -not known for histrionics of ANY sort-gave an impassioned teary plea to accept a check- worthy of Sarah Bernhardt that left Orlando quaking in his shoes. I was angry for about 10 minutes but I thought about what Dan-my brother had said. " You did a good thing here tonight." He wanted to be a part of it. Dad - still wants to be my Dad. My brother still wants to be my big brother Okay Family - you can be still be my family. I decided to accept my brother's judgement of the evening.

Evening Visit to Burlington Vermont Sept 2011

2012-01-08T13:26:00.000-08:00

The night before Mom's big soiree dinner, I was fretting to Orlando about us not having a place to put our heads to rest before the early flight back on Sunday Morning. The flight back to the West Coast was leaving at 5:45AM . Leaving from the Inn didn't seem feasible since it was an hour and a half from the airport. I had twiddled my thumbs and not scheduled a motel in Burlington -the city of our departure-in a timely manner. So now we were looking at dozing in the Airport until it was time to go. I hate REDEYEs and I hate having to give up my zzzzzs. Orlando casually suggested we could call Syndi and Bones. Syndi was an actress friend from College who had -in my 20+ year abscence, -become the Queen of local community theater scene. Her husband Bones is a local musician. It would've made sense to call her because she and Bones had a relatively new beautiful house and plenty of room. I just didn't want to be an imposition-yet again. Through the years Syndi & Bones have always been there for me as I traveled across the country to visit friends and family. They always had the house for me to crash in.

I didn't think I would have time to visit any of my Burlington friends due to all the family obligations I had arranged-so I didn't. I was too embarrassed to call Syndi now that I was in Vermont, but my fretting was all for naught. I called Syndi and she secretly helped arrange a surprise visit with Bob Bolyard -our other mutual cronie. Orlando and I were going to surprise Bob at his weekly stint as Karaoke master at the St John's Club. Syndi had readily and enthusiastically agreed to help us out hosting us for the overnight the next Saturday. We had fun watching Bob (aka Mr. Burlington) host his show. We even met some cute homosexual youth! Syndi joined us later from her annual Theater Company meeting awards dinner. She brought her entourage with her and I was delighted to see quite a few old friends in the group. An amusing exchange took place between my college friend Kelly Kendall and myself. She had no recollection of being my roommate for 3 months and I had no recollection of attending her wedding! It was fantastic to see Bob in his element and looking so happy. I thought for just a moment, how much I missed Bob and Syndi. I envisioned hanging out with Kelly again, and Mike and everyone else. I thought how nice it would be to move back to Burlington. My life in the Bay Area had hit that snag and well ...did I want to go home again? Could I ever convince Orlando? Given Orlando's feelings of cold weather, it was doubtful.

Our Stay in Brookfield Vermont Sept 2011

2012-01-04T22:27:00.000-08:00

As I said, We needed some respite from Mom's smoking. She actually understood that we needed some more vacation time. I booked us a couple of nights at the Green Trails Inn in Brookfield Vermont. Brookfield is basically the Inn and a Church and a very good restaurant. There used to be TWO very good restaurants - now there is one: Ariels Restaurant. Never been? GO ! www.arielsrestaurant.com.
The Food was amazing there. The town's biggest claim to fame is The floating bridge-which cars can no longer go over but people may. The Green Trails was also low frills homey and lovely as well. Internet is sketchy and there is no TV but InnKeeper Jane knows her way around the kitchen as evidenced by our delicious breakfasts. I even didn't mind that I was dining with Republican Texans in the morning -that's how yummy the coffee cake was! Does it justify the hefty price? Maybe. I think the exciting part of the trip was learning that Jane was good friends with one of the ladies that my Dad dated after he divorced my Mom. It was clear that she had an opinion about my old man, but she didn't hold it against me. Jane liked the Gays. Would I go back? I would. Would Orlando? No...He needs a TV at those prices. I'm okay with a good book and my Ipod.

I've included a set of pictures of us picking apples at a nearby Orchard -Cool huh?


Jane the Innkeeper. Heluva Baker!

The Rest of Vermont cont...

2012-01-04T21:44:00.000-08:00

Cousin Sara Tucker has always been a bit of an inspiration to me. She -like myself -is a recovering thespian. However she is a now successful writer who has editors and everything. These days she is also a caretaker to her very spunky mother- and another favorite Aunt of mine-Idora. (Sister to Ruth and Charles ) Sara has inspired her Mother to take up writing too. Idora has written several smaller books about various periods of her life. Sara very generously invited us up to their house in Randolph for a delicious Fish Chowder lunch. A lovely one-on-one moment of catching up washing dishes together and then we all went down to a gallery where her husband Patrick was keeping shop and we had apple pie. The whole afternoon left me with the feeling of the importance of family and how fortunate I was.

Mom actually held up that day. Idora and Ruth are fans of hers, so...that helped. : )

The Rest of Vermont

2012-01-04T20:33:00.000-08:00

So the remainder of our trip to Vermont held quite a few highlights. I do not take notes but I do take photographs. I thought I would share with you the rest of our vacation in a photo style. If there was something controversial or interesting to tell you believe me - I would've written it down.
Other than Orlando's rental getting a flat and a fellow guest at the Green Trails Inn locking us out in the rain, the rest of our visit with my family and friends was really quite lovely. Well here. Why don't you take a look?

My accomplished Aunt Ruth has just published a book. She had invited us to her home for lunch. She is one of the extraordinary cooks in the family and served us a delicious beef stew. In all the decades she has lived in one of the more rural parts of Randolph Center Vermont, this marks my first visit to her home. She and my father now live together.


Dad hard at work waiting for dinner

Back at Home with Mom September 2011

2011-12-27T21:44:00.001-08:00

Dear readers: I apologize for the long absence here is the continuation of our vacation blog

I once read a scathing story about how poorly Martha Stewart treated her mother during the filming of one of her holiday specials. Apparently she was serving up some sort of stew to her TV guests in a hollowed out squash bowls and her 80 plus mother wasn’t properly dishing it into the squashes. She asked the cameras to stop and she gave her mother what for right there in front of the cast and crew. She hurled a few invectives and pointed out her mother’s incompetence repeatedly and made her do it again until she got it right. When she was relatively satisfied with the old ladies performance she asked the cameras to roll to catch it and her mother somewhat shaken carried on trying not to look too ruffled. Apparently Martha’s Mom was used to being spoken to like this. When I read that I was horrified-really I was. Now in retrospect, I am not entirely sure the tale had a shred of truth to it. After all- Martha got rich and successful by being fairly uncompromising and expecting a lot out of others. That sort of thing can come back and bite you in the ass. ( Or so I have heard) I always figured when I became rich and famous I would go the “Liberace route” and treat MY Mom very well giving her the best and spoiling her something fierce. She always did well by me so it seemed it only natural to return the favor. Unfortunately I didn’t have Liberace’s or Martha’s Money, I only had my common sense which I felt gave me a very good idea as to what’s best for my mother. Unfortunately, she always had trouble coming around to my way of thinking.

After our pizza dinner we bid Momma good night and Orlando and I settled into the 30 year old twin mattresses, in my mother's guest room. My nasal passages were irritated. My mother is a smoker. She is hardcore about it too. Growing up I was immune to it, but after a year of living away from home I found coming home to be unpleasant on the ole nostrils. After being away for 4 or 5 years and returning I began to notice just how MUCH my mother smoked and how BADLY she required her cigarettes. When she lit up in her tiny kitchen it drove me three rooms away, because there was no ventilation. My last summertime visit to my home was cloyingly humid and I arrived only to give her a brief hug and start begging my brother to help me remove the storm windows and pull the ancient rusted screens down. "THIS is what you should do Mother if you are going to CONTINUE to smoke-always always have the windows open so the SMOKE HAS SOMEWHERE TO GO." She'd fidget and look somewhere between embarrassed and angry-but mostly angry. Her favorite sitting spots became apparent as the little yellowy brown nicotine stains formed above on the ceiling. The irony was that at all the while I was admonishing her during my visits to Vermont, I'd fly back to San Francisco and attend a party, have a few cocktails and inevitably bum a cigarette from a friend. I am 47 now and have learned the damage that even one cigarette can do to me. My sedentary lifestyle and high blood pressure and family history of heart disease are the perfect ingredients to add to a cigarette to give me a heart attack. No kidding folks. It also helps that Orlando is a reformed smoker. He is just like any other addict and says there are many days when he craves a smoke but neither of us wants to "kiss an ashtray." The Cigarette is an enormous sense of comfort to my Mother and a major discomfort to the rest of her family. It wasn't always that way. As little Cooley boys, perfume and cigarettes made us think of Mommy. My brother Peter had a real problem forever trying to break the cycle of dating women who smoked. Thank God he finally did. We all did. Particularly me lol. I never could tolerate kissing a smoker unless I was blind drunk.

Mom has since downsized and sold the home I grew up in and moved to an apartment which –oddly enough-is about as big as the 200 year old Farmhouse she raised me in. Tomorrow was my Mother's true 80th Birthday even though we were celebrating it with family on Saturday. Orlando and I had arranged for dinner out at a restaurant in Montpelier with just her and my father. It was always iffy when Dad spent time with my Mother. They had been divorced since I was 19 years old. He lived a half an hour away from her in the town of Randolph. Since the divorce, Mother had a pattern of "wearing down" after spending more than say 2 hours with my Dad. This could happen sooner if my father chose to engage in a teasing session, which was never handled with good humor.If I caught it in time I'd squash it before it went too far, but sometimes he didn't just tease her. He would do simple thoughtless things -like arrive to her home and expect the family pattern to resume of her waiting on him. He might sit in her seat where she always sits, and then she wouldn't say anything about it and stifle her irritation only to have it erupt at a bizarre moment during a quiet family conversation. Or she would go outside and smoke. I was always at the ready like a fireman with my water hose to put out the potential flame. Lando sensed my tension and frequently rubbed my shoulders and hands through out our stay but he also thought I was over reacting a tad. Remember he comes from a Puerto Rican Family. They raise their voices. My family just raises their eyebrows…in disapproval at people who raise their voices.

We arrived the next night in at the restaurant in a timely manner. I sniffed my favorite cashmere sweater and wrinkled my nose at the scent of tobacco. I looked over at Lando and he gave a knowing sympathetic look back which honestly I didn't expect. Earlier that afternoon I had just gotten a lecture about how maybe I had expected too much out of my 80 year old mother. After all, (he pointed out) didn't I work in a place where many were under 80, but were in such bad shape they had to live in a skilled nursing facility? Wasn't it remarkable that my mother was so mobile and doing so much with her life? I thought about it and yes. Perhaps I was taking her for granted. He had witnessed me suggesting how she organize her freezer, organize her time, explore her creative side, etc etc etc. I had TONS of suggestions for my Mother for how she could make her life better but I didn't seem to have anything to say how well she had DONE. Being the sensitive lady she was she frequently had more cigarettes on the porch the more suggestions I made.

Dad said that he and Mom should split their dinner once he saw the prices on the menu. Orlando and I reminded him he wasn't paying for dinner and he frowned disapprovingly and continued to badger my mother with his idea of splitting the filet mignon. There was logic to it considering they both ate like birds but hey -it was her 80th birthday for cryin out loud. I could see he was getting the best of her hearing her vaguely controlled yet frustrated protests that she wanted her own dinner. I calmly reminded her it was her night and Dad didn't have any say in the evening. She just sat there and looked like she wanted a cigarette. "How about a cocktail?", I suggested. Our sweet 12 year old waitress wasn't as fast or as savvy as I would've liked, but this was Vermont and she looked apple cheeked and wholesome and endearing instead. The margarita arrived which helped and the talk came to appetizers, and O & I suggested the fried calamari. I was thinking she would love it because she was a huge fan of deep fried clam strips and well hey -"la meme chose" -in my opinion. I really didn't get far because she knew calimari was squid and recoiled at the thought. I made the mistake of persisting. I even told the waitress that we would like a platter. My mother snapped at the poor child, " Aren't you going to ask ME what I WANT??" before she she even had a chance to. "Well of course Mam" the flustered little girl said. There was confusion. Mom thought we were EACH getting a plate of calimari. Most folks over 80 can't handle an appetizer -let alone finish an entire entree. I mentioned as much in a very domineering tone. That's another thing my family is good at. Tones. As the waitress walked away mother burst out that SHE REALLY DIDN'T WANT THE CALIMARI, SHE WANTED THE CHEESE NACHOS INSTEAD!! I stared at her as a parent would a willful out-of-control child. Orlando pressed his hand against mine and said in a low insistent tone that meant business "honey-go get the waitress and change our order NOW." I knew to the very CORE of my soul that my mother would LOVE the calimari and that she was behaving badly due to too much Charlie (my Dad) exposure but arguing the point right now was clearly going to be to my detriment. I rushed after the child waitress and smiled as sweetly as I could but she still looked frightened. I spoke gently. "sweetheart, would you be so kind as to change that appetizer order to the nachos please?" She bobbed her head vigorously and dashed off. For a second I thought that maybe I had scared her. Before I returned to my seat I stopped the bartender and pointed out our table. I told him to never let the lady's Margarita's run dry. He said he'd do his best. I returned to the table and my mother carefully avoided my gaze but I brought about this false bright tone to try to brush off the calimari/nacho outburst. Orlando was good at being his jovial self as per usual and my Dad really loves chatting with him. When her second cocktail came out, I brought my phone up to take a picture of her enjoying it but my camera wasn't focusing properly and I was chiding my phone for improperly working-but Mother mistook that as criticism directed at her. She fidgeted & turned to my father and said, "see? he's doing it again!" and Orlando piped up with " His Phone Lois !!! He's yelling at his phone -not you!" That seemed to calm her.

The rest of the meal went without incident. The waitress came back and took some mediocre pictures of all of us with Dad's very expensive Nikon. We tipped her well. Birthday wishes were granted. Dad drove home and Orlando and I watched a little TV on her little TV while she headed up to bed. Before she went upstairs she stuck her head into the TV from and said, " You might want to start thinking of all the good things I've done in my life." I raised my eyebrows at her and said in an even tone. " I might?" "Yes" she said, "You might. ...Good night." I smiled. " Okay….I will...Night Mom"

I was prepared that I would want some "vacation time" in Vermont as well. I had a visit with my Aunties scheduled and then I had booked a couple nights at a bed and breakfast where no smoking was allowed.

You should know that my mother sent me an email a few days later when I returned to Oakland. She said, " My friends said I should've tried the Calimari."

The Bingo Bitch and coming Home

2011-10-26T23:00:00.000-07:00

Our Happy Hour visit concluded with the James and Tim, and we said our goodbyes and walked towards the bars in Greenwich Village. At the Eagle we had heard that Bingo at The historic Stonewall Inn was THE thing to do on a Monday night for Gay New Yorkers. I was excited simply because I was going to be at Stonewall and Orlando was kinda jazzed about playing Bingo. A drag queen was the hostess for the game and unbeknownst to me she had been doing it for a very long time. We arrived at the Bar when we thought everything was supposed to begin. I saw a very large, fatigued , platinum blonde drag queen who looked like she had had a very long night the evening before. She was setting things up for the Bingo game. We presumed she was the emcee. It was puzzling to us that the event was scheduled at 9PM and she was just finishing setting up 9:10 and there were only a few people drinking at the bar. Orlando, looking very much like an excited 6 year old- went up to her to clarify the starting time. She reared back a bit with this look of indignation and said, " Speak English, I can't understand what you're saying." Orlando was astonished because he was quite sure he hadn't slipped into Spanish, so he repeated the question about when the game started. She tried to focus on what he was saying, and her face screwed itself into the expression of an angry grotesque looking toad. "Where are you from? " she asked with sarcastic incredulity. He paused a bit, unsure whether he wanted to continue receiving this attitude and then told her. She snorted in disgust when she heard the answer, but gave him the information about when the game usually got going in a weary why-do-I-Have-to-deal-with-this-tone. She then lumbered to the other side of the room to continue setting up. Orlando came back to me brows furrowed. "We're not playing fuckin Bingo with that Bitch! I'm not supporting her game." "Oh?" I said with a false bright tone. When he was offended, it was best to just listen and go with the flow. She royally ticked him off with the "Speak English" comment and I have to admit, when she said "Where are you from?" it came off like " Bitch-do you know who I am? I patted Orlando and told him with all the drinking we had just done we might as well have dinner anyway. It looked to me that the Drag Queen had had a very hard night the previous night. Her makeup had a sweat-shiny see-through quality to it making me think that every movement she made required an inordinate amount of effort. When we returned to the Bay Area we later learned that this queen -whose name is Kenny Dash, is a Bitch. I mean to say thats her schtick- BEING a mean bitch to the Bingo participants. Had Orlando known that going in to the bar, he may have been entertained by their little dialogue but I doubt it. I also was told that Kenny can be a fairly good natured conversationalist given the right conditions, but it was rare.

So we ate. We saw many restaurants but it was this elderly little Italian guy that came out and saw us looking at the menu that made us go in. He claimed to be the owner. The food was pretty good. Now only if they could get it in the right order. They brought out my entree when they brought out Orlando's salad course. The waiter was beside himself with apology. We finished our meal. It was our last night in New York. We popped into a few other bars, but the evil jet lag was still there and a good heavy Italian meal-no matter what order it was served-was like taking a giant sleeping pill. We went back to the hotel and went to sleep.

As we drove out of the city the next day, I said goodbye to every building I could. I promised the city we would be back soon. Before I knew it -we were in Vermont and I was at my Mother's front door. Sniff …Sniff Sniff. Not too bad. I was smelling for cigarette smoke. My mother is a chronic smoker and I expected the house to reek like an ashtray. She lives in a two bedroom two bath apartment that has two floors. She moved here more than a few years ago when she sold the house I grew up in. It was good to see my Mama but that cigarette smoke was going to be a serious issue for Orlando and I. After giving her a good hug, I glanced over at her special sitting chair at the kitchen table. This is the place where she sits and schedules and plans and reads and annotates and smokes a cigarette while she does it all. I looked up at the ceiling and there was no yellowy brown spot there…..yet. ( To be Continued)

Jimmy and Timmy or James and Tim

2011-10-24T19:59:00.000-07:00

After our little carriage ride through the park, I had expressed a very touristy interest in traveling to the top of the Empire State Building. I confirmed with James (aka Jimmy to me) on the phone about cocktails at the Gym Bar, at approximately 6:30 in Chelsea. He suggested we skip the Empire State Building and head over to the top 40 Rockefeller Plaza, since we were right there anyway. The view promised to be just as breathtaking and not nearly as crowded. I informed Orlando of Jimmy’s suggestion and Orlando took the word “Rockefeller” and heard the word “Chrysler” instead. So without me knowing it he took me to the Chrysler building when I was thinking the whole time that we were headed to 40 Rock. In the end, I was excited to see the Chrysler building anyway, because there was a familiar idiom I grew up hearing my mother say and I wanted to see if it was true. The infrequent times my Mother was industrious about housecleaning she would always say, “ I want the floor to shine like the top of the Chrysler building.” I had no real picture in my mind of the top of the Chrysler building but I had a made up one. I figured it was flat and very shiny. When we arrived to the Chrysler building we learned that people are not allowed to travel to the top. Luckily the lobby provided much beauty to admire.

Another expression I grew up hearing came from a harried friend who used to babysit these absolute hellcat children. She’d always answer the phone with their screams and shrieks in the background saying, “Grand Central Station, how may I help you?”. Well I finally got to see Grand Central Station too!!! Now –as I think back on it, I don’t know how my friend ever picked up the expression. I suppose she got it from some TV show. To the best of my knowledge she only had been in Vermont and rarely left the state anymore than I did in that time period. She was too busy raising horses.

After a brief period of refreshment back the Chelsea Pines, we headed over to the bar to meet Jimmy and his partner Tim. I couldn't believe I was going to finally meet Tim. ….ok...I know I know – Jim and Tim it's too cute right? It is probably why there is “James” these days. ( I think I would’ve done the same thing if I were Jimmy. ) When they first started dating I think I teased him mercilessly on the phone about it crowing “ Jimmy and Timmy !!! “ and then cackling with glee. Jimmy is very discreet. In fact he probably hates that I am blogging about him right now but he IS an actor and he might as well get used to people writing about him. His partner Tim, on the other hand is very used to having opinions being written about himself. Tim Acito is a playwright who had success with an Off Broadway Musical called “Zanna Don’t" I was lucky enough to see his musical produced at the very same theater that I did some fundraising for when I was the Bay Area Cub 2010. The musical is downright adorable. It's about a world, at a high school , where homosexuality is the way nature is intended and heterosexuality is considered freakish. There's magic too! A cute, sexy, young man with a wand skips around the High School like Cupid making people fall in love with one another. The play was a hit for the New Conservatory Theater Center in San Francisco and the casting of some plus sized folk, with real bodies seemed to add to its appeal. The Musical is a rather joyful, bouncy, show but certainly not without its edge.

I was a bit nervous about meeting Tim. If he was a successful New York playwright -would that mean he would be an asshole? The men that Jimmy dated in San Francisco nearly 20 years ago were all across the map personality-wise so I only had this show to base Tim's personality on. I was such a butter head I couldn't honestly remember Jimmy telling me a lot about him. I knew he had told me some things on one visit because I had pressed him but the information from Jimmy was -as usual -so carefully non-descriptive. Clearly I am the blabbermouth girlfriend of the two of us. I thought an awful lot about "Zanna Don't" and the show it was and the messages it conveyed. I don't think a jerk could've thought that up. Then I remembered when I produced the P.A. Cooley Show many years ago that "P.A. Cooley" kind of became everybody else's idea of who "P.A. Cooley" should be about and well -gosh I was just so grateful that they were helping me out for next to nothing -who was I to say anything? ….Oh that's right -I was P.A. Cooley. So I imagine with the meteoric success of Zanna Don't that Tim had gone through 30 times as many chef's in the kitchen than I had. I eventually decided to just stop mentally preparing for meeting Tim and take him at face value. This greatly relieved Orlando because he was very very tired of me talking about it. Prior to them arriving, this vivacious Dominican little flight attendant took a shine to Orlando and I, and was trying his hardest to wrangle an invitation back to our hotel room. He was adorable, but I explained now was not the time and that we were expecting friends. He stuck his hand down Orlando's shirt and felt Orlando's furry chest pelt. His eyes rolled back in his head and Orlando looked over at me helplessly. I shot him a non verbal " Now look what you've done!" The Dominican gently slid his hand out of Orlando's shirt and grabbed Orlando's wrist pressing Orlando's palm into the Dominican's crotch. Orlando's eye's widened and he looked over at me and said, " Honey, he likes furry chests." I looked at the Dominican's crotch and said, " I see that. Be that as it may - Now is just not the time-" Orlando interrupted me disengaging himself from the Dominican-"I think your friends are here!"

Meet the Wives

Jimmy smiled and I saw Tim just behind him with his hands in his pocket and taking a breath as if he was about to encounter something unpleasant that required being stoic. As I had noted earlier with Kevin, there were no significant changes due to age in Jimmy's face but perhaps an extra line or two and that was about it. He looked like the Jimmy I had always known for over 20 years. Tim gave me a shy but pleasant hello and we all sat down and I made introductions to Orlando and of course…the Dominican who I tried like the devil to send several cues that NOW WAS THE TIME FOR HIM TO GO. He was clever enough to pick up on my signals. I am not sure -but I believe Tim beat a hasty retreat to the Bar to get drinks for Jim and himself. I got the distinct impression that this was a rare night out for Tim. Jim and I behaved like two sorority girls who hadn't seen each other since the last kegger.
Orlando tried to keep up and we would fill in with bits of information of what we were talking about. Then Tim returned and we all got down to the business of chatting and drinking. Tim was rather amazed about the forward behavior of the Dominican. I shrugged. "Eh It's a Bear thing." Orlando corrected me. " I think it might be a New York thing." -Yes that was true. I remembered the sex-in-the-air-feel at The Eagle the night before. The natural order of conversation took a while but eventually the transition took place. It seemed that Jimmy and I were wearing the "wife" hats and that Tim and Orlando were wearing the "husband" hats. By that I mean Jimmy and I giggled and sniggered and slapped each others thighs while the other two got along quite well but in a far less girlish manner. I also noted Tim had relaxed entirely a third into the evening. I think the second cocktail may have contributed but there was none of that unease that I had been feeling from him before. "James" (I might as well get used to it) and Tim have been together for over 10 years -11 I think. They have been living in a studio apartment the same size that Orlando first moved in with me and I said I couldn't handle it and needed a bigger space after 3 months. That's love folks. Real Love. They looked great together. When were all talking and laughing I felt something I can't explain without it sounding like a complete overly sentimental simpleton-but I will say it any way. I was happy for them. I was particularly happy for my friend ….James. The world was spinning the way it should. Orlando was pleased that I had even more friends that were warm intelligent entertaining folk in my life on the East Coast too.

Lunch with Kevvie, A ride in the Park

2011-10-22T13:11:00.000-07:00

On Monday -as luck would have it, Kevin could meet Orlando and I for lunch at a Thai Restaurant in his neighborhood. It was in Hell's Kitchen. The is the first time I had been in Hell's Kitchen and didn't realize it was actually a nice neighborhood with a lot of cool restaurants. Hearing it's moniker I had always envisioned something desperate and horrid with lots of garbage and huge swarms of rats chewing through it. As we made our way to the Thai Restaurant, I noted several restaurants along the way that I might like to investigate should I ever come back to NYC.


Kevin today

Kevin had not changed a bit to me. Maybe he had a few more character lines around the eyes, but he looked that mature even when he was in his 20s. He had that sort of calmness that many of my friends in their 40s were showing now that we were growing older. There was a certain acceptance that things were the way they were and that there was no changing them. I was glad to see that he hadn't given up on dating and there was date with some hispanic gentlemen later -surprise surprise. The conversation between the three of us was gentle and easy and Orlando was entertained without feeling excluded. I was immensely happy that we had made this connection. We reminisced about our boy-crazy youth. At age 25, It wasn't uncommon for me to fall in love with a new boyfriend every weekend and then change my mind a few days later. I fell prey to the San Francisco Gay Male Relationship trap that there was always someone better just around the corner. Kevin was more loyal then I and hung on a bit longer. He wasn't exactly a stalker when he was a kid, but it was always a running gag that he, himself, would make jokes about. He used to sing little made up love songs about the current man he was in love with or joke about hiding in the bushes watching them from afar. Sometimes I wondered if he was just being funny. I noted to myself as we played "memory lane" that our mutual ability to laugh at ourselves was probably the secret to whatever sense of peace we could find within ourselves. I also observed that despite the struggles that New York had put Kevin through as an actor- now composer, he seemed content. It solidified my belief that I could let go of being on stage and find another way of creative expression to fulfill my soul. He had done it. When he mentioned that he really didn't act or try to audition for anything anymore, the comment seemed casual and not all that big a deal. When Orlando got up to use this rest room Kevin gave me a thumbs up my partner selection. I knew he would like Orlando's " no nonsense" approach to life as much as I did. Kevin surprised me and treated us to lunch. I snapped some pics to commemorate the reunion. There was an exceptionally sexy Latino man standing in the doorway that I pointed out to Kevin. It turns out that Kevin lived above the restaurant we were eating in and that sexy Latino did repair work in his building. Immediately Orlando and I urged him to go break something and then hugged him goodbye.

The Thai lunch should've sufficed but I passed a colorful sign on our way to Central Park that I could not ignore.It was a shop that sold ice cream donut sandwiches. I don't normally indulge in the sweet rich ooey gooey because I am a salty crispy crunchy deep fried kinda guy. The over-the-top dessert realm is Orlando's specialty, but somehow I was inexplicably compelled to learn more. When I suggested to Orlando that we investigate this treat his eyes began to dance wildly in his head. He was A) amazed that I was the one that was suggesting this given the state of our expanding waistlines and B) he was about to get two things together that he absolutely adored-ice cream and donuts! The perky gal behind the counter gave us an enthusiastic tour of the flavors and how the process was done. You could pick THREE ice cream flavors and the choices were all very exciting. I chose this interesting flavor that was called "Hotel" ice cream. I think it was Vanilla with bits of a smashed spiced cookie and chocolate chips and it was totally fabu!!! I also chose a caramel dul leche something-or-other and I think another unusual cookie-n-cream-esqe flavor that I can't recall right now. The donut was dipped in vanilla frosting and sprinkled with coconut. Orlando who is a notorious chocoholic chose three different types of chocolate ice creams and then had his donut dipped in chocolate and sprinkled with almonds. Orlando had NO difficulty consuming his. I, on the other hand, did a valiant effort of consuming two thirds of the massive rich dessert. Orlando considered finishing my portion but then wisely chose not to.

The Horse drawn carriages were all lined up where we had seen them the day before. Orlando went up and found a cute Turkish bear to give us a ride. It was determined that a little 45 min tour around the park would cost a $100-which included tip. I saw the expression on Lando's face as he was doing an inner monologue of once-in-a-lifetime-dream as we crawled our overfed bodies into the carriage. It was clean and shiny but there was this bouquet of fake flowers attached to the side of the carriage that made me grimace. I kept my mouth shot to my benefactor of the ride. I wasn't going to gripe. Before we flew to New York , I had briefly thought about spending ten grand on an engagement ring and presenting it to him on this ride. New York -despite the horrible smells and crowds- felt like a romantic city to me and I wanted us to be engaged. Yet Orlando's belief that the Federal government should pass the RIGHT-TO-MARRY- law in order for it to be right kept me from doing such an economically reckless romantic proposal. I had mixed feelings about the whole thing. In one way I thought he was right, but the girly-girl side of me wanted to flash my engagement ring to everyone to proclaim that I was good enough to be engaged to someone. I was hoping he would come around to wearing engagement rings and should I ever get a windfall of some type, I may just go for it. The Turkish guy took us through Central Park and showed us all the sites.


Cute Turkish Bear Carriage Driver

Ghostbusters Building

Friends Fountain without Friends or water

Many of the sites were pop culture referenced: John Lennon's Strawberry Fields, A building that was in the movie Ghost Busters and the fountain that Joey, Monica, Chandler and Phoebe and the rest of the Friends all flounced around in the beginning of their show credits. The Turkish bear carriage driver shared a little of his life with us. We had learned that he had just married but he was getting a divorce after a few short months, but he thought he would be okay. It didn't seem like a great job driving the carriage around the park. I imagine it would be a little dull over and over again. There was a beauty to the park and a surreal quality that this was not New York. It was where New Yorkers went to get away. I played with my lens on my camera that my friend Bruce had just given to me and snapped a man sitting on a bench. I was pretty far from him but he knew I was taking a picture of him. Again…'marriage' popped in my face as we passed a young androgynous Asian couple in wedding costume trudging to pose for some pictures post wedding. They seemed focused on the task at hand but not particularly joyful. The driver showed us a building Madonna supposedly lives in and none of her neighbors want her there because she is too loud.I frowned .A part of New York I would never see. The New York Madonna frequented. I hated being denied that access. It occurred to me that this was supposed to be romantic and I put the camera down for a second and held Orlando's hand. We were supposed to be making memories here dammit!

Kevvie and Jimmy

2011-10-21T19:21:00.000-07:00

We tried to stretch our Sunday night into the wee hours. I had heard since I was a teen that New York never slept. Apparently that was no longer true here in the big Apple. My legs and feet were beginning to hurt as Orlando and I tried to find more fun in some Chelsea bars but many were closed up and things appeared quiet. What a crock! Well it gave us a good night’s sleep to meet my friends the next day.
Kevin Carter and James Reynolds and I met when we were cast in an original Musical decades ago called “Streets”. It was Rock Musical. Kevin and I played teenaged members of a Graffiti artist Street gang who later become roadies to a member of our Gang because he becomes a big rock star. James ( who will always be Jimmy to me, played the love interest of some poor black girl of the streets. In truth …I forget what role Jimmy played. I recall him singing a pretty song and that’s about it. I think as the musical developed his role got more substantial. Jimmy and I were very close when he lived in San Francisco. I let him pull strands of my hair though a cap and bleach it. We were about as “girlfriend-y” as two gay guys can get. We gave each other manicures and watched Melrose Place.

Kevin on the Right and James in the Middle and Moi down Center and John Gulotto on the Left from STREETS

   Kevin and I bonded another way. Kevin and I shared a proclivity. We were (are?) specifically attracted to men of color. Usually any color- but I preferred mine on the darker side back in the day. He used to tease me on my method of seducing men. I had concocted a kind of ridiculous expression for my face based on Marilyn Monroe and adjusted her breathy baby doll voice by lowering it a few registers. He was always amazed that men found that appealing. Now that I look back on it – so am I. Kevin has an extremely dry sense of humor and wears his heart on his sleeve. I know I know-normally the two don’t mix but his humor is on the absurdist side so it all works for him. He is also a brilliant composer/musician.

   When the three of us first became friends - Jimmy appeared to be the more fortunate of the three of us. (explain) Kevin and I had big…personalities as opposed to Jimmy who was achingly polite and achingly attractive. It wasn’t uncommon to meet Jimmy for a cocktail and at some point, he would excuse himself and either A) be followed into the bathroom by some Dude trying to get his number or B) the Dude would come up to me and ask for his number. How Jimmy managed to stay so gracious through all that is beyond me. If God had blessed me with his Ralph Lauren Model Good Looks, I am sure I would’ve wound up the type of DIVA no one wants to be around. Through the years Jimmy and I have shared A LOT of laughs and A LOT of tears. Trust me, under that gracious soul is a snarky dark little shit who lost his rose colored glassed loooooonnng ago. He never let me get away with anything –particularly a quick visit to New York without saying hello to him. It nearly didn’t happen. If I wasn’t such a big mouth on Facebook then he may have never found out I was there. But he got me!

Priscilla and Stephen

2011-10-19T19:21:00.000-07:00

You want to hear a sad little fact about yours truly? This trip to New York was my first time ever I have seen a big Broadway Hit on Broadway. Yes – at the age of 47, after being on the stage since I was 13, and only living a mere five hour drive from the Big Apple for the first 25 years of my life, I was FINALLY SEEING A BROADWAY SHOW ON BROADWAY.

The Big Broadway show in Question was Priscilla Queen of the Desert. Yes – the latest rage is to take a screenplay and convert it to a Musical. With the resounding success of “ The Producer’s” and the lack of original ideas out there –this seems to be new direction for the American Musical. Now I happen to like Priscilla the movie so I was thinking I would enjoy the musical-and enjoy it I did. Our seats were a tad on the nosebleed side, but they were an excellent view of the entire stage. I had been told that the miraculously fast quick changes from straight men to in drag were achieved through the use of a cleverly devised skin-like masks with rouge and false eyelashes attached, that could be thrown on and just as easily peeled off. In the balcony there was no way Orlando and I could see that to tell you it is true, but the quick changes were extraordinary on a couple of occasions. If you are a hardcore fan of the movie you have to realize that there is already HUGE hit on Broadway that is “Abbalicious” so the music for PQOTD had to be reworked into…take a breath………….Madonna. Well the gal IS a Gay Icon and she has been around for a bit- so you can understand WHY they chose her-but still one does miss the ABBA. I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I could ever get enough ABBA. My fondest memory was roller skating to dancing queen with my Church youth group to Dancing Queen. Actually that was a fairly terrifying moment being a roller skates and I was grateful that Pammy Hastings broke her wrist so we had to stop – but hey –I liked the music!
And I certainly have no problem with “Madge” (as the Brits call her). As a baby Gay, I was weaned on Madonna. There were just elements that were missed from the movie that we would’ve like to have seen in the musical. I will give one moment away and tell you that you DON’T ever see or hear about a small vial of Madonna’s excrement. Yet other moments impressed- like with the Opera blaring and the wild flowing costume on top of the bus. It was quite cleverly executed. Kudos! Today on Sirius Broadway I had heard that Priscilla had played "canned" string instruments instead of live. Their reasoning was that it was a show about lip synching after all so... Very sad to hear that.

Orlando and I got carried away in the momentous feeling of me seeing my FIRST BROADWAY SHOW (on Broadway), and spent an ungodly amount of money on booze in these little sippy cups. Yes…Sippy cups for a sippy cub. At intermission I was trying to make up for falling asleep on Saturday Night and was reaching out to all my NYC Bears for where the Sunday night Hot Spots was for our tribe via Facebook on my Droid Incredible. I had finally contacted Stephen. Stephen and I made friends years ago, originally on a website called Bear411 and then later we chatted more on Facebook. Maybe “made friends with” is a making light of how I actually feel about Stephen. I fell passionately in love with him to be more truthful. Point of fact when I had begun dating Orlando, I had mentioned that if we ever moved to New York he would have to consider making our relationship polyamorous because I loved Stephen so much and fully planned on making him one of my Brother Husbands. As far as I can see –Bigamy is the ONLY thing the Mormons got right. Orlando’s reaction to this was to nod and continue eating his French Toast and watching Sanctuary.

One only need to look at my dating history to see my fascination with Stephen. He is the prototype of what I find particularly aesthetically pleasing to my eye. He is fairly muscular, fairly broadshouldered and big armed African American Man who has a lovely shiny bald head and beautiful shiny brown eyes with long lashes and his derriere is something that inspires sonnets deep within my soul. I think A LOT about that derriere of his by the way. Ok Ok – so I don’t KNOW him as a “person” that deeply. I mean I know he loves music very much and fashion and bears. He’s just enough masculine to turn me on and just enough Diva not to turn me off. I learned rather recently that he is ALSO in a relationship. He’s got me beat by a mind blowing 11 years longer than mine. I don’t ask him much about his fella and he doesn’t chat that much with me about Orlando. Surprised? I bet you’re not. I suspect that his partner takes my fascination with him about as seriously as Orlando takes it. Perhaps we aren’t real? Maybe Stephen and I are just ” Internet Lovers” But ..what happens when you are partnered and you are GAY (very different from how the Hets handle it ) and you meet your long lusted after virtual Lover in the non-virtual world? There is one other thing I feel I should divulge in this running fountain of TMI and that’s -– my love for Stephen is er...well unrequited. While he doesn’t exactly spurn my attentions he didn’t exactly send me a plane ticket either in all these years of flirting. I had briefly considered buying one at one point to meet him before I met Lando, but I thought that flying to New York for a hook up was even too crazy for me. NOW we had found each other and after the Curtain lowered on Priscilla he texted that “ The Eagle” was THE Sunday Night hang out for Bears and that he would be there and was looking forward to meeting me. Yikes!

The Eagle in New York is nothing like the now defunct Eagle in San Francisco. It is darker and hotter (men and temperature) and more sex-filled. The SF Eagle seemed like a giant sunny Patio bar for Leather Queens but this place had three levels and each one had a different energy all geared for New York Gay Males to get their groove on. I am not sure if it was because I hadn’t been out hunting for a while or that the sexual energy of Gay New Yorkers is more intense then their West Coast counterparts but I remarked to Orlando that the sexual tension in the air was palpable. His response was to take off his shirt. And you thought I was the attention-whore in the relationship? Think again. Orlando had picked up on my anxiety about meeting my “friend”. The “friend card” is how I chose to play it but after all these years the Lando bear knew me and… well…. our relationship being what it was –jealousy wasn’t anything anyone needed to worry about tonight. After a bit of exploration and texting to Stephen I had learned there was a “deck” to the Eagle where there was an outdoor bar. We went up to the roof deck and I peered around for Stephen and BAM- there he was. He shot me a benign smile and it was like I was indeed seeing an old friend. There were no thunderbolts or vibrations thrumming through my heart. It was Stephen.

Stephen and P.A. together at last?

He was with Al. This took me a while to figure out because AL was was one of my Facebook bears too. He was one of those heavy set men that photographed differently everytime and in real life looked a bit differently then he did on the internet. Not bad –just not as recognizable to me. I often hit “like” when Al found stuff to post on his Wall or showed a cool new shirt he bought. Al was a handsy gregarious Bear who appreciated a handsome man and definitely didn’t waste time saying so.

P.A. and Al

Stephen couldn’t stay long, because he had to head to work early the next day, and seemed involved with the men he was keeping company with. Was that the partner of 14 years? No –didn’t think so. Everything was a blur. I wanted to hang with him but then an SF Bear recognized Lando and I and wondered what the hell we were doing in New York. We got engrossed in a conversation with him. Then I got excited because we realized I had nearly spilt my drink on Josh from Project Runway. Orlando looked over and said, “ How do we know that guy?” and I said, “ because you watched Project Runway with me the other night.” I didn’t say “Hey Josh!” ---and high five him. I did apologize for nearly spilling a drink on him and he was very sweet about it. Al got a serious case of Roman Hands and Russian Fingers and was all over Orlando and myself. I thought about saying something about” just because I pose for all those pictures doesn’t mean you can touch the merchandise” but he settled down after a while. Soon it became time for Stephen to leave. I thought maybe we could meet tomorrow when he got out of work? I got a maybe. I was meeting my friend (–real friend –as opposed to internet friend) at Happy Hour at The Gym Bar the following day. We hugged tightly. He smelled good. It was brief but that’s all. My heart didn’t thump wildly out of control at his touch like I thought it might. We said goodbye. Then I looked over at the furry Landobear chatting with AL as he looked back over at me and I went over and slipped in Lando’s arms. I guess I knew where I belonged. Maybe Stephen sensed it too? Who knows? . We chatted about it briefly on Facebook when I returned to the East Bay and I felt apologetic. I still think he is amazingly lovely and I also think he is a good guy. He cracked a joke about how guys meet him and then the “spell is broken”. Even though he didn’t mean it – I played along. I didn’t think that applied in our case. I just think I am under a stronger spell and well…at least we’ll always have Facebook.

Lando's Family Part Deux

2011-10-13T20:28:00.000-07:00

The next day I awoke feeling ashamed. I was in one of the most exciting cities anywhere and I had gone to bed at 8:30PM the night before and slept for 10 hours. Orlando grumbled a bit about it which didn’t alleviate my feelings of guilt and shame. However, deep down I was grateful for two things; First- Our bed was very comfortable and Second I was feeling much much better after 10 hours of sleep. There was no longer a hazy corona around lit lightbulbs and other bright areas, and my feet and legs didn’t ache so damned much.

Our bedroom was small. Outside our room was an ancient kittycat sitting placidly in the hall with interesting markings that gave him the name, “Charlie Chaplin”. He stared up at us to give us an indifferent good morning gaze. Orlando reached down to scratch his head and chin and he began to purr appreciatively. He did look like he had a mustache of sorts and it did have a Chaplinesque look to it. There were three floors to the hotel. The stairway and upper hallway we decorated with Blackglama Ads featuring famous Divas. This must be one of those things that identifies it as a Gay Hotel. I could name all but one. Unfortunately I never learned who she was because the gent manning the front desk didn’t know either. I had never thought to snap a pic of it on my phone to research it. I had fun testing Orlando because his knowledge of actors and actresses from before 1982 is pretty poor. How he ever got his Gay Card I’ll never know. There were two pictures -one with Liza and another with Judy with the familiar Blackglama motto. “ What Becomes a Legend Most?”, side by side so I asked him, “What do these two women have in common?” You’ll be pleased to know that he eventually figured it out -and with very few hints I might add.

On our way over to Elba’s apartment in Spanish Harlem, we did a tourist route. It involved walking through Times Square. I posed ridiculously with my hands up in the air, while Lando snapped a pic and someone walking by was explaining to his two companions that “New York does this to people”. I wondered if he had ever succumbed to a Mary-Tyler-Moore-moment before. We went up 8th avenue because they were having a huge Street Fair. We both bought hats and I found some cute refrigerator magnets shaped like unusual pieces of produce. That wound up being the extent of our tourist shopping in The Big Apple.

As we approached Central Park South I was sooo excited to see the Horse-drawn carriages all lined up on Park Ave. They were so elegant and reminded me of every fairy tale Lifetime movie I had ever seen. The horses were elegant -even when they took a dump or piss! There was like this ..net thing just under their family jewels and it caught it all...except the odor. There was nothing they could do about that! Regardless - I was terribly impressed with how these non-touching- diapers worked. Orlando said he had always wanted to ride one, ever since he had seen them as a little boy. I looked at him wide-eyed and he got it immediately that I had the same longing. “ Well Let’s go check it out, shall we?” Well I can tell you - it aint cheap. You can expect to pay around $100 for 40 minutes of your “fairy tale romantic horse-drawn-carriage ride”. A very carny-like Australian tried to talk us into it right away. I reminded Orlando of the time and we were due at Elba’s in about 35 minutes. We said no - and we were going to make the dream come true tomorrow. Orlando muttered, “ It’s only money.” about 5 times and then relaxed into the idea.

Dinner at Elba’s was almost identical to every family dinner I had growing up. Mariah was watching some Children’s program but she got distracted enough to grab the Ipad and have her Tio Lando and Titi P.A. read to her about cars. “ Omg!” I squeaked in distress, “ She likes Cars!!!” She was barely 2 feet tall - and she was issuing orders that Lando sit to her immediate left and I sit to her right. Along with her father’s help, she had managed to learn my name pretty quickly. I sat her on my knee and looked at her earnestly. “ Now you realize Mariah, that cars aren’t exactly my thing but your Tio Landito over there could probably chat with you about them. I’ll teach you a few beauty tips and maybe how to handle a man.” Luckily her parents didn’t hear a word of that ,but the ever watchful Elba saw us bonding out the corner of her eye. “ You must like children! “ Orlando and I spoke simultaneously and said offhandedly, “ Not really.” It was if someone had cracked a very inappropriate joke and Jess and Martin looked nervously over at their daughter clambering around my lap. I spoke quickly.“ Mariah is clearly special and not like other children and deserves my full attention.” I didn’t intend to sound like one of the elders from Rosemary’s Baby so I confessed that at one point in my life I had been one of the most successful babysitters at Northfield Jr-Sr High. I owe it to all those theater warm up games I learned and how they were excellent for tiring children out. I have to say Mariah is special and for some reason really plucked at my heart strings. I blurted it out before I had given it much thought. “ In fact Jess - if you and Martin ever want to send her to California for a week when she is a little older-” Orlando cut me a look that kind of shut me up. Martin laughed and said, “ Be careful what you wish for PA.”

The Pork was delicious and Elba shared with me the method to get the skin the same crispy texture that Orlando loves so much. Apparently it involved a cup of water but I imagine it also had to do with the cut of meat too. When we ate pork I typically bought very lean cuts which didn’t tend to get that nice crispy skin that he craved so much. She also made the pre-requisite rice and beans which normally I am not a fan of. I found that -however she had seasoned the beans it was very nummy. I decided not to tell Orlando because I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Many times I skip eating his recipe because he puts lots of bacon fat in them and it gives me the indigestion from hell. I found Elba’s to be lighter -almost like a well cooked lentil in a mild Indian Dal. I LOVE lentils. I liked Elba’s so much, I had a second portion! Lando DIDN’T miss that . “ Hey!! What’s up with that??? I thought you hated Beans!” I just tried to make my eyes as big and as blue as I possibly could and shrugged.” I dunno...I didn’t want it offend your Aunt.” The blue eyes worked. They always do by the way. “ You like Elba’s cooking don’t you honey?” I nodded enthusiastically and stuffed another mouthful of beans and rice in.

More people arrived. Elba’s son and his family but they didn’t intend to stay to eat. They were just going to pop in and head over to the gym. Orlando and Jess properly guilted them because it had been years since they had seen this particular cousin. Elba scooted over on the couch next to me. I told her the meal was great. She spoke again about Orlando’s Mom, Elsie and she said she had spoken to her on the phone and Elsie had said I was so nice and good to her son. There was almost some relief to her voice. I suspect it had to do with the fact that I was far more age appropriate than Orlando’s last partner but hey that’s just me speculating. I am still the old man in the relationship by a few years. She patted me affectionately on the leg. “ Your family now baby! You got that!?” It almost had an Italian Mobster feel to it but I liked that thought. You give me any shit? My Titi Elba will take your ass OUT! You got me Baby? Hugs and promises were made. I wanted to come back next year.

Now the goal was to head back to the hotel - freshen up and head out for a night to the THEATEH!! Priscilla Queen of the Desert was the Broadway Show of choice. Times Square seemed more like Vegas to me at night. Sardi’s which used to be a fabulous hang out of broadway stars back in the day, now seemed like a vaguely tired tourist stop. The onions in my Gibson were unforgivably soft. There was a large tub of cheddar spread and Ritz crackers that apparently is communally shared during Happy Hour. Yuk! We did strike up a conversation with some legitimate New York Theater goers who were enraptured about this show in which performers did these uncanny interpretations of Johnny Cash, Elvis Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis and I forget who else. They were blown away and assured us that we would love it if we got the chance. I somehow doubted that. Orlando asked them what they thought of “The Book of Mormon” and they gave us this world weary “ Yes - ok entertaining but haven’t we all HEARD this story before??”. I should mention they were clearly heterosexual and somehow that comment raised my hackles a bit, but I felt I might travel into a territory where I had no idea what I was talking about. So I chose not to. I later regretted it when we told one of the women we had tickets to see Priscilla. She all but patted us on the head and encouraged us like grade school children to enjoy our day at Disney. Again the thing with the hackles...

Lando's Family

2011-10-12T18:21:00.000-07:00

I was a tad mesmerized at this whole hybrid business of Fried food and Lingerie. It occurred to me that at this point I could be easily mesmerized by ANYTHING because we were stretching into our 30th hour without sleep. If there is one thing I really need to fully function –it’s my sleep. I also hadn’t sat down in several hours and the shoes began to pinch. I fiddled with my camera trying to adjust to impending twilight. Jessica was standing next to me and we were amiably chatting. She looked almost exactly like her brother to me. She had the same smile and soft warm brown eyes. I looked down at Orlando tickling Mariah’s belly while she shrieked in glee at her Tio. I glanced down at Jessica’s belly. She was a few months pregnant. She shrugged and explained to me that it rained when she was on vacation with her husband and she gestured at her belly. “ This is the result.” I told her that I thought her Mother is probably delighted. She agreed she was. I liked their mother. Their mother’s name is Elsie and Elsie and I had met in Oroville California a little over a year ago. Elsie –who had reportedly had ancient issues with her only son coming out of the closet-surprised everyone by hugging me goodbye and telling me to take care of her son. This story had gotten around because Jessica was staring at me wide-eyed. “ My mother is not a “hugger”. She rarely did that to us growing up. She told me that she was happy that Lando had found you. “ I felt one more latch slide into place in regards to my relationship with Orlando. I didn’t need the blazer and the dress shoes. I had Elsie on my side.

Finally Elba finished up and explained that we didn’t need to go to a restaurant. A family friend was having a big Barbecue and we were all welcome. Boy – these Puerto Ricans do things differently! It would be rare that anyone in my family would be thrilled that a family member showed up to one of their parties with 5 OTHER MOUTHS TO FEED. I asked if I should bring some wine and Elba looked at me as if I had just spoken Martian. No No – it would be fine. She went through the directions to get to this park with Jessica and Martin. We accompanied Elba. Elba is Orlando’s Aunt on his father’s side. Orlando’s father died of a Heart attack at a very young 41. Elba was so grief stricken she nearly threw herself on to Orlando Sr’s coffin as it was lowered into the grave. Elba chatted comfortably about the kid who was the guest of honor at this Barbecue. “ He’s a good kid.” Orlando asked what they were celebrating. Elba said that it had been a full year since he was out, so the family was celebrating. My mind went, “Wow – this is some progressive party. The kid comes out of the closet and they celebrate the anniversary date!!” Orlando actually processed it correctly. “ Out…of Jail?” Yes Elba tells us. “He shouldn’t have done what he did but hey, they shouldn’t have messed with his family in the first place. He got out early of course for good behavior and he’s been doin real good.” My eyes grew wide. I put my hand on Elba’s shoulder to slow her pony-like trot. “ Hang on Elba, “ I had trouble catching my breath. “ So we are going to a picnic, in the park, here in Spanish Harlem to celebrate this guy’s year anniversary of being out of prison?” She nodded and said, “yup! And you get to meet my daughter Liz too! ” I mumbled to Orlando that I didn’t think taking pictures at this “event” would be welcome and perhaps my camera should stay in my back pack.
When we arrived to the park my first thought was , “ Oh this is where all my exboyfriends ended up.”
The thug-quotient was high but there were a lot of old men and kids and women. The food had the feel of a church supper. I suddenly felt my knees wobble with fatigue. I panicked trying to find a place to sit with my plate and Orlando found us all a bench where we gathered away from the crowd. The food was interesting and somewhat tasty. Not many green things but there was Yucca steamed with Onions and there was a little pork left –enough for Orlando and I to have a few bites. He swooned with each bite. That all went to hell when he sampled the Macaroni and cheese which was terrible. Whatever ingredient the cook had used to bind the cheese to the milk and butter didn’t work and it was this gloppy flavorless mess. I had to agree with Lando about the pork though. Those few bites were absolutely packed with rich pork flavor. He refused to take my last bite. That’s love eh?

Elba and Liz

Liz is a Puerto Rican bombshell and a chip off the ole Elba block. “Cuz!!!” Orlando thundered at his cousin. She was in oblivion kissing and greeting and oohing and awing over the spell casting Mariah.
“ Cuz!!!” He bellowed somewhat playfully, “Where the hell were you? What took you so long??” She mouthed something but we didn’t catch it. After saying, “What?” a few times she hissed at him through her teeth, “ Because I was having Seeeexxxxxxkssskss!!!” If there is ever an explanation that Orlando will thoroughly understand – it’s that one. Liz had a huge persona and it was “the Liz show”. I used to have a friend that brayed at me “A.A.P.A.!!!” (All About P.A.) when I got a little too self involved. Something told me that Liz had a friend that did that to her too. She was damned funny and she SHOULD have her own comedy show. Her delivery was spot on! It was later explained to me it is a Puerto Rican female genetic trait. Humor. Who knew? Our visit was brief. Plans to meet Liz the following night perhaps? We all headed over to Elba’s while Elba popped into various markets purchasing food for the gigantic feast Orlando had requested. Apparently the paint had dried and all her furniture had been put back into place. My brains were scrambled eggs and I was slowly losing the feeling in my feet. Having been awake for nearly 36 hours was taking it’s toll and I wasn’t thinking clearly. Case in point: I whipped out my smartphone to look at Facebook on a street corner and Orlando barked at me to put it away. Many young men would like a smart phone like mine he informed me.. I see. Well I then requested that we get Elba back ASAP because I was walking around like The Living Dead and only digesting part of whatever I heard.

More walking until we reach The Projects. Through the hallway where men were just hanging out…looking furtive and dangerous. Jess and Martin and the baby were already in Elba’s apartment. Yup – Lando was right. The blazer and the dress shoes were absolutely a drawback at the moment. Elba plowed onward, unphased by all of this. She chattered comfortably about news of that family member and life around The Projects. She seemed content. Why did I want to pluck her out of this place? Just because I saw scary looking men didn’t mean she did.
Her apartment was nice. It was very comfortable and didn’t really look as if it belonged in this building. Everything seemed new. I sat on the couch and well…that’s all she wrote. I couldn’t keep my eyes open so I nodded off right in front of Jessica and Martin and Mariah. Orlando knew we needed to get back to the Hotel Room. We were coming back tomorrow anyway. We zipped outside –through the lobby with even more scary looking men and caught a cab. As the taxicab sped along the congested brightly lit streets, I mumbled to Orlando that we had to rescue Elba from the projects! “ No honey.” He said placating me. “ She doesn’t want to be rescued. Trust me on this.”

Orlando knows Elba better than I by far

We arrived to our Hotel room. Each room was a tribute to a silver screen star. Ours was the perpetually kissing Tony Curtis. How appropriate. It was Saturday Night in THE BIG APPLE. So we were going to just take a quick disco nap and paint the town red later…except we didn’t awaken until 7AM the next morning. (Sigh)

The Actor turned Writer starts a Travel Blog

2011-10-11T18:36:00.000-07:00

It was doubtful whether it would be a restful vacation but it was very clear that it would be a busy one filled with visiting family. As many people know, seeing your family doesn’t easily create an atmosphere of rest and relaxation. The Landobear and I were headed East to see our families and hopefully spend a little get away time. I wasn’t sure if I could combine the two, but I was going to try. Slowly but surely, I was acquiring the talent for viewing my newfound identity as a couple. I had a new family, and there were more to meet. To Orlando this was old hat. To me…well, I was a bit nervous. The first leg of the trip involved a 3 and a half day stay in New York City. The Second leg of the trip was Vermont to celebrate my Mother’s 80th Birthday. Orlando’s baby sister was traveling up from Delaware with her husband, and her nearly 2 year old daughter to meet us at his Aunt Elba’s in Spanish Harlem. Orlando hadn’t seen Jess in decades, which meant of course he had never met his niece Mariah. Last Christmas we picked out a little red velvet Christmas Dress for her, which she got after Christmas. By the time it got there she had grown a size too big to wear it.

Brother and Sister

The red eye through Delta from SF to JFK was a miserable 5 hour and 45 minutes. I was lucky that I sat next to a young woman who smelled pleasant. We dozed but the seats were cramped, and by the end of the flight both of our ass cheeks felt significantly flattened. There was much tossing and turning as Orlando took his neck pillow and used it as an ass cushion. Orlando was savvy enough to figure out how to get us to our hotel. I had booked us a room at the Chelsea Pines Inn to Orlando’s consternation. He was going to have us stay with Elba, or perhaps his cousin Liz, but I explained that part about this vacation having some relaxing elements to it. I said having a hotel room to get away to would create it. Orlando is an accountant, and he just rolled his eyes and said in a resigned tone, “ Let the money hemorrhage begin! “
Despite my blear of a bad night’s sleep, my excitement to see a city I hadn’t visited for nearly 30 years seemed to give a much needed jolt of energy. Lando deftly navigated the Subway after a brief misunderstanding in which we purchased a $20 Air Bus tickets instead of the $20 Metro tickets. After Orlando got his “New York on”, (yelling and swearing until the issue was solved) we learned that we had to mail in a request for the misallocated travel funds. After learning this the yelling simmered down to a slow burn. We dropped off our bags at the hotel and did a whirlwind tour of Chelsea, and then along the Hudson seeing the view of New Jersey across the Bay.

I was amazed at the amount of people everywhere. It seemed that there it was not so easy to go and find a space where one didn’t see or hear others. It was Saturday so they were all running , shopping at street markets and strolling about in general. New Yorkers seemed to pay particular attention to their Blue Jeans. I found myself walking behind some pretty fancily stitched pockets. Strange dreadful odors would belch from various crevices of the city unexpectedly. I noticed that the Natives dodged the odiferous expulsions with ease, but an innocent tourist’s nostrils would get assaulted frequently. The Subway air temperature runs warm and I could see how the city’s homeless population could stay nice and toasty in the winter with some thoughtful route planning. A question frequently crossed my mind, how did all these buildings stayed atop this spider web of underground tunnels? I would think that the earth could not support them all. There was no engineer to answer my concern.

After Lunch and checking into the Hotel we met Orlando’s family in Spanish Harlem. Apparently his Aunt Elba had just had her apartment painted and could not cook us all dinner. I noticed that this was expected by Orlando – as well as Elba herself. It was understood that she would make the great meal for all of us. When O heard that dinner at her place was no longer an option he told her to find a restaurant that would supply his need for some well-prepared Puerto Rican delicacies. You would think after nearly 4 years with him that my knowledge of Puerto Rican Cuisine would be quite good but it was rudimentary at best. Most of it I learned on one of my favorite travel /food shows with that arrogant but somehow likeable Chef Tony Bourdain. ( It seems to me if you were going to be successful as a Chef that you have to be an asshole. Anthony Bourdain had this down pat- but rumor has it that he had a kid and it has mellowed him out somewhat.)

My fearless Leader Lando

I was catching on and dodged the stenches and the self-important well-dressed New Yorkers a little more gracefully all the while trying to drink in the sites downtown. Orlando impressed me yet again with how quickly we arrived to the right avenue. He pointed out to me how far more logical this transportation system was than the San Francisco one. I figured it wasn’t sinking in as quickly with me because it had a lot numbers. I seemed to respond to Letters better. After seeing what the average New Yorker put up with in its Metro system, I decided to never complain again about a smelly BART Car.
Before I knew it, we were crossing the street to greet Orlando’s Aunt Elba, his baby sister Jessica and her husband Martin and their downright adorable daughter Mariah. ( It figures that his new niece would have the same first name as one of his favorite singers.) When we looked down at her sweet little face we both fell in love instantly. Whatever parental instincts we had inside us surged forth in a most unnatural and vaguely embarrassing manner. Orlando tickled her much to her delight and I engaged her in various serious conversations about pigeons and concrete. You should know I don’t take to children easily. My love for them is conditional. She looked just like a baby Natalie Wood.

How could I resist her?? One of my favorite movies is Miracle on 34th Street with a little Natalie Wood. I wasn’t anywhere near 34th St when I met Mariah but still you can see the significance-right? I was nervous about meeting Elba and Jessica. I had dressed to impress. I changed out my sneakers for a slightly less comfortable dress shoe and I wore a Black Calvin Klein Blazer, an appropriately rich red dress shirt and a pair of jeans. Orlando looked at me after I had changed and said, “Really honey – you don’t have to do that” but I wanted the confidence it would give me. When I hugged both of them it was if we had always known each other. There was no need to impress.

Elba needed to help out Lisa

Orlando approved

Bacalaitos

Elba said she just had a little task to do before we went to dinner. She was helping her former daughter-in-law who ran a lingerie store called “ Too Fierce “. That seemed like an ideal name for a store to be frequented by Drag Queens but I didn’t see a single one. Well maybe I did but ..I can’t be sure whether she was a full on transsexual or not.

Fierce Lady

Lisa, Elba’s former daughter in law, had learned that her customers wanted more than just crotchless panties and glittered high heels. They wanted authentic Puerto Rican Street food to go along with the authentic Puerto Rican block party going on just around the corner. Food –as I may have mentioned-was Elba’s specialty and that’s why we were all convening at “Too Fierce”. Elba had agreed to assist Lisa with some cooking . So right beside the various types of fish net hose and lace up bodices, Elba deftly patted together cooked seasoned ground pork and cheese into a little pasty to be deep fried in front of the store. These were empanadas and they were delicious. Lisa and Elba had quite a little gathering in front of the store. This one particular “ Fierce lady” was a devoted and regular customer. She was also a tad demanding. She was craving something called a Bacalaitos. - a codfish fritter. Unfortunately Lisa didn’t have the ingredients to make them. The Fierce lady was undeterred , so Lisa’s husband ran out for supplies to make them. The product was mixed up in the bathroom in back in one of the sinks and later many Bacalaitos were frying away merrily in the various Gas stoves in front of the Lingerie store . Eventually the Fierce lady got her fish fritter for the bargain rate of a mere dollar. She disappeared for a bit but the crowd was still strong and Elba was in her element. (To Be Continued)

Shaken but not Stirred

2011-07-12T19:41:00.000-07:00

Perhaps people predicted it. In fact many would have said it was inevitable. A Diva Bear of my magnitude was bound to get a little squirrelly, without having hearing some genuine applause just for him. There were only so many times I could crank up Bernadette Peters Entrance at Carnegie Hall on my Ipod and pretend the adulation was for me. The move from the 6^th floor from the third floor here at The Mayfair has prevented me from discovering what can fill the void of my former theater world.

Orlando continues to find a routine that suits him. He has found some racquet ball players at the gym downtown that actually challenge him and is finding more and more opportunities to play. This is leaving me with more and more opportunities to not be joined at the hip with him. I now have an apartment to decorate with a budget applicable to Flea Markets and Target….that’s about it as far as my creative energies go. I did find a small audience of photographers to mug for but more on that later.

I hate to admit this but I was finding living with my lover challenging. This was new to me. It occurred to me, that I had lived alone for at least 15 years and was accustomed to living life the way I wanted to live it. The two years that Orlando and I had been dating was a weekend relationship. Some people thought that was the ideal situation. My co-worker, Kim would ride BART back to San Francisco with me and often tell me what a sweet deal I had going during those two years. Kim is a slim, snappy, bright-eyed fifty -something actor who I have known for nearly two decades. Depending on how much debauchery he has encountered the night before, he can either appear like a charming country Doctor with a wickedly playful gleam in his eye that makes you want to hug your children a little closer to you or the Crypt keeper. He is an avid cigarette smoker and on certain stressful days he smells like he has rolled around in a giant ashtray. His attempts at quitting are hard on us all so we have simply stopped encouraging him. In our younger years Kim and I had similar tastes in men and it led to some awkward moments. The awkward moments basically involved me telling him that I thought a certain boy was cute and then finding out he slept with said certain boy a week or so later. I am not particularly proud of my learning curve on this, seeing as how Kim did it at least three times to me. It must have really irked me because Kim had a long time on and off again affair with an Indian Boy and I “allowed my heart to be open” to the possibilities with this Indian Boy. This upset Kim greatly, (his eyes bulged and his ice cubes shook like crazy in his cocktail) and marked the end of the “sharing” of potential hook ups.

He works part time at the Skilled Nursing Facility with me organizing our fairly substantial volunteer base. We have also worked together in a few theatrical productions throughout the years.

Despite the resolution with the Indian Boy of oh-so-long-ago, I always feel like Charlie Brown with Kim as Lucy holding the football encouraging me to kick it with all my might -and then just at the strategic moment he deftly pulls it away and I go sailing away into the air landing with a resounding “Whump!” on my back. “Trust” and “Kim” just don’t seem like two things that go together when it comes to our odd decades-long friendship.

Several months ago, When I told Kim about Orlando’s impending arrival to Oakland he looked at me doubtfully, and tapped his cigarette packets on his bony knee tamping down the tobacco. “ I dunno P.A.” he drawled in his signature Carol Channing rasp. His voice is truly remarkable, and one of his best tools as an actor. He used to have a lovely honeyed tenor singing voice that years of smoking have made not so honeyed. When he speaks, it often sounds like wet gravel being poured over an old music box and sometimes reminds me of a character from the old West. When I greet him, I always mock him saying his name the way he would say mine by braying “KIM!” as loudly as I could, and then he always greets me back with “PEEYAAY!” with an ear cringing lower toned screech that almost always tops mine. I began to get a little tense as Kim elaborated on why he thought Orlando moving in with me was a bad idea. “I mean think about it, PeeeYay. You’ve got the Best of Both worlds right now. You get to see your boyfriend on the weekends and you get 5 days of the week allllll to yourself. (He leaned in on the alllllll, so I got a good whiff of tobacco). He Cawed on, “ 5 days a week to do whatever you want with your time..” Kim looked at me pointedly with his beady glittering eyes.Yes I got it. While Orlando and I didn’t live together yet we had a “Don’t ask don’t tell” agreement set into place. Living three hours apart and being the horny men we were , it just didn’t seem reasonable to expect monogamy at this point. In fact Orlando and I truly didn’t believe in monogamy having seeing it fail all around us time and again. We both felt that men aren’t wired that way. What I hadn’t given a lot of thought to was when we lived together how we would sort that all out. When I was in nursery school my mother had to be called to pick me up because another little boy rode my tricycle and well…it didn’t go over well. I even found some things she had saved through the years stating from various elementary school teachers that, “Paul seems to have trouble sharing.” I knew something would have to give. My middleaged New England Libido was not going to keep up with his Puerto Rican Libido so I had better learn to let other boys ride my tricycle. Kim’s voice snapped me out of my reverie. “Right now you have the BEST of both worlds!” and he patted my thigh and cackled. It was clear that Kim didn’t think that Orlando moving in was a good idea. Well…not a good idea for him anyway.

Now the rides on BART with KIM are significantly shorter since I live in Oakland, yet we still ride together. I haven’t told him that I really am over the whole acting part of theater because I am sure he wouldn’t believe it. At this particular time, I was still living in a postage stamped sized studio with Lando. He narrowed his beady brown eyes at me. He has an uncanny talent for sniffing out a person’s weaknesses out and he could see that the strain of living in a small studio with Orlando and not having enough “me” time was beginning to show around my eyes. “ I tell ya PA, I couldn’t do it.” He cackled , “ I don’t have what it takes.” I had visions of him cocktailing and crowing to those that we mutually knew, “There’s trouble in Bear Paradise!!!” I didn’t want this to get out of hand. I did whatever damage control I could. “It’s not awful Kim. I just need to get used to being cleaner and organized, and learn to…go with the flow more.”

He looked thoughtful for a second. It was if the alligator had flipped over and showed his vulnerable tender belly and I saw my chance. I wasn’t sure, it seemed, somewhere in those Absolut Vodka soaked eyes he was envisoning or remembering a moment where he may have lived with a lover. Then he spat out, “I don’t flow well with others.” He bit off each word. …I thought out carefully what I was going to say next and then spoke. “You see, the real challenge for me in all of this is to be as generous and as giving to him as he is to me. I mean he is so thoughtful to me and I just hate to think that I might be an imposition to him in any way because he really goes out of his way to make my life easier. He makes breakfast for me, rubs my feet, tells me he loves me at just the right times when I need to hear it and it’s great to have someone there to cuddle with every night on the couch. I just sometimes don’t think that I can measure up to his thoughtfulness.” The irony here is that you are thinking I made that up to keep Kim from blabbing to everyone that PA is not as happy as his Facebook posts make him out to be? Every word of what I told Kim is true. I worry every day that I don’t measure up..then again I worry every day period. (Thanks Mom)

That apparently worked because Kim picked up the Newspaper and snapped it open so sharply that it sounded like a rifle crack-even above the din of the BART train, and began to read it, completely ignoring me , after murmuring a dismissive, “Well that’s nice”

Well I did eventually find something to do. I had done a trade with Photographer Bill McClaren (profile to follow). He did a shoot with me if I agreed to be one of his models for his Fine Art Photography Workshops. However, I agreed to do the workshop and well…that was going to cut into our Pride Parade celebration a bit. It fell on a Gay Pride Sunday. That turned out to be not such a bad thing. You would think that a city full of queens would have fabulously creative floats to rival the Rose Bowl but no…it’s a surprisingly boring parade. Hey LOOK everyone – It’s all the Gay and Lesbian PG&E workers… whoopee. The pictures contained in the blog are from that workshop. I work with the photographers and it is kinda fun. They get to learn how to work with Models.They think I am pretty keen and say how expressive I am etc etc etc. It's not exactly like applause...but it'll do.

You got the Bear- Now what?

2011-06-16T19:30:00.000-07:00

Me and Gal Pal Drew in "Bad Dream"

POW !

Orlando is a little concerned. Not only has he entered the Funhouse of P.A., it truly hit him last night as we were going to bed that I have indeed given up acting. I think what really frightens him is that I may end up focusing fully on him. “But you love it so..” he said in his sweet little boo boo voice which makes me want to squeeze his head and kiss his face.

“Loved dear..as in past tense. I’ll always enjoy watching it and perhaps talking about it, but the whole process of being in a play or almost any show just depresses and overwhelms me. It’s no fun anymore. I over think everything. I am saying my lines in my head before I speak them. My hands shake so badly I can barely hold a prop. I can’t relax and enjoy the audience anymore because I am too worried and focusing on their reactions. Don’t worry. I’m not going to miss it.”

We crawled into bed and he growled and bit my ear and then pulled me into him closer. “I dunno Honey. It just seems like it’s a central part of your being-of who you are.” I was worried for a second he was going to bring up Jeffrey as a possible irrational reason for this choice, Jeffrey who you may recall- had died of cancer a few years ago was an integral part of my San Francisco theater world and cronies. He died an ex-friend-much to my chagrin. This lack of resolution made me distance myself from nearly everything and everyone related to him. There was once a powerful drive to do it physically when I was considering leaving my job and moving up to Redding CA to live with Orlando. After some clear thinking, two realizations came to surface; FIRST I should want to move because I want to live with Orlando -and no other reason and SECOND -Redding California is hotter than the hinges of hell 8 months of the year. Eventually -the mutual theater cronies that Jeffrey and I had that mattered to me, (all three) began to wander back into my life. It was if they knew and we never had to talk about it. Still my desire to go back to the stage never felt the same.

I flipped over from our spoon position and touched noses with Orlando in the dark. “It’s Okay” I whispered. Then I realized I was whispering and spoke full voice. “ I am not going to miss working 40 hours a week and rehearsing 35 and feeling exhausted all the time-and barely getting paid for any of it. I am not going to miss egomaniacal Director’s who would rather exercise their mind control then their ability to direct a play. I am not going to miss being told I am too Gay to play certain characters. I am not going to miss playing truly queeney characters. I won’t miss working in drafty poorly heated theaters that smell weird. I won’t miss working with dysfunctional costars with a myriad of personality disorders. I won’t miss sucking up to people who are vapid and unkind to help the theater I am performing in to get the things it needs because it doesn’t have any money. I won’t miss never having a weekend free-think about that one honey-. It’s stupid. It’s not like it’s Broadway and I am Channing saying I am through and I’m never doing another Dolly! I am P.A. Cooley. A guy that a handful of Gay Senior Citizens in San Francisco might - I say MIGHT... remember. I am not famous.

“alrighty then” He attempted to drift off. I grabbed his shoulder.

Party ON Garth

“BUT...there’s always film...I mean. It’s a medium I can control. Editing - no audience -no surprise elements The technology is changing all the time making easier and easier for the average Joe to make films. If I can just start filming those exchanges I want to start doing with Drew and I ya know- chatting and work on editing them and you can help too.!!! You are getting really good with my cameras...so...

“Yes ..yeah - of course...( he yawned ) I mean -I was just thinking. Maybe you could find something to do yourself?”

“Myself?” I asked

“Yeah ..well I mean. I got my racquet ball going on now at the gym and since you are not doing theater ,maybe you could form a group or something? “

A group? A group of guys videoing each other...? “

Oh C’mon! You know what I mean! (To Be Continued)

The Ones that got away -Thank God!

2011-06-12T12:33:00.000-07:00

I sank back gratefully into the couch cushions feeling like I had been racing around Disneyland for a solid month. Orlando and I had been living together for only about 3 weeks now. Currently he was off investigating a new gym to play racquet ball in. I sipped on my cocktail. It had been days…weeks even since I had just come home after work and made myself a drink and plopped on the couch and flipped on Tivo… alone. Orlando’s shiny impressive flat screen massive TV now stood where my very Old very large clunky one had once sat. We didn’t have the energy to deal with selling my TV, so we just lugged it to the technology recycling pile in the garage of our building.

I listened to the early evening sounds of our building around me, and the very faint hiss and whistle of the radiator. Despite the fact that we had unpacked every box, the apartment still had a cluttered appearance. The bits of paper around my desk were dropping to the floor. His various back packs –ok he only had 2 –plus his lap top bag, were strewn around his “place”. He seemed to gravitate toward the Club chair. I liked looking over at him just after dinner, watching him struggle to stay awake when we watched TV. Eventually our evening cocktail and the dinner won out and his head would sink back into the soft club chair for a cat nap of 20 minutes or more –eyes closed –mouth wide open and I found it endearing. Especially when his head snapped back up and he asked, “What’d I miss?”

Add caption

I got fetal on the couch with my cocktail and balefully glared at an unruly shelf in desperate need of clearing. Then a new thought fibrillated through my body and I sat up in surprise …”Hey..I live with someone now” There was no doubt I was living with the right one but, I suddenly felt like a race that I had been running for ever had finally finished. It was good feeling. Relief and not confusion settled over me. A relationship –like raising children, is one of those learn-as- you- go- sort –of- things. There are plenty of books and classes and helpful friends and relatives but you don’t get it until you are actually in the thick of it. I have learned much in the past few weeks. I have learned much in the past several years. It’s not that I am a late bloomer…I had been studying how to do this for a very long time and now it was time to practice what I had “learnt”

Before I had met Orlando my relationships were not exactly wise choices-at least not on the inside but on the outside they seemed like very good choices. Allow me to explain. One man worked for a non-profit and his job was to glad hand big wigs into giving this particular non-profit money. He is attractive in a congenial good guy way that almost gives off a cherubic innocence. He’s the kind of guy that could watch a football game or a Science Fiction Movie. He was very good at his job. He was so good in fact that the San Francisco Examiner took note of it and pointed him out as one of the up and coming stars to keep an eye on. (It helped him that his non-profit was enormously appealing too, because it gave enterprising kids a chance to succeed in forming their own businesses.) He was age appropriate (38) and dammit…he looked good on my arm-and vice versa.

As my Jewish Friend asked, “It didn’t take?” No –it didn’t take. At that point in my life I kinda told my boss of 7 years (at the time a Mortgage Broker) to go take long walk of a short pier. Thinking that a bright impressionable lad like myself could reinvent myself, I figured getting a new job would be a piece of Princess Cake. I didn’t realize the economy would choose that particular time to tank. The San Francisco Examiner’s Pick of the Litter couldn’t handle the strain of being my personal bread winner and was fearful that at any given moment I would ask the fateful question, “ Honey? How do you feel about me moving in?” Since I was empathic and I loathed people sensing any weakness with in me. I cut bait and sailed Gay-ly forward. I have to admit -he was a good guy and the sexual attraction was still there, but he couldn’t handle vulnerable P.A. Strong P.A. on the other hand was another matter altogether….

My 24 hour rebound was ( all this unknown to me at the time) a high school senior named Bam Bam. When Mr. SF Examiner and I were breaking up at the Mix quietly in the corner, my phone rang and it was Bam Bam asking when we were meeting that night. I admit it. Look. Don’t judge. The writing was on the wall. I knew the relationship was doomed and earlier that day I had been trolling the internet for …attention. I held the phone looking directly at my soon-to-be-ex and said, “20 minutes.” My ex was shocked that I took a booty call during our break up but I was hurt that he felt he couldn’t handle the WHOLE P.A. Cooley and I needed comfort and Bam Bam looked… very comfortable to me. –and indeed he was. After my evening of comfort with the Bam, his phone rang the next morning. It was his Mom, making sure he wasn’t late for wrestling practice…she even asked where he was so she could pick him up and take him there. I strongly urged him to um…meet her on the corner somewhere. I tried very hard to resist the Bam’s charms for future assignations and succeeded…sometimes.

My attraction to big brown eyes and baldheads and dark skin never faded …(Orlando may be Puerto Rican but take a good look.) and after Mr. Examiner I met The Nurse. Well one would think that a Nurse would make an excellent life partner right? WRONG! Be wary of a nurse. A Guy or Gal who spends their days being humiliated daily by ego maniacal Doctors, after doing very difficult thankless work that requires intestinal fortitude is either very crazy or a living Saint. I know. I work with them everyday. Let me tell you. The Saints are very few and far between. This one lived in LA. His big loving moment with me was when he drove up to see me on 4 hours of sleep after I had a horrible dental procedure that left me swollen and doped up on my couch. I awoke on my couch to find him asleep on the rug beside me holding my hand. It endeared him to me so I fell down the rabbit hole of love yet again.

I waited tables on weekends part time, so he always drove up to see me. He was 23 at the time. He made twice what I made at my two jobs, but when I bought him an inexpensive pair of sneakers he got on the phone and crowed to his friends how his man got him some new “treads” Did I mention he looked liked a thug? I liked the Ying and Yang that he looked like he might kill you, but he spent the day being compassionate to frail sickly people…(or so I thought). In the end, I lent him several hundred dollars feeling guilty about him having to pay for all that gas for his Mercedes. This turned out to be a poorly thought out move. Upon lending him the money he dumped me immediately and told me “I was no better than a woman”. I never saw the money again. In retrospect I found it more irritating that he found calling me a woman insulting than the actual act of being dumped. I recall going through the motions of being heart broken and well…not being all that into it. I was furious about losing my money. It got a little worse as he left some maniacal rants on my voicemail indicating he was truly unhinged. He said he had a mysterious genetic disease for which there was no cure and he would be dead in 2 years. Well it’s been 4 years. He looks healthy and he’s moved to San Francisco now. He looks very cerebral and introspective in wire rimmed glasses and khakis and expensive sweaters. When I see him out and about, we glance at each other making note of each other’s presence but that’s about it. He tries to friend me on facebook. I hit ignore. I’d rather hang with Mr. SFExaminer than the Nurse any day if I were to hang with an ex.

Then I met the Lando man. It was all supposed to be a weekend hook up and well ….that hook up has been going on since 2009. (An Author smiles smugly to himself, sips drink, and stops writing to watch Chelsea Handler. Author is enormously pleased with how things all worked out)

Post Bear -R u kidding me?

2011-05-13T16:24:00.000-07:00

It’s hard for a Bear out there….or is it? I guess that would be depending on what category of bear you put yourself in. What’s that? You didn’t realize there are different categories of bears? Oh yes my friend. Diversity is epidemic in the Bear Community and there are some men out there that have a REAL problem with it. They call themselves Post Bear.

The Post Bear long for the day where hirsute men with average and heavyset builds could hang together in an easygoing environment where beer was served and there would be a ballgame on the tube. They could grope and paw at each other and sneak in a kiss and- hey- who knows- maybe there would be a hook up after the game. Now wait a minute- since when did that stop?

It’s not that those days are gone exactly, it’s just become a different terrain. The intimacy is gone. The social gatherings hosted at peoples houses- generated by feeling uncomfortable in a bar or club with the insidious clone perfection standard of the 70s and early 80s-rarely happen. In most cases they aren’t needed due to the popularity of Bear Runs. A Bear Run is a 3 to 5 day event held where all forms of Bears can convene and cavort in a (relatively) twink- free sexually charged environment. Zaftig, furry, men from all over the world build their vacations around Bear Runs. (If there was some way to harness the sexual energy and convert it into electricity, you could probably provide power to the Eastern Seaboard for a year or more.) Imagine- if you will-A bunch of homosexual men who have spent the last 11 months sexless in a remote part of one of those square states in the middle of the US, gathering all together in a place that’s clothing optional and serves alcohol - I can assure you- the combo is nothing less than a conflagration and definitely worth the price of admission.

It’s not the same though. –so say the Post Bears. The boys that show up to Bear Runs now are younger and thinner. The creation of the “Muscle Bear”: the very masculine very well muscled version of the species- has added even more significant changes to the Bear Community. Slowly the chunkier guys slipped out of the limelight. Twinks thought Musclebears were hot so they showed up where the Muscle Bears went and the guys with a 40PLUSinch waistline didn’t have room to move with all those Twinks and Muscle Bears taking up all that space! Now the big men weren’t the only game in town, and what’s worse, they began to feel SELF-CONSCIOUS of their size. They got mad. They were there FIRST!!! So the bigger men all got together and decided to not…get together anymore and they stayed at home. They threw away their Bear Wear and they never said Grrrr or Woof and secretly went on diets and exercised more. They eschewed all things Ursine. They let the world know that they had gone…. “Post Bear”

Well something had to give after months and months of all that ridiculous diet and exercise crap. Eventually they started to return to the Lairs that they knew so well…..But It got confusing. You’d hear how a Bear hooked up with a skinny twink and they were “gasp” ..DATING!!! The big guys got even more bewildered when they befriended the Muscle Bears. It all started when a very burly, very buffed Dude cracked a very funny joke about Caprica on the Syfy Channel – the Post Bears were mesmerized! Then they all eagerly discussed the entire Call of Duty Gamer series and lasting friendships were created!!

Here’s the thing fellas. “Post Bears” are the stuff of unicorns and Big Foot. They have not organized. A coupla guys bitched about how everything had gone bear crazy and they missed the days of the origins of the movement. If you find yourself being negative about high profile bears and the endless commercialization- quit bitching. Change is good. Get out there and “come out” as a bear and do something good for the community. Show them you’re happy and they can be too.

OR – you can call a few buds and meet at a Twink Bar, ask them to turn on the Game and make out with each other, and have a few laughs..

An Actor prepares for test results

2011-05-03T20:11:00.000-07:00

I awake nearly every morning with a feeling that there is never enough time to cram all this living in. I have almost forgotten what it feels like to sit still and take in what is happening around me. I try to remind myself that all this hurrying around is meaningless if I can’t absorb the beauty of that flower over there -or contemplate the history of a certain building or why the young boy riding the bus with me is looking so wistful at the moment. It feels to me that -in an instant I will find myself sitting in a wheelchair, staring out of a window in a nursing home wondering -how the hell did I get here? Wasn’t it yesterday that I was an excited 25 year old man boarding a plane for the very first time, and moving to the the Untied States biggest Gay Mecca?

Now, nearly 25 years later, I have found someone to help me slow down and take a moment. My partner Orlando and I were strolling down a San Francisco street, late Friday afternoon in the NOPA district, while fervently seeking a place to grab a bite to eat. I had been fasting all day due to the CT scan I just had and was ravenous. I emailed my Doctor the day before and asked if there was anything else I needed to do to prepare for the CT scan -other than just show up. He wrote back that I probably shouldn’t eat anything and water should be fine. I interpreted that as- I shouldn’t eat anything for the whole day. My Doctor was trying to determine the cause of my headaches that I had been experiencing for nearly a month since I had moved to Oakland from San Francisco. The headaches had begun to occur just prior to the move. (For those of you thinking that my current environment may be harmful to my health, be aware that the mold situation in the place I had lived in for over 10 years was potentially far more harmful to me.) Orlando hustled me along and then slowed down. “Sorry.” he said, “ I was in New York mode.”

“It’s okay” I said and stopped to peruse a Vietnamese restaurant Menu.

“Do you want to eat here or the Sushi place that’s supposed to be just on the next block?” he asked while consulting his phone. I pondered this a bit wondering if I should adhere to my “Flat Belly Solution Diet” that I was currently on or just make it a “cheat day”. I figured, if I just avoided wheat gluten and sugar, I would be fine in nearly any Asian restaurant. I had been eating like this for almost 2 weeks and already was noticing my pants were more comfortable around the waist. The eating plan began due to two reasons: my Doctor had noticed it one of my earlier visits to him. “ I see you have gained quite a bit of weight since I last saw you Paul-Andrew.” He lowered his little chin and adjusted his glasses which seemed to convey non-verbally-”and what do you plan to do about it?” I explained that Orlando and I liked our pizza, and ice cream-particularly Ben and Jerry’s Cinnabun Flavor. We had both deemed it one of the most wondrous creations on earth-worthy of worshipping. Yet Orlando went on a diet first-dropping a dramatic 40lbs in just 30 days. It was the same program that he had done before he had met me and dropped an even more jaw dropping 80lbs 2 years ago. Somehow during the nearly 2 years we had been dating - he gained 40 odd pounds back. It could have been all those pork roasts and pasta that I fed him...maybe. Now it was my turn to find my waistline back to it’s 33” circumference. He measured his weight loss in pounds and I kept track of mine in clothing sizes.

We chose the Vietnamese restaurant. Unsure what oils were being used and what -if anything-was organic, it became a semi cheat day. I was allowed rice, and chicken on my plan and I ordered a green papaya salad. The most incriminating item was an appetizer of small fried egg roles. I didn’t consider the spring rolls since my calorie intake for the day had been zero thus far. Orlando and I shared everything because it was only 4:30pm and there was a chance we may eat dinner at 8:00. He had asked me if I had wanted him to come down to be with me while I had the CT scan the weekend before. Originally, I had thought it was silly for him to do that, but then I chose to play the needy-boyfriend-card and asked if the offer was still on the table when we Skyped earlier that week. He agreed to meet me at the hospital.My last memories of a CT scan or CAT scan as they are also called-was at age 13.

Debilitating eye-watering headaches had begun when I was outside playing croquet with my foster sister in the summer of “76”. My brother Matthew, 5 years my senior, had been diagnosed with a brain tumor at 14. He died at 15. That was sometime in “74”. My parents became numb with the thought that they may lose another child to this disease. My mother couldn’t bear to go through the testing required to determine the cause of my headaches, but my father called upon his stoic New England reserves to bring me to the same hospital that Matthew had been to so many times before. I do recall that the old man had a devil of a time that day. He was unaccustomed to showing grief-or any sign of emotion indicating weakness. He also had great difficulty showing physical affection. (That all changed when he hit 70 btw)

I don’t remember much of it but I remember the technician explaining everything to me in a clear calm voice. They injected a liter of something into my arm that would give them a better x-ray picture. I thought my arm was going to freeze and break at the shoulder. I was slowly moved by some conveyer belt like thingy and there was an awful lot of light and an awful lot of noise. I was truly frightened. The results yielded nothing out of the ordinary. My headaches had to do with turning 13 and extremely competitive croquet games with my foster sister. I suspect my parents were quite irritated with me for putting them through that hell but I don’t recall being treated differently.

My recent CT scan was a piece of cake. The only discomfort was starving myself for an entire day. The tech was a sassy black girl who had a sense of humor and was young enough to be my daughter. She must’ve thought I knew all about CT scans because all she told me was “ Now Don’t move” after I stuck my head into the washing machine. It wasn’t as loud as I recalled but it wasn’t all that quiet either. I shut my eyes the whole time. Orlando’s eyes flew open in surprise when I emerged from the room that housed the machine. “That was fast!”
I enthusiastically agreed.
“They didn’t make you wear a hospital gown?”
“Nope..They just scanned my brain”

After the Vietnamese mini late afternoon break-fast, we headed back to this car. Orlando and I were quiet. The next day he would have a job interview that hopefully would land him a job here in the Bay Area. This would mean we would live together. Huge changes were on the horizon for the both of us and I was of course imagining how or IF the results of the CT scan would affect our futures. A ridiculous vision of Greta Garbo coughing weakly on a bed came to my mind while Orlando sobbed hysterically at her bedside. Greta Garbo??

“Hey.” He said softly as he grabbed me gently by the elbow. “I feel like I rush you too much. I don’t want you to feel rushed or hurried.” He kissed me on the temple. “I love you.”

“ I love you too” I said almost before he finished saying it. I never ever wanted him to question it.

“ So the traffic will be pretty awful.”( I now lived in Oakland ) He asked, “ You wanna go have a drink until it dies down?”

“mm No..not really” My belly was full of food and we were meeting ‘Drew the next night for a Happy Hour extravaganza anyway. I didn’t think our livers could handle two evenings in a row of cocktailing. “Let’s just go home.” I was grateful to have him to curl up with on the couch that night. The traffic wasn’t all that bad either...oh and the latest CT findings were as unremarkable as they had been 34 years ago. No croquet and adolescence to blame but simply being middle aged and neurotic...and not finding enough time to do all this living and loving.

An Actor prepares for Cohabitation

2011-04-26T19:51:00.000-07:00

The great transition has occurred. I am officially no longer a San Franciscan and now an inhabitant of the much maligned city of Oakland Ca. I did not leave my heart in San Francisco. I left willingly. The need to create a new image was stronger than maintaining the local San Francisco Celebutante identity that I often desperately clung to. The moldy in law, West of Twin Peaks San Francisco, has been traded in for a very warm, very dry studio apartment with hardwood floors located in the pretty , sunshine filled Lake Merritt district of Oakland.

The day of the move was more of an emotional toll then a physical one. The movers couldn’t have been more charming and efficient. The length of the experience was relatively brief and Orlando was secretly relieved that I had hired men to move my couch and over 35 boxes up three flights of stairs. To me there really wasn’t an option, but he suffers under the delusion that well…he can do it all. He is also “frugal” and paying movers really wouldn’t cross his mind to begin with. I knew I would need everything to go smoothly that day because …I would be a neurotic sloppy mess. I awoke having an anxiety attack of monumental proportions –or I was hungover. It didn’t seem as clear to me as it did to Orlando. He opted for hung over as he catalogued the vodka and wine I had consumed at an impromptu Farewell Teresita party the night before. My skull was throbbing and I kept gagging but was unable to vomit. Orlando looked at me torn between wanting to comfort me and also trying the tough love routine. The move was going to happen whether I was ready or not. He’d been clear. My brains felt as if they were going to implode right then and there. My blood pressure was sky high but at that point I was completely unaware of it.

I stood around looking distressed while the Lando Bear would try to help the movers with whatever he could. I’d try to distract myself by stuffing more of my past in the garbage and listlessly scrubbing the interior of the fridge. The glamorous San Francisco Actor was gradually fading away as each box went up into the moving truck. No more trotting off to a café and getting a latte while a kindly elder Gay, who had survived the AIDS crisis, would toddle up to me and tell me what a wonderful actor I am, and how much he had enjoyed my work through the years. There would be a considerable decline in capricious, last-minute Happy hours at the Midnight Sun with Drewsie. It was official. I was maudlin. I gagged a bit –like a cat with a hairball which made Orlando glance balefully at me. I tried to get my shit together before he became completely disgusted with me. I tried my best...but no matter how I looked at it, saying I lived in Oakland didn’t seem to have the same cache that saying I lived in San Francisco had. Point of fact-Now when I DO tell people I live in Oakland, their brows furrow and they immediately ask about the safety of my neighborhood. When I was shopping in Macy’s in Redding Ca on a recent visit to the Lando bear, the sales associate just looked at me with pity when I told her where I lived.

Arrival to “The Mayfair”, (yes my building has a NAME and it’s called, “The Mayfair”. To make this even better , I’ll tell you the street I live on is just off of “Grand” Ave. Aint that Grand?) was indeed welcoming. The weekend property manager, Mindy, was just unlocking the office door as we arrived before the movers. She resembles a red-haired, adorable Cabbage Patch kid. She smiled her dimpled grin and said, “Welcome Home!” in a lovely whiskey soaked alto. She noticed that I was a bit on the edge and rubbed my arm letting me know that it would all be over soon. It was Mindy who kind of sold me on living at The Mayfair in the first place. She is a ballsy earthy, young woman and her humor is dryly pragmatic.

I found The Mayfair a few weeks prior to this move in, by sheer happenstance. I called and spoke to the weekday property manager, Lila - all because my Face book friend, Robert, had suggested I give her a call to see if anything was available. Now a current SF resident, Robert had once loved living in the building back in the 90s and had very fond memories of the building and the neighborhood. Lila answered the phone in her mellifluous voice and told me – as a matter of fact –yes there was an apartment available! The apartment was not going to be ready to be viewed until Sunday but Orlando and I had showed up on Saturday because of my addled brain. I had gotten confused. Luckily-this turned out to be a happy mistake.

Mindy greeted us warmly that day and let us know the apartment wouldn’t be ready for viewing until Sunday_ BUT she said the current resident was pretty easy going and wouldn’t mind having us take a look. This turned out to be absolutely true. The young man gave off a “Clerks” vibe but was equipped with a far more sophisticated vocabulary and personality. The bathroom needed a deep clean – hey he seemed straight and single so what did I expect? I noticed the apartment was very bright and warm and had a gargantuan closet that almost qualified as a small room.

Residents were wandering in and out of the building and it seemed everyone had a dog. Orlando and I glanced wide eyed at each other because we had both been discussing adopting a Labradoodle once we lived together. A pet friendly building is a rarity in this day and age. We thought the Studio a tad small but the goal was to find a place for me in the first place so there really wasn’t a problem. Yet O and I planned to live together soon. We asked about the availability of One Bedrooms in the building. How often did they free up? Mindy said about every six months-sometimes less. She then generously offered to show us HER apartment. The place was great and roomy. Dining room/Living Room/Bedroom and Kitchen /Bath – It seemed IDEAL!!!! Mindy concluded the tour by showing us the view from the top of the building. Breathtaking O and I did a little mental conferring. We liked the building. The next day we were there to get our name on the list even before Mindy had finished walking her dog. When Mindy finished meeting with us there were at least 5 other couples waiting to take a look at the place.

Now here I was-moving in. I now lived in a building that housed over 80 other people and was over 80 years old….What’s more – I was a resident of a city I swore I’d never reside in! Oakland!

Allow me to reintroduce myself -A little P.A. 101

2011-02-14T21:42:00.000-08:00

Let’s review – shall we? P.A. Cooley 101
It’s been a while I know I know so allow me to REINTRODUCE MYSELF…
Hello, my name is P.A. Cooley. I am 47 years old. I stand at 5’7 and three quarters of an inch. (I often lie and say I am 5’8”.) I weigh 210 pounds. I am not lying about that. I am a chunky guy without question. I don’t have a problem with my size. I am a self-proclaimed Pin Up Cub, but I highly doubt anyone has a picture of me taped on the inside door of their locker. I have successfully deluded myself into thinking other men and maybe some women like looking at partially clad photographs of me and my body. I actually think I am attractive, BUT I might just have a Narcissistic personality disorder. I am figuring it out currently.

Not only have I become an unorthodox cyber centerfold model but I am also trying to redefine myself as a writer after identifying myself as an actor for the last 37 years of my life. I’ve been thinking “humorist” may be my correct title. Writer seems so lofty. The only thing I have published is this blog. I have a long way to go and I appreciate you taking the time to read this. ( I especially appreciate it if you already know me and don’t require this tutorial.)

I haven’t completely abstained from being on stage. Occasionally I still enjoy acting and performing, but I have let go of the “dream” that keeps actor’s going. I am talking about Oscar worthy, Tony award winning success. I am also speaking of the dream when an actor no longer has to live with seven other people and eat cornflakes for breakfast. Currently I live alone in a moldy in-law with an embittered angry ghost who sometimes makes his presence known. (Oh yes- I “sense” dead people.) When he was alive he was my landlord. My current landlord is the quiet, melancholy executor of his estate. The executor isn’t bitter or angry, but he does seem unhappy. I am not sure why. I don’t think he’s too thrilled to be the executor of my landlord’s estate.
I am dating someone -although “dating” seems to not have the gravity of the relationship I have developed. I am engaged to be engaged... His name is Orlando and he is very nice to me. It is my sincere hope to grow old with him. I call him the Lando Bear. We met on a website where Gay men who identify themselves with all things Ursine meet. Currently we live 3 hours by car apart from each other. I don’t own a car so it takes me significantly longer to visit him by train and bus. I am pretty much over the commute, but willing to endure it to spend time with him. He’s cute. We have seen each other almost every weekend for two years. He makes up for it by visiting me down here more than I go up to see him.
I live in the exciting and expensive city of San Francisco and he lives in a town in the High Desert of North State California. It’s called “the High Desert” even though it has beautiful pines and snow capped mountains everywhere, but much of the year it’s as hot as the Sahara. Well…it feels that way to me. Nine months out of the year when I walk around outdoors up there I feel like a 3 ton Dragon is sitting on my chest spraying fire all around me.

Orlando and I are in the process of trying to find a way to live together so I can get out of the haunted moldy in law and he can move away from the dragon. After much discussion we decided together he would move down to expensive and exciting San Francisco with me. He is a sensible sort and knew he couldn’t do it without finding a job first. That was almost a year ago. Instead of dreaming of making it big in show biz, I NOW dream about finding a nice affordable 2 bedroom bungalow in Berkeley with enough room for a friendly Golden Labradoodle named Sarah, and the Lando Bear and myself. Sarah doesn’t really exist yet, but if you could read my mind you could see she’s a great dog! Lately I have been dreaming of a fat very old Silver Grey Tiger tabby named Hairrison too. My dreams of fame and fortune have been traded in for something more attainable…and quite possibly better!

I work five days a week with the elderly and find it very rewarding. These men and women are extremely frail and sick. Ten years ago they would call where I worked a Nursing Home. Times have changed and the tainted industry needed a new twist so now they are all called Skilled Nursing Facilities now. Regardless of the moniker, there’s a lot of hospice work associated with where I work so it’s kind of “God’s waiting room” no matter what you call it. I also market the facility which also allows for a great deal of creativity and varied routines. Like most jobs it has its up days and down days, but even the down days reveal something to me about life and love and the purpose of humanity, so I often feel more enlightened on the down days than I did on the up days. Every day I deal with mortality and aging and more importantly family dynamics. I see pain and fear in people’s eyes but I also see hope and -on a great day- joy. I live for those days.

My compulsion to ease people of their pain has for better or worse spilled over to my co-workers too. I worry about my boss and my morbidly obese co-worker who are both so good to me, but can’t seem to be good to them-selves. I guess that is my lot in life. My Dad used to tell me when I was young that he thought I was going to be a psychiatrist. I always knew when he was sad and would crawl up on his lap and hold his face in my hands and ask, “What’s the matter Daddy?” (Don’t worry…I stopped doing that when I turned 17). I feel I actually have the ability to make people feel better about them-selves. I can cheer them on and give them the incentive they need to make their own dreams come true. My methods may not appear gentle or loving to most, but I honestly don’t think you can move forward in your life until you can look pain directly in the eye and give it hell. Most troubled people would rather not look at pain in their live and I can’t really blame them. Yet dealing with reality will help you in the long run because well…it’s reality. Reality is the hand you were dealt. Avoiding it could seriously keep you from realizing your dreams or potential. I am not a licensed therapist. I am empathetic and intelligent. I am trying to figure out my place in the world just like you are.

Lately I have been doing something fun on Facebook which has grown to something interesting. On my status I asked people if I could help them by dispensing advice. I called it Ask-A-Cub. (Those of you who told me 47 is too old to be identified as a Cub –get with the program. I addressed this in my first blog for cryin out loud! ) I also tried to make it funny which many of my Facebook cronies had fun with- being quite amusing in their own right. Then something truly gratifying happened. I got some serious questions sent privately to me in my Facebook Inbox. “Why can’t I find a date in San Francisco?”, “Am I crazy just because I believe in God?” and “ How will I know if I will be a good Father?” At first I was overwhelmed. I got questions out of my realm of experience, but I knew I could take a page out of Dear Abby’s column and refer them to people more qualified than I to answer their query. I love connecting and helping. It’s almost as good as a sold out house standing ovation…almost.

I can’t help everyone and I can’t even get them to go in the right direction for help. Sometimes it makes no sense to try and get someone to see the truth. Sometimes the chemicals in your brain really fuck with your reality and no amount of medicine or talk therapy can alleviate your pain because you weren’t wired to accept things they way they are. Those people are diagnosable. I can’t help those people. I hate that. I hate that a lot.
Ask A Cub is here for you. How can I help?

An actor accepts an apology

2011-01-11T21:44:00.000-08:00

The other day began like most days at my job. As some of you know, I work in a lovely Non Profit Skilled Nursing Facility in Berkeley Ca as an Admissions Director. When people are thinking of placing their parents, Grandparents, or friends in our facility, I am the first one that they will meet. I guide them through the facility showcasing what makes us different from others. I have been doing this patter for almost four years. I enjoy my job very much. I am one of the odd ones that enjoys socializing about difficult subjects that most don’t want to deal with. The subject that I can talk ad infinitum about is the end of life.

On this particular day I had gotten excited about a new idea. A resident at our facility who was a seamstress for a living was beginning to lose her passion for crocheting. She slept more often and rarely felt like interacting with anyone. I was watching Project Runway at home one night and felt that this might give her the pep she needed. I remembered she had watched an old industrial documentary on the history of fashion, so I thought she would think that Project Runway would be a hoot. I went to her room that following morning to discuss it with her. She showed interest at the idea, so I smugly trotted down to the Activities department to inform them to find a season of PR on Net Flix for our resident. I was met by Erika from Activities, who informed me that I had customers. She wrinkled her nose and changed “customers” to “clients” and seemed happy with that label instead.

There were three of them. A woman in her late forties and her brother and sister who were in their 30s. They all wore the familiar pinched expressions of the truly stressed out and frightened. The older of the three, Sarah, extended her hand, cool and professional, and introduced herself and her siblings. She was clearly in charge and her siblings seemed perfectly fine with her in that role. I had trouble shaking her hand because I was juggling a cup of Green Tea and my morning snack of a hardboiled egg. I repeated their names and promptly forgot the siblings. Sarah was the one that seemed to require all the attention so I focused on her. We gathered in my office to discuss the situation that brought them to our facility. Their mother was dying of leukemia and they were looking for us as a hospice house. Since our facility did not offer rehab we were taking more and more hospice cases. One of the hospice organizations that we have a relationship with had recommended us. I was filling out an Inquiry form for our records and asked Sarah for her phone number. She paused. “ May we just see a room?” I took a little mental breath. This was not a good sign. She didn’t trust me. I tried to shake off the irritation but it remained. “ It’s just a formality - for this form...I won’t be contacting you unless you decide to proceed with admitting your mother.” She looked unmoved and repeated that they would like to see a room. I looked down at the paper and looked back at her with quite possibly the most insincere smile one could do. “Of course.” I said with the vaguest hint of dismissiveness. Where was this coming from? This was not my usual course of action. I usually recognized the grieving and the pain and tried to ameliorate it. Was it the two cups of coffee I had that morning? It wasn’t so long ago that a similar situation had occurred and I all but hugged the daughter within five minutes of knowing her!
Things went from bad to worse. Sarah realized she had caught me off guard and went in for the kill. I started to boast about our amazing activities program ( which it really is) and realized what a stupid gaff that was. The woman was going to be in her bed dying! She wouldn’t have interest in indoor “lawn” bowling or a sing-a-long. What was I thinking?? Sarah was clear it was a hospice case, but I continually began to explain how an elder could actually live and grow and change at our facility. I caught myself again and simply took them to the room. Sarah became a battering ram of questions and the unthinkable happened.

She made me nervous.

My voice haltingly explained the amenities to the room. She asked about Staff to Resident ratio and since it continually evolves due to the population of the facility, I explained we staff as needed. She wanted numbers. I didn’t do numbers. She asked about the cost of the room and good lord..I forgot the cost of the room! A price I had been quoting for nearly a year, everyday, 6 times a day, flew out of my head. I was appalled at my stupidity. The whole thing felt remarkably like being on stage and feeling completely unprepared. I used to do this thing where I was delivering lines to another actor on stage and then I would “say” the next line in my head and not “hear” what the other actor was saying. Quite often I would simply, “go up”. This is the term used when an actor forgets his or her lines. It took a while before I learned that one had to listen to the actor on stage and “be in the moment” instead of thinking ahead of what I had to do. Sure enough...that’s exactly what was happening here.

I went back to the office bewildered at how such a simple tour had gone downhill. I had been in this situation dozens of times and never felt so rattled as this. I could barely hand her the brochures without my hand shaking. She scrutinized the price I had forgotten. “That’s not what is on your website.” she blazed at me. Now wait just a goddam minute. I changed that price myself. I knew I had done it. “Really?? Would you mind just waiting a minute? May I check that while you are here?” I sat at my desk and brought up the website. It matched what was written on the price list. She paused. I felt slightly empowered, but more importantly I figured out what was going on. I watched her face begin to droop with fatigue. She was fighting for her mother. She wanted the absolute best situation for her so she could feel good about bringing her here. She wanted to do right by her. I began to feel sorry for whomever had to deal with me as I tried to find a nice place for my mother to die. It was brief but Sarah and I connected for a second. She told me very softly, “ It’s hard ....ya know?” The grief was a fresh sharp bleeding scrape and quite a ways from being ready to heal. I was in the moment. I reached up and squeezed her hand quickly, not too familiar and said, “ I know” She smiled sadly, “ You have a beautiful facility.” I thanked her and she gathered her mute mournful siblings and went in search of the perfect place for her mother to die. I doubted that she would find it.

An Actor makes some resolutions - sorta

2011-01-04T22:52:00.000-08:00

I pledge to do a sit up once in a while

New Year’s resolutions completely overwhelm me. I feel compelled to make them, yet I resent having to make them at all since I go to great lengths to be in a constant state of reinvention ANYWAY. Sometimes when I reinvent myself I do repeats. I return to being P.A. Cooley –Actor and don’t spend nearly enough time being PA the Writer. My Lando Bear is good at reminding me when to be creative. ( He pointed out that I hadn’t completed the SHowmance series.) I love writing, but I am reluctant to have anyone tell me how to do it. –oh hell I am about to be 47 and I am reluctant to have ANYONE tell me how to do ANYTHING. I grudgingly admit I need guidance in the craft of writing. I know my sentence construction is like something out of “Nightmare on Elm Street.” Anyway- here’s what I came up with so far.

Resolution # 1- I WILL write more! Lucky you! You get to read stories about my eating habits and my wonderful family and friends, (who I promise to discuss in a tactful and discreet manner), and of course my penis!

Resolution # 2- I will embrace change in all its forms. Now this is not all that different from my normal way of cruising through life. Change is GOOD. I always had a bit of a problem with scary and sad changes. Who doesn’t? My most recent dark hour, it was revealed to me who my true friends were-as well as what great support my family can be. So worst time in life =best lesson learned. Living is change. “Go with the flow” as my dear mother says.

Resolution #3 –I will learn more about others. I am fascinated by people and how they come to certain decisions. I want to know why that woman thought it was a good idea to wear that extremely unflattering outfit. I want to know why nice seemingly intelligent people fall in love with mean incredibly stupid people. When I have learned that their decision process is not helping the world to be a better place, you can help me figure out what to do with them.

Resolution # 4-I will look more visually appealing…but maybe I’m there already…hmmm (looks up at the ceiling for a moment and looks back down at his Vodka Gibson and sips it thoughtfully.) I’ll have to give this resolution some more thought.

Resolution # 5-I will start a website. What exactly will the website have on it? Well probably lots of provocative photos of me. Hush up don’t tell Momma. I will promote events that friends are doing. My writing will be there and cool things I find that I think you will get a kick out of --especially if it’s related to food or weird fashion choices.

Showmance Finale

2010-12-28T20:57:00.000-08:00

I trotted down the stairs of my railroad flat on Guerrero to let Jack in. He was breathless and excited coming in from the night. He carried a large paper grocery bag filled with clothing and a boom box. Since he had been in my apartment before, he zipped by me, navigating the familiar cluttered stairs with ease, and up to the landing but stopped and set his items down at the top of the stairs and said, “Whoa!” and zipped back down to scoop me up and bury his nose in my neck. “Damn!” he said as he pulled back. “ You smell deeeeeelicious!” True I did at that. I had showered with Mango scented soap and perfumed with Vanilla cologne. I knew he had a sweet tooth. He smelled like...well..how a boy smelled; kinda sweaty but not too bad, and cookies, and coffee...that he had eaten- I guess- at the Cafe. Tonight’s seduction had the potential of being like shooting fish in a barrel. Then again-maybe he was one of these self-actualized straight men that had zero hang ups? I thought about it. Naw!

“What’s in the bag?” I pushed it slightly with my toe. He grinned his enormously tooth-filled grin and grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me down the hall into the dining room/living room. He pulled clothing out and several sheets of paper with writing on them. He carefully laid out each item on the couch. There was a baseball cap, a white crew neck t-shirt, a pair of black Converse high tops, a pair of denim board shorts with a design on them that looked like graffiti-and lastly a pack of cigarettes. “ Please put this on.” he asked.

“What?” I was thrown. “Why?”

“It’s the outfit you wore when we were first fell in love-well when Austin met Ralph and fell in love. See! I wrote it all down here. Go ahead and read it and we can re-enact it to help with our sense memory.” I scanned the pages he handed to me. He had penned a very detailed account of our two characters attending a dance party in Central Park on Gay Pride in New York City. They met and started dancing to a song by The Cure called simply “Love Song” ...which he had brought a cassette tape of. (Hey it was the early 90’s)

“Whenever I’m alone with you...you make me feel like I am whole again” I looked at him as he hummed it. He came up real close and said softly, “ Will you please put the clothes on?” He kind of hypnotized me with his big chocolatey pools fringed with long lashes. I dazedly wandered into my bed room to change. I was still a little inebriated but not at the slurring or stumbling point but that could easily change with one tiny swig. The toughest part was the high tops. I never wore sneakers like that so they felt peculiar and I thought I was going to trip over my feet as I returned to the dining room/living room. I don’t think I looked particular sexy.

He lit up when I arrived. He had changed too! Into a pair of jeans that hung seductively off his hips and a wife beater that hugged every curve of perfectly sculpted, taut swimmer’s frame. I looked at his muscular arms, chest and shoulders and had an awful lot of trouble trying to string two words together in my mind. His shiny jet black hair hung loosely around his brow. I tried to look at his eyes, but kept drifting back to his nipples as they poked out happily against the ribbed fabric of the tank top. He smiled and said, “Ready?” Some common sense reached out to me from this bubbling cauldron of desire I was turning into. “ I dunno Jack...I’ve been drinking. I just don’t want to...make a mistake.” He looked surprised. It was pretty obvious I was afraid of falling hopelessly in love with him but I caught myself. “ I mean...isn’t it a threat to your sobriety? Being around someone else who is intoxicated?”

“-Hey!” he said and placed a forefinger against my lips to shush me. Wait .a thought flashed in my brain..didn’t straight boys always have a problem remembering to wash their hands after they went to the bathroom? I pulled his finger away from my lips. He said, “ Let me worry about that P.A. You are not responsible for my actions.” hmph How very AA. I reached for my Bloody Screw. “You’re telling me this is okay?” as I took that fatal swig, stuffing any common sense I had in me so far down that it had a snowball’s chance in HADES of ever surfacing during the remainder of the night. He leaned forward and didn’t sniff the glass but sniffed my lips instead, narrowly brushing them with his own as he did this. “MMMM!” he murmured. A light smile danced on his sensuous mouth. “ Vodka! very nice! You can relax..I was always a Whiskey and Bourbon guy” I laughed an absurdly sounding giggle. OF COURSE he was a Whiskey and Bourbon guy...that made ALLL of this Okay!!!

He reviewed the scenario. “ Okay. Gay Pride. A beautiful sunny slightly cloudy day in Central Park. We bumped into each other while we were at the beer booth with friends but just cruised each other first”

“Who taught you ‘cruised’??”

“Al Pacino” he shot back at me. “ Wait! We almost forgot the rest of your look.” He put the baseball cap on me backwards and took the pack of cigarettes and rolled them up into my left sleeve and then proceeded to roll up my right sleeve. “Sheesh” I said, “Such details!”

“ It’s important to me.”

“ okay okay-relax” When his brows went up like a disappointed Labrador I had to give in. He put the cassette in the boom box and pressed play. When he bent over to do that he showed a slightly fuzzy plumber’s crack. I felt my Mr. Happy jump in my shorts. The music started to play and I heard the singers sultry promises of love. He swayed and I shuffled my feet around, trying not to trip on the sneakers. He looked at me after disengaging from some ecstasy that the music transported him to and his face was different. He looked hungry and it was kind of scary in a way. He held his hand out to me. I wavered but took it. He slowly reeled me in holding me close to him while our hips swayed to the music. Our noses were beginning to touch and ever so gently our bottom lips brushed together. I got brave and reached up and caressed his unshaven cheek. He held my hand and kissed my palm. I fell into those huge brown eyes -and I was the hungry one. I just kissed him firmly, holding the back of his head and he slowly yielded his mouth to my tongue and let out a little moan. “ Wow” he whispered, “Kissing a guy is so different!” Mr. Happy was unabashedly throbbing in my pants. Jack grinned and traced the outline of my cock through my shorts and let out another soft, “Wow!” I thought it was pretty amazing that he found kissing me a unique experience because -quite frankly- kissing him was different then kissing other men. He was gentle like a tentative but cooperative young girl (with stubble) about to lose her virginity. I know I know - How the hell would PA know what THAT feels like?? Don’t worry - we will save that story for another blog. - Back to Jack

We tumbled on to the couch and fumbled with clothing and kissing and licking. He was clearly having a great time. I, on the other hand, was falling in love HARD!!! That mixed with my sexual drive was making me unstoppable. I was determined that we were going to do everything before the night was over...then maybe take a nap and do it again. I nibbled, I licked, I squeezed and dry humped and soon we were naked and headed down to my bedroom. I looked upward and thanked God that my room mate was out for the evening and flung him on to the Futon. “Man you are forceful!!! Are all guys as hardcore as you are?” I resisted the impulse to yip with laughter and said, “Well with most women...not all..they don’t like it rough.” Another absurd thought that I was an authority on sex with women as a 27 homosexual. I continued, “ Guys think about sex way more and are so horny so ...you can be a little rougher with each other. Women are more intellectual about sex..but It doesn’t mean you can’t be tender too. “ I leaned down to demonstrate and he interrupted asking me, “ Hey - can I suck your cock?”

“Um sure...go for it.”

He grasped me and proceeded to mouth and suck it. It was a little clumsy but pleasurable -I told him how to watch his teeth by folding your lips over them. He did this for a total of 3 minutes and then spit and went “Yuk! I don’t like giving head. - Hey...will you fuck me? But start slow okay? My girlfriend always starts slow and then I can take it as hard as you want.”

Wait...back that up...” Girlfriend!!!?” I squawked.

“yup..she’s not a he/she or anything. She does it with a dildo.” I almost lost my hard on hearing that but then he saw what was happening and started kissing me very very passionately and I was good to go again. He got on his hands and knees to assume the position- Alrighty THEN! I slipped on the condom from the large box under my bed and lathered it with lubricant and proceeded to prep Jack using my fingers and extra dollops of lube.

He squeaked, “ hey it’s cold!”

“Sorry, I’ll warm it up for you” and gave him a quasi prostate massage that made him whimper and groan. -I was a tad nervous about what a straight guy’s version of deep “before sex” cleaning would be, but Jack seemed to be prepared for deep investigation. That porn star girlfriend of his taught him well. I prepared to enter and slipped just the tip in. Here’s when I have to tell you that I am as averagely endowed as average can be. No Pornstar career for me. Nude scenes on stage freak me out because Mr. Happy is quite shy. The last play I did nude, I am sure the audience wondered if I even HAD a penis. Remembering my lines and getting semi-erect on stage is difficult for me, and if there is a draft from off stage -well... forget it. However one on one, when Mr. Happy is genuinely Happy...he shows it and gets the job done. At the time Mr. Happy was Happy with what Jack presented to him but, I only managed to insert the tip in when Jack let out a incredibly LOUD caterwaul that the whole building heard I am sure. Its not like the tip of my penis is a beer can, and I entered as gently as I could. He shook the hell out of my futon. I thought he might’ve been having a stroke.. but he was apparently experiencing an orgasm. “Um....you okay...? “ ,I asked.

He flipped over on his back and panted.. “ Oh...MY...God!” he gasped. “That was fucking amazing!!!”

“Really?” I was bewildered as to how he could’ve attained orgasm from what I did. I was on my knees to his right while Mr. Happy strained to go back to the nice warm place he just tried to slide into. I peeled off the condom and Jack looked over at Mr. Happy and pursed his lips and looked uncomfortable. “ Um...You want help to...?” he gestured at his wet stomach. I lay next to him and instructed him to kiss me. He did as he was told while I took care of Mr. Happy with Mr. Handy. His passion and excitement had cooled considerably and his kisses were even more passive than before. I felt him trying to focus on the task at hand. Eventually Mr. Handy did the job and that seemed to fascinate Jack for it’s duration. Then he grabbed the towel and hopped off the bed. “That was fun eh?”

Well - the end of the evening was about as cliche as cliche could be. I was left amazed and wondered what the hell just happened to me. Jack called out as he merrily dashed down the stairs. “ THANKS PA! The scene’s gonna be GREAT!”

I put on my robe and poured another drink. What the hell was he talking about? Our character’s never do anything remotely loving or sexual on stage. He’s sweet and good looking and my character is a one dimensional nasty bitch to him until the bitter end. Why did he need to...? Oh well. I ended up pining after him hoping for another encounter after rehearsals or performances but he wasn’t remotely interested. Which infuriated me and there was absolutely no reason for me to “act” when it came to being cruel to his character on stage..hey!.... wait just a darn minute!!!! No wonder Kate Bornstein, (famous tranny writer/performer who reviewed the play for the Bay Area Reporter), wrote about me. “ I hope P.A. Cooley really isn’t that way!”

I was a real bitch...and it made me a star.

Show-mance part 3

2010-10-21T15:21:00.000-07:00

Show Mance part 3

As the play “Earl, Ollie, Austin and Ralph” progressed, it marked the beginning of a very long practice of my dual life as actor by night and ordinary job holder by day. At that time I worked as a sales clerk for a little shop called, “Porter’s Fine Food and Epicurean.” It was located near where I ended up living in the Mission. One of my co-workers was a robust energetic middle-aged woman with remarkably little tact and an infectious playfully cantankerous manner. She soon became a major guiding character in my early years in San Francisco. Her name is Georgia but I called her Jo Jo or Gay-org. She called me Pogo Dodo. She nicknamed people she was fond of with peculiar names. Jo Jo delivered Gourmet gift baskets and groceries in a beat up truck that belonged to her friend and infrequently set up the produce. Her politics were extreme but she did so little about them I called her The Passive Aggressive Anarchist. She lived in the Mission in a very large railway flat that needed a roommate and I needed a place to stay. The price was right and the room was very large. I moved in right before Christmas.

I’d often come home from work that December and find Georgia sitting quietly in the dark. Her long straight hair would be down and maybe hanging in front of her face. There might have been a candle or two burning. I’d peek in and just watch her staring with a faraway expression into the dark. It was eerie and disconcerting because she was so brusque and lively at work. She would come in and immediately annoy the owners spouting her opinions on how they should be running their business. The woman I found staring into the dark didn’t even come close. Once I found her like this with tears rolling down her freckled round cheeks. I felt compelled to ease whatever suffering she was going through. As I crept in and touched her she startled but acknowledged me. She told me softly and listlessly not to worry and that her odd behavior would pass. After a few weeks it did. In fact she was feeling celebratory and it became her idea to have a Friday Happy Hours. My $8.00 an hour didn’t allow for many luxuries and it was getting near to impossible to afford my happy hour cocktails in the Castro so I could continue my search for a boyfriend.

One particular Friday we were swilling down Bloody Screws. This was the classic Screwdriver made with freshly squeezed organic blood orange juice and vodka instead of regular juice. The rim of the glasses was covered in a fine demera sugar. Georgia’s taste in food was very fine. One wouldn’t know it to look at her with her torn corduroys and faded t-shirts but she was once a financially well off woman. Her father had been successful in the soda pop bottling business. She was dubbed the deposed Soda Pop Heiress by more than a few of us. The drinks were delicious and I was greatly enjoying a night off from rehearsal. I had my lines down and it had been a particularly challenging day at Porters. I wobbled over to the phone as it rang and answered it. Jack was on the other end.

Jack was antsy to share with me his back story idea of Austin and Ralph’s relationship. He asked if he could come over. “Just for a little bit P.A.? I promise I won’t be there all night.”

I put my hand over my eyes. “Oh I dunno Jack. I mean now’s not a very good time.”

“why?”

“Well…I’ve been drinking and I don’t think that would be an excellent condition for us to rehearse.-plus I was kind of looking forward to having the night free from rehearsal. Aren’t you happy with our progress? You’ve ..given so much to the scenes and I have felt like I barely needed to do a thing!”

He was quiet. “I need you.” He conveyed a sense of urgency, like he was in trouble. “I need this…to show you what I have come up with. Please PA – don’t make me beg”

Despite the alcohol dulling my senses, his tone began to override its affect. The back of my neck prickled and my heart rate quickened. I needed him too. Well maybe not needed but more like wantonly desired. “ Oh …I…”-

-“ My sponsor isn’t available and I don’t think a meeting will do it” he blurted.

I dead panned to some unseen audience in my living room “oh…but I’ve been drinking Jack. I’m drunk Jack okay? Drunk! Get it? “

“That’s actually perfect for what I want to show you.”

“Oh God…this can’t be right……grr…...alright, just give me a sec to …I dunno –brush my teeth or something..”

“Most EXCELLENT! –I am at Café Picaro ( the Café around the corner from where I live!) I will be there soon.

Dammit! I went to brush my teeth…and shower …and change into my sexiest pair of jeans. I was in trouble but another Bloody Screw made me not give a damn.