Party Of One

I saw this on Linda Evangelista’s Instagram page:

Being Single is not a bad thing, it’s a party of one.

I may be single but I have been blessed with a prosperous life. I’ll continue to enjoy life while feeding my art addiction. The right man may come along. I’m in no hurry. I’m not jumping into a relationship just to be in a relationship. If the right guy never comes along, I’m good with that too. I’ve got great friends and it’s easy to find a friend with benefits in this town. It’s one adventure after another with a few tragic dates thrown in along the way.

I never really understood why Linda was racked over the coals in the media for her comment about not getting out of bed for less than $10,000 a day (I’m not sure what the correct quote was. It seems there are endless versions online). I mean, really, if you were financially secure, and had the choice of staying in bed because a gig didn’t pay your asking price, wouldn’t you stay in bed? The market dictates price. At the time, Linda had skills and abilities that demanded top dollar. She worked hard to become a top model. It didn’t happen overnight. The quote may have been a little boastful but it was her reality at the time.

Cracked And Broken

Death seems to be a reoccurring theme in my life lately. My mother died in August. The author of a blog I followed died. The fathers of two other bloggers died. A distant cousin died three weeks ago. Edwige died.

I’ve been thinking about Edwige’s death more than my mother’s death. I find this to be a little odd. Yesterday, a friend sent me two links about Edwige. One was an article in New York Magazine the other was a posting from a friend that described the last few years and days of Edwige’s life. I learned Edwige attempted suicide at Coney Island after losing her job and apartment. A friend flew her to Miami and arranged for rehab after she was discharged from the hospital. I also learned Edwige died of liver failure due to untreated chronic hepatitis. How tragic is that? A woman I remembered as being strong and invincible ended up being cracked and broken. All this made me incredibly sad.

What I can’t understand is why I am so troubled by Edwige’s death. I only knew her for the short time I hung out at the Starck Club. It was time when ecstasy was legal making nights at the Starck Club seem more magical than they probably were. I distanced myself from the Starck Club party scene when I found out I was HIV+. Later, Edwige left Dallas for a new adventure. I never saw her again.

The memorials I read online about Edwige all recounted how she left a lasting impact on the people she met. I have to say this is true. Edwige was a person you couldn’t forget. I hadn’t seen Edwige for almost thirty years but I was shocked when I learned of her death. I felt a huge sense of loss, more so than when my mother died. Perhaps this was because Edwige was a mythical sort of person while my mother was a difficult person in my life. Another reason may be that so many friends from that time in my life died from AIDS. Now another person from that era had died. Edwige’s death triggered the memories of those I lost in the 1980s. I recalled dancing at the Starck Club with Charles, Tom and my partner, Dale. AIDS claimed all three of their lives. Whatever the case, I take solace knowing Edwige was surrounded by friends when she passed. Edwige lived life on her own terms, and apparently, died on her own terms.

Client Or Idiot?

My client has asked me the same question four times in the last seven business days. It’s a simple question and my answer is always the same. I’ve been tempted to change my answer just to see what he says. I don’t know why he is doing this. I can’t help but wonder if my client has memory problems even though he is only in his mid-thirties. I also wonder if he is just playing games with me. Yesterday, he reprimanded me for not following a recently implemented process. I asked the client to resend the email outlining the new process as I could not find the communication. It was at this time he realized he never copied me on the original email. Of course, he didn’t apologize for reprimanding me. Once again, he made himself look like a fool.

Padraic AKA Paddy

I met Paddy at Pridefest in June. He tends to the locks of my friend, Sue. He wanted to go to Pridefest but didn’t know anyone going. Sue brought him along to introduce Paddy to the gang. Paddy didn’t have any gay male friends and lived out in Highlands Ranch, a master planned community south of Denver. Paddy hooks up with a lot of guys, mostly one night stands, but hasn’t bothered to try to form a male peer group after moving back to Denver from San Francisco.

Paddy didn’t have the best of upbringings. He was out on his own at a young age. Paddy ended up in an emotionally abusive relationship with man in his fifties when he was twenty-one. Somewhere along the way, Paddy went to hair styling school. Paddy landed in San Francisco after the relationship ended. He got a job in a top salon and built a large clientele. Paddy longed to return to Denver so he rented a chair in a Cherry Creek salon and commuted between the two cities. Paddy spent a few years commuting between Denver and San Francisco with apartments in each city. He slowly built up a clientele in Denver while reducing his client base in San Francisco. Eventually, he was able to move back to Denver.

Paddy pulls in 20k a month doing hair while employing two assistants. Not bad for guy who didn’t go to college. Not bad for a guy who is thirty-seven. If anything, Paddy knows how to make money. He also spends money like he has it.

While Paddy mastered the art of making money as a hair stylist, his personal life is a bit of a mess. Paddy’s last live-in boyfriend hired a lawyer and took him to the cleaners. Paddy made a large cash payment to get rid of the guy. Paddy always picks up the check on dates. Paddy likes to be in control. It’s not very often that there is a second date. It’s not unusual for Paddy to have five dates in a week. I find it odd that a man Paddy’s age only has gay acquaintances (ex-tricks) and not any gay male friends. Paddy’s friends are mostly female hair stylists.

Mack, Double A and I have been spending time with Paddy in an effort to build friendships and introduce him to people. He’s fun to hang out with as cocktails are usually involved. I think Paddy has the potential to be a good friend.

Art Therapy

Mack and I hit the galleries on Friday night. Mack wanted me to take him out for art therapy. His rent went up $300.00 a month and his car was repossessed Friday afternoon.

The art tour started at Space Gallery on Santa Fe Street. As usual, Space has a great, but pricey, show. The next stop was Artists on Santa Fe to see Kate, who recently joined the gallery. Kate, Mack and I had a great talk. I could spend all night talking to Kate. Spark was the next stop which has beautiful collages by Janice McDonald. McDonald’s pieces were my favorites of the night. After Spark, stops were made in Core, Artwork Network and Vertigo Art Space, where we ended the night.

Mack and I had a stimulating conversation with Kara. She is one of the most interesting and intellectual people I know. You never know where the conversation will go and the journey is always fun.

It was soon closing time. We bid adieu so Kara could close up shop and go home to her man and son. Mack and I headed to the Wrangler where I bought a round of drinks.

It had been a while since Mack and I had a good talk. I honestly don’t know how he maintains a cheery disposition. He’s in a financial shit storm with no end in sight. Mack is having trouble landing full-time employment so he’s looking for second part-time job. His father will not help so he has borrowed money from most of his friends.

I don’t loan money to friends. I find that it ruins friendships. I will give money to people with no expectation of getting the money back. If the friend is a good person they will pay back the money without being asked for it. I have given Mack money to pay his rent. I have struggled with the decision to help him more.

As I was talking with Mack, I felt guilty about a recent shopping trip where I bought a Jack Spade car coat and a Rag & Bone field jacket at Nordstrom along with a pair of boots from J. Crew. I don’t need more coats and shoes but I wanted them. The money I spent would have saved Mack’s car from being repossessed and paid part of his rent. I can’t help but wonder if I’m being selfish. On the other hand, Mack has not asked for additional help.

Mack ran into an old friend at the Wrangler. Introductions were made. The very handsome friend bought a round of drinks. I passed since I was driving. A friend of the handsome man joined the group. Another round of drinks arrived. I passed again. The very handsome man’s partner soon arrived and secured yet another round of drinks but I had water. Mack was able to have an enjoyable night out without spending any money. I sure he appreciated all the drinks that were bought for him.

It was almost midnight when Mack and I left the Wrangler. Mack appeared to be in a much better mood. I dropped Mack off at his apartment building. He only lives a few blocks away from my house but it’s a whole different world. I was overcome with sadness as I watch Mack walk into his aging apartment building. Mack is a few years younger than me but has nothing but a few possessions. His only hope for a comfortable retirement is an inheritance from his father.

I’m perched on the horns of a dilemma. Should I offer more financial assistance, or should I let him ask? Double A thinks I should not offer assistance. He thinks Mack should have tried to get a part-time job as soon as possible after getting fired instead of waiting four months. Double A thinks that helping Mack is throwing good money after bad. I’m not sure what to do.

A First World Problem

The house across the street, to the south, is back on the market. The prospective buyers walked away from the deal. It seems they could get their Range Rover and their Land Rover in the garage but there wasn’t sufficient room to easily get out of either vehicle. I’m guessing that’s why the current owners only park one of their four cars in the garage. The house was built in 1955 so the garage is not as wide as newer garages. It’s a first world problem.

Getting The Boot

Nasty Nann took an early retirement package in 2013. She bought a small farm and started raising chickens. Nobody missed her. She was only remembered for being a bitch and causing havoc. Much to everyone’s surprise, Nann came back as a contract employee in August. She was given a three month contract as a business analyst by the new director who had never worked with her. She was nice for the first week. After that, Nasty Nann returned. She managed to alienate everyone she dealt with in product marketing and R&D. Nann’s contract was cancelled in the fifth week. She threw a raging fit when she was told her contract was cancelled and to turn in her badge that granted access to the office.

I work mostly from home so I was able to avoid Nasty Nann. My team members told stories of her behavior. I can’t help but wonder what is wrong in Nann’s life. Every job has stressful days but that’s not a reason to act the way Nann did. She’s a very unhappy woman. She brought her anger and rage into the workplace. As when she left the first time, nobody was sad to see her go. One can only hope she treats her chickens better than her coworkers.


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