Single, Looking To Mingle

Miss Y is hosting her first party tonight as a newly single woman. Single at 54 is not what she had planned for her life, but she’s not going to let a divorce, or her ex-husband, derail her life.

I look forward to the party. Miss Y knows how to throw a party. Tasty food and top-shelf liquor are standard. She consistently has interesting guests. There’s always eye candy to admire even if they play for her team.

Kelly and her husband will be at the party. I enjoy spending time with them. Kelly invariably has an interesting story. Mack was invited to the party too. I haven’t heard from him since May. He hasn’t asked for ride to the party. He either managed to buy a car, has other plans, or is taking an Uber.

I expect 2020 to bring many new adventures and good times. It hope it does the same for you.

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A Man I Met

In the summer of 2018, I met a man in a bar on a hot sunny afternoon. He was a friend of a friend. I felt a connection with this man. He was around my age, held a professional position, was easy on the eyes, and had a warm personality. He was newly separated from his husband, which, was a major red flag. He was in the process of selling the marital home and purchasing another home under construction. I had an enjoyable time talking to the man. If anything, I made a new friend. I saw him socially a few more times. Each time it felt great to be around him. His divorce was dragging on resulting in sizeable legal expenses. I chose not to ask him out. I didn’t want to become an issue in the man’s messy divorce. I also thought he needed time to heal. I didn’t want to just hook up with him, which, he indicated would be fine with him. I didn’t want to be a rebound fling.

I ran into the man at a holiday party last year. His divorce was final. His ex-husband moved to California with his settlement payment. The man had moved into his new home. He had started to date a guy he met at a cocktail party a few weeks prior. I guess I should have stayed in closer contact with him. I decided the universe was telling me I wasn’t meant to be with him.

I ran into the man and his new boyfriend several times over the last year. His boyfriend is a really likeable guy. I can see why the man is dating him.

I saw the man in a bar in August celebrating his best friend’s birthday. His ex-husband had recently passed away. They had only been divorced for three months. Vast amounts of money had been spent on lawyers and settlement payments and then his ex dies. At least the man was happy with his new boyfriend. You can’t put a price on happiness with a new man.

Two weeks ago, I ran into the man and his boyfriend at a holiday party. He recently started chemo and radiation treatments for lung cancer. I was shocked to learn he was ill. He’s not showing the effects of treatment yet, but the prognosis is not good. I offered my support. I also shared some of my experiences with chemo and radiation. As odd as this sounds, it was a very good conversation. The man has a very positive attitude. He has been to hell and back with his divorce. He found a new man. And then he gets cancer. I’m not sure I would be as positive.

The universe really did not want me to be with this man. Clearly, any man I date is eventually going to die. I’m going to die. It puts dating in a new light.

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Holiday Cheer

I drove by the rich guys’ mansion on my way home last night. I snapped a pic of their holiday lights. It’s a mix of holiday spirit and gay pride.

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Non-traditional Holiday Cards

I found these non-traditional holiday from 1968 while running wild on the Internet yesterday. Have a great holiday.

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The Last Party

I’m invited to the neighbor’s holiday open house this afternoon. It will be my last party of the pre-Christmas season. I have mixed feeling about attending. They are great neighbors. He’s a partner in a law firm and she’s an accountant. They have one big party every year and invite professional peers, relatives, friends, neighbors and members of their church. Their large house is filled beyond capacity, it’s hard to navigate or have a conversation. The party has become a neighborhood obligation but isn’t always fun. I feel like I’m on the verge of a panic attack while at the party.

By contrast, my next door neighbors, Sheila and Thom, hosted a small solstice party last night. Ten people clustered around the fireplace in the expansive living room enjoying Cajun finger food and good liquor. The conversation flowed across many topics but somehow avoided the volatile political landscape. At the end of the evening we wrote wishes for the new year on small pieces of paper and tossed them into the fireplace.

Friday night I attended the Monet exhibit with an artist friend. I bought the tickets months ago thinking I’d take a date. Time flew by without any suitable prospects on the horizon so I asked my friend, Sharon, to go with me. The exhibit is a blockbuster show for the Denver Art Museum (DAM). It includes over 120 paintings. After Denver, the exhibit travels to Museum Barberini in Potsdam, Germany. The beginning of the exhibit was crowded and stuffy. After the first two galleries the crowd thinned out and became enjoyable. I had a great time talking to my friend about the paintings. I liked hearing an artist’s perspective on Monet’s use of light and color. At one point, Sharon walked into a gallery and became overwhelmed by the beauty of the paintings in the room. She had to take a moment to compose herself. I thought she was going to burst into tears. I was overjoyed to know my friend was having moment of pure bliss by looking at art. After spending over two hours in the exhibit, I treated Sharon to drinks and small plates at The Art, a hip hotel next to the DAM. I had a most enjoyable time.

The final party of season will be on New Year’s Eve at Miss Y’s house. Her divorce is final so she’s hosting a bash to celebrate her new life and the adventures ahead. It’s going to be a great time.

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Jesus Will Send You A Husband

My 98-year-old aunt, who lives in San Diego, sent a holiday card which included a 3-page letter. Usually, the letter which accompanies her card extolls the virtues of her two sons and makes indirect references to her wealth. She still recalls paying cash for her S-Class, an event that took place at least 10 years ago. She’s given up driving but now employs a chauffeur to drive her around town. This year’s card was pretty much the same except for the addition of how Jesus provided for her. In 1949, she asked Jesus to send her husband. She was 28 at the time so she was considered an old maid. A year later she met a lieutenant in the Air Force who swept her off her feet. She fell in love with him. Marriage soon followed along with overseas tours of duty which allowed her to see the world. After leaving the service, the happy couple settled in San Diego to raise their two sons. My aunt asked Jesus to make her husband successful. Jesus answered her prayers by allowing her husband to build a real estate empire which provided endless financial windfalls when the California real estate market took off in the 1970s. Another aunt once told me my uncle was a slumlord who took advantage of immigrants. I tend to believe the other aunt.

My aunt told me I need to ask Jesus for help. He sent her a husband so he can help me too. Hallelujah! Why didn’t I think of asking Jesus for a husband? He sent me three other husbands. Why wouldn’t he send me a fourth? Is this the same Jesus who allowed by first husband to be a drunk and a liar? Is this the same Jesus who let my first husband throw a hot iron at me? Is this the same Jesus who gave me AIDS when I was 27? Is this the same Jesus who let my second husband die of complication due to AIDS? Is this the same Jesus who killed most of my friends with AIDS in the 1980s? Is this the same Jesus who allowed the relationship with my third husband to wither away? Most importantly, is this the same Jesus who allowed my aunt’s husband to commit suicide by shooting himself in head in that award-winning garden with expansive ocean views? The man Jesus sent to her. If this is the same Jesus, I don’t think I need his help.

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The Gay Guy Can Do It

I was asked by one of my female peers to tie a ribbon on a gift for one the VPs. I thought this was odd. Out of all the people in the office, the out gay guy (there are a few closeted gays in the office who avoid me like the plague) was selected for the ribbon tying. Was it assumed that, because I’m gay, I have specialized ribbon tying skills? I actually do but I’ve never discussed these skills at work. My second partner, who I was with in the 1980’s, was a textile designer employed by a gift wrap manufacturer. I learned a thing or two about wrapping gifts and tying ribbons. As I was tying the ribbon on the gift, the woman told me she bought the ribbon at Hobby Lobby. I cringed but continued until the job was complete. I learned long ago to pick my battles and giving this woman a lecture on supporting Hobby Lobby is not in the best interest of the my career. So I bit my tongue and tied a rather fabulous ribbon on the VP’s gift. The woman was pleased. Mission accomplished. The only thing left to do was to add gift wrapping and ribbon tying to my contract’s statement of work and to update my LinkedIn’s skill set.

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It’s Friday!

Betty Page photographed by Irving Klaw.

I’m skipping the holiday party tonight. I’m hitting a few gallery openings before ending the evening at a dive bar to celebrate Kelly’s husband’s birthday. Miss Y., the former Mrs. L., will be there with new tales of splitting the community property with her soon to be ex-husband. I’ll probably run into the ex-husband earlier in the evening, which may make for an interesting encounter.

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Party of One

The holiday invitations have been rolling in. I’ve accepted one and sent regrets for another. I’ve yet to respond to the rest. The invitation I turned down was for a cocktail party on Friday night hosted by a woman who is known for her parties, among other things, such as, being a painter and lover of all things French. Her Capitol Hill condo, which is in a landmark building, makes you feel like you’re in an apartment on Boulevard Saint-Germain. It should be a good time. I’ve had a great time at her previous parties but I have no desire to go. All I have to do is pick up a bottle of Champaign and a hostess gift yet it seem like burden. Perhaps it’s because I’m tired of attending parties and events by myself.

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