June 7, 2010

I walked to my birthday party alone. I intentionally scaled things down this year, invited less folks, did not reserve a table at a restaurant where my friends would give over $100+. I wanted something simpler. More fun. Relaxed. So we went to karaoke. Some of my besties were no shows, but most came, and performed with varying degrees of success and humor. Jae Ha's nuanced Whitney. Sandra Hansel and I as the new Supremes. Monte and Michael and Eric and Traci and Jason all turning in remarkable performances. I sang techno-pop with Joe and Alireza. Sang requests for Mr. Riley. Stood by my man and duetted with Georgi, who was a revelation on stage. When he and Ru Bhatt did Backstreet Boys I nearly peed my pants. They were hilarious.

The next day, my 34th birthday, I worked from home and over coffee, and during an interview, later in the day I ate my birthday cake: a cupcake from Little Pie Company. That evening I was going to the New York Public Library to attend the Inspiration Gala, a benefit for amfAR honoring Ricky Martin and Jean Paul Gaultier. Being from Baltimore, and straddling the line often of appropriate and inappropriate behavior, of course I invited myself to the event upon seeing Marty Chavez and Adam Norbury's names on the invite. Their names were bolder and bigger than the honorees so I knew they'd be able to get little old me in. It was my birthday after all. Right?

Being true gentlemen and giving souls the two men humored me and invited Georgi and me to be their guests. It was one of the best birthday experiences of my life. I turned my back on the appropriate notion of "Black Tie" and opted for red Paul Smith shirt, red Chuck Taylors, a Paul Smith Black striped bow tie, black Van Noten slacks, and a paper-thin, hand-stitched gingham Bottega jacket with a red flower pinned to my lapel. In a sea of black I stood out so much that Simon Doonan, an inspiration, stopped by my table, where also dined the lesbian power couple Lacey Stone and Jessica Clark, telling me he loved my outfit. Josh Wood pulled off an incredible fashion show. Cyndi Lauper sang her heart out only feet in front of me. I met Kylie Minogue and Ricky Martin and stood in a room shoulder to should with Gaultier, Thom Browne, and John Bartlett. I remarked to Marty that it was like being at the gay Oscars. Later, at the after-party, I had another vodka and sloppily said something to Marc Jacobs and Ricky Martin (so what!) and then had Kelly Rowland tell me she loved my energy (she'd been on stage singing with Cyndi Lauper and Estelle right in front of me and I guess I caught her eye). Take note: This is why you wear red. I grabbed Georgi and off we went away from birthday cocktails, black ties, fashion icons, giving friends, and the freaky feeling of hobnobbing among a crowd of famous faces.

The next day was hot. After working, Georgi and I mustered the energy to drive to Baltimore. We held hands and chatted and sang and arrived in Baltimore after sunset. We ate dinner and quickly went to bed. Upon waking in the morning we had breakfast with my Mom, Grandmother, my sister and her husband and my old friend Harry Alascio. We drank Bloody Marys with crab meat and ate cheese grits. It was good to be home. We journeyed next to Annapolis, where we ate crabs and potato salad with my three best friends from high school. They're married with kids now and lead very different lives. But our friendship still remains and while kids dashed around us and shells piled in front of us we felt young again, gossiping about high school and our past. The four of us had posed for a photo at our prom. Erin wore ridiculous white gloves. I had on a red dinner jacket. Cindy dazzled like a disco ball in gold sequins. And Jen was proper and perfect in cream. We're all very much the same people. And, yes, again it felt good to be home.

After washing our hands, which still reeked of Old Bay, Georgi and I darted to DC where Jesse Cozart had a bottle of champagne waiting us us in our room at the Four Seasons. After a sip of bubbly, a quick shower, and a chocolate covered strawberry we ventured to Basar and Scott's home for drinks. Rahnee Foster joined us and we spoke of art and Istanbul and DC's new cleanliness and shine. We dined on Latin/Asian fusion, put back some tequila, and even went out for a brief moment. Yet another connection with old friends. It felt like nothing had changed.

At 34 and having spent a weekend with friends I had known for 10, 20, and in Erin's case, 30 years I was amazed at my personal history. At the path friendship winds down. How much of myself is remembered when I look in my old friends eyes. How forgotten stories told by others make me feel youthful.

I felt younger on a weekend I turned older.

On Sunday morning my mother and Liam joined Georgi and I for a Dutch breakfast and a stroll through the National Portrait Gallery. Presidents. Ben Franklin. Elvis Presley. Lena Horne. Raquel Welch. Grover Washington.

Famous faces. Far off places.

When saying goodbye to my mother I looked at Georgi's big brown eyes and then to my mother's pale blue ones and in them both, for a split second, I saw the face of my past and the face of my future. At 34 years old the two once very different parts of me seemed to melt together. Life's melting in mysterious and marvelous ways.