Say It Like You Mean It

  I've very recently had a huge realization when it comes to my flaky New York friends. A conformation is exactly the same thing as a cancellation in these here parts and I find that no matter the occasion, be it a birthday dinner or a sensible coffee, people's true colors come out when the stakes aren't high. Out of town? No problem. East Harlem? Go kill yourself! My girl Steph showed up drenched in the pouring rain from a long exhausting day of teaching pillates and yoga with probably a dance class or twenty thrown in there somewhere. In between eating cotton balls dipped in Splenda and walking her albino chihuahua of dreams, this little dancer-dancer runs a minute to minute marathon of modern dance rehearsal...yoga....styling band photo shoots....and just plain radiating pure goodness out into the universe 24/7. She's the busiest bitch I've ever known but nonetheless she showed up completely soaked, disheveled, and wearing (or faking through the exhaustion) a huge smile from ear to ear with a desert trey in hand. It was my birthday and she was the ultimate trooper hailing all the way from the ass crack of Brooklyn itself, proving to me that love trumps laziness any day. I'm guilty of it myself, the ol' city flake out. But you never really know how bailing on something seemingly insignificant (such as some body's big day) might forever alter how they view you when it's time for the second round of invites to go out.

    And around it goes...the sickening game of getting guilted to death for not making more of an effort to be part of someone's life. We all know the type; the person who upon seeing you enter a bar or restaurant instantly unleashes a guilt trip of the likes you haven't seen since the last time you saw that particular person. In my opinion this approach ironically makes me want to put even more time and space between me and guilt trip Mcgee. Don't confirm attendance to my special day then never even bother to show, much less cancel, because realistic cooking requires some loving consideration. Though I did truly enjoy the intimate company of my select VIPs that consisted of lovely ladies from Paris, Austria, Tennessee, and the outer boroughs of Brooklyn! These divas would've showed up if they had to thumb a ride from Mars and wild horses could not hold back my extreme gratitude that I was guided through my thirty two year transition with such grace at my side. Love is Michaela and Elodie schlepping over 12 hours on a shady bus from Tennessee just for me. Brooklyn = Tokyo as far as I'm concerned on a dirty, rainy Wednesday night. And them riding a charter bus for that long was salvation for me. It was Charlie and his literal angels sipping wine into the night and savoring the Tankersley not-so-secret Cajun shrimp enchiladas recipe until we almost burst open like gluttonous, giggling pinatas.

             I'm completely at fault for putting too much pressure on my friends to appear like Houdini just in time for the little desert trey of mini cakes, creme brules, and of course my favorite fat girl weakness...tiramisu, that Miss Sutherland lugged through the sludgy Harlem puddles and ghetto down pour of doom. These girls are the shining example of what a true friend is made of. The disappointment of the no-shows has been stewing in me long enough to string together a blog about it. I thought I could be bigger than this but alas, I'm just a pissed off homosexual with anger management issues that strangely enough considers his friends a family. I've found that to be a dangerous crutch and a huge mistake. Any person you hold up to an unreachable standard will fall short eventually. That is the case with myself most of the time. These friends are plagued with the same inconsistencies and flaws that put me into that category as well. I want my actor friends to at least have the creativity to feign an illness or concoct some semi believable story. Just because you have a million or so friends on Facebook doesn't remove you from the hermit list either. In fact it puts you at the head of that homeschool line and inches you dangerously close to becoming an out of control Hoarder of blue and white china and old, unread, dusty piles of New York Times. It's a slippery, scary slope to one day waking up to realize you've become an isolated cat lady in NoHa that spends her days sending little green patches and farmville requests. Booooo. Try engaging the human race a little more than what you bark at your local barrista. All these social networks are good for is one thing: to stalk eachother privately. New York is a swarm of strange people bumping and "Grinding" my sanity down to a smooth stone. Before you know it you're talking to yourself on the subway and stealing cabs from pregnant ladies. What I'm trying to say with all this is that your word should mean somthing sometimes. That's what I'm going to do and how I'm going to try and live and hopefully I will turn myself into the man I want to meet one day in the process.

I love you guys.