My dear friend Tony is staying with me right now. I've written about him both when he was moving away and after visiting him in L.A.
Our visits are always few and far between, but when they happen they are wonderful. Last night we had a lovely, leisurely dinner at Fresca with his friends Andrea and Cindy who were also in town for a brief stay. We had drinks at Hotel Kabuki, and then we got a private karaoke room at Do Re Mi in Japantown. (Later I found out that Andrea said I seemed very sweet and polite and reserved upon meeting me, but that I had a rock star in me that became apparent when there was a microphone in my hand. This pleases me immensely.)
Tony was absolutely giddy with happiness last night, and kept saying to Cindy, Andrea, and I: "Three of my favorite people all in one of my favorite cities at once! This is unbelievable!" I was thrilled to see him so happy because he's had such a difficult last few months.
Anyway, he is staying at my house the next couple of nights, and I am camping out on the Aerobed in the living room. I love having him here despite the fact that I barely sleep when he is.
Tonight we made a quick trip to the grocery store, and he veered off down the aisle of paper products while asking, "Can you guess what I'm looking for?"
Puzzled, I said, "No. What?"
"Butt wipes," he answered (referring to the little disposable cloth wipes).
"Oh, I have those," I assured him.
"Sweet," he said, "I chafed today! Chafed!"
He needed to do some laundry tonight, and asked me if I had a t-shirt he could borrow to sleep in since his others were in the laundry. I said, "Sure," and rummaged around in my drawer and came up with a strange little beige t-shirt with rhinestones on it that I bought on a whim. I presented it to him in all seriousness, and he said, "Not going to happen." So I went to my closet and got a simple black v-neck t-shirt off a hanger and gave it to him, expecting him to express relief.
"Are you kidding me?" he cried. "Don't you have any boy shirts?"
"Why would I have boy shirts?" I asked.
"Because girls love boy shirts!"
I demanded, "What's wrong with this shirt? It's a black t-shirt!"
"It's a blouse," he groaned, "a lady shirt."
But he took it and went to take a shower. When he emerged from the bathroom wearing it he said, "Look what you've done to me."
I giggled and assured him, "Honey, it's fine. It just looks like you're getting ready for a night out in the Castro." He hated this.