Last Day in Cali

By the time I woke up the day after Christmas, I had decided that the next time I go to California will be because I have to go for some entertainment industry type of something or other. Lying coiled up in the pink blankets in The Princess Room, I realized that I only had about 26 hours left on the sun soaked West Coast, and that I wished I had a fast forward button on my life. Instead, I woke up, ate a tasty breakfast, packed my things, and headed out the door to see ‘Juno’ with my dad. It has become our tradition to see a movie every time I visit. It’s great to have a new tradition with pops, but I loathe that the tradition is sitting in a dark room, watching actors do the talking instead of ourselves.

I had planned on going to lunch with him, but we ran out of time since he was dealing with an ebay issue all morning. Looking for an opportune time to speak to him about my daddy issues proved difficult since there is never an opportune time. He puts on a good show with each visit these days. I wish I could base my opinion of him solely off of his behavior when I see him once or twice a year. He’s a blast when I am not thinking about…the past? Did I really just write that fucking sentence? Hop on Pop.

Anyway, while I was able to pull Sheree aside at one point early into my trip, before everything got too Jerry Springer, and apologize for punishing her ever since she was over-the-top rude to me on a certain occasion, I was unable to have a similar conversation toward amends with daddy dearest. I guess apologizing comes easier than forgiving.

After the sincerely enjoyable movie, we went to my great friend, Keith’s, fancy bistro. For the past several years, I have hosted a holiday party called Spectacular Spectacular. It has been a huge, fun get-together for my friends and even some of my family. This year, I didn’t really do the PR or the organization for it and no one really inquired. A good handful of my camp friends had dinner and after most of them left, Keith and I had some drinks. Daddy Dearest said goodbye with a hug and said, “Email me sometime, even if it’s to say bark at the moon and die.” The last time I did that, we didn’t speak for a year and a half. What’s the point? If he isn’t willing to talk and I am not willing to forget, then that’s a cat’s game – no one wins. My mommy drove me, Keith and my other besty, Eric, to our other friend’s house. 30 years old and my mommy is driving me to a party.

…. 30 years old and my mommy is driving me to a party to play Flip Cup. Living 3,000 miles away from people who used to be your closest friends really is sad. I miss them on a daily basis, but when I go “home”, it seems that everyone has moved in different directions, people who used to be friends with each other are now enemies, and my tummy starts hurting. I dressed up as Santa again for a grand entrance. Danielle said, “I love when you come home, you bring such a great energy to the house!” In my mind, I wanna pick up right where we all left off, but sadly, that is not reality. I feel disconnected and I can see the same disconnection in the eyes of others. I am sure we all have deep love for each other and our past friendships, but not even a marathon game of Flip Cup, or a rented Santa costume, can patch up the distance I feel growing in my friends. Not even just with me, with each other. They are all great people, I wish everything was perfect. I wish I had a time machine. I wish for three more wishes.

I was only able to hang out for a couple hours before I had to have my mommy pick me up so I could get enough rest to get up and pack in the morning. Before I left, I was able to re-connect with a friend who hadn’t been returning phone calls to me. We’re both insane, so I knew it would end up working out without much discussion. Justin made me a mix CD, Mark hugged me, I grabbed Coco’s boobs, Keith touched me in a naughty place, Danielle made me a fancy drink, and Amanda and I laughed at each other – a few moments of “how it used to be”.

The next morning consisted of a rushed shower, a rushed packing job, and a rush to the airport. I had overslept. My mom always cries when we pull up to the “This zone is for immediate loading and unloading of passengers only” area. This time was particularly tear drenched, because I had made it pretty clear I didn’t plan on returning to California for some time. This time, I think she understood why.

The flights back to NYC weren’t as awful as the trip out. An hour and a half delay in Cincinnati gave me some time to reflect. No matter how much I want everything to be perfect and harmonious, like my mom’s dream of a Norman Rockwell Christmas, it’s just not going to be perfect. The perfect part has to come from the inner acceptance that everything isn’t perfect, that I should expect the imperfections… and laugh at them, to ride through the turbulence, and then life would be closer to perfect. Perfect. I just said “perfect”, like, 100 times. Whatever. I don’t care. I’m not perfect. Neither is my dad, or my crazy grandmother, or my friends who hate each other now.

Perfection is overrated. Imperfection is more interesting.

I’m fucking happy to be back home in New York.

No Blood Yet…

There’s nothing worse that I hate than flying during the holidays.

I was out the door at 4:30am. The first flight, NYC to Washington D.C., was delayed, but I didn’t notice too much since I was zombified. The second flight, Wahington D.C. to motherfucking ATLANTA, had two of the sauciest little sky queens I have ever seen. The two Mary’s took turns servicing me with headphones and keeping me stocked up with bloody mary’s. I decided against the pot cookies because I didn’t want to be tired upon arrival. I wanted to be drunk.

The Atlanta airport was a brand new experience for me. What a pit-hole – crowded trams, switched gates, broken escalators, duty free kiosks, and an overwhelming amount of nicely dressed Mexicans drinking Starbucks. My flight had a “change of equipment” and had to have their “seating charts re-arranged”. I knew this meant there could be a danger of having to fight for my aisle seat. Sure enough, when I presented my boarding pass, which said I had an aisle seat, the computer re-issued me a ticket for a middle seat.

In times like these, I have to rely on my powers of improvisation.

ME: I need to mention that I have severe claustrophobia and I cannot sit in the middle seat on a plane. How can we fix my seating assignment?
THEM: There are no more seats.
ME: I had booked an aisle seat five months ago due to my condition.
THEM: Ask someone to switch with you.
ME: And if that doesn’t work?
THEM: Talk to the flight attendant on duty.

The first flight attendant I saw on the plane was a 46 year old-ish, chemically treated blonde. By sight, I could tell that her favorite hobbies included voting Republican and applying eyeliner. I went through the whole routine with her. She sighed and, in a well polished, fake caring tone, she said, “I’m surprised you fly at all!” Bitch! Kudos for sounding like your being professional and interested in my well being, but actually cutting me down. I hate you, but congratulations. She recommended that I speak to Marny, “the large woman with a big personality” who is “taking care of the guests who are seated where you will be sitting.” Wow, a casual mention of how I will be sitting there – a decent attempt at a Jedi mind trick. Bitch was gooood!

I met Marny and put on another consistently brilliant performance, making sure it seemed I was trying to be discreet about my “medically diagnosed claustrophobia” while I was just loud enough so everyone could hear me. The only only seat open was a window next to a 6 year-old boy and his rigid looking mother. Marny asked her to slide over. Miss Rigid had the nerve to say SHE had claustrophobia! She said if she sat by the window, the ceiling “would be too close” and make her feel “closed in”.

ME: I am a foot taller than you and weigh 300 pounds. You think it’s going to be less severely claustrophobic for me?
HER: I just can’t physically do it.
ME: I just can’t physically or emotionally do it.
HER: I can have my son move over to the window seat. You can have the middle.
ME: The middle seat definitely won’t work.
HER: Well, I don’t know what to tell you.
ME: I know what to tell YOU!
MARNY: Do you think you can handle the window seat?
ME: I can try. I just took my paxil, so maybe it will be OK. I hope this compromise works…. it didn’t last time I tried.

I then made a big deal about squeezing by the mother and son. I expanded my body to seem fatter and purposely bumped my elbows and forehead all over the place. Once seated, I made a big show of unzipping my jacket and taking it off. After struggling with the seatbelt and breathing irregularly, I felt satisfied that I made a valiant effort to reclaim my aisle seat. I hadn’t sat next to the window in forever, and with the small size of the kid, I actually had plenty of room.

A young hippie couple seated in front of me smiled and offered me a Valium. They were my new best friends! The had a little hippie baby whose name was Parker and we chatted about out favorite flavor of cocktails (they are whiskey fans, I am a rum guy). They were delightful and cared about my unfair predicament… not enough to give me their aisle seat of course. But hey, free prescription meds!

Ms. Rigid was eagerly looking out the window as we prepared for take off. I closed the shutter on the window, blocking her view, and started watching season two of ‘Weeds’ on my ipod. If she was in charge of the aisle in the aisle seat, I am in charge of the windows in the window seat. She was bugged and didn’t speak to me the rest of the flight. Marny made a big tah-do on checking on me and gave me free booze the rest of the flight. She was a stern but gentle-hearted southerner. We chatted by the restroom while I took a stretch break. We talked about reality TV, airplane technology and the cunt with the sparkly attitude I encountered when I first started my plea for an aisle seat.

ME: She wasn’t too helpful.
MARNY: I bet. She’s new with this crew.
ME: She told me to speak to Marny, the large lady with a big personality.
MARNY: Oh did she?
ME: Yeah, I mean, you’re tall, but I wouldn’t use the word ‘large’.
MARNY: Very interesting.
ME: And your personality is aces to me. Thanks for helping me.
MARNY: You’re welcome. Another rum and coke?

I hope I laid the foundation for a bitch fight on board the next flight between the two of them. That red state, aging beauty queen needs to have her teeth knocked in a little bit and I think Marny was just the lady to do it.

Anyway, I made it to The OC and went to my friend’s restaurant and drank a bunch. I spent the evening with some buddies from my old theatre company and two fo my best friends in The OC, Keith and Justin. So far, not too bad of a trip. No blood. No police. No crying.