Monday Evening

Despite being numbingly hung over from a birthday party this week end, I managed to drag myself out of bed and get some work done. I usually begin to feel like I’m wasting my life when I fiund myself recovering from some blow out. I question every detail of my recent actions and could give the APA enough pyschological data to keep them busy until I’m long dead. Today has been no exception. So being hung over and more than slightly mental, I’m pulling a classic maneuver and not eating. I had a bagel with chicken salad around 5, but that was forced down.

The party in question was the UnBF’s private birthday party which as opposed to his other one, This one was more decadent and all men. It started around 6 on Saturday and the last 5 of us finally left at 4 the next afternoon.

One thing that’s become clear is that as much as he enjoys having me around, he became aware of the fact that I was developing feelings for him. He is so adamant about not wanting a boyfriend or any thing like it, that he’s distanced himself. We talked about it and I think we’re OK, but to be hinest, the UnBF thing is over. From here on out the UnBF will be referred to as Mr Blonde. I knew this was going to happen eventually so it’s cool. I’m just a little embarassed about.

OK, that last sentence is a crock of shit.

I’m feeling bad about it. Not because I’ve lost the UnBF, he’s still a good buddy as he was before. But once again I’ve gone careening head first towards a man who will not be open to a relationship. I’m feeling guilty that I broke the rules of our agreement. I’m feeling worse about the fact that this is my pattern over the past few years. There was Art, the musical director from Texas who moved away. There was Chad, when Ed was sick who I felt was going to be my escape from Ed’s nightmare. There was Gil, last year who I still am not sure about. And now there is this.

He wasn’t outright cold to me this week end but he was distant. I knew why and it kind of stung. Not hurt, just stung. Today I spent a lot of time wondering about why I do this. Find the least eligible man and go right for the jugular. I wonder what is it in my brain that gets a pay off from it? What part of me justifies it to the rest of me? And most of all, why is it I don’t learn? There has to be more to it than I’m just looking for drama, because if that were the case, then I’d be creating soap operas all around me, and I don’t do that like I used to. I’m sure with time, I’ll figure this one out. And I’m sure with time, I’ll meet a strong, smart, sexually adventurous man who will want more than just friendship.

Perhaps that man will be in California. I’m sure as hell not moving there specifically to find one. But it is a portion of my idealized dream of life there. Life there will have to be so much more.

On that vein, I met today with to talk food and jobs out there. He may have an opportunity for me that fits in perfectly with what I want to be doing, and the kind of life i want to be leading there. Cross your fingers kids.

I know I’ll be ok. I’m probably just still vitamin depleted from the week end and therefor prone to introspection. But the realization that there are patterns to my life is a realization and awareness that I need to explore.

From here on out the UnBF will be referred to as Mr Blonde.

Thursday Morning

It’s 2am. Just got home from a 14 and half hour catering gig. I’m oddly wired. Have mixed myself a very strong drink and am trying not gag at the smell emanting from my swollen feet.

What I worked on tonigt:

Cuban sandwiches: Pulled pork, swiss cheese and thinly sliced pickles on ciabata that is grilled and then baked.

Expediting butlered hors d’ouevres with 6 waiters and 6 apps. Tandori chicken on nan bread, argentinian beef with a chimichuri on flot bread, grilled teriyaki pork loin on fried wontons, vietnamese vegetable crepe bundles, classic shrimp cocktail, deep fried yucca wands with chipolte aioli.

Moved from that to assembling dessert for 500. I think over all maybe 40 people had dessert because I threw away almost 400 portions of dulce de leche cheese cake that had been made by this woman from Seville who barely spoke English.

And speaking of this woman. Her Spanish was musical as compared to the puerto rican and mexican spanish I’m used to. Soft consonants and long vowels and subtle s’s. She introduced us to her brother who had to have been one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. One of the other chefs is also gay and he litterally looked at him and barked “OH MY GOD”. And they were polite, gracious and kind. I felt like a trogoladyte in their wake.

I felt terrible that at the end of the night I ended up throwing away 2/3s of the cheese cakes they had made. If we hadn’t cut them, we could have saved them. But as it was they had been quartered so they had to be tossed. The soup kitchen organization that takes left over food from the company I was working for couldn’t take them because they would have just been mangled by the time they had them. It was a shame.