daily preciousness

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Social blend

Social blend

Jim chillaxing @ mackey's

The wonderful Jim informed Henry and me of his new beaux. He's a weekender date from New York. Apparently, he's a student up there. Hope that it works out for him. It can be difficult, having a partner far away... and I should know....

Sunday, March 27, 2005

easter brunch

Originally uploaded by jblend.

"Tasty" Scotty threw down a massive assault on our tastebuds with an easter brunch. It was a big affair, too. About 30 people showed up and chowed down. Here are some pics of the gathering... the first morsel of the jblend photostream (taken with my new blendphone.) Here's a shot of Charlie just loving the hello kitty balloon I brought.

asparagus risk

Originally uploaded by jblend.

Scott's nickname is "Tasty" for a reason. He's amazing in the kitchen. This is Scotty's asparagus/strawberry/egg salad. It was great. Unexpectedly tasty: a risk worth taking.

taking the cake

Originally uploaded by jblend.

Cha-cha charlie takes the strawberry angelfood cake and smothers it in the delicious strawberry/spearmint sauce.

sacrificial lamb

Originally uploaded by jblend.

I got Scott this easter lamb and caught Charlie and Juan fighting over it, in an obvious "gay rage" sort of brawl. Fortunately for us, it didn't ruin the party.

juanito, flamenco dancer

Originally uploaded by jblend.

Juan shows off his heritage (or at least his willingness to be silly) by dancing the flamenco, complete with carnation behind his ear. Sadly, he flatly refused to jump atop the table and continue his dance. (He could've made some tips, I told him. I had a few dollars to give.)

tom and snoopy

Originally uploaded by jblend.

(at Tasty's party...)

Tom presided over the living room with authority. (That is, if by "authority" you mean "with a flower behind his ear and an easter snoopy balanced precariously on his shoulder.")

Monday, March 21, 2005

moving experience

Moving in with Henry was easy. It felt as natural as snow peas in a stir-fry.

Duct-taped and hand-labeled boxes piled up in the basement, addresses updated, new phone numbers shared.

I memorized the number of stairs going down into the basement, peripheral vision blocked by stacked armfuls of possession.

After a few weeks, nighttime travels through unknown hallways grew less perilous. I internalized the maps, the clearance space, the headroom and elbow room of landings, closets and entries.

His space was becoming mine.

Likewise, the emotional transition was velvety smooth, like a glass of pinot noir when combined with a crackerful of roasted brie.

I half-expected the moving-in experience to be a shock. I wondered if one of us would be (understandably) cranky. Would I quibble over triviality? Grow impassive over molehill ephemera? We did not.

Those concerns lingered for less time than it took me to locate my toiletry supplies.

My fears cast no shadows. Like the steam shooting out of our new humidifier, they disappeared. As they vanished before me, I breathed easier.

My routines and his did not conflict. Our schedules remained compatible. Everything was humming along.

Until the day he announced that he was no longer going to work. For a year. He had a buy-out of his contract. And immediately, his daily schedule changed drastically. It was a shock.
Suddenly, I faced the fact that he'd be home most of the time. My usual hour or so of quiet time after work vanished.

This was quite a new development. I had to ask myself: Would the engine of our emotional progress still operate with these new variables?

Would we be on track and in line with each other? Would the parallels hold?

I moved in February 28th. Today it's nearly a month later. And everything has held.

Thinking back to the actual moving in experience, I knew that the cardboard boxes strewn around his world would immediately trigger an acute must-tidy-must-tidy reaction from Sir Clean-a-lot. But he insisted that he could wait until I was ready to straighten. That was generous of him, especially considering that he experiences almost physical, palpable discomfort at seeing clutter.

He's managed really well. And I think we're both adapting quite well to each other.

I adore this guy. He is shockingly sweet. And his eyes sparkle when he smiles at me.

Sunday, March 20, 2005

hues and views

Three weeks ago, I learned that New York can be easily and thoroughly transformed into a pulsating organ of pleasure and color. How? Simple! Through the power of pharmaceuticals, by golly!

A trip to Central Park was in order. I needed to get out of the super-heated hotel room. (I swear, there must've been a plasma leak in the Jeffries Tube near our quarters – that room was meltdown hot.)

Once at the park, the powerful meds made the gray cityscape orange and breezy. I floated through the crowded streets on a cloud of chemicals. Henry was there for the ride. I even took a few of my own pics to share.

What a ride it was! I saw giant orange curtains that blew in the chilly breeze, causing New Yorkers to (get this) interact with one another. The cheerful saffron colored fabric lilted and swayed in the light winter breeze. Boldly, cheerfully, the sheets of orange provided a dramatic backdrop to the skeletal trees. Bright white snow reflected the peek-a-boo sun up for highlights. Grayer than gray giants, stone robots in a row, eyed us jealously from above the treetops. Their postures seemed to pose a query: "What did you do to deserve such delectable, colorific hues?"

The playfully swinging, pleated fabric just begged to be hit with the outreached hand. It fairly begged to be touched with a hop, skip, jump and high-five. And I did, despite the meds. It rewarded me with a luscious, touchable fabric that belied its completely chemical birth. Children of Nylon and Vinyl. And the meds probably made me want to touch the flowing panels more... Like a strange attractor, the chemicals in me longed to touch the chemicals in this oddly organic, strangely sensual fabric. It felt like touching the color of sunrise. Like kissing the first blush of an atom bomb. Like sniffing the saffron robes of a Buddhist monk at Chiang Mai.

This tripped-out entry sponsored by:

Thank you, pharmaceuticals, for making my life better!