H-E-Double Hockey Sticks
In it, Dennis, Betsey, Patrick and I are posing with our pumpkin that we decorated at a pub on the Upper West Side called, The Abbey.
The owner, a sweet guy whose name I can never remember, hosted a Halloween pumpkin carving contest that year. We stumbled in already tipsy and took to the challenge with certain gusto.
I ran down the street to Duane Reade for supplies -- glitter, glue, two bunches of fresh flowers and cinnamon-scented votives. This is the result. The gayest pumpkin ever! Everyone else in the bar took a far more traditional approach to the contest, carving scary faces and ghoulish eyes in their pumpkins. But we certainly had the best time with our creation.
I am using this photo as my inspiration for the next few weeks, which may be difficult for me. My dear partner, g8s, is leaving me for a month. He is going upstate to be with our friend, Anjalee, who is full with child and preparing to pop.
In the meantime, I will be attending his post at the restaurant as the late night Mistress of Ceremonies. Herding the crowds of Memorial Day, the clamoring throng of Gay Pride weekend. I am not a managerial type, mind you. I don't like to be the one to make the big decisions and be responsible. g8s is far better at being a grown up than I. I take my cues from him. If he remembers people's names, I know to air kiss them and treat them nicely. People listen to him because he exudes a calm authority that forces the drunkards into submission. My approach involves losing my temper and yelling childish insults like, "You must have a small penis!"
However, there is not another soul up for the task. So, it's left to me. There will be a lot of deep breathing and "escaping to a happy place in my mind" that I can foresee. I'm just hoping to attack the job like we attacked this pumpkin -- full out glitter and daisies.