a birthday, earthday, sunday sermon to sort out.

April 22^nd, 2012 is a far and long cry away from 1976, the year that my ghastly white arse squeezed out of Mother Mary Cleo’s womb.  Life!  Brilliant below and Superfluous above, I’m still searching for the medium-rare sear on how best to achieve happiness.  These past few days I’ve been swallowing up more of this disturbed past in the context of legal preparations for what is likely to be a drawn out trial.  Choking has been staged off by the miraculous support that surrounds me and of course, the recent job (Love my job at 24 Carrots).  Muttled like a fresh leaf of mint, the sour & sweet battling out their confliction upon my callused tongue . . . I’d rather sip finely crafted Scotch and call it a day.

So, much has been said about this Water Dragon, the zodiac sign for the year of 2012 which corresponds with my Earth Dragon status.  I’ve claimed such intentions to tattoo my body for the last 10 birthdays . . I’m still inkless and subject to uncertainty when it comes to this foreseeable future totem.  A symbol that was once a diamond turtle, a fire breathing dragon, a Taoist character, the infamous bird of resurrection – the phoenix; I am as unsure of what I would want stenciled to my back as I am to what direction I am headed tomorrow.  Uncertainty grips my mind, thwarting rational and the compiled experiences that have been acquired over these utmost interesting 36 years of existence.

Stepping into the not so recent past, my last birthday was quite memorable if not impromptu from its spontaneous conception through to its culmination at Eden (my club/restaurant multiplex).  The line of consorted friends, colleagues, family & patrons had gathered in gay fashion to celebrate my 35^th birthday (I shall disclose that I shared this birthday invite with two other outstanding & well liked community members).  The queue actually weaseled its way all the way back to our loading dock; some 1300 yds from the entrance – the longest line we’d ever had since our opening on1/11/11.  My “Garden of Eden” dream had been near fully realized yet the totality of my ambiguous partnership had tarnished the potential to the point that my vision was camouflaged beyond recognition (a blueprint if anything, a shadow of what was intended).   Despite my ungrounded status as the curator & creator, I earnestly looked forward to this opportunity to finally embrace all that had been accomplished . . . perhaps this was the best birthday gift imaginable; no more than two weeks later I was locked out, stripped of ChileCo, Eden, my “family”, my profession. 

Preceding my little bash, I spent two glorious, unequivocally refreshing days camping up in the scenic boundaries of Idyllwild.  I was accompanied by a most reverently delightful friend and co-worker, Ms. Sheliqua Veraquat.  Such pleasure was to be discovered and shared with my carefree companion as we settled into momentary relief . . . nobody to judge, nothing scheduled, no cause to be anything but ourselves. We laughed heartedly, we danced like ruby-throated hummingbirds and we built fires that exceeded the volcanic spitfires of Mt. Kilimanjaro.  I’d be remise to say that we both indulged upon copious amounts of bubbles, feasted on 5lbs of applewood smoked bacon and effortlessly breathed the Scotch Pine ambiance.  Good times, good times for shizzles!

Today’s birthday took me only to Bloomingdales for a 24 Carrots sponsored bridal registry.  I’m tired. The weight of an upcoming deposition and sifting through stacks of encrypted legal prose has taken precendence of candles and cake . . the fun was all had last night at the GLAAD Media Award Ceremony (and I sort of indulged in some badly needed garments in preparation of the event – happy birthday to me?).   Idle as an arthritic, half deaf the other half blind lap dog . . . close to 200 birthday wishes on my FACEBOOK page and yet, I have forsaken the spirit of celebration for nothing but a brassy attitude all spun up into some Freudian cotton candy.    

Am I tethered to such regret that I cannot move forward or is it nothing less than the weight of such inconceivable loss that gnaws at my mosquito bitten soul.  What happened?  And how exactly am I supposed to maneuver with such core values having been shattered, shattered by those cherished, trusted and loved.  Where is a gallon of superglue when you need it?  Didn’t I chant this morning?  Pathetic is an acceptable state of being for only so long . . . gratitude would better serve my misshapen chapel.  Forgive lest not forget and learn something or two in the process!

I have new friends, I have old friends, I have judged and discerned to whom was my friend.  Funny how it takes tragedy, pain, and loss to trigger such truthful realizations.  Bound by my own need to fulfill some irrevocable quest to make a difference; I am a most interesting specimen to which not even I fully understand the implications or shall I say inclinations.  My ramblings speak to me in volumes that crescend Icelandic glaciers, the last of their kind no less.  But who is really listening . . and do I sincerely have the stalwart conviction to forego selfish cause for that of philanthropic endeavors?  It is Earth Day after all . . . me and Mother Nature share the same entitlement of remembrance . . . I think I’ll go buy a white chocolate Kit Kat, I like those a lot.

a Chef  . . . . in Question . . .

or just a misunderstood chess match underlining refinement and pleasures of the plate & cork?