The First Supper

Last night marked the first of many dinner get-togethers at the new house.

Our guests: Leah, yet another adored diva from college-daze and her fiancé Steve, a native upstate New Yorker, musician and fledgling chiropractor with an adorable demeanor and a serious pension for “Pizzicato Five” .

Our menu: Whatever we could pull together since the event was impromptu.
Grilled burgers, chicken, bag-o-shi-shi-salad, Thai Cucumber Salad and left over birthday cake.

Last year Leah and Steve bought their first house together, a charming little brick number in another outlying area that’s decked out with a kitchen which would make any professional chef drool.

I couldn’t help but giggle at the circumstances of nervously, MANICLY, cleaning the house for “presentation”. I’m sure it’s the same neurosis they go through when we come over. Antics like this remind me of the fact that we’re not all that much different than our hetero brothers and sisters out there and that we can share many of the same secular experiences. In this instance – the giddy fun of showing off your house and entertaining.

Of course, the rift between lifestyles open wide when children come along. Naturally folks’ priorities and perspectives change.

It saddens me actually when I think about it. I’m at the age when a lot of my friends are starting to squeeze children out and though I know we’ll always be friends,… things change. The days of staying up and slugging down Shiraz like it’s going out of style, sharing stories and laughing will end. The air of gathering and sharing will morph into something else as their focus, (naturally and understandably), is redirected to the little life form they’ve created.

I try to keep this “understanding” in mind when I have to endure gatherings of young parents which I find about the most taxing experience in the world. ALL they can talk about is their babies. I’d just assume sit through a dinner party attended by hyperkinetic golden-retriever owners. (you know the type).

So, you’re a fag sitting at a table with these folks talking about lactation cycles, toddler color acuity and commissioned murals for nursery rooms walls and you clumsily start referencing your niece or nephew since it’s the closest thing you can offer the conversation.

It’s no surprise that I know so many gay folks who exclusively surround themselves with other gay-folk.

This too can be equally boring.

There’s no answer for this – only a reminder:

Savor every moment of your friends – for tomorrow they could be hit buy a bus… Or worse,…. Become pregnant.

And whatever you do – don’t blog about it.