Catching up with old friends.
Here’s my partner Thom with our friend Bridge – whose Christian name is Brian, even though he’s 25% Jewish. And who has time for proper names? (It is an admittedly lousy photograph, from a technical perspective. I was balancing a 2nd martini in my other hand. So fuck off.)
Bridge lives in the Sonoma wine country with his husband Michael and their two Catalan sheep dogs, Izzy and Geli. He commutes to his show biz job in LA, and we don’t get to see him often enough. But when we do, we laugh till we cry (– and unless your name is Connie, you really have nothing to worry about). Once upon a time (circa 1990) I rented a house at the tippy top of Cumberland Street in San Francisco with my friends Liz and Ray. Brian and Michael were our across-the-street neighbors – and so much wonderful has flowed from that random collision.
Life, she is like that, non? You turn left instead of right, find your way onto a dead end street with a “FOR RENT” sign on a house with killer views of San Francisco. And 20-something years later, none of us is where s/he used to be, but we find our way back to each other like salmon swimming up a river of vodka. And it feels like home, all over again. (Liz, we’re so overdue.)
An impromptu dinner with an old friend. Day 002 of #100happydays.