I will have you know...

The first house BC and I bought was a duplex. We rented out the top apartment to pay the mortgage and we lived in lower unit. Our tenant was a 40-ish flight attendant for Braniff Airlines named Regina W. We usually called her Reg. Reg liked to drink…a lot. Back in those days' airlines were great places to work and Braniff often paid for Reg’s drying out leaves of absence.

Reg and her current flavor of the month boyfriend would have drinks on the patio with us during the warm months. Unlike so many drunks Reg never got sloppy, loud, or rude while on the sauce. Quite the opposite, Reg became a regal Grand Duchess in speech and demeanor. She might be shit faced but by God she was a lady. We loved her and howled at the haughty transformation. When she was drunk we called her Re-geye-na as in Victoria Regina and we were her trusty court jesters.

One summer Saturday BC and I were outside doing yard work. I happened to glance up at Reg’s apartment and noticed smoke drifting out from her open bedroom window. We raced up the back stairs to the balcony and pounded on the door and windows. No response. I kept screaming her name while BC went to our apartment to call the fire department. They arrived in minutes. We used our spare keys to let them inside. Through the smoky haze in the living room I could see empty liquor bottles and scattered glasses. Reg was not at home but had obviously been on another binge.

The firemen hauled a smoldering mattress out from the bedroom. Luckily that was the only real damage. We gathered in the front yard while the firemen doused the mattress with water. A crowd of neighbors had formed to watch. Before long the crowd parted as Reg and her BF staggered their way through. They had gotten hungry and had gone for a boozy lunch. Reg regally eyed the soggy charred mattress and then spoke.

Reg: What ever happened?

Me: Ugh, it looks to me like there was a fire.

Reg (arching one eye brow): Sarcasm is seldom amusing.

Me: Sorry.

Reg: You should be more careful.

Me (sputtering): Me?.. Me?.. Reg, this is your mattress!

Fireman: Lady, didn’t anyone ever warn you about smoking in bed? It’s dangerous. You could have killed yourself. Never get into bed with a lit cigarette!

Re-geye-na’s back stiffened and she drew herself up a full 2 inches taller. I swear I thought I saw her sprout a tiara. She squared her shoulders and spoke in imperious clipped and measured tones. "Young man, I will have you know...that bed...was on fire when I got in it!"

To this day when ever I am caught in an embarrassing situation I repeat that mantra…”that bed was on fire when I got in it.”

BC in memoriam

BC died two years ago today.

To those of you in relationships I wish you the same joy that mine brought me. We had 32 great years. May you have the same and more.

Which one of you bitches stole my dog’s passport?

I want a confession and I want it fast. I looked for Sam’s doggie passport yesterday and it’s missing. After my upcoming carpal tunnel surgery I plan to recuperate in London. I keep a flat in a house I own there. I rent out the house to an American expat couple and I have the flat for my use.

Until recently the UK had draconian quarantine laws. If you wanted to enter the country with your pet they had to stay in quarantine for 6 months. Now they can enter the country on a pet passport. However getting the pet passport is a major hassle. So I am really pissed that I can’t find it. I couldn’t possibly have misplaced it .....myself..... My Labrador Retriever, Sam, is very popular with the ladies here. I suspect that one of them has hidden his passport so he can’t go to London. But I am on to you bitches. Now fork it over.

After the holocaust there still will be cockroaches and Cher - and Me

1971
John Lennon was singing “Imagine”, Jim Morrison - “Riders on the Storm”, Johnny Cash – “Man in Black”, Janis Joplin – “Me and Bobby McGee”, John Denver – “Take Me Home, Country Roads”, Karen Carpenter – “Rainy Days and Mondays”, Marvin Gaye – “What’s Going On”, and Cher was singing “Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves” – and I was singing right along with her.





2005
John L., Jim, Johnny, Janis, John D., Karen, and Marvin have been silenced. But Cher and I are still belting out “Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves”.

It was indeed a long, long road

July 3, 1970. I realize most of you weren’t yet born so let me tell you about that day in Houston, TX. I was home from college. I was 19. I had not yet come out of the closet. In fact I had yet to admit to myself that I was gay. I was struggling with that exquisite torment of being attracted to men while society was telling me this was wrong. I was restless, yearning, and feeling like something BIG was about to happen to me. I’ve had these premonitions most of my life. I am usually right. Something BIG usually happens.

My best friends from high school had married in June and we wanted to celebrate. We were all underage and couldn’t legally drink. S & P, the newlyweds, had heard from a gay friend that the easiest club to sneak into was a gay disco called The Palace. Management overlooked age requirements for pretty young things with money to spend. The thought of being in a room full of gay men was exciting and scary as hell. It took a lot of coaxing to get me to agree to go.

The Palace was located in the 12th floor penthouse of a high-rise in Montrose, the gay ghetto of Houston. It was Houston’s version of legendaries like Trocadero Transfer in SF, Heaven in London, or Sanctuary in NYC. The walls were glass and the view of the skyline was breathtaking. There was an outdoor patio bar (great for cooling off after leaving the dance floor). Visiting rock stars dropped in. Janice Joplin, Steven Stills, Gregg Allman all visited after their Houston concerts. The music was fabulous, the men were fabulous, and the bartenders were the hottest, especially one…



God I was a wreck. I made S & P walk one in front and one behind me. I needed protection from the big bad homosexuals. HA! We proceeded to drink ourselves silly. S & P wanted to dance and I was terrified of being left alone so they parked me on a barstool at the main bar and asked the nearest bartender to look after my *straight* self. He was the most beautiful man I had ever seen. He laughed at my nerves and talked to me while my friends danced. His name was BC. I was mesmerized. This gorgeous gay man was talking to me and he wasn’t scary at all. His gentle banter charmed and soothed. When my friends returned I told them to dance all they wanted I was fine right where I was. I spent the next 4 hours taking to this hunk. The Palace’s last call and closing each night was heralded by the playing of the theme from the “2001” soundtrack, followed by the theme from “The Lion in Winter” soundtrack, and ending with Neil Diamond’s “He Ain’t Heavy He’s My Brother”. The lyrics “The road is long, with many a winding turns, That leads us to who knows where, Who know where “ and “It’s a long, long road from which there is no return” resonated in my soul.

One year later The Palace had closed and reopened as a straight bar, I was out of the closet, and BC and I celebrated our 1st anniversary. We celebrated 32 in all.

Off with his head

There is a reason it’s called Jolly Olde England. Those wacky Brits sure know how to have a good time. Imagine what went through junior footman, Fraser Marlton-Thomas’s mind. "I bet I can liven up this party". Obviously he had not recovered from the staff Christmas party a few days prior. I'm sure right this very minute someone is preparing a room for him in the Tower.