Celebrating friends, Emerald City style.

Last weekend I hosted a lovely dinner party for eight very close friends; all couples, two of which are recently married, one of which I actually married. The purpose of the dinner was to celebrate hallmarks, simple and significant, that each couple had achieved over this past year. I absolutely adore hosting people in my home and often expend considerable effort to create a lush, lulling, and dare I say seductive, sensory experience for my guests.

Recognizing the importance of feeding the eyes as well as the palate, I centered the dinner table in my Midtown flat to take full advantage of the picture-perfect view of the Space Needle and Queen Anne, (oh, and the monorail,) my windows afford.

For my tablescape I began with rich fabrics printed with Oriental-themed designs in rusts, golds and greens and then littered the center of the table with various candle-holders of punctured metal, smooth wood and glittering glass of coordinating colors and objets d'art that further enhanced the Thai-inspired evening: seashells, over-sized leaves, even a carved elephant. Also on the table, I had matching place cards for all of my guests, seating each person next to someone other than their spouse.

My guests arrived pair by pair and were greeted by the aroma of Siamese spices wafting from the kitchen, each couple bringing with them bottle after bottle of bubbly libations. For dinner, I made a light, simple shrimp stir-fry with mushrooms, tofu and colorful bell peppers; salmon swimming with snap peas in a spicy red curry sauce; a Thai omelet to temper the heat; a pot of hearty yellow beef curry, thick with turmeric, cumin and coconut milk; and finally, two-and-a-half pounds of fresh halibut marinated in ginger, garlic, chillies, lime juice and garnished with a bit of cilantro. As dinner was presented, the phrase that continually peppered our evening repeatedly was, "Tino, you've outdone yourself!"

When designing the seating chart I intentionally sat guests next to others who share aligned interests, some of which include: art; architecture; academia; botany; literature; mountain climbing; and traveling abroad. The conversation was constant amongst all of us and a good deal of laughter was present throughout the night as we were serenaded by the crooning of Tracey Thorn of Everything But The Girl, the catchy beats of Pink Martini and a handful of Craig Armstrong's hauntingly familiar, dramatic pieces.

Before we sat down for dessert, fruit and cheese I had all my guests reexamine their place card, upon which I had stamped a particular leaf shape, each person's leaf, aside from myself, had another pair at the table. I then had each guest with matching stamps exchange seats, affording me the opportunity to chat more intimately with the other half of my guests as well as being able to reunite some of the couples who had spent dinner apart. The result was marvelous as a new round of discussions began and even more laughter was exchanged.

We raised our glasses and toasted, several times, throughout the evening as there was so much to celebrate: civil unions, birth anniversaries, residential mergers, acquisitions of property, and ascension of corporate ladders. All in all, a successful evening, as I partook in the pleasure of being able to delight those around me and provide my grateful guests with such a memorable and enjoyable time, I didn't see it so much as having outdone myself, but rather, just doing a job well done--Thai style, of course.

Ready for takeoff.

A few days ago, a pair of friends and I landed ourselves at Vessel for a Recession Proof Mixology event featuring Aviation Gin. All three of us could recall a time when any of us were hesitant to drink anything other than a beverage containing vodka and juice from concentrate; thank Heavens for the many good bartenders who have played a role in steering us away from such amateur beverages, transforming us into "Cocktail Geeks," for better or for worse. (I like to think for the better.) On our gin-induced flight to Shangri-La, we were in good company, also present in our cabin were several of the Emerald City's first-class bartenders, away from their Capitol Hill cockpits, as well as other industry folks and media notability.

We sampled several bright and uplifting cocktails; I, of course, went for all the froufrou looking drinks in the sunset spectrum of pink and apricot. My palate was much pleased as was my field of vision. The order of truffle chips was a tasty touch, but whetted our appetite so much we only sat through a few round of drinks before departing for more substantial forage (I'm sure, due to our early departure, we missed some really good in-flight entertainment.)

The three of us descended our way down to the Harbor Steps to check out a restaurant that had recently opened. The place looked nice, the menu looked decent, and we had a friend's recommendation, but somehow the venue didn't seem to set off our radar, so we changed course and headed up into the Market.

Oddly, the early evening weather was warm and dense, the air being heavy and humid as if we were deep within an equatorial jungle. The sky began to take on a copper-colored hue, glazing the once familiar Emerald City skyline 'neath a rosy haze and heightening our anticipation of something marvelous awaiting us around the corner.

Then, a golden idea came to me and I led us through an alley, beyond the infamous "gum wall," up a hidden staircase, past Rachel (the pig) and out on a tiny terrace until we reached my desired destination with a smooth landing, Place Pigalle.

Place Pigalle is a special place. Small, comfortable, and peppered with just the right amount of class. (Perhaps it's the French influences that permeate the place?) It's perched location offers spectacular, unobstructed views of Puget Sound, who's dark blue waters began to glimmer with a bronze glint by the time we were seated at our white-linen-covered table.

Following our entrance, a pair of fishmongers navigated their way to the slender bar. Also present in the intimate, softly lit dining room were several seasoned couples, as well as a table of executives still formally buttoned-up in their well-tailored suits.

Shortly after the three of us each ordered a glass of wine--rosé for me, of course, Malbec for the Mademoiselle and Tributary for the Monsieur, a trio of Europeans entered the establishment, and instantly were recognized by the neighboring table of executives, who all rose to exchange handshakes before the Continental threesome were seated at their own, separate table.

Following a few bites of fresh-baked sourdough and the creamiest of butters, our starter courses came our way consisting of a hearty lentil and house-made sausage soup; and a light, though flavorful, halibut seviche, all of which was rather delectable.

When it came to our entrées, we could not contain our crooning as we each kept taking nibbles from one another's plate: fresh marlin medallions, lightly seared, served alongside tenderly roasted potatoes and autumn vegetables; al dente fettuccine submerged in a savory lamb Bolognese; and chipotle veal shortribs that effortlessly slid right of their bones and truly melted in one's mouth. Between the wine, the food, and the company, that night it felt as if we truly were coasting above the clouds on a decadent, culinary pleasure cruise.

Quality Time

A dear friend of mine, who I have had the serenity to have known over half my life, has spent considerable time living abroad and exploring the world. Whenever she returns to the Emerald City in-between adventures, we see each other periodically, usually at whatever party or event I'm hosting, and once in awhile we do spend time one-on-one, but those times usual end up being not as frequent as we intend. In our hearts, we know we will always be there for one another and no matter how much time or distance passes, we will see each other's bright smile sooner or later. My friend is set to embark upon another adventure in the upcoming weeks and we've agreed not to let time slip away from us and to make the most of the days remaining until then.

Last week, we brunched (at Tilikum Place,) then headed over to the Frye Art Museum, took in a bit of frankincense and Italian-inspired architecture at the much gilded St. James Cathedral, stopped for espresso, browsed books at the newly re-located Elliot Bay Book Company and meandered through the streets, both meek and grand, of Captiol Hill toward Volunteer Park.

Unfortunately, we arrived as the conservatory was closing, but the Asian Art Museum was still open for an hour so we opted for a quick visit. While at the art museum we discovered a brochure describing various lectures on Asian art with an upcoming one on the art and architecture of India. (A while back, my friend had left to visit India for a few weeks and ended up being away from the Emerald City for a few years!)

Last Saturday, we attended that lecture and it was amazing. A highlight of the presentation is that the speaker opened my eyes to spiritual and philosophical concepts that have manifested themselves in both architecture and urban design. Saturday University is the name of the lecture series and there were only a handful of others attending that appeared to be around our age, the rest of the auditorium was a significantly older crowd as one might expect to see at such an event on a sunny, early Saturday morning.

After the talk, our intellect was on fire and we kept discussing what we had just learned as we wove our way, once again, through the streets of Capitol Hill headed to a yet-to-be-determined spot for lunch. We ended up at a Vietnamese cafe and ate outside, taking full advantage of the glorious autumn sunshine. While we waited for our food R & B and Pop hits of days gone by (Beyonce, Britney, T-Pain etc.) played on an outdoor speaker and we both couldn't help but sing along (Apple-bottom jeans/Boots with the fur...) and bob our heads as we reminisced on times gone by.

After lunch, we were still hungry, for more knowledge. We made our way up to Elliot Bay Books in hopes of stumbling upon another lecture, no such luck. We reversed course and headed downtown with the Klondike Gold Rush Museum as a destination in mind. (It's the only National Park that's indoors!) Along our way to Pioneer Square we popped in to the Central Library, again in hopes of finding another lecture. One was about to start in half an hour in celebration of To Kill a Mockingbird, which also included a screening of the film, but we didn't want to be indoors for so long on such a sunny day.

We ended up at the Chinese Room of the L. C. Smith Tower (Thank you S.W.) and took in a Google-Earth-like view of the Emerald City. I pointed out various buildings and told my friend a few anecdotal stories of their histories. She shared with me childhood memories of various venues within view. The air was warm, the breeze on the 35th floor balcony was gentle and we couldn't help but linger long wondering aloud what is to become of the land beneath the viaduct, as well as what deconstruction and renewal our own futures might hold in the year to come.

Eventually, we took our leave and swiftly descended in the manually operated, 1912 Otis elevator back to earth and wandered through Pioneer Square, stumbling upon the Saturday Market in Occidental Park, before ending up at the Klondike Museum, where we read in-between the lines of the what was being presented to us and created our own narratives of the featured Sourdoughs. We did catch a short film on the history of the Yukon Gold Rush. In a particular scene they showed a line of men climbing a mountain, each with an average of 50 pounds of gear on their back. My friend and I couldn't help but remark, since they all were already in a line up the side of a mountain, wouldn't it have been more efficient if they formed a human conveyor belt and passed goods and supplies from person to person (Chinese-Fire-Drill-style,) instead of each person carrying so much heavy gear by themselves then dropping it off and having to go back down the mountain and do it all over again?

After exploring the Klondike, we made our way back downtown and I tended to a weekly floral installation, after which, we enjoyed a pair of scrumptous cocktails at Vessel (Thank you K.L.) and were treated to an array of fresh market fruit, gourmet cheeses, and charcuterie from Salumi (Thank you C.B.) With Vessel being my home away from home, it comes to little surprise whenever I run into a friend there, which I did.

After sating our thirst and appetite, we had nothing on our agenda until 9:30 that evening at SIFF Cinema, and again began to wander the streets once again, ending up at the terminus for the South Lake Union Streetcar or as most Emerald City denizens like to affectionately refer to it "The S.L.U.T.," with the "T" representing trolley. While on the streetcar we were surrounded by a rather jovial group, it appeared as if they had been imbibing. Three gentlemen and two ladies, both of whom were expecting.

"Whoa! Is that a raccoon?!" One of the guys asked, referring to the raccoon tail I recently embellished my key chain with. "What's that in your pocket?" He continued.

"Wouldn't you like to know." I slyly replied. His friends all started giggling.

"You asked for it," one of them teased him.

My curious inquisitor was tall, good looking and wearing decent designer denim. "I guess nobody wants to let a pregnant lady sit down!..." he shouted to the streetcar riders and two gentlemen sitting behind us, got up and left their seats. The inquisitor's friends did point out there were several vacant seats in other parts of the car. Then one of his friends pointed out that the inquisitor's zipper was down.

"Hey, why did you have to spoil the show?" I quipped, "I know you're pregnant and all, but there's a reason why I wasn't giving up my front row seat."

Everyone started laughing, except for the inquisitor who bowed his head sheepishly to conceal his blushing. "Awww, look, he's embarrassed," teased one of his friends.

"So, where ya going?" The inquisitor tried to recover.

"We don't know, wherever the SLUT takes us, Hooters?"

We all ended up disembarking at South Lake Union Park, but headed in different directions. I didn't realize that yesterday was the grand opening of the park. It's a cute park, with quite a bit of promise. (Might be a bit better if it had a beer garden, just sayin'...) Once we had our fill of the unforgettable fragrance of fresh fertilizer we decided to head uptown along Mercer, but somehow went under the wrong underpass and ended up at Seattle Center.

As we crossed the Center's campus we noticed tents above the Fisher Pavilion and heard live music. We went closer to investigate and it was Festa Italiana. We watched as a few couples mambo-ed on the dance floor and just marveled at how much goes on in this city in one day before making our way to The Sitting Room for another round of drinks and another little bite to eat (Thanks D.,) after which we headed over to SIFF Cinema (Thanks A.G.) where they are showcasing a series of new Spanish cinema.

The movie we saw, After, was a bit dark and intense, but quite evocative in making one reevaluate if the life they is true or not. In some ways it tied everything back to the lecture we saw in the morning on how, sometimes it matters little if what we do is deemed as good or otherwise, ultimately, the important thing is putting one's heart into the action at hand. I'm so thankful to have had spent a glorious day with the company of a dear friend and all of my heart.

An evening of seclusion.

Human beings are social creatures. That is one tenet I recall from my Sociology class. Perhaps that is why solitary confinement is reserved for the most baneful of criminals? Maybe that is why some of us execute the "Silent Treatment" to those close to us when offended? Maybe that is why some many of us are afraid of being alone?

Could it be that in our vastly individualistic society, whenever we come across a connection where we think to ourselves, "Finally, somebody gets me; they see me for who I really am," we feel we have the green light to instantly begin investing in forging an everlasting bond with that person?

Who can say for sure, what we do and why we do it? One thing I am certain of is: Seattle's Darling is a social creature. A highly social creature.

My honed powers of observation are not just limited to home furnishings, food and fine spirits. It also extends to people. How they present themselves in attire, speech, body language, movement, preferences in food and drink, geography, family history, friends and other associations. The list goes on.

As I've mentioned before, in many ways, I am a highly sensitive person. You can imagine, every so often, I have to take some time to rejuvenate my body and revive my spirit. Furthermore, whenever experiencing significant pain, my mind and my senses are easily overloaded. Friday morning when I awoke I was greeted with a dull thudding in my head and muscles that ached nearly everywhere, (apparently my wisdom teeth are coming in.) By the time I was finished with work all I wanted to do was crawl into bed, close my eyes and rest. So that's exactly what I did.

When I awoke, a few hours later, I still ached all over and decided to draw a hot bath. As I was waiting for the tub to fill, I went through my text message inbox: invitation after invitation to come out for the night; birthdays, a dinner party, other assorted parties, friends visiting from out of town, friends of friends visiting from out of town... I just wasn't feeling up to snuff to be around people and actively engaged in the moment.

Ordinarily, when at home, I have the radio on, usually tuned to Classic King FM or NPR. This night, on a much needed night alone, I just wanted silence.

Before stepping into my steaming bath, I grabbed a thick book off of a nearby shelf. One I had read, only once, but written by one of my top three favorite authors, George R. R. Martin. I slid into my nearly scalding bath and submerged myself into another world: Westeros. A land where cunning and ambition can raise one far, where chivalry can be as much of a hindrance as a virtue and very few Princesses end up marrying gallant Princes. Martin's fascinating characters exhibit so much humanness, each with their own unique voice, modus operandi and raison d'être. 

Being such a deft and crafty writer, Martin offers up an exquisite amount of detail and seems to effortlessly weave nearly infinite layers of hope (for love, family and justice,) desire (for lust, prestige and power) and intrigue (the silken threads that tie everything together) into a comprehensive, gorgeous and enthralling tapestry one can't help but to feast their eyes upon it. By the time my bathwater turned tepid, I was some 300 pages in.

I toweled off rather swiftly, slid back into bed and re-visited Westeros, with it's all-too-real inhabitants; in between chapters, I would scour the appendix to have a clearer grasp on the realm's various dynasties, family trees and associated geography and heraldry making better sense of assorted rivalries and alliances. After a few hours, when sleep finally beckoned once more, I drew the shades, put in a pair of earplugs and closed my tired, but sated eyes.

Birds of a feather...

One of my fondest discoveries in San Francisco was a quaint little bar known as Blackbird, it's in the Castro, on Market and Church and from my understanding just recently opened. It was referred to me by my cocktail-loving DJ friend, the one who was just recently proposed to (yay!)

Upon entering the establishment, I took an immediate liking to the place. A rather modern place, with a few stylistic old world elements (think along the lines of Hendrick's imagery) to enhance the venue's character and lend a nod to the era of when bourbon and gin cocktails reigned supreme. A somewhat narrow space, with concrete-gray colored walls; a few high-boy bistro tables in either window; an industrial, metal table towards the right of the entrance surrounded with an octet of institutional chairs, and an orange leather booth that ran along the left side of a pair of long, narrow, raw wood, high tables with matching institutional stools.

The bar itself was made of a heavy, dark wood, and had an antique appearance (also lined with institutional metal stools.) Suspended above the bar was a row of exposed tungsten bulbs dangling at various lengths and intervals--hmmm... notice a trend recently? (I must confess, upon my latest relocation to Midtown, I myself, installed exposed tungsten bulbs in my bathroom.) Adding even more length and vertical movement to the space, the ceiling was covered in slender boards of unfinished wood, wood that very much complimented the tables.

Blackbird's drink menu, written in black magic marker on rather large pieces of brown butcher paper (another charming touch) is hung against a perpendicular wall entirely decoupaged with old newspapers. Listed are about a dozen house cocktails, (which appear pretty impressive at first glance-until realizing about a third of them are vodka based) accompanied by a decent selection of beer and wine. (Upon a subsequent visit, I discovered they have very friendly happy hour prices as well.)

Slightly further into the space, another booth of orange leather, this time much lower and much longer, a row of square, raw wood tables and (surprise, surprise,) a bundle of industrial metal chairs. Toward the back lay a much used pool table and an ever slightly used photo booth, as well as the restrooms.

For my first drink I was torn between the Batida, which featured real coconut milk or the Dutch Courage which contained egg white. I went for the liquid courage: Bols Genever, maple syrup, egg white, lemon juice, lime juice, a dash of orange flower water and served with a sprig of mint. I was pleased at Blackbird that they measured their pours and squeezed fresh fruit for every order. Unfortunately they don't use fresh eggs, they use egg whites from a carton and I immediately could tell the difference. The yummy, creamy, frothy, milkshake-like texture I am so fond of, was just not there.

For round two I asked for a custom cocktail and my bartender was at a bit of a loss. (I'm so thankful such a situation seldom happens to me in the Emerald City.) I attempted to guide her through a beverage I had enjoyed recently at Vessel and was able to recall most, if not all, of the ingredients. She did her best, but the result was not quite exactly what I was hoping for.

The mediocrity of my cocktail mattered little for the people-watching here was spectacular. I sat at the lower booth, facing the bar, on my right, were two married European couples and to my left, a table of assorted Hipsters--boys and girls. I would watch people as they filed in; the Pretty People, the B-Gays, the Lipstick Lesbonics, the Bears, the Cubs, the Cougars, the Yuppies (yes, they still do exist,) the Daddies, the Bridge-and-Tunnel crowd (think Tavern Law on a Saturday night,) and the tourists (myself included.) I found it a bit fascinating seeing such an array of people flocking to the same watering hole, and they all were actually interacting with one another. That is something we seldom see in the Emerald City.

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A few days later I brought in my friend who was the impetus of my whole SF trip, she had just finished Nursing School at the prestigious University of San Francisco. I flew down, along with her sister, to keep her company on the drive back to the Emerald City. That day we discovered Blackbird's great happy hour. Wine $4, Beer $3 and Wells $3. She had a vodka with soda. I had a cocktail, which is not on special (High Maintenance? Maybe, but hey, I was on vacation.) This time I went with the house Negroni: Blue Coat Gin, Aperol, Lillet Rouge served with an orange twist. It worked. I have a friend in the Emerald City who loves Negronis and I know he'd take a liking to the Blackbird Negroni.

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My last venture to Blackbird I went to meet up with my DJ friend (did I mention he's recently engaged?) It was a Wednesday night, around 8 o'clock and I was a bit early. The bar was the most crowded I had ever seen. After patiently waiting to place an order I was informed they were sold out of their house specialty, The Martinez. So I just went with a whiskey sour. $3. I didn't realize it was still happy hour. Perhaps that explained why it was so crowded?

It took awhile for me to secure seating, but I was in no rush. One of the long wooden tables near the door was eventually vacated after which, I slid into the high booth and just drank in the scenery while sipping on my sour. My friend arrived, sporting a new haircut and took a seat beside me. That wasn't the only thing new he wore. He had a ring on his left hand. I was so excited! Turns out it's a Teno.

For the sake of old times, my friend ordered us a pair of Last Words and we plotted our plans for the night, where we might go for dinner and further drinks and where we'd end up for some dancing. Well, our plans evolved as we met some lost couch surfers. My friend told them of a nearby hill, Corona Heights, where you can hike up and take in a fantastic view of the city. I was feeling a bit adventurous so after filling ourselves with some burgers nearby we stopped off at the corner store and grabbed a bottle of Maker's (and a can of coconut water,) and set off for the hill.

Though pretty steep, especially for an urban hike, the climb wasn't bad at all and well worth it. Once we reached the pinnacle we were able to take in an amazing view of the entire city. We found a boulder to perch upon and broke open our bottle of Bourbon. As the hours went by, the more we revealed to one another: we spoke of love, lost and found; of family; of life, past and present and the possible future; all the while we watched the city slowly become shrouded in layers of fog and mist until we found ourselves at a loss for last words, surrounded by a sea of glowing brume and an empty bottle of whiskey.

Trophy hunting.

After several hours of traveling on a plane, a train and an automobile I found myself in the fog-shrouded part of San Francisco known as Inner Richmond. A friend of mine, originally from the Emerald City, has recently finished Nursing School; her sister is scheduled to fly down and meet us we are all driving back together with her belongings. It was shortly after midnight when we rendezvoused and I was thirsty, (the beer on my flight having long since worn off.) Fortunately, my friend lives walking distance to a number of bars, I chose the one with sexiest name: The Buckshot.

The place was packed, much like any dive bar on a Saturday night at midnight. I ordered a shot of Fernet and a pair of PBRs (hey, "when in Rome...") My friend and I found a little spot between the shuffleboard table and the skee ball machines, where we could indulge our curiosity and observe the crowd. Underneath the gaze of countless mounted hunting trophies (so many and so varied Linda D., herself, would drool at this collection,) we took note of the various cliques, each group of drunkards easily distinguished by the uniform attire they wore, whether it be of an athletic jock-like variety, urban gangsta', or bridge 'n' tunnel mini dresses with heels too high to gracefully strut in paired with obnoxiously monogrammed Coach bags (sorry, at that price point there are a lot more labels to choose from and not all of them are made in China.)

I suggested we migrate towards the dance floor for better viewing of the various weekend courtship and mating rituals occurring all around us. We wove through the boisterous mass and were able to find a pair of stools to perch upon and continued our analysis of the crowd. (And quite honestly, we were also checking out the boys.) Apparently I got caught checking out a tall, dark and handsome guy, with a great build and chiseled jaw line, his eyes locked on mine and immediately he came over and sat next to me on a vacant stool asking me what my name was (Gush!)

Beside my newly befriended hunk-of-a-friend, I was completely beside myself. I could scarcely believe he was talking to me! He kept reaching down to adjust his socks and every time he would press his leg closer to mine (Gush!) We shared more about each other, where we came from, he himself being from San Diego. He was surprised I was 31. I was surprised he was 22. (Cougar! I know.) He did preface our conversation with saying his girlfriend just left (Really? Was that some sort of invitation? I can never tell.) He kept asking me why I wasn't out on the floor dancing, I tried to play coy and mumbled something about wanting to wait until a song I really liked to come on before hitting the floor. So we kept talking, he told me he worked at a retail store downtown and that he's used to being around a lot of gay people because of it, all the while he kept getting closer, our arms touching, our shoulders touching. I couldn't have asked for a warmer welcome to SF (Gush!)

He finally went out onto the dance floor and a flock of girls surrounded him. My friend kept encouraging me to get out there and after a few songs, I went. He was happy to see me, but I made sure I maintained a distance from him, (I didn't want him to think I was making assumptions, but sometimes it's hard not too, especially when cheap beer is involved.) Before leaving, being obliged to meet up with some other friends, he made a point to say goodbye to me and I ended the night gushing and glowing.

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A few days later, while downtown looking for a sweater to ward off the ever-present San Francisco chill, I decided to do a little "drive-by" where my hunk-of-a-friend works and as I walked by, sure enough, there he was in all his glory. It took him a moment to register how he knew me, then he smiled and opened his arms to give me a hug (Gush!) He introduced me to a co-worker of his, a slight, coiffed and well manicured Asian boy, who graciously complimented me on my leather jacket (BR.)

"So did you have fun the other night?" My hunk-of-a-friend asked me, three times. (Isn't it true, when nervous, people tend to repeat themselves? Just sayin'...) He asked if I were going out again this weekend. I told him I'd like to, but wasn't sure, just playing it all by ear. I asked him if he ever goes out during the week. He suggested I take his number and maybe we could go out together sometime (Honestly, it was his idea, not mine!) So I entered his number into my phone and shot him a text and took my leave, after another tight hug, of course (Gush!)

Quite the souvenir to come home with, if you ask me (Gush!)

A highlight* *from SFO

One evening in March, at a schmoozy networking event for men who enjoy the company of men (homosexuals,) on the terrace of a somewhat pretentious (for the Emerald City) hotel, I met a bright, charming young (my age) man, who was up visiting his brother (a fellow socialite.) Having gone to a few of these events in the past one tends to recognize (at least I do) faces (and outfits, and accessories.) I find it amusing whenever a new face appears (fresh meat) and witnessing the crowd's reaction to someone new. (Curious? I'll take you out for a little social experimentation sometime. Contact me.)

As the event wound down, me, my socialite friend and his brother went to eat and drink. My friend's husband (yes, apparently in this day and age men can marry men-yipee!) is the general manager of a restaurant in one of the Emerald City's livelier and more colorful hotels. The three of us decided to hop over (more like climb or hike--the Emerald City and all it's hills) and pay him a visit. 'Twas such awhile ago I can not recall what it is we tasted and enjoyed. I do remember, my friend's brother, is a smoker and I would accompany him on his breaks for fresh air. Outside I eagerly shared with him what I knew of Emerald City's skyline and it's history.

No tour of the Emerald City is complete without a stop at Vessel, my home away from home, (a home I regard with much pride and joy.) The delight upon my new found friend's face was quite evident. I did not realize until then he had the palate and passion for cocktails (and good food) as I do. Needless to say, we imbibed.

The next morning the comment he left on my Facebook page read: "those last words haven't finished talking. so glad we made it to vessel though."

It is now August and I am visiting in his city of residence, San Francisco. He is a DJ and was at a party last night in SOMA. He is no longer single, and I, being the florist that I am, drew out the story of how that came to be.

Shortly after his trip to the Emerald City, he was out doing his DJ thing and saw someone he was compelled to meet. He asked for his name and introductions were made, and they spent the rest of the night chatting, dancing and smiling. At the end of the night contact info was exchanged and a few days later contact was made and a date was set.

Forgive me for not being able to recall the venue or the details of their date as I was two cocktails and two whiskey-gingers deep, but I do remember the subject of singledom was brought up and both boys found them to also share that in common, as well as other hobbies and passions. That seemed to cement their connection even more.

Recently, the two went for a long bike ride and during an abeyant rest for them to catch their breath, my friend's breath was taken away as his beau dropped down on one knee and stated his intention to have him in his life ever more and today they are going ring shopping.

I had the pleasure of meeting the fiancé last night, along with a host of other friends, fellow DJ's and acquaintances of the blissful two. When my friend's beloved arrived, instantly a Japanese quote I am fond of came to mind: "When two hearts are as one, eyes are more eloquent than lips." So intense, yet gentle and full ardor was his gaze for my friend, who returned the look with the brightest smile and a gaze just as earnest and ardent.

I am certain these two will never be at a lost for words, ever, their glances will always speak volumes.