Weekend Number 12: Sunday

With Saturday behind us and the day chalk-full (I wonder where that saying comes from) of exciting activities, John and I wake up early (like 7:45 am--and trust me, for gays on a Sunday, that's like walking on water--miracle) and hit the gym. After an invigorating workout we rendez-vous with our friends David and Todd (another gay couple) and get some brunch. We go to a place called the Mission; I have had heard of it several times by this point but still never went. Excellent choice. Great food, good (enough) service, horrible chocolate mike (don't ever order it from them) but in-out-eat-yum-burp-done and that's all I wanted.

We had a task at hand. We had a goal. We--David, Todd, John and I--had plans: we were going to the Cat Show. I said it--Cat Show. It's like a dog show, except there are more gays and old ladies. Not like, the little old ladies with blue hair that drive 110 miles per hour and sit on a stack of phone books to see over the steering wheel, but like, the old ladies with big, homemade earrings and a sweater with a big cat on it and it says "My cat's shit don't stink" or some bull like that. Oh god. The cats were fun--some beautiful and exotic looking breeds--but the real entertainment was the freak show parade of these ladies and gays. It's like, they were so serious about these cats and how they were brushed a certain way and blow-dried and teased and probably sedated that it was a miracle both the owner and the cat actually made it to the venue.

Let me just say something: cats are predators. Brushed fur does not make them happy, death and carnage does. Let them eat cake. Mice rather. Let them eat Micecake. After the Cat Show (I still can't believe I went to a freaking cat show) we walked to Horton Plaza and casually let time slink by before preparing ourselves for a fantastic and fabulous evening at hand. My dear friend, and peanut, Vince had a little b-day celebration at Lei Lounge. Lei Lounge is a venue unlike any other really--it's hip, it's chic, it's smart--it's SO Vince. It was perf'. The event started out with cool cocktails and warm conversations over the fire pit and in the reserved cabanas. More and more people started to gather and a serious crowd had developed. Vince's parents and brother and all of Vince's close friends and it really was just a fantastic time--an enviable birthday event for sure. Allan, Vince's homohusband, even made a video montage of people that couldn't be at Lei (like former Talk Soup personality Hal Sparks) wishing him a wonderful two-five. Then there was cake (but, no Micecake). It was cupcakes on tiered serveware and just lovely lovely lovely. It gets better--there was a hosted champagne toast to accompany these said cupcakes. Let me just explain how I looked: pink shirt, fierce jeans, bitchin' hair, champagne glass in one hand, cupcake AND a partially spilling martini in the other and a big cupcake-eating grin on my face. Oh, to die for. John you're one lucky bitch. OH OH I forgot to mention it was a total pink party, where everyone had to have something on that was pink. Vince, you're a dream come true (and we happen to have identical taste--coincidence? No. Fate.). Fantastic. Finally the night progresses, (remember, this is Sunday the whole time) and it is time for John and I to retire. He pretty much pours me into the passenger seat of my car and escorts us home.

That was pretty much my weekend in review. I learned that my signature sucks (if you're a gypsy), steak is now on the black market (watch out cocaine), animals can be spoiled (and whored) and Vince is truly lovely (with a capital Meow). Thank you for tuning in and there will definitely be more to come shortly. Signing off.