LA Carlos and the Denver Phillies

Thanks to the chaos of the holidays, I had to take a break from the blog. I just couldn’t seem to pull it together after Thanksgiving, with all the present-shopping and party-going, and enough Alpines to melt the Matterhorn. So those of you waiting for the rest of the Thanksgiving story, the short version is that we drank $800 worth of champagne, then I had a nasty histamine reaction and was nicknamed “Blotchy, the Thanksgiving Elf.” After a LOT of “Blotchy” jokes, several of us went to Neighbors and some of us drank enough shots that they (I have been forbidden to name names this once) could not figure out how to get home until noon the next day. And the weekend went downhill from there. You’ll note that my caring, concerned friends fell all over themselves laughing when I turned a blotchy cranberry color and got all puffy. Thanks guys, I hope I’m present if any of you ever gets SHOT. No, I mean it, I really really hope I'm there.

Anyway, after all that Christmas was low-key: Carlos and I slept in, and I made my version of a traditional English beef dinner (roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, whipped potatoes). This was all stuff my English grandmother used to make (she died last April), so cooking her recipes and using her serving dishes for Christmas dinner was a nice way to remember Christmas at her house. Carlos liked it (who doesn’t like a roast that costs $20 a pound?) and even braved the Yorkshire pudding. Two pieces, without adding salsa, he’s braver than most people. I played with his toys (I got him a nice pen with a built-in pocket knife, a radio controlled Cooper Mini, and the obligatory bauble from Tiffany) while he napped and watched Amor Real. Later, his friends came over and we all went to Gallerias to drink Coronas and do the Cha-cha. It was a satisfying Christmas.

Of course, peace on Earth and goodwill towards men could not possibly last, and thus we come to New Years. Matty and Carlos had had a bit of a spat early in the week, and Carlos decided he wasn’t comfortable going to Matty’s party. Which left me to either hang out with Carlos (pissing off Matty), hang out with Matty (pissing off Carlos), or split the evening and piss them both off. Of course, I have no sense whatsoever, so I decided to split the evening. With a planned post-midnight run to Marc and Walter’s so that I could make it to as many parties as possible. Yet another brilliant plan.

Meanwhile, Adam was busy importing friends to hang out with. From LA he brought Carlos (known henceforth as LA Carlos), and from Denver he brought Mike, Dan, and Steve (collectively, the Denver Fillies). LA Carlos was Adam’s little friend/hanger-on/tease during the time he was in LA helping set up Matty’s new store. It’s been nearly a year, but LA Carlos started texting while Matty, Adam, and I were out drinking last Sunday, and by Wednesday Adam had him up here. Adam insists that he didn’t pay for LA Carlos to fly up, but we’ll file that one in the Dubious Statements Hall of Fame along with “I did not have sex with that woman” and “The Patriot Act is protecting civil liberties.” Adam wasn’t willing to clarify how he knows the Denver Fillies, but he did spend a summer in Grand Junction with an internet connection and no gay bar. I think we all can do the math.

Anyway, LA Carlos and the Fillies planned to crash at Casa del Matty. Matty’s house is good-sized, but not set up for sleepovers (outside Matty’s scary, king-size jungle-lovin’ bed) so I was curious how the sleeping arrangements would shake out. Adam has a twin-size bed, and otherwise there’s lots of floor, a rock-hard sectional, and a Van der Rohe daybed covered in covered buttons. I figured that: 1) Adam would get some, 2) Matty would get some, 3) both would get some, or 4) Adam would be shuttling all the Fillies and LA Carlos back to Matty’s every morning. As usual, the way things played out was a good deal more interesting than I guessed. Which I will cover in the next couple of installments.