Let them eat cape.

Friday night, Shilpa and I accompanied the newly single Amy to an art opening (to which she was invited by the artist) at a café in Bernal Heights. As a newly single gal, Amy needed some slightly slutty shopping for socializing, and Shilpa had tricked her out nicely earlier in the week. While still maintaining a sophisticated air, the beams were on high, and phasers set to stunning. [The Hootchification of Amy Day, a new Teen Valley High romance forthcoming from Shilpa Patel.] Not that Shilpa and I have wonderfully successful relationships to give us any credibility, but we have successfully wooed a boy or two (not together of course) and when we bring our game we can certainly work a room. And we took to educating Rita on the art of casual conversation, flirting, non-verbal communication, and the ambush and retreating tactics in the art of lovefare. We were also hell-bent on getting some flattering photos for her Friendster profile. I will say this, when Amy identifies an object for potential affection, she doesn’t screw around. A sandy-haired, artistic, scientific, athletic Frenchman? J’en veux!


Afterwards, we took the short hop to the Outer Mission for Crazy Coco’s birthday party, which was lots of eat, drink, and with nothing but straight girls and mo’s, quite Mary. While my girls didn’t know anyone, and felt that they were overdressed and feared they would be considered Marina girls, they had a great time.



The freely flowing vodka and amazing tamales didn’t hurt. And they got to meet/chat/dance with some amazing mo’s. However, Amy’s intense ophidiophobia kept her secluded in the back bedroom for a little while.

Gay men do love to wear boas.

When we finally closed the party down at three-ish, it was a loooong drive to return Amy to her abode at Ocean Beach.

I should mention I got two messages Friday evening. The first was to my home phone in the afternoon and I got it after work before picking up the girls. Matt called and said he was really busy and just getting around to returning e-mails and phone calls, thought I had invited him out to dinner and a birthday party for tonight (I called Tuesday), and unfortunately he already had dinner plans. I responded to the answering machine, "It's Friday. So do I. I didn't sit around all week waiting for the phone to ring..." But the rest of the message was sufficiently apologetic and romantically interested to merit another invitation. Final exams are a good excuse for being socially scatter-brained, but he couldn't send a "sorry. can't. finals week. let's try again later." e-mail? Add to that my friends in UC Berkeley administration said finals weren't going on last week. Hmm. He seems genuine and is genuinely charming so it is worth another try. Again, we'll see.

Also on Friday night I got a last minute invitation from Robert for a black tie dinner party, which I can never refuse, especially now that I have a new swanky and well-fitting evening suit. He later indicated that we would also be wearing capes. My life to this point has been such that this neither surprised me nor struck me as at all odd. And to which I readily agreed. This additional wardrobe accent was given the context that we were the among the (token) colorful gays invited the party, and we would be stepping up, as it were. I never mind a cape. Added bonus: afterwards we can go fight crime.

Saturday evening, we met for pre-drinks and wardrobe at Rich’s absolutely beautifully redesigned Italian villa overlooking Dolores Park and the City. If Dwell and Architectural Digest are "shelter porn," this home is a shelter orgasm.



Juan Carlos, his boyfriend, was in from Spain and rounded out the handsome, royal flush. Details of the party had been intentionally withheld from me (you know I love surprises), but we were each designated a royal title and foreign nation to represent (fictional or historic) and outfitted in robes borrowed from the wardrobe department. Eventually I became Lord Brown of Wildwood, Caledonia. I know that if I were from Caledonia I should have been kilted, but the title and location were in homage to Nashville royalty, and I have always just loved the sound of the name “Caledonia.” So while I was not in a kilt (good thing too as there were too many ill kilts at the party), I was be-robed and be-jeweled by Robert.

a very enthusiastic wardrobe department

Robert’s cobalt regal robe was stunning and suitable to his fictionally native Denmark. In a gold and black lamé animal stripe/wood grain, I felt less like King Arthur and more like Bea Arthur.

Ultimately, the gala affair was a birthday party at the Maritime Museum with an International/Royal Passport theme. I was impressed at how many people came in professional, albeit period, costumes. We, of course, garnered the attention we deserved for looking so fabulous.


Juan Carlos, Duco deSomething Spanish, found a woman who grew up as a small child in Spain and was wearing a vintage flamenco dress.


My favorite though was her stunning daughter. She is Filipino and her husband is Vietnamese, and they were married in Vietnam. How many women can look stunning and be completely appropriate wearing their wedding dress to a cocktail party?


Inappropriate? Hardly! And how many women get to wear it more than once? For the price of wedding dresses, they should get more than one outing.

The caped crusaders left for Martuni’s to meet up with Kevin and Shawn. The company was lovely if the vocals were not. We had an unspoken agreement not to explain the capes, and when queried responded as if this were perfectly appropriate formal attire for whatever we had been attending prior. Like I've learned: never explain. We had unwelcome company which was rather politely dispatched by Robert, even though the guy was not getting it. Finally he asked “Are you telling me to go away?” I bit my tongue not to respond, “No, that’s what he is very carefully trying not to say. But if that’s what it takes…” We also had the polite and charming attention of the older couple behind us, who reminded me in so, so many ways of my parents. The man was amused, supportive, and disengaged, while his wife could barely contain her enthusiasm, and repeatedly and with genuine enthusiasm told us how wonderful we looked. She clearly wished she had been part of the fun and had the occasion herself to wear dramatic capes.

Rich and Juan Carlos called it a night, and the rest of us were ready for a change of venue. Where else would we be appropriate in black ties in this town? Why the Powerhouse of course.

Actually, we wanted to go see Tony who was working a fundraiser there and to be supportive to the cause. We ditched the capes, ties, and undershirts but kept the rest of the formal wear. It was surprisingly well received. I suppose it is just another level of fetish drag, and the clientele was very attracted to it (note to self.)


I started to make a snide side comment to Kevin and Shawn about Robert after we made it upstairs to the back area and spotted Robert against the wall with someone. “Good Lord,” I said, “he’s already found someone to make out with…oh… That’s [Anonymous Public Figure].” They were just chatting and Robert introduced us again. We had met several times socially but never had had any significant conversation. I still had the “I’m going to kiss someone this weekend come hell or high water” attitude and ironically, I was the embarrassing friend later as I unabashedly made out with [Anonymous Public Figure].” I declined an overnight invitation but gave him my number. There was a message waiting for me by the time I got home.

Sunday update to follow.