Last weekend my husband, Steve, suggested I get out of town for some “me time” and go on vacation somewhere sunny and warm. Here’s how our relationship works: Steve buys cars; I travel. Whenever he buys a new car, he is in such good humor that he inevitably suggests I go get my fix on a new trip. I always take him up on it. Everyone wins.
He suggested the Caribbean. “Hmm, by myself?” I said, thinking about the deliciousness of a solo vacation at a beautiful beach doing whatever the hell I wanted, agendaless with a queue of books on my Kindle begging for my attention. “Either that or you could take Christopher”, he said. Christopher is my gay BFF, or as we refer to him around our house, my gay husband.
Knowing the ways in which I make life easier for others in my household, for years I’ve told myself that I, too, needed a wife. That was until I met Christopher and discovered it wasn’t a wife I needed, it was a gay husband. Since he entered my life, I have to be honest, I’m dressing better than ever; having lots of bonding conversations; feeding my intellectual and creative cravings by hitting museums and cultural events more frequently; and, Honey, my house looks more put together with each passing day (because, yep, he’s a decorator, too.)
Christopher and I met about a year and a half ago. As we were getting to know each other (a.k.a. falling in love), he told me he adored me – my mind, my surprising interests, our open-hearted conversations. Then he said the sweetest thing any gay man can say to the hetero leading lady in his life: “If you were a gay man, I would soooo want you to be my boyfriend.” Then, not to put too fine a point on it, he sent me this…
So, yeah, Christopher and I are tight, and last weekend we went to Miami together. Because I handed the planning reins to Christopher, it was a very different trip than the last one I had there with my actual husband.
How? For one, I can’t adequately describe how amusing it is to check out and compare notes about the ridiculous amount of male eye candy in Miami. A guy would walk by, both our heads would turn, and conversation about his attractiveness would ensue. Christopher would randomly launch into his gravely version of Marilyn Manson’s The Beautiful People, causing me to double over laughing. This started the moment we touched down and didn’t stop until wheels up.
Here are a few things we did in Miami.
Friday night we hit the New World Symphony (NWS) for the delectable treat that was their MixTape performance. The NWS is an orchestral academy (the average age of the musicians is 26), who study and perform in an acoustically-amazing, Frank Gerhy-designed building. The performance ran from Bach to jazz to hip hop. I kid you not when I say I was near tears at points during the performance because the music and the enthusiastic expertise with which it was played was simply sublime.
My favorites were Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue, Bach’s harpsichord concerto, and two hip hop pieces composed by J Dilla before his death. These were conducted by the energetic guest conductor, Miguel Atwood-Ferguson.
Saturday was bikes, beach, delicious food and drink, and dancing into the wee hours of Sunday morning. I love to dance, so Christopher polled the legions of guys (trying to scoop him up like he was some gorgeous Gucci sweater inexplicably on the final sale table) about where we should go. Twist was the place. I decided to dress up, looked cute even.
Want to know the kind of thing that happens to me at a gay club? This. Christopher was at the bar getting a drink when a couple of guys started chatting him up. I sipped my drink watching in delighted amusement from across the room. It turned into 40 minutes of watching, during which this guy approached me.
Reid, a surgeon in his 50s from a smallish city in a large, conservative Southern state, was in Miami on business. He’d also just been stood up by a guy, and he was HAMMERED. Still, he bought us both drinks and then, slurring sloppily, unspooled his personal yarn to me. (I’m a very good listener.) He was married with kids my children’s ages, a down-low bi guy in a sexless marriage that he apparently neither wanted to leave nor had the courage to divulge to his wife the truth of who he is. We chatted for a while, and he said I was the best part of his evening. Eventually, Christopher rescued me and we left Reid and headed to the dance floor and ground it out until my feet couldn’t take any more abuse in those cute heels.
Sunday late morning, we rolled groggily out of bed, skipping showers in favor of mainlining caffeine and heading to the Wynwood Walls near Miami’s design district. I’m a fan of street art whether it’s fresh walls going up around Atlanta or a show at a museum, so seeing Wynwood has been on my list for a while. There are beautiful walls in Wynwood and bleeding out onto the surrounding neighborhood. I was glad we went. It was all the more fun because I was there with my sweet, gay husband. Here’s some of what we saw. Enjoy!