Have you ever had one of those days that is just epically wonderful from the moment you wake up that morning until the moment you drift off that night? A day that takes on an almost magical quality that you wish you could bottle and keep forever?
I had one of those on Sunday.
It started in the morning where I ended up randomly finding Andrew Lippa (the composer of I Am Harvey Milk) and his husband in the pool.
One of my goals for the weekend was to get like 2 minutes of Andrew’s time so I could talk to him about the piece and gush a little. But the weekend rehearsals and performance times were so scripted I wasn’t sure how that was going to happen.
But there I was, alone with the two of them. So I told him how much the piece meant to me and how it was the reason I auditioned to sing in TCGMC. He was touched. I gushed for two more minutes about the cleverness of his compositional choices, and even discussed why he chose the lyrics “run from this Iowa town” (being an Iowan, I sorta took offense). But he had perfectly thought out and well reasoned explanations for it.
In short, he was absolutely lovely and I was walking on air afterward.
Then I bumped into fellow members from my choir and randomly ended up tagging along with them to get some breakfast.
We walked to this bizarre market in downtown LA where there are all these small, ethnic food stands. The choices were amazing!
Although the name was definitely intriguing, the line was not. So I went here:
Where I had this orgasm-inducing Thai green curry. OMFG, so good! It was like a party in my mouth and everybody was coming!
Then it was back to the hotel to prepare for the afternoon matinée performance. Here we are in a group photo before the concert:
To be honest, Saturday evening’s performance was flat. We’d had a full rehearsal that day, and the evening before so everyone was exhausted. So the emotional content wasn’t there. Plus everyone was nervous about fucking up I think. So… Meh. It left me wanting.
But Sunday’s performance? It was everything I wanted. Powerful. Emotional. Rousing. Epic. Definitely an experience I’ll carry with me always.
And my whole row doffed our shoes and sang in stocking feet for added comfort. Somehow it added camaraderie and made singing that one last time even more special.
Then afterthought concert the concert participants had a private gathering in a park near the hall. Lots of adult beverages were consumed, and I got to hang out and get better acquainted with my fellow chorus member Jeremy:
He is wonderfully nice and laughs easily at my humor. We had an awesome time together and it was great making a new friend.
We also walked up and introduced ourselves to Cleve Jones who just so happened to be in attendance. Yeah. Fucking Cleve Jones!!! Who was also lovely and who made me cry before both performances with his words about Harvey Milk. I told him as much when I met him.
And then I met him.
Erick (with a c-k).
I’d been sort of eye-flirting (some might say eye fucking) with Erick for a couple days whenever I would see him. He is also a bass but from The San Francisco chorus. Ginger. Bearded. Handsome.
We were both still in our tuxes at the after party (him dashingly so) and I saw him standing at one of the cafe tables. He was with one of his fellow chorus members whom I had already met. So I said to myself “Self? You will regret it forever if you don’t talk to him.” So I walked up and introduce myself– finally.
The sun was setting, the temperature perfect, the sky impossibly blue and cloudless, the conversation easy, and the smiles shy and genuine.
He works for the ballet, has taught dance, sings, is smart, well traveled, laughs at my jokes, has a dead sexy voice and has the most incredible blue eyes that made the breath catch in my chest every time he looked at me.
The after party drinks stopped flowing at 8 pm, and by 8:30 or so we were walking back to the hotel together. We decided that we should celebrate a great day by hitting a couple bars in LA.
We changed and Uber’d our way to the Faultline. Where we drank and laughed and a bit, and made out like teenagers in front of the whole bar.
The first kiss was… le sigh. And the first deep kiss was enough to completely disoriented me. Yeah- he’s that good at kissing.
We eventually left and walked up Santa Monica boulevard to the Eagle– where we made out like teenagers.
And then made our way back to our hotel. We held hands all the way during the ride and then as we walked through the lobby and up to my room.
I never hold hands. Hell, almost never let people hug me! And yet felt completely natural.
We made our way to my room (thank jebus for no roommates!) where we continued to make out like teenagers. And then slowly… eventually… disrobed and climbed into bed.
It was wonderfully unexpected and nice to fall asleep as the little spoon, and equally so to wake up as the little spoon a few hours later.
Our goodbye was rushed and less than perfect as my shuttle was soon to pick me up for the airport. But it was to be expected as it was now Monday and time had expired on my magical day.
It’s now Tuesday and I find myself feeling melancholy and a bit broken. And yet profoundly glad, too. Sunday was such a rare and achingly special gift for which I will be forever grateful.
It really was a perfect day.