My Celestial (dead) Gays

And what they tell me on a daily basis.....

Weird question. Has someone ever died and you had no idea until their texts bounced back? Or worse, someone answers their phone and asks “who the hell is this?” That happened to me a few years ago and I blocked it from my memory.

Until last night, when I didn’t.

Lately I have been feeling that a GAY chorus of my past besties are looking down on me with a tinge of concern. I’m no expert on the heavenly GPS thing but I do know these pivotal men are somewhere super rad, collectively trying to tell me something. All four of them, in one way or another have been bugging my ass for awhile now about various decisions and things that I have been up to on the earthly plane. Apparently some of them are less than thrilled with my behavior and antics. Awesome! Good to know I am flailing in several dimensions simultaneously.

Here is the thing though. At one time or another they all had been my best friend, my ride or dies, patrons who frequently worshipped at the “Alter of MJ.”I miss them all like a motherfucker and all for very different reasons.

First there was Robert G. A wildly successful and very flamboyant hairdresser who at his discretion styled all the socialites and local celebrities from my place of origin, Toronto, Canada. He dressed in shades of yellow and pink with shots of cerulean and orange in his bow ties and pocket squares. He was a gossip of the highest order and made me feel interesting and beautiful, even slightly taming my hilariously out of control hair, telling me one day the wild in me ( and my hair ) would be admired and not admonished.

Pre Brazilian

Truth be told, he was a terrible hairdresser, but I just didn’t care. He hired me for my first modeling job ever where he used a little salt water and sunlight to produce a head full of unruly, tumbling curls. He gloated it over the other hairdressers on the shoot who were working arduously to produce a fraction of what he had just achieved. We waited and chatted ( gossiped ) having lovely creamy cappuccinos that his assistant got us. I remember being in a white robe with the afternoon light streaming through the windows and I knew, just knew, that this is what it must feel like when someone celebrates your flaws and assets in the same wash; they see you. I have never forgotten that feeling.

Next is my most significant relationship, ever, gay or straight. My glorious partner in crime and best friend Kenny K. We did over 900 episodes of cooking shows together , hosted a hit morning radio show and persevered through death, pregnancies, divorces and numerous lawsuits. Who knew recipe fraud was a thing?

Our fights were so epic that we could clear a set in sixty seconds flat. We trashed a tennis court in New Brunswick ( I said out, he said in ), got kicked off a cruise ship for using profanity in the claustrophobic gym, and had a screaming match in a hot tub in Key West that was so gnarly I am still upset about it. And yet even though he fired me twice, I loved him like no other.

When my marriage fell apart and the National Enquirer “Journalists” showed up at his door, he unleashed his vicious attack dogs Napoleon and Josephine, two inbred, overfed chihuahuas, one with half a tongue ( don’t ask ). He took my daughter Lola on her first real ladies lunch and packed a diaper bag with Prada make up wipes and Evian water and cried when he had to change a diaper. He was the best part of fun; naughty, unfiltered, and loyal except if you kicked his newly released cookbook across the kitchen floor at a boozy, out of control wrap party. Then shit went down.

When I said good bye to him in a hospital room in Toronto, most of him had already left. He had waited for me and I knew that. Keeping that in mind, I told him he had never looked better, and oddly enough it was true. Not a wrinkle in sight, cozy and peaceful, never a look he sported in real life. I wanted to stay longer but my mom said it was time to go and I did. I think about him everyday.

Rounding out the quartette was the warmest and most loving couple I have ever known, Marek and Andre. They were from Poland and left at the height of oppression in their country, setting up shop in the vibrant colors and culture of Miami, Florida. We became business partners and started a skincare line called Cell Candy that I eventually ended up selling on the Shopping Channel.

Cell Candy

I would stay with them for weeks on end and practice for my shows, usually after several bottles of wine and heated political discussions; it was just the beginning of the Trump era. One night in between lectures on plant stem cells and peptides from France, Marek decided I needed Botox for my next show, which he administered enthusiastically. It did kind of seem like a lot of units. A week later when I went to laugh and instead looked like I was having a seizure, it was confirmed.

I loved and cherished every moment of my time with them. Happy hour at the local bars on Las Olas Blvd, afternoon siestas with the doors wide open and sunset cruises brain storming on how to scale up our growing company. They watched every minute of every show I did on the Shopping Channel and would call me the second I got off the air, giving me the highest of praise and encouragement. Truth is I loved selling out but I loved even more when I made them proud.

And then out of nowhere they stopped answering their texts or picking up when I called, until one day someone else did. Before that I knew Andre had been ill, but randomly when I reached out one afternoon before the lose of contact, Marek told me that he had passed away the day before. I lost them both within three months of each other. As Marek said;

“We have had an amazing 35 years together. As you know, no one knew us separately, we have always been together; you have seen us, we didn’t need separate ‘space’ or ‘time.’ We have had everything together. No separate friends, not even separate text accounts. Totally and fully transparent. I know it sounds crazy but it was just us and it worked. I am not me without him.”

I think it is obvious by now I have an amazing team upstairs who are working mucho overtime for me on a consistent basis. This bunch of celestial fellas, ironically are the most alive human beings I have ever known. And this is what they tell me on a daily basis;

“For God’s sake stop being so small! It is so not you! Who cares if you are in your sixties. Pivot, reinvent and live. Drive somewhere in a fabulous red convertible with your hair ( please use conditioner ) flying everywhere, golden and crazy. Be open to it all and fearful of none. Write the TV show, travel the world or be still. Doesn’t matter. Just be the you who we loved and still love.”

Signed,

Your Gay Chorus

I think I am going to listen…..

xxxxMJ

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MJx