Chasing Darry
The Search for "Ditzy Darry" Continues
If you’ve known me long enough, you know I’m not ditzy. I prefer doomscrolling Bloomingdales (all orders gift wrapped, for drama). I’ll argue that art exists just as much in restaurants as it does in the Pottery Barn clearance section. I’m not judging, I just asked for a more “conservative” amount of botox this time.
On a date, you’ll listen to me advocating to support local, with a Whole Foods Honey Vanilla latte on hand. Later that week, you send me a calendar invite to the farmer’s market. Declined. 9 am? You better be joking.
Today I got a brunch invite from my good friend, Nick from Brickell. Ravello at the Four Seasons, 9 am. Accepted. He knows me, so I know the reservation is actually for 11.
Cool Girl
Last year, I was Orlando’s hot new go-go dancer. All smiles, fat ass, good energy, surrounded by my fellow dancers who are just as hot. Friends came to support, strangers explored the boy behind the smile, and money danced in the air with me.
Dancing was the expression I didn’t know I needed.
Gone Girl
October brought the first weekend of the year not spent twerking around floating money and admirers. Darry wasn't seen on the box again, and the rest of October was spent experimenting with gigs in Tampa (not bad).
My family moved to North Carolina and although they offered to start this new chapter with them, Darry declined.
Only one left now.
Perdida
Grandma, ¿te sientes perdida allá? Cuando abres la ventana, ¿ves una vida que dejaste atrás en Orlando?
Three Months Gone
My days continue filled with overtime. I find joy in Housewives and picking out wild-caught seafood at Whole Foods. I decide to treat myself to the Hampton Social. A chain, sure, but still my go-to for a casual meal and spicy skinny margs. The manager asks why Grandma wasn't with me.
I got the same question earlier today from my girls at Luxe Sugar Wax. When I went to the library to return the last of her books, the staff also asked where she’d gone. My barber, Nikky Blades, already knew. But Mars Von Blades was puzzled, and sniffed around the last spot she was in.
I was scared to go anywhere else we existed.
The Missing Persons Case
It’s become a habit to transform into a phantom every so often. Sometimes I ghost a person, or a group. Other times, I disappear completely.
After all the unanswered messages, I wonder if people assume I find ghosting an art form too.
Nowadays I set the expectation. I know you want to hang out, and we can plan something, but I’m a workaholic. I’m not a workaholic, and I’m not a good texter! But I’ll see them around. On Instagram.
Sometimes it’s shame beating me into a corner I can’t escape. Usually the case for people I love very much, but convinced they’d never believe me if I’d tell them. Jacob and Román, Aurelia S., Aurelia C., Tyonna. And there’s more, of course.
Funny because Aurelia S. and I started hanging out again during the holiday season. Dinner two weekends in a row, so of course I was scared the cycle would begin again. She visited me on Christmas, knowing this was my first Christmas without family. It’s been a couple months now, and the psychological battle to text back is in real time.
But sometimes disappearing isn’t pain, but instead reassurance. Time passes and you understand, that wasn’t for me. Or, I needed this. I’ve become kinder to myself, more respectful, more trusting.
And this most recent disappearance embodied exactly that. Less money, but more time. As I learn vulnerability in relationships, my family bond is stronger than ever. I’m reconsidering things with this guy, this… sugarboy (more on that soon 👀). Past passions are rekindled, so I’ve sacrificed a couple happy hours.
Some people try to take off the sheet and uncover whatever they think is underneath. But others do understand, and see the transparent anatomy of a ghost.
The Autopsy of Missing Persons
Maybe they’re really gone, or just visiting the other side. They can come back, and if they do, they may be a different person. Some memories are forever, some forgotten. And in this ghost story, there will always be both pain and reassurance.
Four Months Gone
After a busy holiday season, I reach back out to dance again. New management, finally enforcing the leather bar aesthetic. But I’m 10 pounds too light and it needs to be in muscle, they said.
I’ll be back enjoying the club again, being a meatball. To some, I’ll always be a ghost. I’ve made peace with that.
Five Months Gone
My grandfather passed away, suddenly but expectedly. On the way to my family, I watched my comfort film, Gone Girl.
Home
I’d like to think I’m a possessed Sigourney Weaver from Ghostbusters, for drama. But if you’ve known me long enough, you know I’m a hitchhiking ghost from Haunted Mansion. I don’t haunt, I do the opposite. I’m a silly, messy ghost, laughing in your rearview mirror.
