DIVA

 

di·va

[dee-vuh, -vah] 

noun, plural -vas, -ve  [-ve] 

a distinguished female singer; prima donna.

Origin:
1880–85;  < Italian  < Latin dīva,  feminine of dīvus  god; compare divine

I'm one of those gay men who does all that stuff that gay men do well, well. You see contrary to popular belief, we all don't. I'm not pulling the diva card here, its just the cold hard facts.

Do you know how many gay men I've met who can't match a pair of socks let alone a bedding ensemble, and still believe they're God's gift to interior decoration?  True story. You know the types. They bring 7 Layer Dip and Fritos Scoops to cocktail parties and call it haute cuisine.

Many years ago I used to pal around with a swell couple names Christopher and Ruby. They were a transgendered twosome who had actually met in a gender reassignment support group. You can't make this shit up. Anyway, they thought my propensity for making everything perfect was so precious that they bestowed the nickname "Martha" on me. At first I thought it was cute, but once it started catching on with other folks it quickly became an irritation. Don't get me wrong I loves me some Ms. Stewart, but she comes with a crystal clear connotation of controlling, privileged, and aloof. Like Diana, I'm a people's princess. I ain't got time for that.

As long as we're talking perfection. Divas also have a reputation for perfectionism. Isn't it ironic that the people who care the most always get persecuted for it? Believe-you-me I've suffered my share of badgering for wanting to "make everything nice". Well as the kids say nowadays, haters gon' hate. Actually one of the most beautiful things about arriving at this place in my life has been letting go of perfection. Of allowing things to be exactly what they are. Because creating the illusion of perfection is truly exhausting. It so much easier to be Michael these days.

I'm even claiming that with diva-like conviction.

An ex once told me that the only reason I liked to entertain was to show off my culinary prowess. He didn't mean it as a compliment, nor did he understand me very well. Sure my ego gets a gentle massage when the 7th person moans in literal ecstasy over my pumpkin cheesecake (with the gingersnap crust), but I also derive a tremendous amount of pleasure and satisfaction from feeding people I care about delicious food, because it makes them happy. Its a gift from my heart that comes through my hands. When a design client calls for the third time in a week to let me know how much more they're now enjoying their home because it not only looks beautiful, but it's working better-  I know I've done my job. 

Divas get a bad rep. Thank you very much Aretha Franklin.

It isn't an exercise in self absorption to give the Universe proper recognition for your own gifts, its a celebration. I say learn to celebrate you and others will too. There's a difference between "owning it" and showboating. A real diva knows the difference.

Because I long ago learned to embrace my inner diva, I can own my stuff! I'm a gifted Interior Designer, a burgeoning painter, Christmas isn't a day- its an event, and if you've been to my house for any manner of a meal then you know that I know my way around the kitchen! I also write, direct videos, design furniture, and can wrap the fuck out of a package. I don't sew though. I have people for that.

The only thing I can't seem to do well is keep a husband, which is unfortunate because divas need love too.

After losing 40 lbs last year I discovered that crow's feet had been lurking beneath the plumpness of my now less ample visage. A real diva would never admit that. "Marcella, book me at week at the Capri Anacapri."

Meanwhile, here's a gentle reminder from our resident Queen Bee Cassandra McShepard to embrace your inner diva-  from the Season 2 archives of  This Is What I Know So Far....