Shame City.

This is a safe space. And that is the ONLY reason why I am sharing this story.

I would have shared it yesterday, but I was too close to the subject. Also, too embarrassed.

I got really......REALLY.....sloppy on Friday night.

REALLY.

Never again will I be fooled by a gay who gives me a fishbowl-sized glass of red wine, only to find out that it had been purchased at a gas station.

Never again will I drink two glasses of that, only to be followed by a double vodka cranberry.

Never again will I then drink another double vodka cranberry. I have had enough cranberry this weekend to stave off a year's worth of kidney infections.

I will not end the night crying outside of a gay bar because of alternating feelings of I LOVE YOU SO MUCH DO YOU KNOW THAT and OH MY GOD I'M SO FAT.

I should also try not to verbally abuse the only straight guy in our party, especially when he is unearthly pretty.

It would probably also be good if the verbal abuse is not videotaped and then replayed to me the next morning.

And when all of these things have happened, do not put on the pants that still smell like the bar. No good can come of this.

NO GOOD.

Bless you, my dear friends, for putting up with me this weekend. You are angels and will be blessed with lots of chocolate and hottie hot men in heaven.

Hold the phone!

To be filed under "things you never thought you'd hear someone say" : "I don't care if he's afraid of my penis!"

To be filed under "things you never want to hear after you've heard someone say that" : "Oh, I haven't told you that story? Well, I'll have to tell you later, I have to go now."

That is the horrible thing about phone calls. Many a good shit-talking session has been ruined by, "oh, someone just walked in the door, I have to go," or "oh, I just got to where I was driving, I have to go," or, "oh, one of the kids I'm babysitting is bleeding from the head, I have to go." SO annoying.

Luckily, I complained enough about the injustice of being deprived such a promising hilarious story that he called the next day to tell me the details. It involved a passionate night in the bedroom that was a bit too voracious for the receiving participant, who maybe needed an ice pack afterward. Apparently that led to complaints to his best friend, who then told my friend about the concerns. Needless to say, it was a conversation that left my friend very self-assured about any and all aspects of his penis. When he was telling me the story there were a lot of math terms, and I sort of zone out whenever anything involving measurements or numbers becomes involved. I'm not a carpenter, boys.

Moral of the story -- leave cliffhangers for JJ Abrams shows. They have no place in phone conversations. I had enough mindfuckery while I was trying to keep track of Lost, thank you very much, and I do not appreciate any more.

Too close.... a little too close.

You know that you are in a comfortable and close relationship with someone when they are comfortable enough to use the bathroom while they're talking on the phone with you. And then they tell you about it.

DVD Review : Sex and the City 2

Last week, I watched "Sex and the City 2" on DVD for the first time. I missed it in the theater, due to busy schedules and the neurosis I have that keeps me from seeing movies in a theater by myself.

So I met up with a friend and her couch and we had some old-fashioned girl talk and watched the movie.

First Impressions : It's been a while since I've seen anything "Sex and the City" related. The first movie came out two years ago and I watched the series regularly in college. But the first major scene (Stanford and Anthony's wedding) seemed SO outrageous. The dialogue was completely stilted and forced. It seemed awkward, almost.

I realize that the purpose of "Sex and the City" is not to reflect reality, but come on. No one talks with a pun or one-liner in every sentence.

And then there's Liza : Liza Minnelli showed up to officiate the gay wedding, which was uber-decadent and dripping with fabulousness. Does it make sense that Liza is officiating the wedding? No. Do we care? Hell no. Because this happened:



YOU GO, GIRL. Love it.

Reminder that the characters have more money than you can think of making in your lifetime : Nannies, dresses, shoes, quitting a job because your boss is "threatened by strong women." But that is nothing on the major plot point of the movie -- Samantha meets a sheikh from Abu Dhabi who wants to hire her to do PR for his business. In order to get her introduced to his business (which he presents as all of Abu Dhabi), he is going to fly Samantha to his hotel in Abu Dhabi, all expenses paid. Of course, she demands that he also extend this offer to her three best girlfriends. So he does. And they go.

The Problems : Samantha is 52 and trying to fight off menopause through hormone creams in order to keep up her libido and stave off hot flashes. Miranda has problems with one of the law partners disrespecting her at the office. Charlotte can't parent her children without the help of her young and braless nanny (the youngest one, Rose, screams and cries all day and night and drives Charlotte crazy), and Charlotte is afraid that her husband is going to have an affair with her. And Carrie is afraid that her marriage is turning her and Big into a boring married couple; she also gets a negative review on her new book about marriage, so she reacts by kissing Aiden, who is in Abu Dhabi on business (of course he is).

The Real Moment : While in Abu Dhabi, Miranda and Charlotte find themselves at dinner alone, and Miranda engages Charlotte in talk about motherhood. It's the one part of the movie that can resonate with women of any paygrade -- motherhood is hard. It's a lot of work, even if you have a nanny (and they give props to the women who don't have nannies). Women get annoyed by their children, even though they love them. It happens. The friend who watched the movie with me has three children and she commented on the conversation with, "Amen!"

The Unanswered Questions : Charlotte's youngest daughter is portrayed as being inconsolable with her screaming and crying. After the first scene of the crying, my friend said, "Oh no, she must be autistic. Kids don't just scream like that for no reason." But there's no explanation given. The resolution is just that Charlotte is able to take "a few days off" from motherhood in order to recover from the difficulties of parenting when you have a live-in nanny.

Overall Score : Two rainbows out of five. It's always fun to see these characters. I don't have the same relationship with them as I did when I originally watched the series (being in the real world myself rather than just imagining it makes their lavish lifestyles seem even more ridiculous), but it's still fun to watch.

Overall Gay : Two rainbows out of five. There has been a lot of critique that the gays in the movie are portrayed in stereotypical and therefore harmful ways (at the wedding between Stanford and Anthony, it is revealed that Stanford got to plan the lavish and ridiculous wedding so Anthony gets to cheat, which is a damaging portrayal of a homosexual relationship), but the fashion and Liza will slightly make up for it. Or at least make you only slightly remember it, since once the wedding is over those characters don't reappear for the rest of the movie.

World AIDS Day

Today, in addition to being the beginning of Hanukkah (mazel tov!), is World AIDS Day. World AIDS Day is dedicated to raising awareness of the AIDS pandemic caused by the spread of HIV infection.

AIDS has killed more than 25 million people since 1981 and it continues to claim thousands of lives each year, including many children. It's one of the deadliest epidemics in the world's history.

I am a firm believer in the power of education. There is a severe lack of HIV/AIDS education in the world, even going on thirty years of public knowledge of the disease. People have a negative stigma and shame about it, which keeps them from educating themselves and others. There is a lack of education about transmission of the disease as well as life with the disease.

Educate yourself. Educate others. Talk with the people that you love and make sure that you are aware and responsible. Please, please, please be safe.

And when in doubt, go shopping for the necessities with some of my favorite girls.

'Tis the season.

The holiday season is upon us.

I love the holidays for many reasons. There is enough sparkle and glitter in the decorations to blind a drag queen. You are never too far away from cookies, candies, and other various baked goods (I'm a sucker for the various holiday themed funfetti products). There is vacation time to lay around and eat the aforementioned cookies and watch the ubiquitous holiday specials (Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer, How the Grinch Stole Christmas!, and A Charlie Brown Christmas are staples at my house, as well as newer holiday movies like The Muppet Christmas Carol and Elf).

The holidays also means lots of time for family and friends. Which inevitably turns into many familial queries into my love life.

There are many occasions through the year when my relationship status is a topic of conversation. Family get-togethers. My cousin's weddings. My neighbor's weddings. Random strangers' weddings. I have caught many a bouquet and had many cackling family members inform me that I'm next or that my time is coming.

But the holidays are a special "what, you still don't have a boyfriend!?" time. For one, it's guaranteed that I'll be talking to my grandparents on the phone. Or yelling at them over the phone, depending on the state of their hearing that day. And, in the case of my 95 year old grandmother, I will be asked if I have a boyfriend multiple times, as she can't remember what she had for dinner, much less what she's said in conversation.

Over Thanksgiving dinner at my aunt and uncle's house, my mother was telling the story about her search for a new dining room table.

"I want to make sure that it's large enough, because I'm sure soon we'll have the kids' significant others joining us for holidays and dinners," she said.

I snorted demurely into my mashed potatoes.

She shot me a look.

"Don't worry, you can bring your gay friends. Or your cats."

I hate having to make these posts.

I hate having to make these posts. Hate it. HATE IT.

Last Tuesday, one of the students who attends the school where I teach, J, went missing. On Wednesday, his body was found. On Thursday, we found out that another of our students had been arrested and confessed to the murder.

We may never know what really happened. The story has been changed several times. The one that he's going with right now is that J gave him a ride home and made a sexual advance. He says he then beat J with a wooden rod, took his body to the field where it was found, and attempted to burn his body. However, the inconsistencies have been numerous (first he said that J grabbed the rod first; when J's body was found, his hands and feet had been bound; he changed the location of the attack twice before the police discovered blood in his father's backyard; a fake Facebook account with J's name showed up while he was missing, so police believe that multiple people are involved).

What infuriates me almost as much as the senselessness of the tragedy is the reason that he gave for committing it. No one believes the sexual advances story, luckily, including the police. But the fact that it even went through his head, "if I say that he came on to me, it will be more understandable," sickens me. I know that it isn't what really happened but the fact that he attempted to claim gay panic makes my blood boil.

My thoughts and prayers are with J's family, as their ordeal is far from over. If you are the praying type, please say an extra one for his family and friends. Several of my students are having trouble dealing with understanding why and how this happened. I hate that they are being exposed to such evil, especially since the evil has come in the form of a classmate.

I don't think you're ready for this jelly.

A few things I learned at the screening of Beyonce's concert DVD.

1. Beyonce can bring the gays out in every country she goes to. I saw you in the camera shots of the audience, gays, and I appreciated your devotion and unadulterated obsession with the Queen B. You made me proud.

2. All of the supporting musicians and singers (and most, but not all, of the dancers) were women on Beyonce's world tour. Love. It.

3. If you are faster on your smartphone than the rest of the audience during "Beyonce Trivia" it can win you a head to toe outfit from Tina Knowles' fashion line.

4. Watching Beyonce be amazing and epic will inspire you to go to the gym like you have never been inspired before.

5. Glittery ass-bows make everything better. Everything.

6. If a glittery ass-bow isn't possible, glittery eyebrows will work in a pinch. And Beyonce has some great eyebrows.

7. When in doubt, call on the spirit of Michael Jackson to guide you. It will also probably make me verklempt, so use this sparingly.

8. Free drinks from the bar upstairs makes audience participation a little more obnoxious. I'm looking at you, rude and annoying guys sitting in front of us.

9. Beyonce is a sweet person. There were clips of her from a video diary she made during the tour, and she is soft-spoken and grateful and charming and just....sweet. She really is the complete package of sweet girl and kickass diva.
That bitch.

Seasons of love.

The very first Broadway show I ever saw was "Rent."

I was 17 and a senior in high school. I was in New York City for a week because I had made the National ACDA Honor Choir and was with three other students and a handful of chaperones. Our week was spent in rehearsal from 8 am to 6 pm. It left very little time for sightseeing, but we still managed to get in a few tourist ventures.

My boyfriend at the time had made the Men's Honor Choir, which had a different rehearsal schedule than the one I was in -- there was one night when we had a late night rehearsal and his did not. So he and one of the chaperones saw a Broadway show. I don't even remember what show it was now, but at the time I was so mad. All I wanted to do was see a show, and that asshole not only got out of rehearsal early but got to see a show on Broadway? Oh hell no.

I bitched and moaned enough that one of the chaperones had pity on me and called in a favor to one of her friends. It turned out that her friend was friends with the guy playing Benny in "Rent" and he hooked us up with front row seats.

"Rent" remains one of my favorite shows to this day. When I originally saw it, I was 17 and from a small town and had never met an out homosexual in my life. As I sat in the audience, bawling my eyes out during Angel's death and Collins' "I'll Cover You: Reprise" and Roger and Mark's fight, as cliche as it sounds, my life changed. I love everything about the show -- the songs, the message, the staging, the characters. It introduced me to my first drag queen. And what a fabulous drag queen she was. I have now seen a variation of the show more times than I can remember, and I am reduced to tears every time. Sloppy, inconsolable weeping.

When we got back to Texas, there were only a few months until graduation. My choir did a spring concert that had a Broadway theme, and, like thousands of show choirs before us, we performed "Seasons of Love." Also cliche, but I love this song. So much. It's one of my favorite songs from the show. It makes me believe that love is indeed all we need. There is a major lack of love in the world and it's songs like these that make me realize that I need to make sure that I'm spreading as much love in the world as I can. I admittedly am prone to getting caught up in the negatives in life, so it's nice to have a reminder that my energy -- everyone's energy, really -- is better spent with love.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes,
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Moments so dear

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights
In cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife

In five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life?

How about love? How about love?
How about love? Measure in love

Seasons of love
Seasons of love

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Journeys to plan

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure the life
Of a woman or a man?

In truths that she learned
Or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned
Or the way that she died

It's time now to sing out
Though the story never ends
Let's celebrate
Remember a year in the life of friends

Remember the love
Remember the love
Seasons of love
Seasons of love
Seasons of love

-- Seasons of Love ; Jonathan Larson

All the single ladies.

Sometimes it pays to have gays in high places.

One of my friends works for Music World Entertainment, the record label run by Matthew Knowles in Houston. He texted me earlier to inform me that I was now on the list for the VIP screening of Beyonce's new concert DVD.



So on Wednesday I will be on the red carpet with three of my good friends and all of Houston's finest to watch Beyonce in concert -- on a screen, sure, but at least I won't have had to pay ridiculous Ticketmaster fees. Don't be j.

You're so vain.

One thing I will never understand is what exactly takes these guys so long in the bathroom.

Now, I like to look as attractive as the next girl. I have been known to do my fair share of primping. I feel like I'm an average amount of vain. I probably don't think this song is about me or anything, but I do like to look good and will spend a fair amount of time doing so.

But these boys. God damn.

This past weekend, I was in a play and three of my wonderful boys drove down for two hours to see it. They came in a few hours before the show so we were able to have dinner and relax before it was time to go. I had told them that my call time was at 7 so that we were all on the same schedule.

About an hour before we had to leave, the boys started trickling inside to begin their primping regime. I sat outside for a little longer, because I knew that they needed ample time to get ready to be seen by the public.

There were multiple wardrobe changes. One section of hair got flat-ironed three separate times. Three times. I know this because I watched. An ozone hole's worth of hairspray was applied to their hair. And I had to physically move a toiletry bag out of my way so I could wash my face and brush my teeth, and you do not even want to know the bitchface I was given for doing that. I was the one who was going to be onstage in front of hundreds of people, yet I was the one who had to fight for counter space.

It is exhausting trying to keep up with the bathroom habits of these guys. On the one hand, it has made me pay more attention to my appearance, because god knows they would not let me be seen in public if I had not swished it up a bit. On the other hand......it takes an hour for them to get ready to go out for the day. By the time they're ready for the day, it's almost time to get ready to go out for the night -- and that takes even longer.

Southern hospitality.

Growing up in the southern United States is interesting.

Being a liberal means you are a minority. And being an open homosexual means that you are a minority's minority.

Too often in the South, people are forced to remain closeted, whether for religious, social, or sadly enough, familial reasons.

One of my dear, dear friends is forced to be closeted with his family due to his family's conservative and religious beliefs. He has been in a room with his parents when they have made disparaging comments about gay men. His parents don't know what they're even saying to their son, because he's too afraid to tell them about who he really is. He doesn't even like visiting with them because of the things that they say.

Now, there are a lot of things that are depressing to me about his parents. For example, he didn't read the Harry Potter books until he was 23 because he wasn't allowed to read the devil books. But the fact that his parents are missing out on a relationship with their son because of their inability to accept homosexuals makes me so depressed that I have to eat my feelings. Their son is one of the best people I know. He is loving and loyal and caring and honest and funny and one of my favorite people in the whole world. It makes me sad to think that his parents are crazy and are missing out on knowing such a wonderful person.

Start wearing purple.

So last night. I was talking to a friend, minding my own business. When this bombshell is dropped on me:

"Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you...I'm dying my hair purple!"

For the love of Boy George, WHY.

"Why? I don't know. Because we were bored. And wanted to do something crazy."

Mission accomplished, Adam Lambert.

He was bored. So he decided to dye a purple streak in his hair.

PURPLE. STREAK.

I know that today was the day that people were wearing purple to protest the recent trend of anti-gay bullying and subsequent suicides. But let's not do something that we're going to regret, hey boys?

Luckily, hair grows and dye fades. And the laugh I got from the moment will last forever.

Lessons learned.

A few lessons I learned this past weekend:

1. "Hocus Pocus" is one of the best movies of our time.

2. If you are with an attractive male friend in a gay bar, a drag queen will give you a free shot and tell you you're pretty.

3. A good way to bond with a friend's new dating pal is to get really drunk and dance around the living room. It is also wise to alternate that dancing with hugging.

4. I should not be allowed to talk to people when I've downed a bottle of red wine.

5. Neither should I be allowed to eat anything while drunk. Even something as seemingly innocuous as a chicken tender. Yes, I chipped my tooth on a chicken tender.

Come out, come out wherever you are!

Today is National Coming Out Day, a day devoted to supporting and raise awareness of LGBT issues.

Coming out is a difficult yet important process in the life of a gay man or woman. Because, newsflash gentlemen, it's a little difficult to convince people that you're straight when you're having sex with men. Closets are for clothes, not people.

I have a friend, E___, who is so far in the closet he's in Narnia. He swears up and down that he's straight, regardless of the fact that he has hooked up with several of my male friends. Several.

Just because you're in the closet, boys, doesn't mean that you're hidden and no one can see you. The closet isn't literal. When you're hooking up with guys, we can see you. When you're on the internet, chatting up guys, we can see you. And when you're asking a guy that you've hooked up with "where this is going," WE CAN SEE YOU.

The thing about being in the closet is you are only fooling yourself. What I remember from childhood hide-and-go-seek sessions where my hiding place of choice was the closet, ensconced amongst Barbie dolls and winter clothes, is that the closet is dark and lonely and cramped. It is not a very cheerful place, especially when you can hear the other kids playing outside.

So come out and play.

Tragedy.

The news has been full of LGBTQ teenagers taking their lives lately. There are no words to express what a horrific tragedy this is. As a graduate of and now a teacher in public schools, I know how horrible kids can be to each other; what they consider light-hearted teasing can sometimes be downright cruel. But the fact that these kids were bullied enough that they felt that there was no one to turn to and nowhere to go is heartbreaking.

If you or anyone you know is struggling with these problems or these feelings, know that there are people who want to help. The Trevor Project is a wonderful organization that is seeking to help any LGBTQ youth in crisis, and they have a 24 hour phone counselor.

You are loved. There are better times ahead. And I want you to be there to share it with me.

And to the parents out there -- when you tell gay Americans that they can't serve their country openly, or marry the person that they love, you're telling that to kids, too. So don't be shocked and wonder where all these bullies are coming from that are torturing young kids, and driving them to kill themselves because they're different. They learned it from watching you. The hate stops with you.

Affirmative action.

I got my hair cut this weekend. By a straight guy.

It was a bit like seeing unicorns in the wild. I didn't think straight male hairdressers existed. But they do, and he did an AMAZING job on my hair, thank you.

But it got me thinking. There are just some jobs that need to be done by the gays.

• Hair dresser


• Makeup artist


• Stripper


• Actor in stage musicals


• Softball player


• Member of the Village People


• Mayor of Houston

What other jobs should be reserved for gays?

S-L-U-T.

slut : (noun)
1. a dirty, slovenly woman.
2. an immoral or dissolute woman; prostitute.

What makes a person a slut? Everyone has their own individual morals that dictate their actions. To one person, telling white lies is unacceptable. To another, cheating on a test is forgivable. And to someone else, cheating on a boyfriend or girlfriend is understandable. In general, there is a "to each their own" mentality, unless the person's moral code slips enough to blip off the law's radar.

But when it comes to sexual relationships, somehow the idea that everyone has a distinct moral compass is blurred. There are even labels for it. "Slut," "ho," "hussy," "whore."

There is a perception of Gay World that everyone in it casts a blind eye to promiscuity. This goes along with the "gays are wild animals who would just as likely hump you as look at you" world view. But then there are same-sex couples who are in monogamous committed relationships for years. There are heterosexual relationships that don't even last a long weekend.

Should allowances be made for gay men? Should their sexual relationships be held to a different standard, if there are other gay men who are engaging in the same promiscuous activity or worse?

A very dear Friend of mine met a Guy at a club a week and a half ago. They danced and drunkenly made out and exchanged numbers at the end of the night. Two nights later, they had their first date. Guy spent the night at Friend's house. After the first date. They have since had three additional dates, and Guy spent the night after each one.

Does this make him a slut? Or does it just make him gay?

On the National Scene.

Assistant attorney general blogs against gay student.

.........excuse me for a minute.



Let's just take a moment to talk about the INCREDIBLY unprofessional aspect of the story. The assistant attorney general, Andrew Shirvell, is attacking a college student. He is drawing Perez Hilton-esque rainbow flags and swastikas on the student's pictures. He is attacking him on a public forum. And, by watching the video interview with Anderson Cooper, Shirvell is insecure -- his eyes don't meet the camera, he stutters, he namecalls. He calls the student "Satan's representative." He's a 40-something year old cyberbully.

On the gay issue -- the college student is Chris Armstrong, the president of the student assembly at the University of Michigan. Shirvell is accusing Armstrong of being a "radical homosexual activist" who is advancing his "gay agenda."

The agenda in question? "Armstrong has supported gender-neutral housing at the university for transgender students who haven't had sexual reassignment surgery." However, Shirvell's blog attacks Armstrong for "going back on a campaign promise he made to minority students; engaging in "flagrant sexual promiscuity" with another male member of the student government; sexually seducing and influencing "a previously conservative [male] student" so much so that the student, according to Shirvell, "morphed into a proponent of the radical homosexual agenda;" hosting a gay orgy in his dorm room in October 2009; and trying to recruit incoming first year students "to join the homosexual 'lifestyle.' ""

Andrew Shirvell? Go fuck yourself.

Gay panic.

Guess what, guys. Just because a man is gay does not mean he wants in your pants.

There is also no way to catch gay.

If a gay guy is looking at you, he's not necessarily checking you out.

Nor is he conspiring to catch you unaware and have his way with you.

You also can't tell a gay person just by looking at them. Sometimes it helps, true. But not everyone wears their gay on their sleeve.

"Gay" is also not synonymous with "stupid." A situation cannot be gay. Unless maybe you're at a Lady Gaga concert.

Gay panic is not an excuse for ignorance and hate. Don't be afraid of the gays. They're very nice and will compliment your shoes.

Dating duds.

One of my best friends is eager for a relationship. He can spot a guy across the room and have their wedding planned out, down to their colors being blush and bashful. All he talks about is how much he wants a boyfriend and how every second that passes without one has him getting closer and closer to joining me in Cat Lady Land.

So every date is a possible "happy ever after" scenario. But very few of them turn out the way he'd like them to. Take this date, for example:

"So I went on a date with this guy and, I don't know, it just didn't work out."

"Why?"

"He was just sort of annoying, you know?"

"What did he do?"

"He told me that my shoes didn't match my shirt."

Oh no he DIDN'T.

You may think you know what you like. But you could be wrong.

If I had a quarter for every guy I have liked who came out to me, I would be able to afford to retire by now.

My gaydar definitely needs to be recalibrated. I have an "innocent until proven gay" policy. Unless you are prancing around in a glitter top and singing Cher songs, I will generally wait to pass judgment. That is about the only case in which I don't pass judgment, so feel lucky.

This has led to some awkward romantic encounters. There was the time when I was about to confess my undying love to a friend at dinner when he pointed out a beautiful boy at the table next to us. The guy I went to dinner with, only to meet up with his boyfriend later that night. The guy who asked me to pose as his girlfriend when his parents came into town. And, my personal favorite, the guy who swore that he was into girls and emphatically claimed that he "loves boobs" and at the bar that night, I came back from the bathroom to find him making out with a man.

The celebrities that I love aren't safe, either.. When Neil Patrick Harris publicly came out, six different people called me to express their condolences. I spent the morning after Jonathan Groff's announcement on the phone with friends, in too much of a state of shock to work.

Which leads me to this past weekend. I saw two of my good friends in a play at my local community theater, and my attention was drawn to a particular actor who is new to the theater, D_____. He had a great jawline and, as weird as this sounds, a really nice nose. He was also very funny and had a great comic delivery.

After the show, I was talking to one of my friends and I mentioned that I had been admiring D_____. He snorted a bit and said, "Ohhh, D_____." When I pressed him further, he admitted, "W__ and I think that D_____'s sexuality is....questionable."

To which I answered, "OF COURSE YOU DO. OF COURSE."

Watch out, men of the world. You may think you're straight. But if I get my eyes on you, you'll suddenly discover that you're horribly wrong.

Song for the Dumped

When the gays drop you, they drop you hard.

I was in a choir in college, and became very close with a guy, C____, in the all-male choir. We became borderline inseparable, and we bonded over gossiping about our respective choirs. He became one of my best friends in college.

He wasn't always an easy person to get along with. He was very blunt and would say exactly what was on his mind. He didn't believe in hiding his feelings, so if he was annoyed, everyone around him would quickly become annoyed as well. He was vicious if he felt that he was wronged, almost to the point of becoming vindictive. He had a way of cutting people out of his life that was almost clinical.

But C____ was still one of the people that I loved to be around. I had great times with him, whether we were going on adventures, throwing dinner parties at his house, or just hanging out and talking.

Until one fateful day when I commented to another friend that C____ had offended me with something he had said. Somehow this got back to him, and C____ was incensed because he felt that I was "gossiping about" him. Ohhhh shit.

It began slowly. I would call him and he wouldn't answer. "No big deal," I naively thought to myself. "He's probably just busy with work. He'll call back."

Then I would text him, to no avail. "Well, maybe his phone is broken. Or maybe his texting feature has been turned off. Or maybe his fingers are broken and he can't text!" Always the optimist.

Then came the final solution. Facebook. I sent him a message, a literary masterpiece, an epic poem about how sorry I was for whatever had offended him, extolling him, listing at least seven reasons as to why I was a horrible person.

Nothing. No response whatsoever.

I was crushed. A large part of my life had completely disappeared for absolutely no reason whatsoever. I went through a stunted version of the five stages of grief, most of which involved alcohol and french fries. It took me a long time to accept the fact that I had been dropped. Kicked to the curb. Dumped. Erased.

In the immortal words of Second City's Sassy Gay Friend, I had to write a sad poem in my journal and move on. And I did. Well, I wrote angry "WHAT AN ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" entries in my journal and moved on. C____ and I ran into each other a few times over the next year, before I moved home from college. We had the same circle of friends, being so deeply entrenched in the choral activities office. It slowly became less and less awkward. I like to think that he realized that it was his loss. Because I am damn good queer dear, and after two years he has yet to find a suitable replacement for me. So C____ can suck it.

In the Beginning

When I was a kid, I was in love with Rainbow Brite.

I'm pretty sure that's where my love of the fabulous began.



My parents had a brown couch that I would pretend was Starlite, my trusty steed. I would sit across the top of the couch and pretend to galloping along rainbows or streets paved with gold or just around the living room, I wasn't picky. I would make my brother or an unsuspecting neighbor kid be Twink, my sidekick. (Yes, Twink. Hello, gay agenda.) And I was Rainbow Brite, off to save the Color Kids. I told people that my favorite color was rainbow and that I was the queen of the rainbows. I was five, so it was cute. There was also a period of time where every cookie my mother made had to be in the shape of a star, and I pretended they were my star sprinkles.

I would also put on theatrical shows in my living room, singing the big hits of the time; typically any Disney song that struck my fancy. Again, my brother would be my backup singer. Often in one of my nightgowns. I had a yellow Beauty and the Beast nightgown that I was particularly fond of putting him in.

I started dance lessons when I was three, choir when I was eleven, and theater when I was eighteen. If that isn't a gay man's mating call, I don't know what is.

Hey girl heyyyy.

God bless my boys.

It has been suggested that I am a gay man in a woman's body. That I give off a gay pheromone that attracts every gay man in a five mile radius. That I collect gay men like spinsters collect cats.

With gay men comes gay drama. This is a place where I can keep track of my divas before I wreck my divas. Because there is only so much drama I can deal with before I need a Liza Minelli album and a bottle of wine.