Do as I say, not as I do.

Nothing is more frustrating than a smart-ass gay.

Sure, we like a good snarky gay in the movies as our comedic relief. A little sass never hurt anyone. But trust me, when that sass is being used against you, it stings. It does not hurt so good. There's nothing I hate more than something I've said getting thrown back in my face.

I was leaving a friend's house last week after an amiable get together. I had gone around and said my goodbyes and doled out my cheek-kisses and hugs and random ass grabs. As I headed toward the door, I paused to say goodbye to the last guy.

"Okay, bye," he said as he walked across the living room, "text me when you get home."

I'm sorry, exCUSE ME?! Where is my air-kiss, sir?! After all we've been through, I deserve at least an air-kiss!

I held on to this slight for a good twenty minutes, but then I got over it. However, I made sure to tell him exactly the social niceties that he turned his back and walked away from. Sort of a, "no big deal, but never do it again if you want your life to remain un-nagged" situation.

A few nights later, I was at his house again. We had been watching a movie and he was falling asleep on the couch. After the movie, he went in and laid down on his bed. A few minutes later, I decided to leave and I went in and stood awkwardly by his bed.

"Okay, well.....bye," I said, and turned to leave.

"Don't....walk away....when you're saying goodbye to me," he mumbled.

Touche, jerk.

The Pink Triangle

The last known gay Holocaust survivor, Rudolf Brazda, died Wednesday, August 3. He was sent to Buchenwald in 1942 and remained there until its liberation in 1945.

The homosexuals persecuted by the Nazi regime are often overlooked in the remembrances of the Holocaust. It is estimated that between 50,000 and 65,000 men were convicted of homosexuality with an estimated 10,000 to 15,000 gay men deported to concentration camps (lesbians were not widely persecuted under Nazi anti-gay laws, as it was considered easier to persuade or force them to comply with accepted heterosexual behavior). Few survived, as they were subjected to persecution and abuse not only from the guards but from fellow prisoners -- many of the men didn't die from the gas chambers or work camps but were beaten to death. They were also subjected to experiments from Nazi doctors trying to identify and eliminate the "gay gene" in order to prevent homosexuality in Aryan children, and guards used gay prisoners for target practice, aiming for and shooting through the pink triangle worn on their clothing.

After the war, when the camps were liberated, many of the gay prisoners continued to be persecuted and imprisoned, as homosexuality was illegal (the homosexuality law enforced by Nazi Germany wasn't repealed until 1994). Remembrances of homosexual Holocaust survivors weren't explored or acknowledged until the 1970s, though there are now memorials in several countries, in 2002, the German government apologized to the gay community, and in 2005, the European Parliament adopted a resolution on the Holocaust which included the persecution of homosexuals.

Rudolf Brazda was 98 years old when he passed away in his sleep. He is joining his partner, Edouard Mayer, who passed away in 2003. I hope that he is able to find peace and love to make up for the horrors he faced for simply being himself.

Wide World of Sports

I recently got a new job at a new school district. The only catch is, I have to be a girls basketball assistant coach.

You can feel free to laugh. I'll wait.

As an English teacher, I feel as though I'm already at an athletic disadvantage. We literature types tend to stick closer to the library than the gymnasium. But I'm sure I can motivate those girls to score those goals. Or whatever it is, I'll figure that out later.

I tried to think back on sports movies that I could get coaching tips from, and the first thing that came to my mind was this scene from Ladybugs, one of my favorite movies when I was a kid. It stars Rodney Dangerfield and Jonathan Brandis as his stepson who is coerced into crossdressing to play on a girls soccer team that needs all the help they can get. (I'm telling you, my life as a queer dear was predetermined. I was born this way.)




You can rest assured that should anyone break a nail on the field, I will know what to do.

Live every week like it's Shark Week.

I think this conversation pretty much sums up Shark Week:

Him: Oh my god, a Shark Week commercial just came on and B____ went "yeeeeeaaaaahhhhh!!!!" in a really deep voice.

Me: Shark Week brings out the straight man in us all.

Shark Week is this week, a week where you can watch sharks maul the shit out of adorable baby seals and bleach-blonde surfers until your eyes bleed. The shows that will forever keep me out of the ocean that played tonight were "Great White Invasion" and "Jaws Comes Home", both about great white sharks being found cavorting feet from the beach. Again, the saltwater pool in my parents' backyard is now the closest to the ocean that I'm going to get.

Enjoy Shark Week responsibly. We watched it tonight with a plate of red meat and a bottle of red wine nearby. And then we watched Lady Gaga's HBO Monster's Ball special. Show me your teeth, indeed.

NOLA.

I just got back from a vacation to New Orleans with two of my boys, who from here on out will be referred to as Tiger and Honeybee. They know why.

I had never been to New Orleans and was very excited to go. Tiger is from there, so he was able to navigate his way without a GPS, which is just mindblowing in this day and age. I need a GPS to find my way to the grocery store on some days. He also knew a lot of the history of buildings and had personal anecdotes about different places, which was interesting to hear. There were also restaurants and sights that he and Honeybee had been to on different trips there. I always like having an insider's perspective to make me feel like less of a tourist, even though I cancel it out by taking my picture with anything that will stand still, which in this case included a giant stuffed crawfish.

We drove the six hours to New Orleans and surprisingly no one died (though there was a sketchy moment in a gas station bathroom that I think doubles as a meth lab. It was so nasty that I demanded to be taken to a different gas station). When we got to the hotel on the first night, we walked around the French Quarter for a while and saw the sights, which included a place that had bottomless bloody marys. That night, after my hair was appropriately tamed (humidity is not my friend), we went out to Bourbon Street. Our hotel was right on the corner of Bourbon and Canal, which proved convenient when it came time to stagger home. We took advantage of New Orleans' lack of open container laws. It was amazing to see people drinking while they walked down the street. I kept glancing around nervously as I drank my daiquiri like I was on the lam.

I also had super sexy shoes that night that I was wearing for the first time, and as a result for the rest of the trip it looked like I had dangled my ankles in the ocean during Shark Week. Luckily, I couldn't feel it as it was happening. Thank you, Pat O's hurricanes.

We spent a lot of time walking around the French Quarter, marveling at the architecture and people watching. There was some prime people watching in New Orleans. One of our favorite street games was "gay man or hipster?" It's really hard to differentiate.

On Wednesday, we went on a swamp tour with the most insane man I have ever laid eyes on. To begin with, I could only understand about half of what this guy said through his accent. And then the crazy bitch started trying to grab alligators out of the water and bring them into the boat. And I sort of pulled a diva fit on him. His response was to ask Tiger if I was his wife to try to get him to calm me down, which got a good laugh.

We also went on a vampire tour of New Orleans on Wednesday, which was a walking tour of the French Quarter with stories about movie vampires and vampire-esque crimes in the city. We were blessed to have on our tour a girl who was like the vampire Rainman -- after every real-life story the guide would tell, the girl would burst out, "VAMPIRE. DEFINITELY A VAMPIRE, DEFINITELY." It was annoying. Definitely annoying.

The night, Honeybee stayed at the hotel to recuperate after the stress of the swamp and the vampires, and Tiger and I went out to the Bourbon Pub, which was having an amateur drag contest. Let's be honest, nothing gets me to a bar faster than the words "amateur drag contest." It was so, so tragic. I saw more pantyhosed crotch on that stage than I've seen in my entire life. There was one girl, Carmen, who could not keep her clothes on to save her life. I'm pretty sure that you could have superglued her top to her skin and it still would have fallen down to her waist.

I wish I could remember more of Wednesday night, but after seeing Carmen's skirt bunch up around her waist more than once, we started drinking heavily and the rest of the night is sort of a blur. Thank god. We made friends with one of the drag contest judges (meaning that we stood by him and made snarky comments that made him laugh), so he gave us free drink tickets. I do remember that there were showtunes playing downstairs in the bar. I'm pretty sure that we sang Time of My Life and that it was awesome, as per usual. Karaoke, here we come. I also woke up the next morning to some lovely text messages from some of boys at home, as I had texted them god knows what the night before. It's just my way of paying it forward.

Overall, it was a wonderful trip. I only felt slightly third wheel-ish and awkward; they made sure that everything on the itinerary was something fun for me to see, even though they had done it before, we got in some good quality Oprah talks about our feelings, and the PDA-levels were kept to a minimum on all counts -- during the vampire tour, I had my arms around Honeybee's neck and kissed his cheek, and he turned his head ever so slightly and muttered, "Will you stop that? People are going to think I'm straight." And you know we can't have that.

Sister Christian.

A good friend of mine from the musical I'm in this summer accidentally let slip that one of the cast members mentioned me in passing in a conversation. Apparently this girl felt that she knew me well enough to make the observation that I "am not a Christian," so you know that every time I see her from now on, this is what I see:




Bless you, God Warrior.

Sister Christian also found it her place to question the lifestyle of two of my friends in the cast, who are gay.

See, now we have a problem.

People have their opinions. That's fine. Yours just happen to be stuck in the Spanish Inquisition. Also fine. It might come as a surprise, but I was raised in the Catholic church, so I get it. But don't come around acting like we're buddies when you not-so secretly disapprove of me and my friends. And don't try to act like a godly Christian woman while you're spouting your hate speech. Because guess what, I can read the Bible, too. Matthew 7:1-2 states "Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged: and with what measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again." You just got KJVed.

Also, if you disapprove of gays so much, STOP DOING MUSICAL THEATER. That's like going to a pet store when you're allergic to animals.

Couples

This summer, I have embarked on a new journey in my path of queer dear-dom : I have befriended a couple.

It's shocking to me that this is my first gay couple, but most of my friends have relationships that expire faster than a carton of milk, whether of their fault or not. These guys have been together for two years and are living together. They have dog children together. They are legit.

As always, with the new acquisition of friends comes new challenges. For example, there's the third wheel danger. Nobody wants to be the awkward creeper in the corner during a romantic moment. For example, just recently we had a pool day, the two of them and me. I was in the pool with one of the guys while the other was lying in a pool chair. When he was getting in the water, he asked how the water was and homeboy answered, "it's good now that you're in here." Awkward City, population me.

There's also the package problem. And not the good type of package, oh no. The package deal problem. I'll make plans with one of them, and they'll both show up. Typically this is not a problem, as I love both of them and we always have a blasty blast. It is a little difficult when trying to get to know them, however. I enjoy one on one time with my friends; I find that it helps bonding and fostering deep relationships. It's close to impossible to have one on one time with three people. Try it sometime.

Like all couples, they fight and make up. Sometimes their arguments make me uncomfortable. The making up makes me even more uncomfortable. There are times when we'll be at their house hanging out with one of them in the living room with me and the other in their bedroom. Sooner or later, they'll both be in the bedroom. In which case, I am overcome by awkwardness. Is the party moving in there? Is it a pants party? Unless there is an invitation on monogrammed stationary, I stay the hell away.

They are a great couple. Where one is frenetic, the other is laidback. Where one tends to diva out, the other tends toward neutral. They are both devoted to each other in sickeningly sweet ways. They make a great team -- which makes it even more awkward to be sitting and watching from the sidelines.