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.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, July 11, 2011
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.
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.
Saturday, July 2, 2011
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.
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.
Monday, June 27, 2011
Snuggie.
When it comes to touching people, I feel like I err toward the side of caution. I don't particularly enjoy being touched by people that I don't know or particularly like. I'm not going to be the person to give you a hug when I first meet you. I have had people go for a hug after the first meeting and it will only end in tears.
But if you are my friend, particularly one of my gay friends, watch out. No body part is safe. I hug, I snuggle, I big spoon, I hold hands, I grab asses. You name it, it will probably be attended to in some platonic way.
Which is all the more awkward when I find out that a friend doesn't like being touched. I have this friend that I recently found out doesn't like being overly touched, so you know that it is like telling a two year old not to touch the hot stove. All I want to do is touch this kid. I want to hug him, I want to watch movies intertwined on the couch, I want to be the goddamn big spoon. It's awful. I do all of those things with his boyfriend, no problem. Boyfriend and I will kiss goodbye, and he's by the door of his car with a lame, "Call me tomorrow." What!? No. You will take your hug like a man and then you'll be on your way.
Everyone needs their personal space. I get it, I shouldn't intrude, personal bubble, all that jazz. I'm pretty sure that he considers me to be a good friend. I feel like we moved past casual acquaintance a while ago. But I'm still afraid that anytime my hand accidentally grazes his knee, he's dying on the inside.
I hate to think of what he's thinking when I "accidentally" squeeze his ass.
But if you are my friend, particularly one of my gay friends, watch out. No body part is safe. I hug, I snuggle, I big spoon, I hold hands, I grab asses. You name it, it will probably be attended to in some platonic way.
Which is all the more awkward when I find out that a friend doesn't like being touched. I have this friend that I recently found out doesn't like being overly touched, so you know that it is like telling a two year old not to touch the hot stove. All I want to do is touch this kid. I want to hug him, I want to watch movies intertwined on the couch, I want to be the goddamn big spoon. It's awful. I do all of those things with his boyfriend, no problem. Boyfriend and I will kiss goodbye, and he's by the door of his car with a lame, "Call me tomorrow." What!? No. You will take your hug like a man and then you'll be on your way.
Everyone needs their personal space. I get it, I shouldn't intrude, personal bubble, all that jazz. I'm pretty sure that he considers me to be a good friend. I feel like we moved past casual acquaintance a while ago. But I'm still afraid that anytime my hand accidentally grazes his knee, he's dying on the inside.
I hate to think of what he's thinking when I "accidentally" squeeze his ass.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Lessons Learned
A lesson I learned over the weekend -- never turn your back on a gay man with a water balloon. You will end up with a soaking wet ass.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
You Don't Own Me
The use of possessive pronouns between gay men and their queer dears has always interested me. I'm definitely guilty of it -- "my gays," "my boys," etcetera. The first person I can remember hearing it from was Kathy Griffin on her Bravo show. She was talking about her friends and she called them "her gays," while the camera panned to a man with the caption of "Kathey's Gay". It brought to mind a group of gay men that she kept in a spare bedroom solely for fashion advice and a sharply worded sassy comment.
I've asked a few of my friends if they mind being identified as "my gays," and got mostly nonchalant reactions -- shrugs or simply, "whatever, it's not a big deal." I sometimes fear that they don't appreciate being referred to with solely an identifier; why not just say "my friends" instead of "my gays"? My mother, of all people, once scolded me for referring to one of my friends as one of my gays, telling me that I need to consider the rest of his personality and not just that one label, the one part of himself.
I was recently hanging out with two guys that I have gotten close to, and one of them remarked that I have "adopted" the other. That was what got me on this thought process. I don't know of any other social circles where this sort of language occurs than the relationship between gay men and straight women.
But then I realize that I'm probably just overthinking it and should just go out and enjoy a cocktail with my new adopted gay.
I've asked a few of my friends if they mind being identified as "my gays," and got mostly nonchalant reactions -- shrugs or simply, "whatever, it's not a big deal." I sometimes fear that they don't appreciate being referred to with solely an identifier; why not just say "my friends" instead of "my gays"? My mother, of all people, once scolded me for referring to one of my friends as one of my gays, telling me that I need to consider the rest of his personality and not just that one label, the one part of himself.
I was recently hanging out with two guys that I have gotten close to, and one of them remarked that I have "adopted" the other. That was what got me on this thought process. I don't know of any other social circles where this sort of language occurs than the relationship between gay men and straight women.
But then I realize that I'm probably just overthinking it and should just go out and enjoy a cocktail with my new adopted gay.
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