Darling, being gay is the best excuse you'll ever have not to be boring!

So says Eddy from Absolutely Fabulous: one of my favorite shows of all time. BUT.

(whining alert)

Man, I'm so not into being gay lately. At least my recent experience of it. Where do I start?

Shows like the deceased and not-at-all-mourned The A-List (both New York and Dallas versions) and the still-afflicting-us 1 girl 5 gays just annoy the everloving crap outta me. The A-List had no redeeming qualities whatsoever. The producers, I assume, thought it would be such a great idea to put the bitchiest, supposedly A-list gays in close proximity to each other, force them to flirt shamelessly and do all they could to wreck relationships, friendships, and reputations. Including their own. I've seldom felt so good about being a non A-lister. But I also felt sick to my stomach watching this...is this the image we're putting out to society? Help us all. At least 1 girl 5 gays has the excuse of catering to teens and the twentysomething crowd. And if I were that age, I would be really gaga over the show. Still, it's kinda creepy, looking in on 5 gaybies (recycled at random from probably around 40 or so) and their resident hag (far too pretty for such a derogatory-sounding term). These guys pass judgment on each other, laugh with each other, share some deep secrets (and many, many more not-so-deep secrets), and talk about their sex lives outside of the show. Said sex lives include fellow cast members, so it feels incestuous. To be sure, they all look and act friendly enough, but really, what I can't abide is yet ANOTHER discussion of how people don't care enough about Madonna or Gaga, what actor you would do, what you were thinking when you were finishing your last hookup, and (I wish I were making this up) drawing what your parents look like naked. I think I'm just getting too old for this.

Also? Alcohol. It has its place, and right now, with a few exceptions, that place is not near me. Not because of any run-ins with the law, mind you. I just don't like the way I feel when I imbibe, and do whatever I can to make sure that any after-effects are mitigated as much as possible. It's become especially noticeable since I've begun working out, seeing results, and doing what I can to make sure I see more results.

Along the lines of alcohol comes the social scene. Okay, alcohol's good for that. I tend to come out of my shell once I get a few drinks down. Only problem is, I'm sometimes likely to spiral into sadness, or more likely, anger and resentment. And let me tell you, I am one evil, evil bitch when that happens. Friends often are surprised to find out that I have this mean streak in me, but it is true: I can be more bitter, scathing, and cruel - without any irony or dark humor to leaven it - than just about anyone I know. I don't get fiery. I become icy and numb. Don't cross me.

Oh yeah...back to the social scene. I joke to people nowadays that Mr. Man goes out and kicks up his pink sequined platforms with the fabulous crowd, while I stay at home, sip my chamomile tea and knit. Of course, this is relative to Mr. Man, who is far and away one of the most social people I've ever known. I tell people that I can be a lightbulb and light up a dark room, but I'm often next to the sun. And I HAAATE playing second fiddle to a guy who makes you feel as socially awkward as an autistic kid (though it is never intentional). (By the way, I just took an autism spectrum quotient quiz. My score: 30 out of 50. Above 32 indicates a likelihood of something along the autism spectrum. Apparently, I read people too well and am too sensitive to their expressions to qualify.)

The worst part? Let's combine all of the above and intensify it ten times. Travelling for gay parties that are all about sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll - or in this case, sex, poppers, and techno - just drains me in all ways possible. If I need a week or two to recover from the lack of sleep and wild times, it just isn't worth it. Yes, you can make tons of friends at said parties, which is cool. But I've been to enough of 'em - Dallas, Chicago, and God help me, New Orleans - to last me for a few years. I have no desire to do a bear run or circuit party anytime in the near future. (Meanwhile, Mr. Man recently expressed a desire to go on a vacation somewhere. All he listed were said gatherings.)

Can we keep going? Please? TECHNO MUST DIE. I'm sick of it.

Incidentally, I realized today that on the occasion of Denver's Pridefest, I will find myself cruising at 35,000 feet, returning from a glorious vacation in Europe, and landing too late to participate. And I celebrated inside.

Ugh. Years ago, I came to the conclusion that the only requirement to declare myself gay was to admit that I was sexually attracted to men, and that was it. I didn't need to live any kind of lifestyle to prove how gay I was. It's good to be reminded of this. If this whole scene is what it means to be gay, then I resign. I have a different, better gay life to live.

Your nun foams with a freezing companion.

Glee, I'm done with you. Furreals now. Yeah, some of you who know my erstwhile fanaticism may question this, but the most recent episode (post-Karofsky coming out and Quinn's texting-while-driving accident) turned me off for all time. All the songs - and I do mean ALL of them - made me spit up in my mouth. Pure High School Musical. And the plots were all strict by-the-numbers after school special boilerplate. It actually made me feel sorry for all the actors...particularly Jane Lynch, whose talents are surely needed elsewhere by now. (Isn't there a Christopher Guest vehicle coming down the pike soon? Seems overdue by this point.) Also: Slash refuses to let any G&R songs on Glee. (Duh...like matter meeting antimatter.) Stick a fork in it, y'all...it's done.

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Pinterest. Yea, I have succumbed. As of a month ago, the interwebs reported that it was 90% driven by women. And ugh...the sheer number of feel-good quotes, comfort food recipes, and domestic designs substantiates this. Even the men's fashion on there is of the GQ ilk - assuming that all men are pretentious, quirky, urbane, somewhat muscly but wasp-waisted, and too hipsterish to care about reality. But I'm on there all the same...sensing that there's gotta be enough stuff on the world wide webiverse that isn't as touchy-feely as all this. Somewhere.

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Black Sabbath. I find it a travesty and a sin that none of their back catalog is available on mp3. Not even We Sold Our Soul For Rock 'n' Roll. Doesn't matter that Beavis & Butthead supplied my first exposure to them. Nor that Girl Talk gave me my second hit. I'm ready for them to hit me hard.

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Gardening. As part of our landscaping last summer, we got three good-sized garden plots. Didn't plant anything - thought it was too late - but hoo boy! did we get a bumper crop of weeds! Even some aspen saplings poked through the dirt. But planting for this summer has already begun, despite predictions for snow tonight. And I'm thrilled. I don't think we'll have enough room for my ambitions (60 gladiolus bulbs? AND other flower seeds alongside?), but it'll be fun trying it out. In the ground so far: strawberries, broccoli, and chard. Soon: cabbage, corn, the aforementioned gladioli, radishes, raspberries, dill, basil, and garlic. I'm KICKING myself for not getting spaghetti squash in there. But maybe there's room yet. I may not be able to devote much time to the garden, but there's something so cool about putting something in the ground, caring for it a bit, and knowing that within a few months, it'll give back to you in some amazing ways.
(Oh, and no tomatoes or lettuce for us...we're not fans.)

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Lime jello marshmallow cottage cheese surprise. After hearing the song about it, joking about it for years, and unwittingly causing countless friends to reminisce about Minnesota/family reunions/Mormon church dinners/stuff their grandmothers made and forced them to eat/what have you, I finally decided to make it. Seriously. And I ate it. And I...uh...actually liked it. I may make it again. (Without the pimentos or mayonnaise.)