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.
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