I’m pretty fabulous, you know.
I know I like to joke about lame being my default position, but it’s not. Awesome is my default. I just don’t want to flaunt it so I can seem accessible to the common people. Yet despite all this awesome wonderfulness following me around, I cannot say that I am completely fabulous because I don’t have any gays.
Now I know that I have all you Toy with Mes and that totally makes you an entourage of sorts and I love, love, love that, and if I could have sweaty sex with every last one of you I would, but I’m betting you’re all just a bunch of straight people around here, right?
That’s why I need to get me some gays.
Or maybe even an entourage of gays.
And I want them all to look like this proud fellow:
Can’t you just picture us walking into Target together? Only he’d be lugging the baby carrier for me because just look at those guns!
But sadly for me, I don’t even have any gay friends, but I’ve dated a few gay guys who were still trying to make themselves like boobies at the time.
The first ‘mo I dated was Eric. He was super cute, and he loved Madonna. He even had a license plate that said MDONNA, and his favorite thing was dressing up like her. His skin was sooooo smooth and soft, and HELLO! That boy was as gay as the day was long, but I was only 18 at the time and I tried to kiss him because I thought he liked me. After all, he asked me out on a date and was acting like a straight guy except for the smooth skin thing and the Madonna thing and as it turns out, Nooooooo.
I kissed him and he ran away and never called me again. He literally ran out the door, hopped into his car and peeled out.
Had I played my cards right and been smart about it, I would have just put in a Madonna CD and let him try on my clothes, and then I could have had me a very nice gay fella.
We would have been just like Will & Grace.
I kick myself for that, and I find myself wishing Eric was on his way over here right now to drink some wine, watch Project Runway, and make fun of straight guys with me. (Sorry straight dudes, I love you all, but you know you’re kind of stupid, right?)
After the Eric situation, you’d think I’d have learned a little something, but nay, nay Toy with Mes. I’m a slow learner because a couple of years after Eric came Adam.
Like Eric, Adam was a cutie patootie. He was a jewelry designer whose turn-ons included anything by Ralph Lauren, interior design, avant-garde art, and kittens. He always smelled incredible and looked as pretty as a picture in a magazine.
I KNOW! I told you I’m kind of a fucktard.
And he wanted to like boobies, but it just wasn’t working. He was horrible in the boudoir, but I kept sleeping with him hoping it would get better, but it didn’t.
Do you have any idea what it’s like for a woman to have sex with a gay man?
It’s not good you guys, not good at all because the whole time, they’re totally screaming inside their heads and they want to run away so badly, but they stick it out and then jump out of bed and take a shower to wash all the yucky girl cooties off of them because OH GOD IT BURNS!
I cannot tell you what it does for a girl’s self-esteem when the guy you just had The Sexy Time with blows his load on your back and then jumps out of the bed trying to discreetly cover his mouth so he doesn’t throw up on his new scatter rug from Pottery Barn.
I wish my gay-dar had been existent at the time. It could have saved us all from some pain and humiliation, but I was a youngin’ and I didn’t know any better. I just thought we were soul mates because we were so similar.
I dated that Adam guy for about two months before the sun came over the mountain and I was confronted with the truth about him. I used to hang out at his apartment, and he had this friend named Paulie. He would call every ten minutes while I was there. Literally. I thought that was a little strange until one night I was over there when Paulie stopped by, and to make a long story short, I caught a reflection of them kissing in the mirror. Needless to say, that was a big light bulb moment. I got my coat, left quietly, and sat by the phone for a week waiting for Adam to call me, but he never did. I never heard from him again, actually. I found out from a mutual friend that he now works as a lion tamer in the circus.
I shit you not.
Gay, gay, gay, gay, GAY.
And that sucks that it had to go down that way because I really liked him, and it would have been fine with me to just be his fruit fly. I’d love to be the kind of girl who hangs out at gay bars and comes home covered in glitter and singing “It’s Raining Men.” That’s what I assume goes on in gay bars, but I really have no idea because I’ve never been to one.
The only gay guys you see around here in suburbia are the Woodland Gays who lurk in the woods at the park. They scope out my husband when he takes the kids for a hike. I’d ask him to collect a few phone numbers for me, but those aren’t the kind of gays I want to be friends with, so I’m thinking of taking him to a gay bar as my bait. Gay men seem to love him, but that’s a story for next week…
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