How Does Your Garden Grow?

I have always loved the IDEA of gardening.  I love having lots of greenery around.  It's usually so beautiful!  Plus, it's the hippie thing to do.  And I kind of fancy myself a hippie.  But the practice of it?  Well, there's a lot of dirt and bugs and it's takes a lot of effort. Plus you have to actually remember that you have plants.  I can handle my dog - there is no such thing as forgetting to feed her because she does not let you forget.  But a plant?  I could forget to water a plant for weeks.  And it never would say anything.  It would just sit there and silently die.  Many a houseplant has died an untimely death due to my negligence.

My father has the worst black thumb of anybody I've ever met.  It's not for lack of trying.  He reads gardening books and magazines in the winter to try to get tips.  Every year he really gives it his all and then fails miserably year after year - or at least the last 25 of them that I remember.  It's comical actually.  We lived in Kansas when I was younger and he tried to grow sunflowers (which are the state flower).  Despite his best efforts, the best one he ever grew was about 6inches tall, yet they grew wild to full height in the field across the street from our house.  At least he has a sense of humor about it now.  Last week I overheard a friend ask him what he was growing in his garden - he replied "rabbits and deer mostly".

So obviously, given my past and family history, I decided to try my hand at gardening this year.  And miraculously, it's not a complete failure (which means that it's a win)!

I built a raised bed, which is probably the reason for my minimal success.  I added landscape fabric and hardware cloth underneath to keep out any burrowing pests and weeds.  And then built it 12" up from the ground.  I'm a little bit ridiculous, so I painted the bed bright yellow.  Then I just filled it with dirt and plants - and they GREW!

So Much Garden Soil!

Another credit to my success unfortunately is the sudden appearance of hunting instincts in BellaBeagle.  As soon as I started building the raised bed, she started ruthlessly killing baby rabbits.  This is the 4th summer in the house, and rabbits have lived inside the fence this whole time.   Until this year, she largely ignored them.  I build a garden and suddenly she goes into over-protective mode?  Weird.

Ruthless Killer Protecting My Garden

After Everything Was Planted

Eventually, the zucchini plant killed both green pepper plants, and the summer squash killed the orange and red pepper plants.  One afternoon I went into a rage and ripped the summer squash out of the ground.  (It's not my favorite.)  I felt guilty about it immediately and tried to replant it into a separate pot - it died anyway.  Otherwise, everything I planted has been successful so far.  BellaBeagle ate all the strawberries though.  I just can't believe I actually grew things!

Ignore the dead grass around the raised bed - I killed it because I am planning to surround it with stone.  I'm just too lazy to follow through.

I Grew This!

These Plants Grew!

In other news, my father claims to have grown a tomato "the size of a shooter marble".  He's very excited.

Gay Time

I used to be on time everywhere - sometimes I was even early.  The problem with that is that all of my friends run on "gay time".  I'm not sure why exactly (don't worry, I have theories), but gay men are always a half hour to an hour later - for EVERYTHING.  Yes, I'm generalizing.  Are there gay men who are punctual?  Absolutely.  But even they can be influenced eventually.

Take Gaybie for example.  Once upon a time, he was early for everything.  He was that guy who shows up for your 9pm party at 8:30, but you're just getting IN the shower because you're assuming nobody will be there until at least 9:30 so you give him some random kitchen task that you never would have had time for otherwise.  And then he became friends with other gay men and spent a good portion of his time sitting around waiting for other people.  He'd be 20 minutes early to an event that everyone else was 45 minutes late for - that's an hour of awkwardly sitting around alone.  And over time, he adapted.  Now he's definitely one of the worst offenders.  I love the text messages I get that let me know he's running on gay time and will be late.

The problem with being a straight girl who has started running on gay time is that not ALL of my friends are gay men.  (You might want to sit down at this point.  I realize that last sentence may have come as a shock.)  I am now notorious among all my straight friends for being routinely late.  I feel bad about it, I really do.  But I just can't figure out anymore how to be on time.

Gay Time.  n. The act of being habitually 30-60 minutes late for every event.  Possibly due to increased time spent getting ready, a desire to be "fashionably late", lack of attention to detail due to drinking, and/or grindr, etc.  Also known as "gay-o-clock" or "homo standard time", both of which are not really acceptable for use by straight people.

Gay Roommates are Amazeballs

And here's why:

1. The bathroom is always clean. So is the kitchen. Like, clean to the point of me feeling guilty about it all the time.
2. If you know me, you know I'm not really the kind of girl who uses hair product...or much makeup. But every once in awhile, it's got it's purpose. Now there's always some around.
3. I rarely leave the house looking ridiculous anymore - there's always someone to make me wash off my raccoon eyes or tell me my bra straps are showing. Girls will let you go out looking ok, but not great. Gay boys will refuse to be seen out with you until you change out of your mom jeans.

Ok, so I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "girl roommates do all that too!" So here's the difference:

4. They can lift heavy objects!
5. They fix things!
6. They lust after the same men in movies and let you rewind to watch the scene where that guy takes his shirt off 6 more times. (ok, girls do this too...but only about 2 times.)
7. Have you seen my house? The color schemes are awesome.

Terrible Taste in Pie

What about me makes people wish that I've done horrible things? Or think I have? It makes no sense! I'm nice. I really am. Apart from my terrible taste in pie. (10points if you get the reference.)

But seriously. We were at a wedding a few weeks ago. The "gay social event of the season" here was a straight wedding...yup that sounds about right. Admittedly, it was between two employees of everyone's favourite gay bar though. Back to my point. At some point during the wedding, I walked upstairs to the bar. The groom's two brothers were both standing on one of the higher steps talking. I asked them to move...and next thing I know one of them is at the bottom of the stairs face first in gravel and concrete. Ouch. (17 stitches, a broken nose and a concussion!) After the commotion died down, one of my friends asked if I had pushed him down. I thought they were kidding, but a few people asked the same thing as the night went by.

And then, a week or so later, another friend posts a picture on Facebook that his tire was slashed. Another friend of ours had hers slashed THREE TIMES in the last year. Come to find out, this guy now thinks I slashed his tires. Why? Because he's been convinced that I'm the person who slashed her tires all those times AND HAS BEEN TELLING PEOPLE THIS AS FACT. Bah.

(FYI I didn't push anyone down the stairs or slash anyone's tires.)

Home for Wayward Gays and Pets

Last year I bought a house. Then one of my gay friends moved in with me because he was no longer getting along with his roommates (that should have been a warning sign). Then the guy he was sort of seeing at the time convinced me to take in his dog "just for a few weeks until [he] can find a home for her". I fell in love with her though and told him that she could just stay. (She's adorable, how could you say no to that face?)

Shortly thereafter another gay friend moved in, this time because he had moved in with his parents to save money during grad school and just couldn't take it anymore. Eventually, the first one and I had quite the falling out and I asked him to move out (despite the fact that they'd started dating...awkward). I'm sorry, but you can't demand based on "roommate obligations" that I abandon a number of my close friends because they didn't give you a promotion you felt you deserved and then get mad when I refuse. Well, you CAN, but it's going to cause problems.

Gaybie and I spent about three months alone in the house with the most adorable beagle on earth. Then I went to a wedding out-of-state. Upon my return I was greeted at the door...by a cat. My friend (and male version of myself) had mentioned a few weeks prior that the living situation with his ex was getting stressful and he might want to move in sometime. I had agreed immediately, but it was a "maybe sometime this summer" thing. Apparently life with the ex had become unbearable while I was gone. So he grabbed the spare key and set about moving in...with the cat.

A few weeks after that, I received a message from a friend asking about taking in his dog. He just didn't have time to give him the attention he needed, blah blah blah. I would have said no. I probably should have said no. But this particular dog is the dog that convinced me that maybe all dogs aren't the evil evil beings I had previously thought they were. This dog (the most adorably huge lab ever) had taught me how great dogs can be. I spent a lot of time at his house last year and really bonded with the lab. And I couldn't stand the thought of him at a shelter. So I said yes.

About two weeks later, Gaybie decided to move out. His contract position ended, and he hasn't found another job yet. He's skint and therefore moved back with the parents. And so it's been me and male-me for the past few months...plus our menagerie.

And now, yet another gay boy has moved in. This time in a shockingly similar manner as male-me. He had asked awhile back if I still had an open room but didn't really say much else. He and his boyfriend (who I affectionately refer to as Homewrecker) broke up a few months ago. They've still been living together ever since. The end of their lease was upon them, so he decided to move out. Monday he asked if he could still move in and Tuesday we moved him in...just in time for the end of the lease/month.

So now here we are, a year later. On my 3rd and 4th gay roommate. And kind of loving it. I'm just thankful the house has two bathrooms.

Bitches Who Brunch

Gay brunch. It's a weekend staple. Wake up at noon, throw clothes on and stumble out the door to the bar, where you eat eggs and drink more mimosas and bloodies than anyone probably should. The ratio of alcohol to food traditionally should be approximately 3 to 1. Hair of the dog, right?

But seriously, I love brunch. You get to eat breakfast foods in the early afternoon. WITH ALCOHOL. But the best part of gay brunch isn't the hash browns - it's the rehash. The whole purpose of brunch is to get everyone together to put the pieces together from the weekend. If you were a sloppy blacked-out mess, it's when you find out exactly how ridiculous you were. You find out who went home with who and who struck out. And then, once the drinks are kicking in, the bitchiness starts. I love it.

Oh, and the hash browns are pretty good.

Mean Girls

I am one of those girls that surround themselves with gay men. I don't know how or when it started happening, but it did. One day I woke up and realized that most of my friends either do not live in the same city...or are gay. And you can over-analyze it all you want to, but there's a simple reason for it.

I don't really like girls.

There, I said it. Ok, it's not that I don't like them, it's that I don't get along with them. If there was a humane society-type shelter for friends, my cage would have a big red X over a picture of a girl's head. (I imagine there would be pigtails in this silhouette image.) And on a side note, I do have a few small circles of girlfriends that I have slowly accumulated over the past 15 years, consisting almost entirely of exceptions to the rule.

Gay men are catty, vindictive, plotting, self-obsessed, secretive yet gossipy, will bail on you at the first sign they might get laid, and chronically late...but you know what you're getting. They are very open with it. They check in at the gym, upload pictures to Facebook of their lunch consisting mostly of green beans, blatantly ignore you when that characteristic Grindr tone sounds, and talk about "gay time" being 20-30 minutes later than real time. And the bitchy comments flow like vodka at a gay bar. But they make those bitchy comments about you while you're there - to defend yourself if necessary. They own it, and that's what makes it ok. And they won't judge you for your bitchy moments or sexual indiscretions.

Girls, though...they are all those same things SECRETLY. (Ok, maybe not so much with the tardiness). I need to know who my friends are and what they're saying about me, and with girls you just don't know. They might be nice to your face, but blocked you on Facebook two weeks prior. Or they might tell people ridiculous things like the dome light in their car was on and they think you intentionally went in their parked car and turned it on to drain the battery. Or you find out they're telling people bizarre lies about you because they think you're maliciously trying to steal their friends. (I still don't understand this one - friendship isn't limited.) Being friends with girls is like playing a strategy game you can never win...and I'm tired of playing it. Anybody up for a game of Settlers instead?

Cookout, Gay Style

When the weather gets nice, I like cooking out.  It's what I do.  I like hosting.  I love the idea of people being at my house.  This weekend the weather was ridiculously nice, so I sent out a feeler text to my gays about a cookout.  They were all for it, so my roommate and I hit up the grocery store.  Now, he's newly gay and I still forget about some of the obvious things.  Like carbs.  I bought the same number of buns as meats...silly of me, really when they are going to have everything without the bun...silly me.  And I've got a whole lot of dessert left in my kitchen.  But at least I remembered to make them a cigarette receptacle.  I'm so crafty.  

Also, please note: match light charcoal is no longer match light when it has been sitting in your garage for 9 months.

And drag queens make a big mess when they get ready in your bathroom.  

“Fire is the test of gold; adversity, of strong men.”

The last seven months of my life have by far been the most intense and most humbling of my life. Let's start where we left off though, shall we?

It was a Wednesday, and like any other Wednesday in the summertime in this amazing city we live in, we spent the afternoon picnicking (aka drinking obscene amounts of boxed wine) outside in the grass listening to the orchestra with thousands of other people. It was a relaxing time made even more enjoyable by the knowledge that I didn't have to go to work the next day - I had taken the entire day off in excitement/preparation for closing on my VERY FIRST HOUSE (having moved from college-type apartment to college-type apartment every year for the past ten years). I kept telling people not to discuss it though, as I felt the whole house-buying process had gone too smoothly and something bad could still happen so I didn't want to jinx it. Eventually we ended up at the bar for karaoke night. Well...when you've been drinking since 4pm, it can be a very very crazy night. One friend ended up on the floor of the bathroom stall with a pizza. Another's drunken problems were a little more dramatic though. BFF and the new guy had officially started dating. This didn't sit so well with this guy, who eventually drunkenly sent BFF a series of text messages. When these text messages were ignored though, he turned to the public nature that is Facebook and OUTED HIM ON HIS WALL. The ensuing drama continued until about 3am, when I finally made it home and to the safety of my bed.

Two hours later I was roused from the comfort of my bed by the sound of my phone ringing AND the sound of someone knocking on the door - AT FIVE IN THE MORNING! Groggily looking at my phone and seeing that BFF was who was calling, I made the assumption that he was just being a jerk and deliberately waking me up early. Eventually, I got up and went out to the living room to open the door - the living room that was oddly pitch black. At this point, my thought process wasn't working yet. A voice on the other side of the door told me to get out, so I did. I didn't think to grab anything. I stepped OVER my laptop and my purse. As I walked down the hallway, a burning ceiling tile fell down. I just looked at it confused. They fell down all the time, but this one was glowing...weird. I realized my flip flops were on the wrong feet. When I got outside, rational thought came to me...the building was on fire. Not "somebody burnt chicken" on fire, but "flames shooting from the roof, the whole block full of smoke" on fire..."ON FIRE" on fire..."everything I own is destroyed" on fire.

Then I bought some underwear, got a new ID and closed on my house.

A WHOLE NEW BEGINNING...A FRESH NEW START.

Ok, weird. I started this in October, but didn't post it until the end of JANUARY. And it still posted as October. So when I say 7 months, I mean the end of June.

Just Call Me Sacagawea

Gay men just find me.  No, correction, closeted gay men find me.  Closeted gay men who know almost nothing about the gay community.  They just appear out of nowhere and pop into my life.  And, like the incredibly maternal person I seem to be only to unlikely objects of maternal affection, I tend to them.  I guide them through the Louisiana Purchase that is the coming out and accepting yourself process.  I seriously am beginning to wonder if there is some sort of Fag Hag assignment rotation that I'm just unaware of. 

Gaybie is a boy I've been talking to.  A boy that just reappeared unexpectedly in my life a few months ago.  A boy that, after not speaking for 5 years, I talk to almost daily.  A boy that is sweet and nice and cute.  A boy that came out to me last weekend.   I should have known.

But on a related note, my BFF just came out to his mother.  I cannot even begin to tell you how proud I am.  He has finally, after 3 long years, reached the Pacific Ocean.  

FruitWeekend of FruitAwesome - Part 2 (Saturday)

The  morning of the festival I woke up ridiculously early and headed over to offer my help.  A friend had been unable to locate the megaphone he had borrowed from a friend for Pride the weekend before, and they needed it, so I got sent to the store along with an out-of-costume queen to get a new one before the race started, along with a few other small items.  I knew exactly where the megaphone had been at his house, so I stopped off and broke into the garage, finding it immediately - exactly where he left it.   Unfortunately we still had to go to the store, where thanks to a never-ending stream of texts from those setting up, we had quite the cart full of items.  We made it back to the start line just in the nick of time, and then I was driven to the location on the race route where I was to stand, cheering for people and reminding them to turn.  As the first runner ran past me, I stood on the corner staring at the map trying to figure out which way to send people.  They finished the race, so I suppose I sent them the right direction.  Either way, everybody went the same way, which I guess in the long run is really all that matters, right?  You haven’t seen a 5K until you’ve seen one with men wearing tutus or women covered in balloons to look like a bunch of grapes though.

The afternoon was an afternoon of frivolity and people watching - drunk people watching.  I disappeared for awhile and upon my return was greeted by my boys - all in their underwear and taking turns in the dunk tank.  Small children (and ok, adults too) took to just pushing the button instead of throwing balls, but hey, they fell in the water either way.  I met some new people, watched people stumble around, and basically just walked around taking it all in.  The variety of people at these events is unbelievable.  My boss even showed up for the final musical act - an 80s pop sensation who has since sort of fallen off the map, unfortunately. 

There is a new guy in our midst.  This new guy is the ex of a friend of mine who has a penchant for causing drama.  Drama friend has in the past had some history with and continuing mad crushes on both a bartender and my BFF, which has made for some entertaining highlight reels for sure.  New guy moved across the country a few years back I guess, and has since returned to the general area.  He spent the weekend visiting my drama friend.  Fresh meat is always a hit at these events, and he’s nice to look at so he certainly was.  Over the course of the day, my BFF and the new guy hit it off quite nicely.  But the drama friend didn’t take it so well, and I’m torn between thinking it’s funny and feeling bad.

After the show ended, I ran home to shower and check on the dog that I was dog-sitting for the weekend, imploring people to text me if they left so that I’d know not to return.  Nobody texted, so I returned an hour later - only to find that most people had, in fact, gone home to sleep.  Or, in the case of some, had been sent home.  The few who remained told me how they had sent this one guy in a taxi to sleep on the sofa of a friend, despite his desire to go to a different bar.  Two hours later, the drunk friend showed back up, extremely intoxicated and explaining how he had just taken a second taxi to the bar, where he met some random people who brought him back to the club.  He proceeded to share way too many details of past sexual escapades, and mid-story noticed that he seemed to be wearing only one shoe.  After finding his shoe, I suggested that perhaps food was in order.  We walked to a local burrito place, where he proceeded to befriend a random lesbian, to the point of pretty much sitting on top of her in the booth.  After a few minutes, he challenged another girl to an arm wrestling match, although only after noting that she was hairier than he was and therefore would probably win.  (This is a man who shaves his ENTIRE body…fish have more hair than he does.)  After about 3 minutes of this arm wrestling match not going anywhere, his food arrived and all thoughts of physical acts of strength were abandoned.  After a few minutes of eating, he noticed that he was making quite the mess and asked for a napkin.  As I got up to get him one, he grabbed an abandoned quesadilla and used that to wipe his face.  Seconds later, he offered the same quesadilla to the drag queen who accompanied us.  I’m not sure what I would have done if she accepted.

FruitWeekend of FruitAwesome - Part 1 (Friday)

This weekend was a crazy intense weekend of both awesome and exhaustion.  Saturday was an annual all-day music festival thrown by the local gay club where most of my friends work.  This year they even added a 5K walk/run before the festival kicked off.  The days before it were spent helping them prepare for the ridiculousness.  The day after it was spent pretending to help them clean up, but really just relaxing a little in their free AC.  But the day of?  That was spent people watching.  And the only thing better than people watching is drunk people watching.

I volunteered to help out all afternoon Friday after work.  So I drove straight to the bar from work, where I then sat around doing absolutely nothing.  Eventually we decided to go to the grocery store to get some last minute items.  Have you ever gone to the store to get 110 limes, 100 lemons and 20 bottles each of soda water and tonic, along with a whole bunch of really random things, like soy milk?  If you haven't, I'll save you the suspense - the cashiers look at you strangely.  It was me, a bartender, and one of the drag queens (who was not in drag for this particular outing).  The grocery store got a little out of hand.  At one point, the bartender  and I were arguing, which resulted in the drag queen apologizing to the woman in the aisle with us.  When she said she understood, the bartender announced his belief that we should just have sex to solve all our problems.  This of course achieved it's desired effect of me blushing like a 12 year old girl.  Of course, shortly thereafter, as I was giving the drag queen tips on shaving her legs, I suddenly hear "Hi" quietly from behind me.  I turn around to see the only thing that could make this shopping trip more surreal, yup, you guessed it - a coworker!  Awkward conversation happened, and then off we went.  Back at the bar, I agreed to sit at the packet booth until the end.  Only then did I notice another coworker was one of only a few customers at the time.  And boy, did he want to talk. 

I went to dinner with a college friend in town for one night, one of her high school friends and her co-worker.  A seemingly slapdash group, but fun none-the-less.  Armed with a name from the original e-mail she sent about this trip, I decided to do a little stalking of her high school friend.  Facebook told me we had a number of mutual friends - mostly gay men I know from the bar.  I made assumptions that turned out to be spot on.  It became pretty apparent pretty quickly that my friend was unaware, which would have been awkward enough.  However, he took the opportunity to come out, which was great...but extremely awkward given that he told her in front of two strangers.  Somehow we ended up at this dive gay bar (I guess that's what you do after somebody comes out?) and I saw a friend.  I regaled him with the tale of how I went to dinner with a stranger who then came out at the dinner table, only to be met with a reply of "uhhh, yeah...I actually know that guy.  And it'll be awkward.  I'm going to go".  I still haven't heard the full story.  This now-openly-gay guy then joined me at the club later in the evening, where I spent my night alternately dancing and texting a cute boy I've been talking to.  I explained to this boy about the events of the evening.  Somehow this turned into us discussing how badly our lives needed to be sorted out.  I pointed out that at least he doesn't have to worry about coming out of the closet.  A text which was met with the loudest silence I've ever heard.  Eventually I received confirmation that, in fact, he does need to worry about coming out of the closet.  There's a first for everything I guess, but never before had I had a bit of a crush on a man who turned out to be gay (that I know of).  So that was...interesting.  After that, I just went home to sleep.  Oddly, I'm now sort of helping him with the situation and setting up meetings with some of my friends to discuss their coming out.

How did I write this much so far about the festival weekend BEFORE the festival even started?!

I'm not going to write a book

I am sick of people telling me that I should write a book.  My life is not interesting enough to be the subject material for a book.  I am not funny enough to write a book.  Not even I would read a book about my life, and I've read a LOT of really boring books in my time (or bought the cliffnotes for a lot of really boring books at least).  Heck, I'm not even certain my life is interesting enough or I am funny enough for a blog.  But there are a lot of people out there with really boring blogs, so I'm hoping my life is at least interesting enough for this.

I'm just a girl.  I'm a girl with a lot of friends.  A lot of those friends happen to be gay.  Ok, fine. I am a straight girl with an overabundance of gay guy friends.  Call me a "Fag Hag" or a "Fruit Fly" or any other of the number of names for it.  (I've heard "Queer Dear" and "Flame Dame" already.  Anybody have any others?)  I'm slowly coming to terms with the stereotypical nature of that.  It's not that I don't like the titles - they're actually quite clever - but I just can't bring myself to really own it.  I'm not a girl who seeks out the company of gay men.  It just sort of...happened.  A good friend came out of the closet.  Then I met his new boyfriend.  Then I met his new boyfriend's friends.  Then I met his boyfriend's friends' friends.  You can see where I'm going with this.  It sort of spiraled out of control.  But that is an amazing thing.  I've reached the age where I only want to spend time with people that I actually enjoy spending time with and who seem to actually enjoy spending time with me.  Gone are the college days of spending hours on end with people that I needed to have a buzz just to be around and couldn't trust with my secrets.  Somehow, after years of just wandering around from friend group to friend group aimlessly, I accidentally stumbled upon the most amazing community.  These people accept people for who they are!  Ok, sure, they are also incredibly critical of and gossipy about everybody, but they do accept them.  These friends are just like any other group of friends who share something in common and can relate to one another. In our case, it just happens to be men.  Oh, and the love of fun.

We do have a lot of fun.  Honestly, I've had more fun in the last year of my life than all the years before it.  So I guess I'll just be writing about that.  I'm not really sure where this is going.  Mostly I'm writing this blog so that when people say "wow, you know, you should really write a book about this", I can respond with something other than "ummm....no".  Now I can say "well, actually I do have a blog".  It'll make me seem important.  I'll try to change the names to protect the, well, not-so-innocent, but some of us have nicknames - nicknames that are just too clever and amazing to not be shared.  But I'll change real names.  Somebody is totally going to be named Bartholomew!  That name is so not used often enough.  Neither is Myrtle.  Oooo, this is going to be fun.