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.