Category Archives: Gay

"Butcha are, Blanche….ya are in that wheelchair!"

I’m quite an easy target when it comes to my lack of knowledge concerning gay history. I’ve really had to work hard to fill in the gaps in my knowledge. To be more specific, I’m especially lacking in the Bette Davis era of gay pop culture icons. (If you didn’t already know, the title of this post is from What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? starring Bette Davis)

Early on in Jeff and I’s relationship we were at our friends’ apartment enjoying a game night. It was a fun game night, really. We each were given a picture of a gay celebrity or icon to place on our forehead. Then we were to walk around the room and give each other clues as to whom was taped to each other’s forehead. It wasn’t long until I was the only one in the room still wearing his iconic crown of shame.

“She’s a brunette.”

“She played Rachel’s mom on ‘Friends.'”

“She starred in ‘That Girl.'”

“She’s on those St. Jude’s commercials.”

And it continued…

Finally, after much prodding they just “came out” and told me. Clearly expecting the light bulb to final light up, they exclaim, “It’s Marlo Thomas!!!!” I have no clue who Marlo Thomas is. And, I can only vaguely remember the pretty brunette that played Rachel’s mom. I say, “Seriously. I don’t know who Marlo Thomas is.” The next sound heard in the room was that of about 6 chins hitting the floor, followed by silence and disbelief. I think that Jeff was over in the corner crying with embarrassment.

Clearly, something was wrong with me. And, that’s when it happened. The first time, anyway. My gay card was taken away. To a room full of gay men and my straight friends Shahla and Rich, who both have “gay cards” in their own way, it was like finding a gold mine. Several years later they still joke about it.

Several weeks following the horrifying event, Jeff and I went back over for dinner. Immediately after we finished dinner, our friends Kirk and Jaime held a gay intervention for me. They made me sit and look at a stack full of pictures of gay icons. Actually, it was another game. Name the icon. And, I guessed about 75% of them correctly. Not surprisingly, I had trouble with the older ones. Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Charles Pierce, etc. etc. The important thing is that, technically speaking, I passed. So, I received my card back. For the time being, anyway.

Honestly, I never knew what I was missing. Growing up in rural Iowa and then going to Bible college–I just wasn’t really ever exposed to these fabulous people. And, what’s worse is that I didn’t know anything about Harvey Milk or the Stonewall Riots. Fortunately, I have educated myself on these and other important moments/people in gay history. But, up until about ten years ago I had a gay IQ of about 2.

I knew 2 things in high school:

1) Guys gave me a funny feeling in my stomach.

2) I loved the Pleasantville High School Drill Team.

Those heavenly girls on the drill team squad rocked my world with their flashy sequined outfits and glitter-filled make-up. Of course, in 1988, boys weren’t allowed to be part of such squads. So, I sat on the sidelines in a bedazzled trance. I may not have had all the greats to look up to and imitate as a child. But, at least I had my drill team girls to give me the inspiration that was needed to create world-class flag and pom routines in the basement and front yard of my childhood home. And, if that didn’t earn me my “gay card,” then no amount of Bette Davis one-liners ever will!

***UPDATE***
Almost immediately after this post went up, I received an interesting comment that can be read below. Evidently, you can’t just say you have a gay card. You need to pay the “Fairy Gay Mother” a hefty price and she’ll be happy to send you one. Fun website. Not so fun prices. Clearly it is expensive to be gay.

Here’s me and “That Girl.”

Here she is now, my claim to shame, Miss Marlo Thomas!
Marlo Thomas

Miss America…LIVE!

Yesterday, Jeff and I made ourselves sick with the amount of TV we watched. I hate when that happens. I just didn’t know when to quit. I think this is how Jeff put it: “I feel gross.” And frankly, I did too. I think what really pushed it over the edge was watching Miss America…Live!, the culmination of a 4-week Miss America reality show and 2-hour re-creation of the Miss America Pageant.

Let me start by saying that I love beauty pageants. I grew up watching the Miss America pageant. And, I loved every minute of it’s plastic glory. I dreamed of saying:

“I’m Tyler Lee, a 5th grader majoring in music, and proud to be from Pleasantville, IOWA, the town where the name says it all and the state where the corn is tall! And, I want to be your next Miss America!”

I would sit in overly-eager anticipation waiting for the real Miss Iowa to take her turn at the microphone. I would sit and think, “Now she has a chance!” And, every year the title would go to some bimbo from Oklahoma or Texas or California. Oh, Miss Iowa often made it to the final 10, but the crown would inevitably go to someone who could sing “opera” or play the “violin,” never to Miss Iowa, who could only juggle flaming ears of corn. Have you ever juggled flaming ears of corn?

I didn’t think so.

And, I wasn’t disappointed last night to see that Miss Iowa was just as plastic as always–even after the 4-week reality series that was aimed at teaching the contestants how to be more real. I knew it would never work. Miss Iowa wouldn’t crack. She was totally a Stepford Wife. Minus the husband, of course. And, she was a finalist. But, alas, she didn’t win. But, she could have, if they hadn’t made this ridiculous push to make the contestants “real.”

I guess “real” to whomever runs the pageant means that girls wear jeans and tank tops, and that they are allowed to do their best stripper walk during the swimsuit competition. I kept on waiting for someone to drop it like it’s hot. Oh yeah, we also got to hear why they chose their evening gowns. Which, just made them seem more annoying and less worthy of the title Miss America.

I think what I always loved about the pageant as a kid was the fact that they didn’t quite seem real. I think that they called it “poised.” I would sit and wait for someone to mess up or trip or stutter. Then, I would think…Amateur. But, those days are gone. They’re all amateur. Except for good ol’ Miss Iowa. Tough as nails, nothing could wipe that smile off her face.

Here’s a great clip from the 80s. Do you remember when they would actually sing the opening song? This has everything that was great about the pageant…

The Real Wedding Singer

Jeff and I were watching TV this weekend and happened to surf past The Wedding Singer, starring Adam Sandler (Robbie Hart) and Drew Barrymore (Julia Sullivan). Oh, that takes me back. You remember the movie, right? You know…Adam Sandler plays a washed up wedding singer whose fiancé walks out on him at the altar. Drew Barrymore plays a catering server who ends up falling for Adam’s character, and dumps her fiancé (whose last name is Gulia, which would have made her name Julia Gulia).

Needless to say, unless you like hearing Adam Sandler doing 80’s covers, this movie itself is washed up. So, we kept on surfing. But, of course, that movie always reminds me of my college days. Not because it was set in the 80’s, but because I was a real wedding singer back in the 90s.

I never did it for a living, though. I was kind of like the girl who is always the bridesmaid and never the bride. I have sang in more weddings than I care to remember. And, I have to admit it straight away…I hate weddings! Here’s why…

I think they are ridiculous. Not in a “oh, bless her heart…can you believe she wants that in her wedding…” type of way, but in a “these people ain’t right” type of way. Seriously, I know what I’m talking about here–these people ain’t right. One of the bonuses of being the wedding singer/musician (sometimes I just had to play the piano) was that I got an up close view of how horrible everything really was, but I didn’t have to actually stand up with the wedding party and pretend to like it. You have to know what I am talking about here–think bridesmaid dresses, gaudy flowers, etc. etc. I got to sit over in the corner and crack jokes or just shake my head in disbelief.

The number one reason that I hate weddings is clear. I can’t deal with the entitlement that goes along with it. It’s this attitude that says, “This is my day! I deserve to get whatever I want!” Ugh. I totally grossed myself out just typing it. I’ve actually seen brides throw temper-tantrums.

The second reason is that because they are entitled, they will put anything that they want in their wedding. And this is where I was always personally affected. If I ever sing at another wedding, there are several things that I swear on my severely sprained ankle that I won’t sing…The Wedding Song (There is Love). No way. No more Peter, Paul and Mary songs! Also, no more Everything I Do (I Do It for You). And, definitely, positively no more Chicago songs. You know…You’re the Inspiration. I just have to put my foot down. Ouch!

Most of the people’s weddings that I sang in were friends, so, I have probably just offended them all. Oh well, they need to know these things for their second or third weddings. Which brings me to the third reason I hate weddings. Freebies. Now, keep in mind, most of these weddings happened prior to my career as a flight attendant. I had to pay to fly everywhere. And, people just love to have their special day at locations that could not be possibly more inconvenient. I actually “opted” out of going to my sister’s and my brother’s weddings because they were too far removed–i.e. waaaaay too expensive to fly to.

But, as for my “friends,” I cannot tell you all of the outrageous things that were expected of me pro bono. I actually had one “friend” in college get mad at me because I told him I couldn’t afford to pay the $600 for the airfare to come and sing at his wedding (for free). The most common thing that people would ask me to do for free is what I call “filler.” Basically it went like this: they would discover at the last minute that their poorly planned wedding had gaps in it. Oh yeah, why don’t we just have the pianist play something there. “Oh, pianist, can you just play a little something while we wait for the bride to get ready?” That’s why I always came to weddings with loads of piano books. Better to be prepared.

Weddings bring out people’s true character. In mothers who may normally appear to be sweet and harmless you see the inner control freak. In fathers who may normally appear to be dominant and controlling you see that they really just don’t give a shit. And, in brides who may normally appear to be totally in love with the groom, you see that they are much more in love with the wedding than with him.

Wow, I just let out some seriously pent-up feelings about this subject. I feel much better now.

I can’t end a blog post about weddings without at least telling my funniest wedding experience. First, I fully support gay marriage. I fully believe that we should have the right to marry whomever and however we want. That doesn’t mean that I actually want to have a wedding ceremony. Especially, after I went to my first gay wedding.

It was several years ago. The grooms decided to incorporate a plethora of cultural practices into their ceremony, in order to honor the diversity of their beliefs, I guess. So, it started with both of the grooms being carried in by the wedding party while the entire congregation repeatedly sang a song entitled He Carried Me. Subtle, I know. At another point the grooms sprinkled rose petals over the entire congregation. This was followed by one of the grooms playing You Are My Sunshine on his violin. And, the highlight was when the grooms got dressed up as pink bunny rabbits for the congregation. I shit you not.

Some people just ain’t right.

I’m a victim.

I’m a victim. Yeah, yeah…I know everyone thinks that they are a victim. But, seriously, I am a victim. Jesus. There, I said it. I feel soooo much better. Wait…actually, now that I said it, it doesn’t sound quite right–I am a survivor. There. I like that much better.

I am a youth choir survivor. This may not initially sound like a big deal, but, it is. You know, youth choirs…think cheesy music and choreography. Sort of like Up With People, just not as “polished.” My first (that’s right, there was more than one!) choir was called Harmony, Inc. It was a youth choir that got together for a month every summer to rehearse and tour and evangelize the vastly pagan area of our country called the Midwest. Of course, we had thousands of converts. 😉

It was during one of these tours that I met a brassy soprano named Laura. Laura was everything a young gay boy could hope for in a “girlfriend.” She was big, both in size and personality. She styled her overly-curled blonde hair so that the back of her hair was hanging over her forehead. She was sort of like an early 80s version of Madonna, only on steroids. Clearly from the moment we met, we were destined to be together. In many ways, she was one of the most bizarre looking people I had ever seen. Laura was a misfit–truly, one of my peeps. So, of course, we instantly hit it off. Most important to this story, however, Laura was a drama queen. Literally. She was the president of her Thespian troupe. So, it is no surprise that our whirlwind relationship had all the workings of a Shakespearean tragedy. Our love was not to be…

Following a particularly emotional choir rehearsal, she approached me and said, “We’ve lost our spark.”

“Huh?” (I was like totally articulate in high school)

“You know, when we first met, there was a spark between the two of us…well, it’s gone.”

“Are we breaking up?”

“Let’s just be friends.”

It was at this point that I first mastered the fine art of holding a grudge. I also learned how to so completely ignore someone that it caused them acute pain. At least, in my head, that was the case. I continue, to this day, to excel at both of these skills.

If Laura wanted to “just be friends,” I would kill her with my glares or lack thereof. I’d teach her a real life lesson: Don’t mess with a confused gay teenage boy. I have a feeling I wasn’t the only one to teach her that lesson. Somehow, I managed to survive the following weeks by pouring my angst into the music. I could force the tears out at the height of a song. Unfortunately, so could my ex-girlfriend. It became a weeping contest. All would see that I was truly a spiritual person who had been through a lot–more than Laura. It all was really great drama. At least, until the director approached us after one of our concerts and asked if we could “control our emotions” just a little bit. How embarrassing for him–trying to stifle our pain. I’d direct my venom at him.

That would free me from being mad at Laura. We bonded over our hatred of the choir director. Of course, we became best friends.

Shhhh.

So, first an update. I probably am going to have to give up the battle of the smoker. There are just too many of them. Seriously, every time I walk by that laundry mat, there is someone smoking at the front door. In fact, yesterday when I was walking by there was even someone smoking inside the laundry mat. None of the other places in my neighborhood have this problem. I suppose I can win this fight by just going someplace else. It’s just so close…(If you have no idea what I am talking about, read my blog post entitled Taking a stand one pair of undies at a time….)

I’ve been thinking a lot about rights this week. Mostly, why is no one concerned with mine? Maybe it’s because Governor Schwarzenegger vetoed a California gay-marriage bill for the second time this past week. Or, because a co-worker “shhhed” me at work when I was talking about my boyfriend Jeff. But, I’ll get to that in a second.

I admit, I am clearly too sensitive about this. I can’t help it. All my life, I have been a chronic people pleaser. My problem is serious. It really is the battle of my life. I’m winning this battle on small fronts, but, I will probably always struggle with this. For God’s sake (pun intended), I put myself through 6 years of Bible college and denied my sexuality for this reason! I wanted to make my parents happy, my church happy, God happy. And, I thought that if I could make them happy then maybe I would have a chance at being happy. It’s clear that I was wrong. I got the order wrong. I should have been first on that list. Perhaps, I should have been the only one on that list.

Damn. I can really get stuck on an issue, can’t I? My point is this, I spend waaaaaaay too much time worrying about how loud I am on my cell phone, the volume of my TV at night, am I disturbing anyone, etc. etc. etc. etc… It’s the struggle of the people pleaser. I don’t really want to become a selfish, narcissistic prick either. That’s not my goal. But, somewhere there lies a balance. It starts with me taking small stands for myself.

So, back to the work incident. Some background first…flight attendants do lots of talking. Too much, actually. They talk about the passengers. They talk about other flight attendants. They talk about the latest US Weekly. And, mostly, they talk incessantly about themselves. Being the chronic people pleaser that I am, I usually end up listening. And listening. And listening. You get the idea. So, when someone actually asks me anything about me, I jump on the opportunity. Last week my co-worker asked me if I was in a relationship.

Delighted to be asked, I responded, “Yes, I have a boyfriend. His name is Jeff. He’s a food stylist.”

My straight male co-worker said, “Oh, cool, do you live together?”

Amazed at his interest I answered, “Nope. But, he lives nearby…we spend a lot of time at my place of the weekends, though.”

“Shhhhh.” The straight guy said, “Prying ears are listening.”

“Excuse me?”

“Shhhhh.” He points and uses the international sign for me to be quiet.

Now, mind you, at this point in the flight I have already listened to him talk directly in front of passengers about his wife, her job, their arguments, the amount of sleep she usually gets, the amount of sex he usually gets, etc. etc. etc. etc. I was tucked away in the corner of the galley and not talking very loudly about anything racy at all.

So, told him, “Listen, you asked. And, I have every right to talk about my boyfriend Jeff. I have nothing to be ashamed of…”

To which, he turned and walked away. It’s just your typical “straight” male flight attendant arrogance–constantly trying to de-gayify the job. They usually feel that they have a lot to prove, working in a field dominated by women and gay men. They overcompensate.

I’m proud of myself, though. I’ve worked hard at not feeling shame for being gay. Especially, since it is a feeling mostly placed on me by others who are not comfortable with my sexual orientation. It’s interesting to me that he felt no embarrassment in trying to hush me. He just wanted me to feel shame in talking about the most important person in my life. It’s obvious where the real shame here lies.