I Bow to The Queens

A few months back, I had an incredible "overheard" moment. I had arrived early (SHOCKER!) to a bar where my friends who are always late were planning to hang for the night. I knew no one, but it did not stop me from sliding my ’fatter-than-normal-lately’ ass on to a bar stool that stood at a cocktail table and quickly summon my server to bring me a Maker’s Mark on the rocks. Maker’s is something I have been drinking during these colder months. It’s nice, but too many can reek havoc the next morning. So, I generally switch to Stella as soon as I feel the bourbon buzz.
Next to my three-top cocktail table stood three boys. Although, they were all clearly over the age of 21, they were still boys. And not because of their ages, but because of what I overheard. Just to give you some visual perspective, they were all above average height, above average looks, and they all were plain and boring. Simple faces with simple haircuts (all with no variation from the other) on top of what clearly were simple minds.

In no particular order I heard things like this. (Embellishments and liberties have been taken...so roll with it.)
one boy: "I mean, I just don’t get it. Sure, I want to get married or have the right to. But the type of people that are standing up for it in the media are, like, fat lesbians, and bear daddies."
another boy: "I mean, let’s face it, it’s sort of the ugly, retarded types who want to get married. Or at least that is what it looks like. Is it mean that I just said that? I mean, you guys know what I mean, right?"
the third boy: "I totes know what you mean. (okay, so he probably didn’t say totes...but it makes the story sound oh so much better.)I just feel like there are, like, certain types of gay people. There’s, like, us. And other’s like us. And then there’s like, drag queens, and trannies, and lesbians. I just don’t get the drag queens?"
one boy: "I kinda don’t get it. I mean why can’t all gay people be more normal."

At this point, it is taking every muscle in my body to tame my tongue and lock my loud mouth. So, needless to say , I ordered another Maker’s Mark since I sucked the first one down in an attempt to bite my tongue. Chewing the straw made me drink it faster I guess. There were more things tossed around the conversation round cocktail table. Things about lesbians being "just different." There were more comments about how they love some drag queens but don’t get the others. Lots of talk of "normal." What the fuck IS Normal?

So, this is my shout out to the queens, the trannies, the ho’s, the movers and the shakers, and the button pushers, the ones who are out, the ones who are loud, the ones with bellys and hair on their chests. I fucking love you. I worship you. I idolize you. I sometimes dress up like you. I sing along to your songs. I learned how to lip synch because of you. My runway skills have gone from "Wha’ the F*K?" to "WOOOORRRRKKK!" I have scored some major free drinks because of you. I have met some crazy tranny chasers because of you. I have made friends with you. I have serenaded you. I have toasted to you and with you. I have given you jobs. I have fired you. I have dragged my ass out on my only night off to air kiss your beat face and watch you make dozens of happy homos that much happier and drunker (is that a word?). I bought your single. I celebrated your birthday. I walk proudly down the street arm and arm with you. You teach me to be unafraid. You teach me to hold my head up even higher than my arrogant ass thought I could. You make me realize what it takes to be yourself. You make it look so natural and you always look gorgeous to me! Fat, thin, goth, old school, dirty, sexy, cool, soft, sweet, singer, lipsyncher, performance artist, musician. Anyone with bravery and balls. (Literally and Figuratively)
You know who you are and you are BEAUTIFUL dammit! Despite what a table of 20-something, flat ironed, flat faced, thin browed, drab, grey, plain white T-wearin’, above average "Normal" gay BOY says!
You paved the way and still continue to do so.
I love you. I thank you.
You better work!!!

Pieces of Me

For instance, I want nothing more than a million little things with you in this very moment. I want to cry on your lap. I want to hear you sing. I want to throw popcorn in your face. I want my hair stroked by your hands. I want to slowly undress you. I want to swirl the hair on your forearms. I want to run really fast through Washington Square Park in a race. I want to take you to my favorite lil romantic wine bar. I want sleep for 12 and 1/2 hours waking up periodically to your elbow in my chin. I want you to complain about my hogging the covers. I want to push you to be more; to be better. I want you to challenge my intellect and my vocabulary. I want to know what Florida looks like with you. I want you to see beauty in the ugly of Iowa. I want to go shopping for you, with you, because of you. I want to fight at the jukebox. I want to hate Bjork...but I don't. You want to hate Kelly...but you won't. I want to gossip with you and judge all the boys that pass us by. I want your hand to fall effortlessly onto my thigh. I want my body to quiver when it does. I want to laugh, I want to kiss, I want to cry, I want to hold...even just your hand.

I will not be here waiting.
I will just be here.

I will not take these things for granted. I will only cherish and learn from all this that is bad and that is good.

Someday maybe...Someday maybe not.

Either way, in time it will bloom and grow and close up and start over again.
I will be here...if you will be. I will be here....Please be careful with me.