You straight guys got it sooo good. Unless you’re a racehorse and break your leg, your peers are not going turn their backs on you and plug their ears when someone puts you out of your misery for not being able to keep up your form or snap out a one-liner like you used to.
I was always a little bit too too for some but my caustic charm and self-assured disposition was like an impenetrable force field that kept the down-their nosers at the gay bars from stepping over me in the homo-hierarchy. And I was always friends with the real A-listers who shopped at all the right places and wore all the right labels. Most of you only know them from afar. You know, the ones with the six-pack abs and the perfectly manscaped chest hair? Like the gay dude your wife keeps telling you she wants you all to hang out with after he colors her hair?
My problem here is that I didn’t grow up to be that leopard patterned ascot wearing queer at the end of the bar that is always sooo amusing that everybody still buys his drinks for him. I thought I’d be him, but I didn’t turn out so colorful. And I never really did have a full-on six-pack, not that I worked for anyway. (Can you say 90s & spell exstasy?) Add that to the fact that I have always hated shopping and now I mostly hang out at straight bars, I watch sports sometimes, I don’t like watching Pride Parades (love being in them tho) and, although you can’t really tell from my blog, I just like to play nice in social settings anymore. All of this makes for is a forced retirement from the gay scene and I’m not sure how I feel about that.
Oh sure, you and I have become best buds through your wife after I did her hair color that Wednesday night she had me and my boyfriend over to watch the Packers play Arizona. We all got along so well over wine and chili that we were worried we’d never see each other again because the Packers were loosing and your sports-freak of a wife would have thought either me or my boyfriend were the jinx and that would have been the end of that. Thank God they won, that night. But you will never know the pressure of being a gay guy; to look just so, or to be in the right pack, to have to listen to endless hours of show tunes or become skilled at spitting the perfect comeback to a lobed attack from a younger cuter gay. As a gay guy you have to be the party or know everyone at the party or at least throw the party to stay at the party. And when you get older and stop working at partying all the time–you are out.
I still have a few zingers left in me but I don’t know if I can take another round of pink drinks, Liza anything or stand by as yet another generation of fearless straight looking A-gays take my bar stool. Yes, there’s always Spanx and Botox, but I’m not sure if I have the energy to go shopping or even make the med-spa appointment. I think I’d rather go to the Double Door and drink beer and watch a band. I like it when it’s loud and I don’t have to talk to anybody or hold in my stomach.
On second thought: To those new generation models of gays coming through the doors of my old haunts, I can still snap your whole 2 percentage of fat body in half with just a mere glance and a real man’s drink so you better move when I do want that bar stool.
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I leave you with Buddy, a character by Scott Thomson of The Kids In The Hall. I like Buddy because he reminds me of a time when gays were gays and politically correct had not cut off everyone’s balls. As Homer Simpson said, “I like my beer cold, my TV loud and my homosexuals flaming.”