October 8, 2012

Why I Should Be Queen Of The Fag Hags...

The hubby and I are away on vacation for a couple of weeks (vacation blog posts to follow), and Alfie is being spoiled by his grandparents, so this blog will look a bit different for now...  I have pre-written a couple of things, and I have asked a few fab bloggy friends to guest post. They will class this joint up for sure.

Please continue to read and comment and tweet these posts out, I will catch up on all of it when we are back!

Here's some wisdom and spirituality from the wise and funny Mary McCarthy, aka MaryMac, one of my favourites, who is big-time blogger at pajamas and coffee, and super funny tweeter at @marymac. I love Mary, even though she calls me "Brahmy" in this post....

Although I am honestly a completely straight woman (believe me, I tried be a lesbian but unfortunately I’m not cool enough for it, plus I like dick), I love the gays.

I mean I really love the gays. Everything about the gays is the awesome. Your clothes, your hair, your shoes, your smell, your makeup, your cars, your houses, your decorating, your food… and I’d be remiss here at Alfred’s house not to mention… your pets.

I have never understood people who have a problem with gays. Other than the fact that they are obviously homophobic douchebags, I can only guess that they also secretly are gay and can’t admit it to themselves because their parents are conservative Republicans or something. Those people need to all be put on an island so that a.) we don’t have to deal with their repressed, boring asses and b.) they can all have big gay secret island orgies and then get the fuck over themselves.

As you might guess, one of the biggest influences in my upbringing was a 70s hippie lesbian acoustic guitar-playing, pot smoking lesbian aunt (she’s now actually a he and is my uncle, so I am a trans fan, too). Then-Aunt Terry brought me to the Philadelphia Folk Festival (I’m still high from the contact smoke 30 years later), played Grateful Dead in her incense-filled apartment for me, and bought me a subscription to Ms. Magazine for my 12th birthday. All of these things contributed to my love for the gays.

I will never forget my first gay boy crush. He was handsome and funny and charming and well dressed and brilliant and he had antiques and I wanted him to stop being gay so that he could marry me and I could get him to put some of his sperm in a turkey baster since he couldn’t get it up for me but so I could still have his perfect, gay baby. I was heartbroken to discover that he was really committed to penises and would not in fact embrace the concept of my vagina.

He was the first in many of my dysfunctional gay man crushes, none of which are perhaps as strong as the one I have for Brahm. Sigh. Thanks for letting me guest post, today, Brahmy. You know that you are my gay Canadian boyfriend and that if you ever turned straight I would take the first train to Canada (are there trains to Canada from Maryland?) to be with you even though I hate dogs. I guess the dog thing would be a deal breaker (especially in combination with the tits), but let’s just say I think you are magical and wonderful like the Wizard of Oz, only with a better shade of green because that Technicolor shit was tacky.

Anyhow, I would just like to say that if there is ever an election, or something tragic happens to Kathy Griffin, I am willing to stand up and represent straight women as the Queen of the Fag Hags. Needless to say I will expect a fucking fantastic coronation ceremony, stunning velvet robes and a crown that would shame Kate Middleton. And also really good food with bacon (real American bacon, not that shit you have up in Canada). And Grey Goose dirty martinis. And also cupcakes; I think red velvet, because they seem pretty royal.

I will represent you well. I will slander and libel conservative anti-gay douchebag motherfuckers every day, listen to you as you bitch and moan about one another being little bitches, and tell you how perfectly perfect you look and smell at all times. On Sundays, I will peruse the New York Times marriage section to look at pictures of the gay marriages and talk shit about who married up or down and who looks like death or looks fab.

And then mostly I will just sit in my castle (I mentioned there would be a castle, yes?) looking like the amazing Fag Hag Queen I am, and spend my days happily being surrounded by gays, because straight people are completely lame.