So, I was watching Ru Paul's Drag Race last night, as I’m wont to do on a Monday. As I’m eating my ice cream and wondering if Sahara can be my real life best friend (I don’t know why, I just love her), I was thrown by a shocking piece of news from Nicole Paige Brooks:
She has a son!!
Nicole is not the first DQ to talk about her child. In the first episode Tyra Sanchez showed Ru a picture of his son, Jeremiah. This first reveal threw me for a fruit loop, but I reasoned that perhaps this was a result of Tyra’s one foray into hetero sex—after all, his son was born when Tyra was in high school.
However, when Nicole Paige Brooks talked about missing her son, I was almost unable to handle the truth. I don’t know if I’m okay with the heterosexuality of contestants on RuPaul’s Drag Race.
I think this means I’m heterophobic.
This wouldn't really surprise me, seeing as for the last 3 months I’ve only hung out with homosexual men and women, even doing a stand up set at a show called “The Back Room.” (get it? Like butts)
Lord knows that for a blacktress, a day without a gay is like a day without sunshine, but perhaps my love is starting to run so deep that it’s making all heteros scary to me.
Is this possible?
Gentle readers, I know a man can wear women’s clothing and be heterosexual. I am open to this truth, and agree that gender is a performance. But it's one thing to like the feel of a soft silk on your scrotum, and quite another to be in the running to become America’s next drag superstar…isn’t it?
My mind is blown, and I can only hope more contestants reveal themselves to be biological fathers. Hopefully this can show another element of the art of drag and start a dialogue on fluidity of sexuality that people aren’t delving into.
Who knew Ru could be such an activist? She’s revoking stereotypes and educating us all!!! She knew BHM was the time to go there. People are all happy, watching their Black Movies On Demand (seriously, Black movies are on demand on cable), feeling proud of their president and what not. Ru knew that she could get her message across now—striking while the iron was hot (and culturally aware).
While I’m going to have to come to grips with my own heterophobia, I don’t know if it will be remedied any time soon. After all, tonight is the premiere of season 2 of “16 and Pregnant”! If watching middle-America teens struggle with getting knocked up doesn’t give you reason enough to put the kibosh on hetero love, I don’t know what does.
(This is how I cope with being single.)
I wish I could end all my posts with an image of myself jumping into a full split, like drag queen Mystique. She's seriously mastered the art of the dramatic exit. (I couldn't find a youtube clip of her splits, but trust me, one will be up soon.)
Showing posts with label Single life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Single life. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Monday, August 17, 2009
If I lived in Charlotte....
So, this summer has proven itself to be the Summer of New Lows (more on that later). I'm actually in a place of acceptance, as I roll solo and try to keep myself entertained in this jobless world. Much of my time involves sitting at bar 99 Below, where I chat with Ollie, a 6'6" Irishman who I like to refer to as 'heterosexuality's greatest loss.' He's also, in true Irish fashion, a champion drinker and thanks to him I now have the tolerance of a sailor on leave! Every trip to 99 Below ends with a boost, either from the buzz of too much Jameson, or the meeting of a random, such as the 45-year-old married guy last Tuesday, who told me that the only reason I was single is because men my age can't handle what a dynamic woman I am.
Anyhoo, so Friday night, after a dinner with a friend, I headed to 99 Below.
Yes, by myself.
Yes, at prime bar-hopping hour.
This is no different than walking the streets of Sydney on my own, and at least I get free drinks when I'm at 99. I also find it much more tolerable to interact with strangers than frenemies, so this solo roll is often my own doing.
So, I'm planted at the bar, chatting up Ollie, when these two random dudes come up to order their Budweiser. Ever the enabler, Ollie goes, "you want shots, fellas?" The shorter one with the spikier hair turns to me and asks, "do you want one?" Never one to turn down a free drink, I agree, and of course, the group shot makes us all new best friends.
The DJ is playing early 90s jams, starting with Montell Jordan, and going all the way from Boyz II Men, to ABC, to BBD--the east coast family! We're singing along and their reminiscing about college, and the dudes automatically assume I'm their age, cause I know all the words. They made some joke about "the 25 years olds on the side who just want to hear The Killers," and I fake laughed, waiting for the right moment to tell them I'm in that age bracket.
Spikey haired dude introduces himself as Ryan, and he tells me he's visiting his buddy from Charlotte, NC. His friend Mark, who has lived in NYC 7 years, is quite standoffish, but I don't mind cause he has an overgrown soul patch.
Not one to go down the same road twice, I instantly ask Ryan why he's not wearing his wedding ring. He's taken aback, as he hasn't mentioned a wife. He laughs, and explains that it's back at Mark's house.
"You're good," he says.
Ryan goes on to say how much he loves NYC, and how close he and Mark are. "Seriously, it's my two daughters, then this guy."
Um, what about his wife? I think I need to get Dr. Phil on the horn, cause this marriage sounds like it's full of hate-fucking.
As we talk, and after I reveal my age, Ryan says, "you're the smartest person I've ever talked to at a bar." Clearly, this is true, but it's also sad. What is with men's low standards for people--and women especially? As soon as I string together a sentence--and especially if it ends in a punchline--the dude loses his shit and can't cope. The rest of our conversation was so magical, I feel as though it must be transcribed.
Ryan: What are you doing here by yourself?
Me: I'm a lone wolf.
Ryan: What? You're not here with anyone?
Me: I live on the edge, on the fringes.
Ryan: I don't understand what you're doing here alone.
Mark (suddenly at attention, super excited): Dude, this is what I'm talking 'bout! This is what's so awesome about New York! Hot girls all over the place, none of them have boyfriends. Hot girls, just sitting by themselves, dude!
[I laugh, the sad laughter of a clown]
Ryan (looking wide-eyed and thrown, as though he just found out one of his daughters was pregnant): Dude, that is crazy.
Mark: That's why I fucking love this city!
Ryan (to me): If you were in Charlotte, you'd have 17 boyfriends right now.
Mark: You'd have a husband, 6 kids, and a big ol' house, baby.
Me: Um, can I fly back with you tomorrow, Ry?
[laughter ensues]
Mark: So, does that mean I can take you out for dinner on Sunday?
Me: What?
Mark (to Ryan): See how they do? (to me) Seriously, dinner Sunday?
Me: Oh, I can't, I'm busy.
Mark: What about Monday?
Me: I have an improv class, 7 to 10.
Mark (to Ryan): And that's another thing about New York, dude--every one of them's a fucking actress!!
[They laugh as I playfully hit Mark kinda hard in the shoulder and am not joking at all.]
Me: Whatever, dude. Okay, then, what about Wednesday?
[I'm not even all that interested in this dude, but his reverse psychology is working like a charm, and it really gets my goat when someone hears I'm a blacktress or comedian, and instantly writes off all my positive traits as being "on," or full of shit.]
Mark: Oh, um, I can't. I have to travel for work.
Me: Where?
Mark: I'm going to Dubai.
Me (to Ryan): And that's why I can't date in New York. They've all gotta go to Dubai!!
[laughter ensues]
Ryan: You're seriously the smartest woman I've ever met.
Mark: See, dude? They're all busy though. That's the thing that sucks. They've all got an improv class and a show and an opening, and a wine and cheese party?
Me: What?
Mark: You heard me, wine and cheese!
Me: Whatever, dude, you know you love it. You love that I'm fucking busy, cause it makes you think I'm cool as hell.
[Mark cracks up, and high fives me.]
Me: So, why are you single, if NYC is so great? You're southern and, what, 37? What's your damage?
[Mark laughs again, and Ryan joins in, but neither of them answer. Most curious indeed.]
Mark: You're not free Tuesday?
Me: I thought you leave for Dubai on Tuesday?
Mark: I do, at night.
[What kind of Dubai flight is this, where he can have a dinner date beforehand? Are we going to grab a bite at the Chili's Too in JFK Airport?]
Me: Whatever, call me when you get back.
Mark: That's in, like, a week. This connection will fizzle by then.
[What connection?]
Me: No it won't. You won't meet anyone cooler than me in the next 10 days, let's be real.
[There's much laughter, and Mark high fives me yet again.]
Ryan: You're the smartest woman I've ever met. You should come live in Charlotte.
After 5 free dranks on these two southern gents, I must say, hopping on a midnight train to Charlotte started to look pretty damn good.
Oh, and obvi I have not heard from soul patch. Goes to show that even the most southern of gentlemen can still become tainted by the NYC. You know, the city that never sleeps...with the same girl twice.
Anyhoo, so Friday night, after a dinner with a friend, I headed to 99 Below.
Yes, by myself.
Yes, at prime bar-hopping hour.
This is no different than walking the streets of Sydney on my own, and at least I get free drinks when I'm at 99. I also find it much more tolerable to interact with strangers than frenemies, so this solo roll is often my own doing.
So, I'm planted at the bar, chatting up Ollie, when these two random dudes come up to order their Budweiser. Ever the enabler, Ollie goes, "you want shots, fellas?" The shorter one with the spikier hair turns to me and asks, "do you want one?" Never one to turn down a free drink, I agree, and of course, the group shot makes us all new best friends.
The DJ is playing early 90s jams, starting with Montell Jordan, and going all the way from Boyz II Men, to ABC, to BBD--the east coast family! We're singing along and their reminiscing about college, and the dudes automatically assume I'm their age, cause I know all the words. They made some joke about "the 25 years olds on the side who just want to hear The Killers," and I fake laughed, waiting for the right moment to tell them I'm in that age bracket.
Spikey haired dude introduces himself as Ryan, and he tells me he's visiting his buddy from Charlotte, NC. His friend Mark, who has lived in NYC 7 years, is quite standoffish, but I don't mind cause he has an overgrown soul patch.
Not one to go down the same road twice, I instantly ask Ryan why he's not wearing his wedding ring. He's taken aback, as he hasn't mentioned a wife. He laughs, and explains that it's back at Mark's house.
"You're good," he says.
Ryan goes on to say how much he loves NYC, and how close he and Mark are. "Seriously, it's my two daughters, then this guy."
Um, what about his wife? I think I need to get Dr. Phil on the horn, cause this marriage sounds like it's full of hate-fucking.
As we talk, and after I reveal my age, Ryan says, "you're the smartest person I've ever talked to at a bar." Clearly, this is true, but it's also sad. What is with men's low standards for people--and women especially? As soon as I string together a sentence--and especially if it ends in a punchline--the dude loses his shit and can't cope. The rest of our conversation was so magical, I feel as though it must be transcribed.
Ryan: What are you doing here by yourself?
Me: I'm a lone wolf.
Ryan: What? You're not here with anyone?
Me: I live on the edge, on the fringes.
Ryan: I don't understand what you're doing here alone.
Mark (suddenly at attention, super excited): Dude, this is what I'm talking 'bout! This is what's so awesome about New York! Hot girls all over the place, none of them have boyfriends. Hot girls, just sitting by themselves, dude!
[I laugh, the sad laughter of a clown]
Ryan (looking wide-eyed and thrown, as though he just found out one of his daughters was pregnant): Dude, that is crazy.
Mark: That's why I fucking love this city!
Ryan (to me): If you were in Charlotte, you'd have 17 boyfriends right now.
Mark: You'd have a husband, 6 kids, and a big ol' house, baby.
Me: Um, can I fly back with you tomorrow, Ry?
[laughter ensues]
Mark: So, does that mean I can take you out for dinner on Sunday?
Me: What?
Mark (to Ryan): See how they do? (to me) Seriously, dinner Sunday?
Me: Oh, I can't, I'm busy.
Mark: What about Monday?
Me: I have an improv class, 7 to 10.
Mark (to Ryan): And that's another thing about New York, dude--every one of them's a fucking actress!!
[They laugh as I playfully hit Mark kinda hard in the shoulder and am not joking at all.]
Me: Whatever, dude. Okay, then, what about Wednesday?
[I'm not even all that interested in this dude, but his reverse psychology is working like a charm, and it really gets my goat when someone hears I'm a blacktress or comedian, and instantly writes off all my positive traits as being "on," or full of shit.]
Mark: Oh, um, I can't. I have to travel for work.
Me: Where?
Mark: I'm going to Dubai.
Me (to Ryan): And that's why I can't date in New York. They've all gotta go to Dubai!!
[laughter ensues]
Ryan: You're seriously the smartest woman I've ever met.
Mark: See, dude? They're all busy though. That's the thing that sucks. They've all got an improv class and a show and an opening, and a wine and cheese party?
Me: What?
Mark: You heard me, wine and cheese!
Me: Whatever, dude, you know you love it. You love that I'm fucking busy, cause it makes you think I'm cool as hell.
[Mark cracks up, and high fives me.]
Me: So, why are you single, if NYC is so great? You're southern and, what, 37? What's your damage?
[Mark laughs again, and Ryan joins in, but neither of them answer. Most curious indeed.]
Mark: You're not free Tuesday?
Me: I thought you leave for Dubai on Tuesday?
Mark: I do, at night.
[What kind of Dubai flight is this, where he can have a dinner date beforehand? Are we going to grab a bite at the Chili's Too in JFK Airport?]
Me: Whatever, call me when you get back.
Mark: That's in, like, a week. This connection will fizzle by then.
[What connection?]
Me: No it won't. You won't meet anyone cooler than me in the next 10 days, let's be real.
[There's much laughter, and Mark high fives me yet again.]
Ryan: You're the smartest woman I've ever met. You should come live in Charlotte.
After 5 free dranks on these two southern gents, I must say, hopping on a midnight train to Charlotte started to look pretty damn good.
Oh, and obvi I have not heard from soul patch. Goes to show that even the most southern of gentlemen can still become tainted by the NYC. You know, the city that never sleeps...with the same girl twice.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Passport to Freedom
Dear Readers/Equals,
I am heading to Europe to spread the truth. Starting Wednesday, I will spend 3 days in London, where I will say “Frosted Flakes” when they say “Cheerio!” and then head to Barcelona, where I will tell LA VERDAD! Though it may seem odd to leave this country on one of our highest of holy days-- Thanksgiving-- I feel it is on the day of celebrating the oppression of a minority that I must escape.
I’m excited for this getaway primarily because the United States is heaping oppression on me like we’re back in slave days. How, you may ask?
1. I did not get the co-op. Apparently, I’m not good enough to live in a newly renovated crack den. Fine then, let them gentrify it and don’t blame me when the Columbia kids leave the doors unlocked and everyone gets jacked!!
2. I was rejected by a 25 year old actor who is new to this fair city and has one testicle. Um, excuse me? While I was initially drawn to the fact that he was a survivor, and could perhaps relate to oppression and darkness (as well as the dark woman), it turns out I really should have focused on the most important part of his identity: he’s an ACTOR. Though I am a blacktress, and appreciate the artistic yearning, actors often have the following traits which prevent them from being true:
- They are egotistical.Hollywood tart-let. Clearly, the quest for the winter spoon is not going so well. So I now pack my bags, head to foreign lands, and hope for the best. And by “the best” I mean, “copious amounts of food, non-awkward fetishizing of my Nubian beauty, and sexy accents.”
Wish me luck. I may not return.
I am heading to Europe to spread the truth. Starting Wednesday, I will spend 3 days in London, where I will say “Frosted Flakes” when they say “Cheerio!” and then head to Barcelona, where I will tell LA VERDAD! Though it may seem odd to leave this country on one of our highest of holy days-- Thanksgiving-- I feel it is on the day of celebrating the oppression of a minority that I must escape.
I’m excited for this getaway primarily because the United States is heaping oppression on me like we’re back in slave days. How, you may ask?
1. I did not get the co-op. Apparently, I’m not good enough to live in a newly renovated crack den. Fine then, let them gentrify it and don’t blame me when the Columbia kids leave the doors unlocked and everyone gets jacked!!
2. I was rejected by a 25 year old actor who is new to this fair city and has one testicle. Um, excuse me? While I was initially drawn to the fact that he was a survivor, and could perhaps relate to oppression and darkness (as well as the dark woman), it turns out I really should have focused on the most important part of his identity: he’s an ACTOR. Though I am a blacktress, and appreciate the artistic yearning, actors often have the following traits which prevent them from being true:
- They are egotistical.
- They are broke
- They sleep on twin-sized air mattresses.
- They live in non-renovated crack dens.
But they also often have a charm and charisma which is dangerous when unleashed. And I must admit I was the victim of yet another performer, another player on life’s stage. And he indeed played me—much like a remake of a Shakespearean drama starring the latestWish me luck. I may not return.
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