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Valentine's Gay - A Holiday Massacre
Writing a blog every day I'm more critical of my posts than any of the people out there in blogging land think I am of the celebrities and people I sometimes write about. But on occasion even I'm pleased with a particular post, so here it is...a re-broadcast (if you will) of a Valentine's Day blog I wrote a couple of years ago...
The thing about gays is that we can make a holiday over anything (I guess we’re a lot like Hallmark in that sense) or an un-holiday about anything. Last night while my guy and I went to see Dreamgirls (you know, had to see it one more time before it left the big screen) and had a burger to celebrate, a pal on the other side of the map (from what they tell me as I’m really bad with geography – only know left and right and never won the blue “piece of pie” in Trivial Pursuit due to my lack of knowledge of where any land mass is or how to get to it) attended an event at a local club for singles to meet and uncelebrate the day of coupling. You know, sort of like the Mad Hatter’s Very Merry Unbirthday party and song. Well, as Maureen McGovern would say (in her really short white shorts that are filthy from the ship capsizing) there’s got to be a morning after. And as my pal and I compared notes this morning, I decided to share with you Valentine’s gay - a holiday massacre – Don’t Get Me Started!
Diana Ross said of the sweetest hangover, “If there’s a cure for this, I don’t want it, don’t want it. If there’s a remedy, I’ll avoid it, avoid it. Think about it all the time and I never let it out of my mind, ‘cause I love you.” (Obviously this was before people knew about good penicillin, methadone and/or Paxil) Well, here’s the deal. I was very content to share cute greeting cards, candy and a smooch before it was off to the movies and a burger. I didn’t hand pick flowers and arrange them, I didn’t put red heart shaped doilies on the walls with silhouettes of cupids like when we were in grade school. And there was certainly no Kay Jewelers moment like they show on the commercials of a small box coming out containing that diamond something or other of which the woman in the commercial can only be thinking, “If I were to melt this down, how much could I get for it or what can I make from it? Can I pull off going to the window to see my reflection wearing this God awful thing and try to cut the glass with this at the same time to make sure it’s real without him noticing?) No, it was a quiet sort of night with my guy and that was just fine with me. We shared all of the essential silliness that comes with this holiday and once again, the old-can’t-be-married-by-law-even-though-they-have-been-together-eighteen-years-couple had a happy holiday.
Meanwhile, in the southern states (I think) the holiday that shares its day in history with one of the most notorious mob massacres was about to take down another casualty. At least I think that was a chalk outline on the floor. At the un-Valentine celebration, the person my pal got hit on by was a guy whose boyfriend was out of town. They’re in one of those “open” (Both sluts – oh My GOD, did I write that with my outside voice?) relationships which apparently made him still feel as though he could go to a “singles” event. I think we need to start redefining the word, “single” as so many people don’t seem to get it. Unlike the ones made by Kraft, it does not mean a bunch of cheesy men on top of one another with just a thin layer of plastic in between them. No, just so we’re all clear, single means that you are not involved with anyone else, period. Even if you’ve just had sex in the alley with someone but didn’t know their last name, then you’re still single but if you have at any time had sex with the same person more than say six times and asked them to take out the garbage then my friends, you are not single. You are also not single just because you are in the front of the club and they are in the back of the club (doing God knows what). Distance doesn’t make you single, only being neurotic and driving any suitable mate out of your bed and home can do that for you. If your CDs are lined up next to one another in your house (yes, even the his and his copies of the Olivia Newton-John movie Xanadu soundtrack) then you are involved, a couple and therefore in my mind you should classify yourselves as not single. On the other hand, you can be dating someone (translation, sex only and one dinner but only because you were really hungry after having so much sex) and be partially single I suppose. Your line would read, “Well, I’ve had a couple dates with this guy but I don’t feel the connection, you know, like I do with you <head down to one side, sip of drink, eyes rise to see reaction>” However, the minute you use the word, boyfriend, you are no longer considered single. The only way that this can happen is if you are in fact eight years old, over a friend’s house and he’s your best boy friend. Let me clarify that last statement for you gays who were overachievers even at eight. I’m talking a friend who is a boy who you aren’t having any physical contact or feelings of having physical contact about – you’re just there to play with his Nintendo (stop with that gutter thinking) and get a peanut butter and jelly sandwich without the crust after school – no innuendo there, I know, I can hardly believe it myself!
If you have a boyfriend, a lover, a husband or any of the other “terms of endearment” (and we all know how well that ended for Debra Winger) than just do everyone a favor and stay away from the singles scene. Do your trolling on the Intranet on Craig’sList or something but don’t go out in public for a night of fun, frolic and “could you please wipe the bathtub down really good so that there’s not even DNA evidence you were here because he’s coming home tomorrow and I spent all day scrubbing the house and can’t do it again. Thanks, you’re really sweet…um…Mark?” I’m not saying monogamy is for everyone but they can’t really be your boyfriend and you can’t be in a “committed” relationship when you’re bumper sticker reads, “Bangs Well With Others”. So in the words of Kiki Dee, “Don’t go breaking my heart” or the heart of any of my friends you pseudo single people because I’ll hunt you down like the dogs you are, for an event that will most definitely go down in history. Valentine’s Gay - a holiday massacre – Don’t Get Me Started
Read More Scott @ www.somelikeitscott.com