You know how after you’ve been immersed in a culture for awhile, you start to pick up the habits of that culture? Well, I’m especially prone to this. After a weekend in Nashville, I developed a drawl and an affinity for barbed wire bicep tattoos. After a week in London, I started putting an upward inflection at the end of my sentences and drinking beer out of larger glasses. And, after just two days in Barcelona, I was wandering around beaches topless and shouting “Olay!” (They fucking loved me there.)
I can only assume it’s my assimilation to culture that has caused the recent confusion with my sexuality as of late. Before I get in trouble with everyone, let me explain. Or just let me explain.
It was Elliot’s birthday, and as he is my gay husband, he is the only man I will leave my apartment past 11:00 P.M. for. Marie and I met him and his friends in BoysTown, a part of Chicago I haven’t frequented on a Friday or Saturday in quite some time. And now I remember why. Because, while BoysTown is a great time for the dancing and confetti (yes they have fucking confetti and it’s amazing), it’s a complete aquarium. Gorgeous man after gorgeous man walking in the bar and all I could do was press my face against the glass and drop fish food into the tank. Which was just more confetti. And not well received.
As you may recall, it was the start of the winter chill on Friday night, so I dressed accordingly. Accordingly to me meant leggings (re: #thisisthirty), a black sweater, boots, and black, puffy vest within sequins on the front. My sister Fran is currently shaking her head.
Our group danced in a semi-circle to the strobe light [Note: Yes! They still exist!] and a guy passed by, making conversation with one of the girls, Dionna, from our group. “Honey. You. Are. Beautiful,” he gushed.
Dionna smiled, said thanks, but homeboy went on and on about how gorgeous she is while I stood there, now feeling incredibly feminine in my vest.
When he was done with his love fest, he turned to me. “She’s a keeper. Nice job.”
I stared back blankly, then threw my arm around her and said, “Thanks.”
We had a Friendsgiving, which I’ve never been to before and now I know why. Not only do I not know how to cook, but I don’t even know how to cook easy stuff. I tried to make one of the easiest appetizers of all time, but showed up with something that looked like congealed cheese and leftover tarter sauce. Thank God I know how to purchase alcohol well.
Daisy wanted to play this game called Utter Nonsense. It’s a new game out and you have to say super weird and funny phrases using various accents. Accents range anything from British to Mime to Orgasm. So less like accents and more like ways of life.
I felt a lot of pressure to do well at this game because, well, I’m a comedian, so I should be able to be funny. Not only was I not funny, but the group determined that no matter how many accents I tried, I always came off sounding like an angry lesbian.
And I wasn’t even wearing my vest.
As mentioned on last week’s blog, I’ve outsourced my dating life to Lexi and Daisy. But more to Lexi because Daisy keeps asking me if it’s ok to set me up with guys who look like serial killers.
Lexi set up a date with a guy for Sunday at 6:00. She sent me his pic, number, and the brief conversations they’d had. All I had to do was show up. Brilliant, people.
I tried not to be too quick to judge when he first spoke and his voice was on the feminine side. But, having dated a gay guy before, I’m always a little wary. The following did not help this dude’s case:
- “Yes, I live in BoysTown.”
- “I was out in BoysTown on Friday, too! And Saturday.”
- “When I lived in Cincinnati, I lived in the gay part of town then, too.”
- “My favorite movie is Pitch Perfect. And Love Actually. But Pitch Perfect is pretty much the greatest movie of all time.”
- “I can’t wait to get my first paycheck.”
That last comment has nothing to do with the gay factor. Just not helping any person’s cause when on a date.
So back to the dating pool I go. Or rather Lexi goes. She told me I’m not allowed to go near vests or accents. Fair enough.