Dont Mince Words

I wouldn’t consider myself a fag hag. I love and respect anyone with good fashion sense and a keen ear for music which includes ABBA and the Scissor Sisters. As you can you imagine, with my open mind and open mouth, the gays flock to me. A friend coined the term “fruit fly.” I’ll own that one.

I was killin’ the other day at the office. I had my main gay laughing out loud and grabbing his belly when I came up with the reality show idea, “To Catch a Cougar Lover.” Each week would feature a different scenario starring me. For instance, I’d lure the pizza delivery guy into my bedroom. Afterwards, my main gay would catch the guy coming out the door.

“You realize she’s 41,” he’d say.

“Ah….. cool,” Pizza boy would reply with cameras in his face.

With his clipboard firmly in his hand, my main gay would say, “According to the transcript, she said she was 29. How does this make you feel?”

“Shut up dood, I’m enjoying my brownies and sweet tea,” he’d reply.

We laughed and laughed and then, when he caught his breath, he popped the question. “I know you are looking for an apartment. I want to buy a condo. Want to go in on one together?”

I’ve become Grace. It’s flattering that a man that has known me four months sees the bliss I could bring to a dysfunctional domestic partnership. Of course, it enraged me that he gets it and the straight ones don’t. I told him we couldn’t handle living with each other. We’d never get laid with all the cats we’d end up having. It just wouldn’t be good.

But the office hi-jinx continues. He calls me Miss Kitty while others yell “hide the children” when I walk down the hall.

I get so tickled when people find my life exciting. On the whole, it really isn’t that exciting….except if you are married. If you are married, you read my blog to affirm that being blissfully tied to another might be one notch above dating in LA in your 30’s.

Tonight Lauren, my absolute favorite lesbian, checked in on me. “Oh Bunger, I want to live heterovicariously through you. Dazzle me with a recent date story,” she requested. My former Brooklyn neighbor retreated to California two years before me. She’s a lot like me… open minded, direct, intelligent, and wickedly funny… except she eats pussy and I don’t.

But if I did, she’d be my first choice. Why? Because she has the coolest shoes and she’s the same size as me. If I were going to be a lesbian, it would be with Lauren because we could having engaging and hilarious conversations and trade shoes. I still covet her Doc Martins with red flames.

Alas, Lauren is one of those committed lesbians. She’s now in a domestic partnership with a lovely woman who can’t fit into her shoes. She found love in less than a year in California. Bitch. But that’s the Bay area for you.

I remain in LA where I can’t swing a dead cat with out hitting dysfunction ripe for mocking which continues to fuel my blog. Well, all you happily married folks, keep on reading.

Lauren, this blog’s for you, babe. You are a tremendous friend and relationship role model. If I ever decide I need to change teams, I’ve got your number. Now excuse me while I recharge my batteries.