Fag-u-lous!

I love gay men.

Unfortunately, they don't love me back. Well, not in that way... Not that I really want them to, actually. But what's a single girl to do when the perfect man is usually just a sexual preference away. It's not fair!

I definitely don't have gay-dar. My sophomore year roommate was a body-hair-having, Indigo-Girls-worshiping, RAINBOW-BELT-WEARING lesbian. I traveled all around Europe for a semester and even had a joke about "spooning" with another girl -- both rugby teammates of mine, no less. I had no clue until months later on both accounts! (Btw, should I be offended that I never got hit on?)

However, I do have fabulous-dar. I can find fabulous from five miles away, lady. And where's there's fabulous, there's usually gay men.* That's why gay men and I are instant cohorts. I guess I am boldly including myself in the fabulous category here, but I'm low-woman on the totem pole fo sho'. Maybe it's because there's no sexual tension, so it's safe to do and say and drink and eat whatever the fuck I want without being judged as a potential mother of future children, which is good because I probably score low in the "nurture" category these days.

What can I say? I love a good party. So do my gays. We laugh and call each other "lady" and they call me "mister." When I complain that keeping an all-gay-man audience derails my potential for marital bliss, they make snide remarks about my vagina and tell me I need to broaden my horizons and consider dating trannies. And then we fall out laughing and act obscene.

Gay men -- especially in L.A. -- don't give a shit about your trite hangups. They are accepting, caring and FUNNY, lady! They are always full of life. They're like Italians; they dress better, eat better, decorate better and drink more than me. Damn them!

I want to be a gay Italian man when I grow up.

*Please note, I do not mean to insinuate that gay women are not fabulous. I watch the L Word; I know they are.