Bray Away the Gay

I've reached a conclusion: I'm not gay.

Oh, don't misunderstand me. I am definitely homosexual, 100-percent. Honey, I loves me some big, juicy mens. I just don't have the trappings to be a 21st-century gay. I am what I think of as "post-gay."

In many ways I am a stereotypical gay: I'm a wanton slut; I worship Judy, Cher, Gaga and the entire icon/diva canon (but I just don't get the Kylie thing); I think it's oodles of fun to put hooker makeup on 5-year-old girls. But in other ways I am hopelessly a "bad gay": I hate cooking; I am totally uninterested in fashion (if I've remembered to wear underwear, I've had a successful style day); opera and ballet just make me yawn; I have no interest in cock rings, poppers or gay porn (although all my hookups seem to think those are the magic ingredients of erotic ambiance).

But it's the more recent sociopolitical developments in the LGBT world that truly have me feeling out of synch. I first became aware of this in June 2010, when same-sex marriage became a reality in the state of New York and everyone at New York Pride seemed jubilant. I felt like a dinosaur. It had no emotional resonance with me whatsoever.

I feel the same way about the Supreme Court's recent rulings on DOMA and Prop 8. To be clear, I totally believe in marriage equality. Of course married same-sex couples should have all the rights and benefits that married opposite-sex couples have. Same-sex, interracial, interfaith -- it's all the same to me. I don't care what you do; just don't touch my rare houseplant collection! I was just struck by how removed from it all I felt. To be sure, part of that I chalk up to my perennially single status. The closest I come to marriage is sleeping with other people's husbands. It's not that I'm incapable of forging a real, lasting relationship. Sometimes I even tell a trick my real name!

But if I'm being totally honest, when it comes to gay marriage, I just don't care. I think marriage is a religious construct, monogamy is a fiction, and assimilation is for fools. Look at the culture around us: boring, bougie-ass, high-fructose-corn-syrup-loving, Prozac'd and Botoxed shopping zombies (aka "shombies"), consumerist cogs in the capitalist machine, all numbed by frozen pizzas and The Real Housewives of Amerikkka. You want to assimilate into that?

As for same-sex parenting, I mean, hey, whatever blows your skirt up, but I always thought that not being expected to have children was one of the huge advantages of the lavender lifestyle. Kids? Gross! Honey, I am proud to declare that I have Peter Pan syndrome and always will. I refuse to grow up. The moment you have kids, your story is over, and they become the main attraction. It's true. And children are so boring, unless they are being harvested for wig hair. So lustrous! I have a good friend of mine, a lesbian, who had been talking for years about wanting a baby. She had been endlessly at me about being the sperm donor. Hell no! I told her, "Get your sperm the way I do: Hang out at truck stops and after-hours clubs." She and her girlfriend eventually went to a sperm bank and procured some "high-quality Greek," a description that always made me think of yogurt. Anyway, I told her, "As soon as you have that kid, our friendship is over." It wasn't a threat but a prediction. And I was correct. No sooner did the (admittedly adorable) baby make her debut than my friend was always too tired, too busy or too stressed to hang out. And I refuse to dumb down my social life to activities that are child-friendly and sensibly scheduled.

Gay men with children just straight-up make me want to puke. I cannot stomach a 3-year-old with a nicer haircut and more expensive shoes than I have. Parents are always so fucking smug about their wriggling little balls of narcissism. Isn't the planet overpopulated enough? I give a bit more leeway to people who adopt, but I still think they'd be better off with a rescue puppy. Don't even try to cruise a hot guy pushing a baby stroller; they always look so offended. As if! Please, honey, I'm really not interested; the scent of diaper rash ointment isn't a turn-on. Really, there is no way in hell that I will knowingly date or hook up with a guy with kids. Not to seem immature or selfish, but if they have kids, they cannot possibly have enough time and attention to lavish on me, me, me!

Perhaps I am just spooked by what seems to be the overall flattening out of gay life. Where's the edge? Recently I watched the documentary I Am Divine, about the late, legendary John Waters muse. I was taken by the blatant anarchy and rawness of Divine and that entire scene. More, please! You will not find any of today's drag queens eating dog feces on camera; they're too busy hosting bachelorette parties at "drag dining" establishments. I'm happy the girls are getting work, but it all seems so middlebrow and watered-down.

Obviously gay life was edgier when it was "the love that dare not speak its name"; if something is secret, it's more exciting. It's not that I'm longing for the days when you could be fired, beaten or killed just for being gay or lesbian (which is still the case for many people, even right here in the good, old U.S.A., sadly); I think I'm just nostalgic for that sense that being gay was like being in a club, an exciting, underground world of sexy, irreverent, creative outcasts. I don't want to be reduced to just another demographic for advertisers.

I am increasingly out of touch, methinks. Recently I was browsing some online personals, and I thought "PNP" stood for "please, no Presbyterians." I had a date with a cute young fellow recently and tried a bit of humor to break the ice. "What do you call 100 Republicans at the bottom of the ocean?" I asked. "A good start!" He looked at me blankly and muttered, "I don't really get it." Has everyone lost their sense of humor? Am I the very last diva-loving, child-hating, man-stealing, shoplifting-for-the-fun-of-it fagatron around? Am I a one-man gay snide parade?

There are some folks who will read this and think I am just a bitter old queen. And I am. I truly, truly am! But c'mon, bitches! Won't somebody, anybody, please get their freak on?