Spring has sprung.
And I have to admit, I'm a bit disturbed by it. I had accepted the fact that nature's hard drive was stalled at the "bitter cold of winter" setting.
CK (not me, but my cousin) has been scolding me about my man fast. She thinks that with the advent of warmer weather, I should prepare to break the fast. Or, at least, stop throwing up a little in my mouth.
To that end, she's been forcibly dragging me out of my beloved gay Chelsea. "You've GOT to talk to men who don't admire and pet your faux pony clutch and ask where you got your shoes!!!!"
So earlier this week, we were in an adorable little oyster bar in Soho. I did experience a moment of extreme culture shock. I turned to her and said, "there's something weird about this place... I can't quite put my finger on it..."
She glared at me and replied, "Yes, the people here are HETEROSEXUAL. Well, everyone except that guy over there. Stop smiling at him."
Apparently, while I am very popular with the gorgeous, young, firmly fleshed gay men who populate Chelsea, I am equally popular with the fat, old, loosely fleshed straight men who populate everyplace else.
It reminded me of one evening in Beijing. A fat old straight man was chatting me up and informed me that he's been told frequently that he looks like Mel Gibson. I informed him that he looks like he ate Mel Gibson. This did not discourage him. I suspect he assumed that my English wasn't very good and that I didn't know what I was saying. *sigh*
But I understand my cousin's perspective. At SOME point, I have to break the fast.
But that's not today.
Today, my beloved JF is in town and he will be my date as we lurch drunkenly, yet still gracefully, around... Chelsea.
And on that note:
I've realized that JF is my boyfriend. Albeit one whom I do not have sex with and see only twice a year. MG has told me that I need to look up the word "boyfriend" in the dictionary.
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