If my father had loved me, I’d be a full blown lesbian, but he left and I am now a basic butch bisexual in need of occasional male attention. I’ve crushed on almost every woman I’ve ever met and like…. four dudes; my boyfriend, Patton Oswalt, and Seth Rogan twice. That’s right, I have a type, and it’s men who look like me when our shirts are off. I don’t want to know whose hairy titty is whose in the playback vid. I’ve surprised everyone, including myself, by falling in love with a man. But not to worry, I’m still embracing my lady loving ways, even when I’m not actively engaging in lady loving. Here are a few ways that I’m keeping the gay in my heart alive and well.
1) My Cats: I have four; that’s so many cats! I can munch every carpet west of the Mississippi from now until the day I die, no amount of pussy will ever outweigh the gayness of the amount of pussy I have at home.
2) My Car: Now I know that the classic lady gay car is supposed to be a Subaru, but I’m positive that stereotype was invented by a straight man. Every woman I’ve ever smashed, loved, or casually crushed on, has driven a boring, silver, mid-sized SUV. I don’t know why, it’s just the truth. The sex I have is gay, my Santa Fe is gaaaaAAAAAaaaaay.
3) My Hobbies: I love gardening and composting. Yes, I also love women, but that’s not anywhere near as gay as my passionate opinions on whether citrus belongs in compost (it doesn’t) or the way I have to fingerblast my tomato plants in order to check their moisture levels in the morning. “Are you wet enough babies?” I whisper to them while I’m knuckle deep in their roots. I could marry a woman in a flannel gown and it wouldn’t even come close to how gay I feel when I’m on my knees squeezing my cantaloupes to see if they’re ripe.
4) My Clothes: Speaking of flannel gowns, I don’t own that much flannel, or even a single Birkenstock, but still, my closet be gay as hell y’all, ’cause it is just chock-full of thrift store beauties, which is the real test of your gayness. Lesbians and bisexual women don’t all dress like John Goodman in The Conners, but we will all wear your great aunt’s donated overalls. I don’t know why we’re compelled to strap ourselves into things, we just are.
And there you have it: how I’m keeping the gay in me alive as I date a man. May Margaret Cho bless you and Evan Rachel Wood watch over you.
