Princess with a Pink Wand

Okoge. Fille à Pédés. Fag Hag. Yes, they all mean the same thing — that woman who loves gay men, and counts them among her inner circle. You know them. You love them, and you might even be one. Gay men love them, and straight men want their attention.  The fag and his hag can shop, go to the orchestra, do all the things the hag’s boy friend doesn’t enjoy. Okay I personally hate the malls, so shopping had better entail downtown streets and being out in the weather, and to be honest, I’d prefer to go to the football game to an expedition for your new purse. Seriously, if there’s shoe shopping on your agenda, I’ll pass. Unless they’re shoes for me that is, but I digress.

While it can be a very rewarding plutonic friendship, there are some basic rules. 

I’ve watched Mr. Goodbar check your tonsils with his tongue more times than I can count, so don’t give me an ick when Mr. Wonderful and I lock lips in front of you. And don’t get worked up either. If you find two guys getting hot and  bothered exciting , I’m down with that, and I’ll loan you some of my porn.

Yes, I’m genuinely friends with your husband. Hey, we’re both Saints fans and have to stick together. No, I don’t want to fuck him, him to fuck me, or any other sex act. Yes, he’s cute, but Sweets, I can do better  — remember Corey? The corollary is that you and I aren’t going to trade any body fluids either. Talk about an Ick Factor.

And yes, I’ll watch your 10 year old while you and Mr. Goodbar go off for a romantic weekend, but tell him to stay out of my toy-box. I don’t need another repeat of the last time he was here.

So, Sweets, what time’s the Tupperware party Tuesday?

Wildcat Chili

I caught myself in a debate about which to buy: peanut or soy butter. The soy won, but I was taken aback by even considering it. Five years ago the peanut butter would have won without a contest, and it wouldn’t have been the all natural one either. It would have been Peter Pan with all the associated sugars. And I most likely would have picked up a pack (or two) of Camel filters as I checked out. I might have dined on fried chicken, baked potato smothered in blue cheese dressing, and sweet corn on the cob. Washed it down with extra sweet tea and a slab of pecan pie for dessert. Fast forward to soybutter’s victory, and I came home to fix poached fish, pickled okra, and hot cauliflower for supper. Hey, but I had a protein shake to wash it down. Yes, I’m back to watching my carb in take. By keeping my intake at 150 or less, I can still eat normally and even enjoy a beer on occasion.

Speaking of  lower carbohydrates I’m reminded of a t-shirt I saw today: Loose Carbs, Eat Wildcat. Today was Team Spirit Day at work, and most of us were in our team colors. On the elevator there was a guy in UK Blue carrying a pot of chili. After a woman made a disparaging remark about another woman’s blue shirt, she asked the guy about the pot he had. “It’s Kentucky Chili, and you can’t have any,” he said with a smile. “I make better chili though,” I said making sure the cardinal on my shirt was in plain view. And after reading the dude’s shirt this afternoon, well, I might just start using Wildcat as an ingrediant along with the dark chocolate. =

Sunny Day Sweepin’ the Clouds Away

This week has been total chaos, and after a whirlwind interview for a new position and a shorter than normal workout, I took a magic carpet ride to where doors opened wide, and there I was in the midst of Sesame Street. MFBT wasn’t there – something or other about his day job, and they were out of my favorite gin. It looked like this wasn’t going to be a fun evening. However, the proprietor stepped up to challenge me. “You’re a gin drinker,” he asked. Now, I didn’t point out that I’m a one gin kinda guy. He handed Maraschino-boy a bottle of liquor that looked like a cross between Absinthe and vodka. The green liquid glows in the dark, and mixed with a nice portion of Tanqueray and a little tonic made a nice libation. Yes, I took it and wandered off to the VIP section to see it glow under the black light.

That led to a discussion of all things glow in the dark, and Maraschino-boy was talking about a friend of his who does glow in the dark tattoos. They’re invisible except under black light. I want one! Well, I want to know more about it, and I’ve not had the chance to investigate yet. It will happen – the investigation at least. I could find out that I really don’t want one.

The Ties that Bind

It’s seldom required that I wear a tie to work–I usually needed a summons to the Pink Palace for that dictum to come down, but I wear one regularly nonetheless. I don’t like to wear dress shirts without a tie. It feels incomplete somehow. Over the years, I’ve put together an assortment of ties ranging from silk to leather to polyester. Cheap or expensive, garish or subtle they all have the same basic function. There are a couple of Aigner ones–holdovers from the days when Aigner as all the rage (in doing a quick search Etienne Aigner doesn’t make men’s good any longer). There’s some an Oscar de La Renta that goes well when I need to look somewhat conservative. But the tie that get the most attention and compliments is a yellow one that is fairly basic. It’s a simple, polyester tie that’s nothing to write home about (blog entries not withstanding). I got it at Walgreen’s 2 for $10. For anyone who cares the one with the peppers was the other half of the lot. I guess it just goes to show that I could have saved a lot of money over the years; however the designer stuff has held up very well. And yes, it is true that silk ties don’t leave rope burns.