Thursday, October 7, 2010

that's gay.

a couple weeks ago i was sitting in a bar inconspicuously watching this hooker from behind my fruit punch martini (only in a negro establishment would you find some shit called a FRUIT PUNCH MARTINI; who came up with that, your fucking seven year old?! white people would never make up some shit like that, if anything you'd be sipping on a "good creditini") eye-raping the patrons in search of a wealthy trick. i was also feasting my eyes on this fat old dude in a knee-length silk shirt (come on, now, i know a blouse when i see one) and church shoes trying to jedi mind trick him into either leaving the bar so i could people-watch someone hotter or purchasing a couple cocktails for me so at least i'd be too hammered to be offended by his stetson hat. NO DICE. all he did was post up at the end of the bar, too terrified of implied homosexuality to sit in one of the empty seats next to the various other single male losers pretending not to stare at that working girl scattered about.

so i had just come from spending way too much on cosmetics and a cab ride. tangent time. why the fuck are cab rides SO expensive?! i kid you not, i got in the cab at chicago and rush and he dropped me off at wabash and 15th and i paid TEN ENTIRE DOLLARS for that shit. and shut up to any of you that might suggest i could have walked (please) or taken the bus (never) because 1 fuck you and 2 i was already late. also, there isn't a bus that goes over there. i take public transportation all the time, but the whole point of BEING DOWNTOWN is taking a goddamned cab from one place to another so you can stay cute and not sweat out your good clothes or your hair or whatever. i think the cabbie even felt bad, because he was all extra nice and "don't forget anything back there!" while i was getting out. AS IF.

anyway, i am one of those obnoxious, annoying people who likes to gaze lovingly at her purchases even if she can't use said purchases until she finally makes it home and out of her daytime clothes in three hours. seriously, i was holding that bottle of chanel liquid cleanser like it was sweet baby jesus, caressing it before gently placing it in my nightmare of a bag before taking it home to pray at its false idol feet. i was sitting next to that hot piece of dark chocolate john, trying to avoid the lens of his camera. holy shit. that dude has taken 986 pictures of me and maybe 7 of them are flattering. jesus christ. that dude must beat off to extra chin meat, because in all of the pictures he's taken it looks like i'm wearing a motherfucking SKIN BEARD. stop taking my fucking picture, people. PLEASE. unless you let me photo edit. anyway, i'm fucking around with all the shit i no longer have room in my bathroom for when john turns to me and says, "i don't use lotion. THAT'S GAY." oh, for real?

you already know how much i love the gays. lesbians especially, because they always ruin EVERYTHING. and i hate being the only sour-ass puckered vagina in the room, so every time i see one i pull my chair right up next to hers. all of the lesbians i know hate every fucking thing and are so fucking mean. also, they make terrible relationship choices on a fucking whim and they're aggressive and argumentative and just SO FUCKING MEAN. and i love them. because obviously i am one. maybe not, because i don't play softball and can't fix the tuckpointing on the north side of the house my girlfriend of sixteen minutes and i just bought together, but i'm pretty goddamned close. seriously, i might be one carhartt coat away from helping some bitch raise those kids she accidentally had before she realized she loved the vag. i mean, i like to bang dudes and everything, but i fucking HATE them. so that makes me kind of gay, right? god, sexuality is totally confusing.

you see, i always thought that taking a dick up your ass or sucking one that doesn't belong to you made you gay, but if "moisturizing your epidermis" is a telltale giveaway then i know a whole lot of undercover homos. i hag enough fags to have a pretty good working knowledge of what constitues gay, and never once has my gay husband turned to me and said, "you know what is was, boo? you know what made me all of a sudden hate the pussy? LUBRIDERM." pfffft. i, of course, looked at john  like he had lost his fucking mind. "what, do you know a bunch of bitches who get off rubbing on dry ass crocodile skin? what kind of silly shit is this?"

first of all, i thought every black person in america spent his or her entire childhood being dunked in vats of baby oil and cocoa butter. especially those of us who grew up in cold climates. when i was a kid it was literally a fucking CRIME for someone to catch you out in the street ashy. i'm not even kidding. better to be caught with a pocket full of now and laters you didn't pay for than to have dry white cracks at the corners of your mouth. even my suburban oreo ass was sitting on the edge of the bed for ten minutes every morning rubbing vaseline and shea butter into my skin, concentrating on my elbows, heels, and knees. and don't forget your hands, particularly the webbing that connects your forefinger and thumb.

ASHY equaled "poor" or "dirty," or maybe it was just proof that your parents didn't really care about you, but ASHY was the last thing i ever wanted to be accused of being. even now if some dude approches me with ASHY hands (or the ASHY LIPPED KISS OF DEATH barf barf barf) i'm like, "ew, motherfucker. lotion is, like, three dollars." GO GET YOU SOME. most days i am moisturized to within an inch of my goddamned life, and i use OIL. because lotion is for white people. (gay white people, i guess.) i need to be basted like a christmas ham before i set one foot outside the house. for serious, if you catch me on the train platform at seven in the morning on a wednesday i'm glistening like new money, and you could fry a chicken on my goddamned lips. THAT is the real reason i hate the fucking summer, because the minute it's seventy-five degrees or higher my greasy ass starts to cook under the sun. that's why i always smell like hot dogs on a sunny day, because my meat is literally being BROILED.

so quel surprise at this gayvelation, because i thought proper moisturization was the one thing black people could AGREE on. this is why our community is so goddamned divided? because the angry straight dry people can't see eye to eye with us smooth and silky homosexuals? girl, i guess. i always thought the consumption of flaming hot cheetos separated the good blacks from the bad ones, but what the fuck do i know?

so i don't call things "gay" very often, unless said offense is being committed by, well, an actual GAY. and even then isn't it just redundance? that's like telling a fat broad that the rubbed-through hole in the thigh of her jeans is so FAT. "hey jalonda, that whole out of breath thing you do all the time is so FAT." um, okay? "ooh albert, stop snoring while you're wide awake! that shit is so FAT!" and it's always some closeted fucking homo hurling gay around like it won't come back and hit him in the bird chest peeking out of his low-cut v-neck. sidebar: have you ever noticed that it's always the fruitiest goddamned dude trying to call somebody gay? like that atlanta pastor who's in trouble for butt fucking all those kids. you mean to tell me that in all his years of preaching homo hate NO ONE looked up at the pulpit at that raggedy piece of shit shaped-up s curl and those bulging pectorals and thought, "heavenly father, this nigga is MOIST?" yyyyyeah. praise the lord and pass the panties.

now THAT is a word that says what it means. MOIST. because who would waste his precious anytime minutes homophobing precious little gay angels when he REALLY should be investing that time in hating on seemingly hetero dudes who do fruity ass shit and try to pass it off as masculine? i learned about moisture from my hero tariq, and here is his definition: MOIST: (adjective) a heterosexual (or perceived heterosexual) male who has an appearance or lifestyle that displays attributes generally associated with
homosexual men. (example) "i went to see the movie twilight and it was extremely moist." conversely, there is the term anti-moist, which is defined as follows: ANTI-MOIST: (adjective) a man who rejects social pressure to take on moist characteristics. (example) "i don't wear skinny jeans because i'm anti-moist." pay attention, because there's going to be a pop quiz at the end of class, hotshot. calling shit gay is, well, GAY. especially when it's a dude with waxed eyebrows (and a "girlfriend," pffft) pointing the mascara wand. stupid moistrosexuals.

anyway, i've been paying especially close attention of late to all of the things these bullshit ass dudes think is gay. hot damn, SO MANY THINGS ARE GAY. who knew?! but what's really surprising is all of the things that don't make the g-list. here are the results of my extensive (not really, a bitch is LAZY) research:

you know what's gay? SITTING IN A SEAT NEXT TO ANOTHER MAN. every time i ride the goddamned train i end up surrounded on all sides by a group of young men who board the train together, yet are too masculine to sit in seats directly next to each other so they spread themselves across the ENTIRE CAR and shout to each other over the rest of our heads. really, sir? are you THAT concerned about the appearance of homosexuality that you would rather sit in my fucking lap and scream to your homeboy than just sit in the open motherfucking seat next to him? holy fucking shit, man! i was coming home from the loop on sunday laden with shopping bags (i was trying to distract myself from all the food i couldn't eat prior to my procedure so i spent five hundred dollars on absolute bullshit) and had to stand in the corner by the handicapped button (fuck you if you're making a totally appropriate irony joke) because a bunch of dudes who obviously knew each other couldn't fucking sit next to each other. LAME. dudes who go to the movies together are tragically hilarious, too, leaning across the empty seat between them for two hours loudly whispering, "who is that? what happened to that other bank robber?" just like homeboy at the bar, standing for three hours during a jazz set because he was too afraid to sit next to a single man. who turns down a SEAT? i swear to horus sometimes i'd consider eating a broad out just to get five minutes on a comfortable chair at the club, but then again I USE LOTION. jerks.

but you know what's not gay? FACEBOOK. well, dudes who are constantly ON facebook. according to my man kenny, who is one of the manliest manual labor motherfuckers i know, "dudes be on facebook gossiping like bitches." he and i were discussing the sorry state of the male species in the car a couple sundays ago. "i can't stand that shit. the dudes i work with can hardly get anything done, too busy facebooking on their iphones." i giggle my dick off all the time reading dudes' status wars and bitchy posts. for cereal, it's ridiculous moist. i mean, come on, facebook is for GIRLS. and when dudes take it all super seriously it's wack and gross. every time i see some gorilla on the bus facebooking on his cell phone i'm like, "really, friend? can i borrow a tampon?" you have to update your status in the middle of old navy? accept a friend request while in the mcdonalds drive-thru? cyber stalk that girl who never called you back while in the revolving door at walgreens? dudes, that shit is SO MOIST. clearly you kids have too much free time. can't you find some wood to chop or some tile to grout? or are you too worried about fucking up your manicure?

you know what's gay? WALKING TO THE BATHROOM WITH YOUR MALE FRIEND. i went to dinner (yum) with a couple writer dudes (nerds) who were trying to convince me to write for some show they're putting together (meh) and they drank a lot of beer (gross) and both had to pee at the end of the meal and since it was their treat (excellent) i just sat there getting my cab money together (fancy) while they went to the bathroom one at a time. okay, so one dude said "i have to pee" and the other dude and i just sat there and when he came back the other dude said "i have to pee" so then original pee and i sat there making small talk until he got back. when he did i asked, "did you have to pee when he had to pee?" and he looked at me quizzically before answering, "yes." then i said, "why didn't you go with him?" and he waited a second before answering, "because that's GAY." oh yeah? because you hold his dick for him and massage the urine out? or does he piss in your FACE? is going outside to smoke with another dude gay? you know, with all the sucking and blowing? or is it just because you're both walking into a room full of naked, dripping penises? i think it's way gayer to stand at a table doing the pee-pee dance, but you're the expert. i guess.

but you know what's not gay? DINNER SALADS. i had dinner with this dude not worth writing about recently and i ordered a club soda and a medium rare porterhouse and he ordered a diet coke and a salad. no, not just a salad, but a SALAD. the kind that comes from the special SALAD section of the menu. the dudes reading this probably have no idea what the fuck i'm even TALKING about, as their fingers have never flipped to this section of the menu EVER. do you y-chromosomes even know that shit exists?! well, i suppose those of you who've bought a "not that hungry" shy bitch dinner are at least vaguely familiar, but have you ever ordered anything off that shit? NO YOU HAVE NOT, unless you are moist. for reals, don't you have to be wearing panties to eat a SALAD as a meal? are men really ordering SALADS for dinner? if so, i might have to resort to masturbating with flank steaks, because it is fucking HOPELESS. and i don't give a SHIT how much chicken is in it, that shit is SALAD, and you are moist as hell. the waiter looked at me like, "don't you dare fuck this fruity dude," and i looked back, "baby, don't even TRIP." i asked him if he was a vegetarian as he squirted lemon juice on the lettuce and his response was, "there's salmon in this!" really? well, of course you aren't. you, sir, are a VAGITARIAN.

you know what's gay? SHOWING YOUR EMOTIONS. a certain emotionally-stunted someone has been calling my phone when he knows i won't answer and hanging up on my voicemail an awful lot lately. what he wants to do, i'm sure, is feel me out to gauge whether or not i'd be interested in letting him back into my life. but because that might require a heartfelt apology, or at the very least a detailed explanation, he's trying to bait me into calling HIM. and leaving a message because he never answers, thus shifting the delicate power balance that has been in my favor for FIVE YEARS. is it really that hard to say "i'm sorry?" what about "i miss you?" does that one hurt, too? listen, i know that telling a motherfucker what an asshole i've been burns like acid on my tongue, which is why i try to never be wrong. BUT. if i am i just come out and say it. why are dudes allergic to that kind of shit? and they won't tell you they love you, either, even when you and everyone else you know ALREADY KNOWS. smiley faces and heart emoticons just don't cut it, gentlemen. we want you to shed some fucking tears. i mean, as long as they're heterosexual tears. idiots!

but you know what's not gay? WEARING YOUR LITTLE SISTER'S JEANS. i was talking to this hot dude in bloomingdales the other night and he was being really smart and hilarious and cute and awesome, and when i looked down to get my phone out of my bag i noticed that he was wearing red skinny jeans and immediately snapped my bag shut. i can't holler at a dude whose legs look like fruit fucking roll-ups. this is what is passing for menswear nowadays? american apparel got you dudes FUCKED UP. if i see one more dude in size zero pants or a hot fuschia dress shirt my head might fucking explode. i'm supposed to get hot for a dude with a v-neck open to his navel? pffft. MOIST. at the sex show i was OBSESSED with this dude whose entire body was the size of my fucking forearm. for cereal, he looked like someone put clothes on a pencil. he was macking SO HARD on this girl and she was totally falling for it, and that was BAFFLING to me. it wasn't even a little bit believeable. i just wanted to be like, "you're going to try to have sex with him? he's wearing doll clothes!" i go to so much stupid shit, and i feel like i'm SURROUNDED by nothing but dudes in scarves and crop tops and bright purple tights. dudes with girlfriends. you know, STRAIGHT DUDES.

this is by NO MEANS an exhaustive list. especially when you consider all of the not gay stuff i'm too lazy to include, like dudes drinking coke zero and watching glee. spending a shit ton of time in tanning beds. artfully sculpting their facial hair. listening to taylor swift. wearing clothing and sunglasses covered in logos. carrying handbags. reading this blog.

oh, i'm totally kidding. reading this shit is the manliest fucking thing you could ever do. i have a penis and i fucking LOVE lesbians. see? ALL MAN. i will be spending the evening re-writing the letter i'm going to give to forest whitaker and trying on a million different outfit and shoe combinations and practicing telling him how much i adore him without bursting into tears. so don't fucking call me until after saturday night, understand? i'm going to be BUSY. unless you're that hot bouncer because, in case you bitches haven't heard, HE FINALLY HAS MY NUMBER. let the clingy, desperate, crazy-lady games begin.

and ps, are you on my facebook fan page? are you my facebook friend? do you send me love emails? because really, you totally should be. i'm fucking awesome and i'm nice to people who fawn over me. seriously.
i might jack you off or something.