everyones a little queer why can't she be a little straight

by mg at 12:06 AM on June 14, 2002

Rannie is participating in blogwhores. And even though he isn’t coming to New York this weekend, pretty much ruining my party on Saturday night, and I’ve quit blogging, I’ll come out of retirement to help him out with this week’s immunity challenge. Or whatever the H E double hockey sticks they are calling those things.

Rannie wants people to share their experience of Pride. Rainbow Pride. Man on man, woman on woman, it on it pride. Apparently June is Gay Pride month. Who knew? I guess he did. And me too. See, my neighborhood has got one of the highest homosexual populations in New York City, and plays host each year to the Queens Pride Parade. They paint a pink stripe down 37th avenue and people come from all over the borough to march their little gay hearts out.

Now, I’ve lived in basically this same neighborhood for nearly 20 years and I didn’t know about my ‘hoods steamy backside until just a couple years ago. I’ve still managed to not see the parade, so I’m just guessing about the marching their little gay hearts out thing since that seems like the kind of thing people do at parades.

Still, since finding that out, I’ve hardly noticed any homosexual couples around. Considering my neighborhood is also the most ethnically diverse in the city, no one tends to stand out more than anyone else.

There was this one night I got home late (or early, the sun was up, and they’d already delivered the Sunday times), and had a few drinks in me. The magnetic lock on the front door was broken and there were a crowd of people in the lobby, buzzing the supper’s apartment to get him to put some pants on and open the door for us. As we were waiting, I took a look around at my neighbors, most of whom I’d never seen before, much less knew their names. Way in the corner, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible was a fella dressed as a woman standing rather embarrassedly. Maybe it was the glow of the rising sun, or the large amount of alcohol I’d consumed, but s/he was kind of cute.

I also remember the day I moved in here, going back and forth from the buildings back door, where my truck was parked, up in the elevator and into my apartment. My cousin was helping out, and during our trips back and forth, over the course of an hour or so, we kept running into this couple of guys, who were roommates with flying quotes. On one of the trips going down in the elevator they looked at my cousin and I, sweaty and panting from bending over to lift all those heavy boxes, and said, “You two will be very happy living here.” And we are very happy.

Anyway, the point of this was to tell Pride stories. Except, I don’t really have any. I never walked in a parade, or had a friend come out to me. When she came to lecture on campus I didn’t even recognize Mathew Shepard’s mom until I was introduced (and even then it took me until after I walked away to realize who she was (hi Judy!). And then there was that one year I wore a bisexual rainbow sticker around, thinking it would help me score chicks, but all it ended up doing was scoring me a job (hi Jeff!).

Now that I think of it, even without rainbow stickers, I’ve more than once been mistaken for a gentleman of the homosexual persuasion. It really makes me question things. No, not that, I’m all man, baby. What it makes me question is the validity of gaydar. Actually, it doesn’t make me question anything at all; it just makes me realize that I’m so damn attractive that people of every gender can’t help themselves around me. So, yeah, Gay Pride and stuff.