I took this photo yesterday while Jared (whose drag name is Mile High Pinky Pie) and our great friend Angie practiced and perfected Pinky’s makeup for her pageant debut, which is on Saturday. The blog post (riveting series?) about So Now I’m Dating a Drag Queen is still percolating, but I love this photo, so here it is.
(Avoid alliteration always!)
I will stipulate that we might not be a strictly “conventional” couple, what with both of us being men, and one of us being a pink-coiffed drag queen who’s about six-foot-eight in heels, but for the most part my husband and I just sort of go about our gay business. We neither seek input nor require guidance from our families, any church, or the government on how best to conduct our Big Gay Relationship. We don’t spend a lot of time, at least not intentionally, tearing at the Very Fabric of Society, although we do watch a lot of Golden Girls and order in kind of a lot of Indian food. We do each have a tattoo of a naked man — I guess if society really is going to crumble, you wanna get a few good chips in, kinda the way people eventually flung themselves at the Berlin Wall once it became clear that puppy was comin’ down. I say all this to say: I don’t give a shit what you think about me, just stand aside and think it over there so I can get at the garlic naan.
And you know what? No exaggeration, that’s 99.9% true. I don’t care what other people think of me. At least not enough to let it be a factor in my decision-making. It doesn’t affect what I write or how I write it, how I choose my friends or how I relate to them, what color I paint my toenails. Nobody who cares about you judges you, and nobody judging you on criteria like your sexuality has a stake in your success or your happiness.
Which is why the way my husband’s grandfather reacts to me at family functions like the wedding we went to over the weekend pisses me off. I don’t care what he thinks of me, and I for sure don’t care that he uses his “religion” as an excuse for his own rigidity, but I do care that he hides behind a set of values that he chooses to let external forces impose on him when he disrespects Jared. Continue reading
The Great and Powerful Pearl Bailey’s hilarious song (please listen and enjoy above) is about marriage, of course, but I’ve always had kind of a bad-boyfriend relationship with my airline. Yesterday, April 4th, marked my fifteenth anniversary of flying, and, except for the part about us having kids together (god forbid), this song is me and my job in a nutshell.
Nobody panic: this is not yet another post about how good things used to be compared to how crappy they are now. It is a different job than the one I interviewed for, and certainly than the one I envisioned when I started fifteen years ago. I never thought we’d still be on reserve; I certainly never thought I’d be flying straight domestic; and I actively vowed for the first several years of my career that, come what may, the one certainty in the Universe was that I would never — ever, do you hear me? — be based in Denver. Like a budget airline, Life takes us to unexpected places. Continue reading