Closets

This is tough for me. I guess it’s best to come right out and say it though. Sigh. I am gay. I know we live in a modern-day when gay people are more accepted in society, but for me it’s different. I’m attracted to women. Like really attracted to them. I don’t even notice men a lot of the time. If I was attracted to men then my being gay would be so simple. I could go adopt a baby and start a civil union with a gay named Hank. That’s not what I want though. I want women. Now that I have come out of the closet I can let you all know just how gay I am.

When I’m excited I get very hyper. Rarely do I get excited though. It takes something like finding a new low-calorie food that I enjoy to make me scream like Carrie Bradshaw did on that one episode of Sex and the City when she saw the guy’s penis or whatever it was that would make her scream. I haven’t been gay for very long so I have a lot of Sex and the City to catch up on. I’m going to have to get rid of all my manly things. My professional wrestling DVDs will have to be tossed into the trash. Professional wrestling is just too incredibly manly for a gay man such as myself.

(The Meme agrees with me. Wrestling is very straight. I’m a little disappointed this is the sexiest picture they could find. A woman yelling while another looks down at a midget with a glare)

You might be sitting there in your chair shocked about my being gay. I’m as shocked as you. It’s almost too much to handle. I almost want to go to a coffee shop alone, sit there and not be bothered, and finish reading the Madonna Biography I bought this afternoon once I realized I was gay. It’s not an autobiography which disappointed me. Isn’t a biography not written by whoever it’s about nothing more than gossip? I mean, I love to gossip and all. Me and the girlfriends sometimes get together and talk about reality shows and Perez Hilton’s website. I’m going to have to do this more now. I need to prove to everyone that I will embrace the new me.

What made me realize I was so flaming? For starters some high school football players bumped into me at a burrito place and said “get out of my way faggot.” This got me thinking. High school football players are pretty smart. They don’t even have to show up to class and they get A’s and girlfriends. I never cut class. I got B minuses and one time a girl’s hair touched my arm and she didn’t cut the hair off. I still think about that girl sometimes. I wonder what she would think about me being gay. I hope she doesn’t think her hair touching me turned me this way. Maybe she’s looking for a gay best friend to lather her up before a big business meeting. I can give her gay-friend advice like “don’t let that boy push you around” or “pink is good before AND after Labor Day.”

(This picture is blinding. I need to watch a few more episodes of Glee before being able to look at it again)

I have always been a person who has color coordinated. I blame my mom for this. Isn’t it always a mother’s fault for turning her son gay? She used to make sure my sweat pants always matched my shirts. She took me shopping a lot too. One time at the mall she even made me use the women’s room because she was too afraid a man in the men’s room might abduct me. Again, another mistake by her. If I was allowed to go into the men’s room like a normal person maybe I might have caught a glimpse of a man urinating. This could have made me attracted to men. I would be a normal gay person not some freak who behaves like one and is still into girls. I feel like a monster. A big flashy purple pastel freak.

The problem with this will be explaining to my future wife about being gay. How do I break it to her? She needs to be warned about my calorie counting, forearm veins, and uncalled for negative attitude that us gays always have in us. Didn’t gay used to mean happy? Then how come gays, like myself, are always whining about food being too salty? A friend of mine told me you cannot become an official gay until you lick a sweaty man. That sounds extremely salty tasting. See, I’m already complaining and I haven’t even tried it yet. On a scale from Rusty Staub to John Waters I’m probably a Rosie O’Donnell.

(Her neck looks like deserted terrain. Or should I say, desserted? Because she’s overweight…At least I’m not gay enough to know her son’s name is Parker)

With all the problems this has caused me, it’s good to finally be out. Thank Cher I have such a great support system to get me through this. I say thank Cher because I feel like I should embrace her as my new God. If I’m going to commit to being who I need to be, I need to give it my all. My jeans have already been transformed into cutoffs. I bought a new bucket of pink paint and all day I have been tossing it onto everything I see. I will no longer refer to shirts by their color, but rather by their patterns or prints. I think leopard is going to be my favorite. It lets people know I’m wild but soft at the same time.

Anyone interested in applying to be my beard, please send me an email at Gaga4Gaga@hotmale.com. I would like to say this email address is new, but I’ve had it since Poker Face came out.