The Second Moon of Adonis

A couple nights ago one of the guys from here at the office invited me to an Oscar party he was throwing at his place in the Castro. It was a small gathering, but the homo level was pretty high. Throw in a couple of French guys, and it got downright catty before the second bad gown had strolled down the red carpet.

I’d almost forgotten what it was like to hang out with queers — these days if I get out at all, it’s usually with the team I work with here at the office. They’re really great guys, but they’re straight as hell. I doubt you’d ever find one at an Oscar party, and you definitely wouldn’t hear any of them talking about how good George Clooney looks in a tux. They don’t really have any opinions on costume design, and tend to look confused if I quote a classic like Sunset Blvd. or What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? If it’s not reality TV or an Asian drama, they probably haven’t seen it.

I’d almost forgotten how much fun it can be to make fun of how celebrities dress, or their stints in rehab, or who they’re fucking this week. Sure, it’s fun to talk shit about the people from work, but the vitriol that comes from a bunch of fags watching this Oscars is in a whole other league entirely.

Don’t get me wrong — I still enjoy talking about cars, power tools and video games, but I think I may need to give a slightly longer leash to my inner queen. It’s been a long time since I allowed myself to be a bitch, and I miss it.

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