in my next life i think i’ll be a gay man

Okay, anyone who’s ever had a conversation with me about sex knows it is absolutely NOT even a remote possibility for me for me to be a gay guy.  Unless I’m a celibate homosexual male, there is just no way on God’s green earth I could ever be a gay man, period.  Why?  I am so absolutely freaked out by anal sex I can’t even stand to talk about it.  I know- this is redonkulous.  Especially since I seem to have no scruples in life for the most part.  BUT, don’t get me started on the butt sex.  I am like Oprah when she talks about pedophiles or Rosie O’Donnell when she talks about… food.  Or whatever.  I don’t even like that Rosie.  Anyway, I have been known to end a friendship or two when I find out people are all whoopiee about the anal.  I swear to God I don’t mean to but I suddenly lose respect for them and can’t look them in the eye anymore.  And let’s face it, it’s hard to have a friendship with someone you can’t look in the eye.  I know, this is totally my idiotic problem and I should just get over it.  But… well I don’t know.  I’m trying.

What was I talking about anyway?  Oh, I remember.  If I could get past the whole, you know, intimacy in the poop shoot thing, I’d totally want to be a gay man.  Every single one I know is freaking awesome!  They are so much cooler than I am, they are way more fun and they are WAY better dancers.  WAY!  Not to mention they take freaking awesome vacations.  This is what has me all in a tizzy today.  I was just looking at vacation pictures from my friend Scott and I just want to punch him in the junk for being all kid-free and footloose and fancy free and able to take this sweet ass trips with his little snuggle muffin Aaron.  (He’s totally going to freak out when he reads that.)  I may have changed the names to protect his identity.  I may not have.  Whatever.

I don’t even know where they went and it probably doesn’t even matter.  They might have been at a KOA down the street, but everything just looks so fancy and awesome.  Which reminded me of our recent “Improper Family” camping trip we took with the in-laws in June.  The Hubs and I were walking the kids down to the swim area when we see a guy out taking pics of some flowers.  Then we walk a little further and see these two adorable little Adirondack chairs set up with wine and cuteness.  Then we walk a little further and see the cutest little camper all set up with that green fake grass rug stuff and twinkle lights and more cuteness.  The only thing that was missing was the little pink flamingos.  And inside my head I was all “Goddammit you know those are either two gay guys or some old lady has gone bat-shit crazy out here and her Hubs is going to lose it when he comes back and sees what the hell she’s done to decorate the fucking great outdoors.”

A few minutes later I walked back and the two cutesy little guys were sipping their wine and living the good life to their George Michael soundtrack.  (no I am not stereotyping, it really was GM.)  And then inside my mind I said to myself, “See, if I’d have been born a gay man I would be having the time of my life right now drinking a glass of wine with a HOT guy, but instead I’m schlepping 3 life jackets and a fucking inner-tube up and down this godforsaken campground for my ratbag kids and fat ass husband.  Oh well, at least I know I’m not having butt sex tonight!”

It’s a trade-off people.  Sometimes you gotta give a little to get a little.  (Or in this case, give a little so you don’t have to take it in the ass.)

 

{I love you Scott, and I hope you don’t hate me after you read this!}

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3 thoughts on “in my next life i think i’ll be a gay man

  1. #1…we’re not all great dancers. Trust me. I can show you some videos from various weddings where I demonstrate this without question. #2…we don’t all like George Michael…wait…scratch that one. Yeah, we kind of do. But not Cher…that’s definitely a stereotype. #3…while we do all take fabulous vacations, the fabulous is probably open to interpretation. My idea of fabulous tends to be a pack, tent and some dehydrated meals in Hell. I guess that means I’d probably make a better lezbo than a homo. Well, except for the preferring the Dangly over the Poon.

    In the end, I think it’s best among friends to avoid the details of what parts are going where, and instead focus on the hilarity and hi-jinx associated with our sex lives. Because trust me…I want to know just as much about your naughty bits as you want to know about my “poop chute.”

    • Another reason I am now in love with you. And so totally devastated that we will now probably never marry. I still plan to stalk you like a crazy person. Does this mean I can add you to my safe list of people I can call/text at crazy hours to ask de-mystifying and myth-busting questions. Because I totally need more people to answer my idiotic questions at 2:30 am when I’m curled up between the toilet and the sink trying not to throw up grey goose and juice because that shit’s too expensive but suddenly need to know important information like “Is Mr. Bojangles real?”

      And… I’m gonna go with you on keeping the details to ourselves. Although, that will probably work for you, but I never actually keep things to myself. I’m a classic over-sharer three generations strong.

      • Yeah, been there done that with the whole marriage thing. The vajayjay sort of spoiled the whole setup. Anyhoo, stalk away! I hold a special place on several “OK to text at 2AM” lists, so it’s all good. My favorites are from my little sister. They usually look like this: “dfwEQFEHF Fefheoifhe WE ehoeinfe few newiohfeqpiuerle.”

        Clearly I need to learn to speak Ewok.

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