I have to laugh that it takes the annual “girly issue” of Gloss to remind me that I’m a girl and not actually the gay man I think I am.
My insistence that I’m not like all the other girls tends to flare up when I’m faced with purses and heels and free-flying hair on the dancefloor. Another funny reality check comes every once in a while when I’m, say, in the men’s bathroom line at the club, and some well-intentioned boy will say something like “Are you having fun tonight? How does it feel to be the only girl with a bunch of gay men?” I try hard not to sneer when I respond with something like “Are you from out of town?”
As a fully immersed and entrenched fag hag, gay men have been my best girlfriends for as long as I can remember. But every gay man needs a wingman, and that’s where I’ve gotta give it up for Joanna Parks, my boo, my BFF, my “nonsexual life partner.”
You might know her as “the other girl” on the dancefloor, and there’s real comedy in how often we get confused for one another by good-hearted gays who apparently think all girls look the same.
Joanna is my true circuit sister, and she’s always been there for me as I’ve pushed my way through the gay glass ceiling. Together, we’ve gone everywhere that no girl has ever gone before, and neither of us would change a thing about our lifestyle. It’s not that we hate girls, we just love our gays more.
There does come a time, though, when there’s no substitute for having my girly by my side. Joanna and I call that time “dick o’ clock,” when the vibe in the club changes from “let’s party” to “let’s fuck,” and the music changes from “let’s dance” to “let’s get the fuck out of here.”
It’s a time when girls need to get gone, and I take pride in knowing when a girl needs to make herself scarce. If you ever see me in the back room, I promise it’s just a drive-by to hand out condoms, or to tell one of my boys he’ll need his own ride home.
One of these days I’ll take my homosociology on the road and find my way to The Dinah in Palm Springs to see what the girly equivalent of dick o’ clock is. But for now, Joanna and I are gearing up once again for White Party Palm Springs, to be wingmen to all our girly boys, and to cheer alongside them for girls like Robyn, Zoe Badwi, Alexis Jordan and Wynter Gordon.
If it wasn’t for gays loving their girls, we’d be nowhere at all, so let’s hear it for the girls!