- A Guest post by my favourite Fag Hag GeeGee Curtained -
When I was little there was a show on telly called ‘My Two Dads’ about a girl being raised by two gay men and I always wished I lived in that show. Ok, that and I would daydream that I was actually a princess who was swapped at birth and one day my ‘real’ parents would swoop down in a great big helicopter with two rotors and rescue me - on the despised school grounds naturally.
I also had a fabulously flamboyant gay uncle who would bring me fantastic gifts from all over the world that would send my imagination on a wild ride every time, I had my journey around the globe mapped out in an Atlas before I was 10. I LOVED spending time with him, listening to his tales from far and wide - I’m pretty sure he edited a lot of his stories to make them suitable for my young ears, especially the ones that were set in Bangkok, but still! So, clearly I was destined to be a fag hag, I didn’t stand a chance!
I’ve never really had a lesbian friend before. Well, I did in High School, but I didn’t know she was gay until I found out she was telling people I was her girlfriend, so technically that doesn’t count. Lezzie’s in the family, yes. But no actual friends.
Suddenly I found myself becoming a lettie bag and befriending one for the first time at my *cough* rather advanced age! A real lezzie. A dyke lezzie. I call Jonesey my Gentledyke. I don’t know whether she can fix cars or do plumbing but she is one of the few people who can hold her own in the Rabbit Hole almost as well as I can when it comes to alcohol consumption – that doesn’t make me a lesbian, it just means I have a cast iron liver... *ahem*
She’s quite a little lezzie but she has already leapt to my defence more than once. If my passport ever allows me to go to the kind of bar that brawls break out in on a regular basis I would happily pick her and her ‘Beast’ to have my back any day. Come to think of it, I would NEVER look for shit with them either. Beast looks fukken scary man, like she could break you in half with one hand tied behind her back! Rumour has it that she’s actually a very gentle soul but I wouldn’t try my luck.
Anyway, Jonesey and I get on so well that she has been welcomed into our jealously guarded inner circle of merry misfits BUT not so well that Himself will finally have that oh-so-clichéd fantasy fulfilled of seeing me with another woman. I just don’t see the point of lesbian sex, I mean, what do they do??
I’ve had many gay men as friends, some I’ve booted out of the closet, some are clinging to that door handle for dear life and some are Out and Proud but there are two who are especially dear to me.
One of my oldest friends is an absolutely fabulous drag queen known as Tarren with more than his fair share of gay beauty titles who is a hairdresser by day and a flamboyant queen by night. We always have a scream of a time in the Rabbit Hole – he also flirts shamelessly with my husband but fortunately Himself just takes it all in his stride. He’s actually one of the few drag queens I know who doesn’t lip-sync or wear a wig and lives his character, the only difference is that when he does a show he puts his slap on a LOT thicker. Tarr can sing anything from ABBA to Crash Test Dummies with perfect pitch and is blessed with a mane of beautifully coiffed long blonde hair, his brows are always perfectly plucked and his manicure and make-up immaculate. He can also be a total blonde... We were at Woolworths one day buying a few bottles of pink Veuve Cliquot bubbly for his birthday celebrations and as we were walking out of the store he turns to me with a look of undiluted horror on his face and says ‘Gawd ange, that’s fucken expensive for Woollies champagne!’ I was on the floor!!
He’s so camp that he’s my secret weapon to weed out the undercover homophobes in my life – and he loves playing that game with me. There are few things that amuse me more than dragging him along to a stuffy family gathering and watching people pretend to be cool with him and the whole gay thing because they know they’ll get a bitch slap from me if they don’t play nice. Hey - anything to get through those things, a secret stash of Bloody Mary fixings in my handbag doesn’t always do the trick you know.
My sister-in-law is one of those unfortunate souls who have zero social IQ as well as being a 45 year old spinster with the emotions and mannerisms of a 10 year old - I’m talking cutesy hair clips, matching plastic jewellery, the whole shebang. I have a very strong suspicion that she’s a lesbian who hasn’t cottoned on to the fact yet, but anyway, that’s a story for another day. She’s always desperately wanted to have gay friends and from the moment she laid eyes on the fabulousity that is Miss Tarren she has stuck to his side like shit to a wool blanket whenever we’re all together and I swear he can smell her desperation. He takes an almost cruel delight in saying things to her that he knows will shock her, yet the poor clueless cow keeps coming back for more. She made the grave mistake one night of telling him she does Scottish Dancing once a week and has been for years.
Now, she’s a rather uhm... big girl with the grace of a Sumo wrestler and I don’t think Tarren could resist the temptation of seeing her bouncing around the Rabbit Hole so he asked her to demonstrate. Encouraging comments like ‘Oh ange, you’re so light on your feet’ and ‘It’s just like skipping, show me again’ had the rest of us rushing outside like a herd of buffalo before we fell apart in front of her. After the demonstration he turned to me and said ‘Fuck ange, I hope those classes she’s been taking are free!’ Tarr is such a bitch (and I love it) but before you judge you need to know that Himself’s sister has given me all kinds of hell in the 25 years I’ve known her, so it was time for some light revenge. He’s also got a potty mouth that would make a sailor blush and I wouldn’t want him to be any other way...
I’ve also learnt the hard way NEVER to look when he thrusts his cell phone in my face and says ‘Oooooh Ange! Look here!’ Let’s just say that he’s really into Bears and I’ve seen more hairy asses and ball bags than any woman ever should!
That brings me to my gay husband Hawtentawt. From the moment we first laid eyes on each other something clicked and the Terrible Twins were born! We can gossip without saying a word to each other, a look is all it takes. Unfortunately sometimes those looks cause snorts and chortles and all sorts of sound effects that get us into trouble at the worst times.
Himself and Hawts get on like a house on fire and over weekends we’re the Three Musketeers - we cook, drink, talk shit, party and generally get up to no good together. Hawts doesn’t look gay at all and is very proud of that fact – girlies are checking him out constantly, if only the poor things knew he prefers cock! Himself calls him ‘a straight man’s moffie’ and they take the piss out of each other constantly – but let anyone else say anything negative about either of them and all hell breaks loose!
Unfortunately Hawts doesn’t get on that well with Tarren - he says he’s gay because he likes MEN, not FAIRIES! I don’t have the heart to tell Tarr this, although personally I think it’s because Hawts doesn’t want to share his fag hag! Lolz...
I’ll never forget the day Hawts met my in-laws for the first time. Nobody and I mean nobody who’s ever met them can wrap their heads around the fact that Himself is related to that lot – they’re just so... uhm... left of centre. Anyway, it was Christmas day a couple of years ago, we were all doing the handing out presents bit and Hawts was sitting sort of behind everyone with a very bemused look on his face observing the curious interactions taking place. Remember I mentioned my sister-in-laws emotional age? Well, one of the gifts we bought her was a battery operated cup that mixes your hot chocolate for you. Very cutesy. My mother-in-law took one look at the wrapped box and the batteries we put in the gift bag and said, completely deadpan, ‘I hope that’s not a Dildat’. I was in absolute pieces, I couldn’t even look at Hawts and he made a very discreet and quick exit from the room. Hawts can also be a real bitch – he found a Chrissie hat somewhere that said ‘Ho Ho Ho’ on it and gave it to my sis-in-law to wear, telling her how good it looked on her. Poor cow had us take a picture and made it her Facebook profile pic!
Shortly after we met I was diagnosed with a brain tumour and where most ‘new’ friends would’ve run screaming for the hills not daring to look back in case they turned into a pillar of salt, Hawts was there for me. I mean THERE for me. Loooooong story but it involved countless hours of hand holding, doctor’s visits, hospital visits, blood, tears, laughter, head shaving, 70 metal staples, a Bride of Frankenstein lookalike, a titanium plate, home visits, gallons and gallons of ice-cream, Will and Grace, Queer as Folk, movies, flowers, pyjamas, wigs, prescription drugs, weed and tattoo parlours. After the amount of morphine injections and Vitamin B shots he’s given me he also knows the layout of my ass far better than he should.
Since our friendship started we’ve both had more than our share of the shit pile life can sometimes be and that’s why we make a point of having as much fun as possible. We’re both Piscean so luckily we have a healthy dose of black humour – we need that as we both suffer from ‘foot in mouth disease’ too. We sit for hours discussing who is banned from our funerals and we both know where our respective hidden stash is we don’t want anyone to come across when we die, especially our mothers! We have agreed under pain of haunting each other to uphold our pinkie swear promises regarding these incredibly important issues.
Last year we talked Hawts’ ex into coming to Gay Pride 2010 in Johannesburg with us. Being a Medical Professional *said in respectfully hushed tones* who comes from a much respected and well known line of Doctors, Doc doesn’t ever really let his hair down and it was his very first Gay Pride. I found that hard to believe until I saw the way he carried on that day – we practically had to carry him to the car when we wanted to leave and he was protesting all the way. He was a great sport and in all the time I’ve known him I’ve never seen him let loose the way he did that day, like a kid in a candy store! On pain of death I had to promise not to put any pics of him without his carnival mask on in my Facebook album.
By the time we got there we were already quite well lubricated, having bubbly for breakfast gives one quite a good buzz – especially if you skip the food part. We chose drinks instead of food all day and were like energizer bunnies on speed. On the way home to the ‘after party’ where our friends and Himself were waiting for us Doc spent most of the journey hanging out of the sun roof flying the massive gay flag we’d brought with us in one hand, drink in the other and lustily singing along to ‘Alejandro’. We were all full of beans, bragging about how we were going to ‘rock the house’ when we got there. By 7 o’clock we were all passed out cold and the party went on just fine without our glitteringly entertaining company, so that didn’t exactly pan out the way we’d planned... erm...
Three weeks later an official letter was delivered to Doc’s practice and his receptionist opened it to be confronted with a pic taken by a camera on the N1 of Doc’s Range Rover happily speeding away with the Gay Flag flying proudly out of the sunroof. As I explained to him it could’ve been much worse, at least the picture isn’t of him hanging out of the sunroof too, topless with his black painted lips and nails!
Hawts is single and has been for ages but after the last 2 dates I nagged him into going on I don’t think any will be happening again for a while – the one guy apparently had a ‘bulging eyeball’ and the other one ‘funny fingers’. Gawd, he is SO full of shit!! I really wish he would get himself a partner but clearly any prospective candidate would have to be thoroughly checked out first PLUS he would have to fit in with the merry misfits – quite a tall order.
I really have the best of both worlds and feel very blessed with the gorgeous men I have in my life who wrap me in cotton wool. A Husband AND a Gusband I adore who will do anything for me. Hawts does everything with me that Himself isn’t into and Himself does the rest. How lucky am I bitches??
So, to all the fugly homophobes out there I flip a big fat cow’s hoof and say fuck you all. You don’t know what you’re missing. Either that, or you DO know and you’re terrified you come rocketing out of the closet by accident. Pierre wrote a post for my blog a few weeks back entitled ‘Beware the Sodomites Want to Recruit You’. As far as I’m concerned the Sodomites are more than welcome to take over the world, they’re much more fun than most straight people anyway. As for recruiting me – I’m not too sure about that, I love a good dick as much as any gay man and could never give it up and become a lettie! ;-)
Till next time Butterflies....
GeeGee Curtained xOx
To read more from GeeGee visit her Blog Two Fat Cows & a Bottle of Goose HERE
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