Audrey: Hey, Suzette says I have to go be her representative at this gay photography exhibit because she's going to Dominica. So you're coming with me.
Me: Ooooh. Sounds fun! Man gay or woman gay? Both?
Audrey: Oh, no, honey. All men. The photographer, Gabriel, is gay and takes mostly pictures of naked guys. I gave him a facial the other day. He's beautiful!
Me: It's not going to be all that creepy bondage shit, is it? That stuff gives me nightmares.
Audrey: Who cares? It's free wine. Don't be a baby.
So I got off the phone and called Winston and...
Winston: Winston McSwain.
Me: Oooh, honey! Audrey invited me to a nude photography exhibit. Squeee!
Winston: (no doubt shaking off a fog of engineering, says wearily) Great, honey. Have fun. Are you sure you won't be forced to tend bar?
Me: Shut up. It's in Ohio City, home of Cleveland's sexy people. I'll be fabulous!!!
Winston: What's for dinner?
But as the date approached, I started to panic. I am not sexy. I am not fabulous. I Zillowed the address and discovered that not only was it in sexytown, but the exhibit was in a $750,000 4 story townhouse, filled with edgy swank. I scrambled through my closet and felt rising panic as I realized that
1. I haven't bought pantyhose in years. And I probably need Spanx-type coverage. Head to toe.
2. I cannot squeeze into the few borderline awesome dresses I own, due to Ashley Judd-steroid puffiness, that is due to fade in 8 months or so.
3. I don't want to be the boring housewife who showed up at an artsy affair reeking of Anthropologie Wackiness or Banana Republic Dull.
4. My go-to LBD is all awesome Velvet-labeled and covered with drapey mummy wrapping bits that look chic AND forgiving, but I am sick to death of it.
So I called Audrey.
Me: I am freaking out. I hate all my clothes. What are you wearing?
Audrey: Relax! Just wear anything! We won't stay long.
Me: So help me God, I will kill you. What is the dress code? I don't want to look like a schmuck.
Audrey: Oh, fabulous. Gay Fabulous, darling!
Me: What the hell does that even mean?
Audrey: It's all super tight tailoring and high end labels. But it's going to be all gay guys, so what do you care, anyway?
Me: I don't want those bitches trash talking about my clothes as soon as we leave! What are you going to wear?!
Audrey: Oh, my mom bought me a new dress but Tom hated it so he bought me a new dress, too, so I'll probably wear one of those.
Me: Goddamit!
At which point I called Winston...
Winston: Winston McSwain
Me: Audrey says it's gay fabulous and I don't actually own anything that's not sad as fuck so I have to go shopping. I have no choice!
Winston: What are you talking about??
Me: The nude thing. Everybody else is wearing "gay fabulous." I only own "sad housewife." Audrey says it's going to be all tight high end labels and shit. So, I'm sorry, but I have to go shopping. I have no choice in the matter.
Winston: I am not shelling out so you can look gay fabulous! Private school! 3 poodles, a 100 year old wreck and now the cat! No!!!
Me: You had to bring up the cat! I love her! She completes me!
Winston: What's for dinner?
So the day of the event dawns, and by some miracle I discover that I will be home alone for an hour before Audrey picks me up. My daughter is off to a sleepover and the husband and boychild are going to a movie. Which is a bonus, because then I can decide ALONE what I am going to wear and not have to suffer their input. This is the sort of helpful input I receive from my darling family...
Me: My ass is huge. OMG I am falling apart.
Henry: You're not fat, Mommy. Well, except for right here by your...(begins reaching towards me and pointing towards my midsection)
Me: Grounded! If you finish that sentence you are grounded! And if you touch me I will hurt you!!!
Then there's the dressing room advice from my daughter.
"Oh, Mommy. There is no way you are getting those pants up over your thighs. Don't be mad. I love you."
And even the husband. I love him, but I can't count on him for honesty.
(sees me doing my drunken impersonation of Slash at a birthday party)
 |
| sad. not hot. |
"Baby, you're hot!!"
(sees me in my jammies covered zit cream )
 |
| tired, not hot. |
"You're hot!"
(sees me in Lakewood Hospital in a body brace and my face covered with medical tape)
 |
| yeah, he took that picture. |
(sees me standing in a marsh cause my feet are hot)
 |
| "Let me out of the car, I am sticking my feet in that water." |
What I am trying to say is that he is unreliable.
So for once I am able to dress in whatever I can assemble, with no peanut gallery to make me cry. So I dug out a pink lace polyester dressy thing that I got from a resale shop on Etsy for $20. It is just lace, no lining and I had intended to have a matching pink tube dress made for underneath. Yeah, that never happened. But it is so gorgeous. In desperation, I put on a black satin slip and put the lace thingy over it for modesty. (kinda) A little on the weird trampy side, but I figured at least those bitchy gay men could not accuse me of pedestrian dressing. And I felt pretty, which helps a lot.
So Audrey and I show up at the swanky do... me in my trampy pink victorian lace and her in a delicious black and ivory silk fleur de lis dress. I love her too much to hate her for always looking like an elegant Barbie doll. The townhouse is all awesomeness and filled with tightly dressed very manicured men and giant canvases covered with male junk. We made a bee line to the bar. For courage.
Imagine my surprise when we get to the bar and see that the bartender is none other than the bride, Martina, from the gay wedding we went to last fall. I went to a gay wedding and served shitty sangria Apparently her "husband" knew she needed cash and hooked her up with the gay party set to tend bar. As Audrey and I proved, anyone can do it. Poorly. We all air kiss, and then the bride grabs our hands and says, "Your bar tending brought me much happiness and blessings to our marriage. I love you both. You are good to Martina."
I just stared with my mouth open, thinking "Really? Our shitty bar tending brought blessings to your marriage to an openly gay man?" But Audrey jumped in and said instead, "Yeah, well we're not fucking bar tending tonight, honey. 2 red wines! Fill 'em up."
We started making our way from room to room, each room having several easels with black and white images of men, their junk and interesting props. Like pianos, motorcycles, gazebos and violins. We stopped at the buffet and Audrey started scarfing down sushi, while I chugged more wine.
"Oh my God, this sushi is amazing; why aren't you eating any?"
I shuddered, replying, "I cannot put sushi in my mouth surrounded by penises. Let's head to the roof, I need a smoke."
We made our way to the roof and soaked in the splendid views of an abandoned lot, the lake, the Cleveland skyline and an industrial site, all while we smoked our little hearts out and chugged more wine. Not surprisingly, many of the men there joined us in our Absolutely Fabulous binge, and it was big fun. I discovered that better than 50% of them were wearing salmon pink on their bodies somewhere and so was I, so I kept screaming, "Twinsies!" It made sense at the time...
When we went back inside, we decided to nose around a little bit. We are very nosy. So we busted into the owner's suite to check out the bathroom. It totally delivered. A huge beyond all reason tub that could (and probably does) fit 5 grown men. A shower the size of a garage with more jets than an automatic car wash.
Audrey: Holy Shit! It's a rock star shower! Gabriel's gettin' it ON!
Me: Hey, did I ever tell you what Mike (our friend Victoria's husband) said when he saw our 2 person shower at our old house?
Audrey: No! What did Mr. Mike say? This oughta be good.
Me: He was helping Winston move the our mattress over to the new house because I insisted on squatting in it before the movers came and when he saw the huge shower he yelled, "Allllriiiight, Winston! Wife's got a full piece back tattoo and you're got a Tommy Lee shower! My man!!" Winston's still riding that complement.
Then we started screaming "Tommy Lee!" over and over again and then, very mysteriously, Audrey started singing Love Song by Tesla, so I was fumbling for a lighter to give her a proper salute. That's when the high point of my evening occurred.
Suddenly, Audrey stopped singing and I saw her eyes bugging out, staring at something just over my right shoulder. I whipped around, fully expecting to see that Gabriel had caught us petting his fancy towels and bath soaps. Instead, what was creeping through the door was an old man, dressed like a gayish version of an English lord. Shiny nut brown loafers, beautiful tweed suit, crisp monogrammed dress shirt with cufflinks (well, it was salmon pink, but you get the idea) and of all things, a cravat. It was like David Niven was slinking through the door at us. But gay fabulous.
He was sliding across the floor, with his hands stretched out towards me, and all I could think was "Bela Legosi! He wants to eat my soul!" (I was drunk. Under the best of circumstances, I am paranoid.) I tried to back away, but the only place to back to was the sex shower. So I stood there, clutching the tiny dress purse I had stolen from my daughter's toy box, prepared to smack him with it.
"My darling, I followed you all the way up here! I had to tell you, I am in love with your dress. You make me think of Emily Dickinson. Sweetheart, you are a vision."
Me: (WTF?)
(outloud) "What a kind thing to say! My goodness!"
(now, David Niven is petting my cheap lace on my arm) "It's just that you don't see this sort of elegance nowadays. You look like the perfect lady from an age gone by. My dear, you enchant me."
I look down at myself. I am sloppy drunk, reeking of cigarettes, wearing cheap lace over A SLIP from Target. What I wanted to say was, "I look like a whore, but thanks. Hey, tell me. You're as pale as I am, and yet you have managed to find the PERFECT bronzer! Wherever did you find it? I must own it!"
What I actually said was, "You are the sweetest thing. What a charming complement! Have a wonderful evening! Isn't it all marvelous?" Then I slunk around him, followed closely by a choking Audrey. We ran to another bedroom and collapsed in giggles on a giant bed. Where we were soon joined by two Maine Coon cats. So we rolled around for a while, petting them and insisting into their precious ears that we loved them more than anything. Honestly, where was Mr. Gabriel Photographer? Two drunk white chicks, rolling around on navy blue satin with giant cats? Get the camera!!!
No, he was downstairs, air kissing and mingling and, if the line to the paypal terminal was any indication, making money hand over fist. And while we're on the subject, I feel I need to mention my thoughts on his art.
I lead a sheltered life, which is how I like it. Audrey gets me out of my comfort zone. All the male nude photography I have ever seen is fairly limited and I have never liked any of it. It makes me nervous. The men all seem bruised and depressed and filled with shame. And then I feel bad for looking at it. And while there were a few pictures of fragile young men in angel wings laying broken on beaches... there was so much joy in the other pictures. I don't know why they're so happy to be naked, but good for them!
One picture showed two nudie men reaching across a dining room table, toasting each other and laughing. Another showed 3 men in mime paint pressed up against the glass of a green house. (Hello, Dolly!) Another showed a man chained to a motorcycle on a train trestle. (Do you need a permit for that?) There was one featuring a man playing piano and chugging whiskey. My favorite? Two hugely buff nudie men in a gazebo drinking some Coronas. And that was what captured my eye most, except for the weenies. Every man looked outrageously happy! They were all laughing and smiling! They looked like they were getting ready to watch Sports Center or play horseshoes! And I thought, "What a refreshing perspective! There is no way I want to see that much penis over my fireplace, but good for you for removing all that shame crap from gay nudes!"
We did leave early, so we could go over to Victoria's house and get drunker on pear brandy. We spent the rest of the evening hooting and screaming "sausage fest!" I am calling the whole evening a win because I think I nailed gay fabulous. And considering I have been at home covered in children and pets for the last 12 years, that's quite an accomplishment for me.:) Can't wait till Audrey needs a date again. She's the best sort of nuts.
~dana
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| blurry, out-of-focus iphone pic, but you get the idea. |
PS. In all fairness, I should point out that Winston took the backboard/neck brace pic AFTER he knew I still had the use of my limbs. He also shot video because I was high as a kite.
PPS. I keep going around and around about all that joy on their faces and trying to figure out why the hell it impressed me so. And it just clicked, when I remembered this conversation I had with my friend Camille, about George Takei (Star Trek's Mr. Sulu). I said to her, "I used to totally hate Mr. Sulu because he was so bitchy and kept hatin' on Bill Shatner. But now, I don't know why, I sorta love him. He's so cute I want to pinch him!' And wise Camille replied, "That's because he's OUT! The last place you want a gay man is in a closet." And thus, all the joy. I had so much fun, there wasn't a single bitch at that party. Just joy!
