[Title] fabulous disposition: queer life, love and drama in this prairie town
[Deck] like a top
[Byline] column by sean robert
The other night I was overcome by an epiphany: to get to the bottom, one must always start on the top. Allow me to explain.
So here’s the story – you (and by you I clearly mean me) dress up in a powerhouse outfit to fly solo to an intellectual gathering of the city’s leading artists and theatre types. Now that you are accepting application forms again for your love, you are self-confident and unquestionably fabulous.
Arriving at the downtown theatre venue, your intent for the evening is not to attract gay men like moths to your burning flame: but are you ready in the likely event that should happen.
As you enter the theatre you look for a seat where you can blend into the crowd. After all, you do not want to take all the attention off the stage. But as it turns out rush seating is not in your cards, and (not happily) you proceed to take your empty seat, in an even more vacant row.
But then, just as your confidence begins to wane, a miracle happens. As if the god of homosexual men had finally cut you a break for once, a gorgeous gay man takes the seat right next to you. Suddenly, trying to act a little less desperate than usual, you take your eyes off him and on to the program and panic-struck ask yourself the question, what do I do?
Do you seize the opportunity knowing that like your outfit, you are in fact a gay powerhouse? (Not to mention the fact that finding gay men outside club(s) in this city is an almost impossible feat.) Or do you fall apart like Joey Potter on Dawson’s Creek overcome by a wave of low self-esteem and your underlying fear of rejection?
Well if you were me you would have chosen the latter and run. And oh yes, run I did, right past the cheap champagne bar and straight on home to my safe empty bed. But as I lay there, that’s when the epiphany came all over me.
One cannot be a bottom in life and expect to achieve the same satisfying results as in the bedroom. No, one has to grab life by the balls like a top, and for heavens sakes stop when they get to the bloody champagne bar.
One cannot be a bottom in life and expect to achieve the same satisfying results as in the bedroom.
Had I carpé diemed my way in there that night instead of passively rolling over, who knows what could’ve happened? Had I also been accompanied by my best friend Shiraz I’m sure none of this would have been a problem. And who cares if I would’ve been rejected? It’s not like I haven’t faced potential rejection from my best friends, family, church, culture or greater society before.
So next time I find myself blessed by the homosexual gods, I will take a moment, excuse myself to the washroom, and like Junior from Cool Runnings look in the mirror and say, “I see Pride! I see Power! I see a bad-ass mother who won’t take no crap off nobody!” (Or something like that.) But if that doesn’t work, then there is also something to be said about the health benefits of running.
Published: Outwords Inc. #153 June 20 – July 17, 2008