Still a Heartbreaker

I never thought I would ever utter these words but... Donny Osmond has pissed me off. Didn't even think such a thing was possible. I mean, come on, he's Donny Osmond - the most adorable representation of everything that was good about my childhood.

My mom once gave him a back rub at a creative meeting she had with the Bros Osmond, causing some serious pre-teen swooning on my part - not to mention the cardiac arrest, and diary gushing, that occurred when I answered the phone and Merrill was on the other end to set up said meeting. Donny once helped me package and label schtuff at a FedEx when I was in a hurry. He was lovely and kind as could be and I had almost gotten over the shock that he is as tall as my right leg when I heard that, on his blog, he had publicly defended the Mormon Church's position on gay marriage. I thought, "Oh, no he didn't..." But, oh yes, he did.

In reading his response to the question "How do you feel about gay marriage, Brother Osmond?" I wasn't surprised at all that he feels the way he feels, or that he would turn to The Proclamation on The Perfect Family That Became Extinct Long Ago. He is a Mormon in good standing - a high profile true believer - I would expect him to stand by his prophet. BUT, the fact that he didn't even pretend to be torn or conflicted in the least bothered me to no end.

Anyone in the entertainment industry works with gay people every day - but that boy's career was built on the backs of gay men. You cannot tell me that the Donny & Marie Show was not a gay fest of the highest degree! I watched every freaking episode, obsessively and religiously, and I am here to tell you that it single handedly prepared me for the future years I spent on Castro Street. Gay people have made him up, costumed him, written songs he has sung and shows he has been in. They have choreographed him up one side and down the other and backed him up with their vocal and dance talents that, in many cases, far surpass his. Gay men have made him look good for decades. They created Donny Osmond and this is how he repays them???

Here is what I really can't stand, when Mormons (or any other conservative religious folk) get on their high horses and quote The Brethren and The Scriptures with sweet smiles on their faces and self righteous judgment dripping from their lips like honey and then end with, "It's not my place to judge... I am not being judgmental... I have lots of gay friends that I love... I love gay people... Blah, blah, blah..."

If he had said, "This is what my church teaches and it is what I believe but because of the wonderful gay people in my life I am left highly conflicted. There is pain and confusion and am not sure where to put it all..." I would have applauded him for being honest. For being a human being with a conscience and a heart. But that's not what he said.

What he said was some of his "best friends" are gay, or rather have "gay tendencies," and are accepted as long as they don't act upon their temptations. If they do they have "succumbed to temptation" and are immoral and unchaste and are using their free agency and the dictates of their own conscience to NOT live the commandments. Fine. That is what he believes and he is just as entitled to those beliefs, and his right to express them on his blog, as I am. But it's the "I am not a judge and I will never judge anyone for the decisions they make..." that angered me because that is exactly what he did.

I am so tired of the Anita Bryants of the world sitting in judgment calling gays sinful and immoral and weak and then putting the "But, don't get me wrong, I love gays - I even have gay friends" band aid on the wounds they have inflicted so they can feel Christ like.

They may know gay people and they may include them on their list of friends but what they are extending is not real friendship and what they are feeling is not real love, it just isn't, no matter how big they smile while pretending it is.

Admitting And Embracing Gross And Exhaustive Defeat

This little book, Gerald's Last Christmas, was created by Barbara Bellows-TerraNova. These are the words, taken from Goodbye, I Love You, that my father spoke in a meditation he led our family through on the Christmas before he died. Yes, it is a little New Agey. For those of you that appreciate this kind of thing, enjoy. For those of you that don't, just play the fortune cookie game and add "In bed with a midget" after every page.

I think peace is a wonderful thing to visualize. For ourselves, for our world, really for anyone. Including midgets. Wow, I am thoroughly sucking at my resolve to stop mocking midgets. Sigh. Oh well, Santa already knows I'm naughty...

Okay, you know what? I can't take it anymore. It is physically painful for me to not Mock the Midget. I tried, I really did. But the mocking has a life of it's own. It bubbles out of me at will - and suppressing it creates stroke-like twitching behind my right eye, some sort of herniation in my L5 - S1, and a violent case of turrets. Totally not worth it.

Maybe I gave up midgets prematurely - before I got to have Midget Day. Maybe knowing that there is, not only a candy store owned and run by midgets but, an entire midget neighborhood here in Salt Lake that I am denying myself was too much. How can I NOT partake? Midgets! In Salt Lake! That totally makes up for all the Mormons.

All I know is that the other night when I found the video of the midget in a leotard - hopping, grooving, riding and head butting his two missing link side kicks - something in me snapped. Then I crawled into bed, picked up the book "Are You There, Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea" by Chelsea Handler and read...

"You will do things for a child that you would not even do for yourself," she told me over the phone a couple of weeks after she had Charley.

"That's totally how I feel about midgets!"

"I Think they prefer to be called little people," she said.

"Well, Sloane," I told her, "you've obviously never hung out with one, because I know from personal experience that they either like to be called 'midget,' or 'little fucker.'"

And, with that, I raised the white flag of defeat. I cannot, and will not, stop. But, I will make a deal with any midget, anywhere. They can mock me to kingdom come and 'til the cows come home. I will even provide for them a vast list of all the highly mockable things there are about me. Then we will be even and all will be filled with glee.

Because, really, what is peace without glee? If glee is suppressed there can be no peace. In fact, now that I think about it that was the real message of my dad's last Christmas: Em, I am leaving you - thus sending you to hell for decades. But you will not be left totally without joy. Jesus, the Mighty Universe, the combined energy of all living and I are leaving you something that will carry you through the darkest of times...

Midgets.

Amen.

Don't Even THINK About Not Watching This To The End

Okay, if you HAD to marry one - which one would it be? Seriously.

Farewell, Internetland. I am now dying a happy woman...

It's That Time Again...

Last year I was so thrilled to find this recipe for the "BEST Christmas Cookie Recipe EVER," and got such great feedback from those of you that tried it, I thought I would share again.

• 1 cup of water
• 1 tsp baking soda
• 1 cup of sugar
• 1 tsp salt
• 1 cup of brown sugar
• Lemon juice
• 4 large eggs
• 1 cup nuts
• 2 cups of dried fruit
• 1 bottle Jose Cuervo Tequila

Sample the Cuervo to check quality. Take out a large bowl. Check the Cuervo again to be sure it is of the highest quality. Pour one level cup and drink. Turn on the electric mixer. Beat one cup of butter in the large fluffy bowl. Add one teaspoon of sugar. Beat again. At this point it's best to make sure the Cuervo is still OK. Try another cup... just in case. Turn off the mixerer thingy. Break 2 leggs and add to the bowl and chuck in the cup of dried fruit. Pick the frigging fruit off floor. Mix on the turner. If the fried druit gets stuck in the beaterers just pry it loose with a drewscriver. Sample the Cuervo again to check for tonsisticity. Next, sift two cups of salt or something. Check the Jose Cuervo. Now shift the lemon juice and strain your nuts. Add one table. Add a spoon of sugar, or somefink. Whatever you can find. Greash the oven. Turn the cake tin 360 degrees and try not to fall over. Don't forget to beat off the turner. Finally, throw the bowl through the window, finish the Cose Juervo and make sure to put the stove in the dishwasher.

MERRY CHRISTMAS INTERNETLAND!

Well, Shit...

Seeing The Light And Gladly Repenting

I wrote a while ago about my pet peeve of animals dressed as humans. Lately, I have been given cause to reflect greatly upon this source of utmost annoyance. First of all, Joey - our one year old Min Pin, is very little and gets very cold when we take him outside to go to the bathroom thus often refusing to stay out long enough to go #2. This, of course, results in little #2s being left as offerings outside my son's bedroom door. And in his shoes. I suppose I could do what my mother did when I was little and incorporate animal poop into whatever holiday is looming. One year, when I was 6 or 7, under the Christmas tree behind the presents was a pile of kitty poop with a holiday tag on it that read "To: Emily From: Ephraim." Not sure which makes me laugh harder - the fact that the cat shit under the tree and Mom instantly turned it into one of the most memorable Christmas gifts of my childhood or that my hippie Mormon parents actually named our cat Ephraim.

Anyway, it became clear to me that we would need to fashion some sort of warming device for him to wear outside in the snow but I refused to get him a little sweatshirt or doggie jacket because that would make him the ever satanic animal dressed as a human. So, we took an old soccer sock, cut holes in it and stuffed him in. The convulsions his little body flew into trying to get the damn thing off of him was well worth the ordeal of cramming his royal spaziness into the straight jacket - which he immediately shredded and escaped from the second our backs were turned. Clearly I was going to have to give in and get something sturdier. Something store bought. Something resembling clothing. Dammit.

But then the other day I had a revelation. (For the record, my face was not in a hat - but I am SO going to try that one day just to see what happens.) I opened up my email to find a link to a website for kitty wigs and found myself tickled as pink as the wigs atop the kitty's furry heads. Then, that same night, I went to a Rock Band party at the home of my friends Matt-n-Rick where, incidentally, I learned that my official rocker name is Mercedes Uranus. Good to know. Anyway, in this home there live two dogs who freely roam about in wigs, tutu's and feather boas.




It was while watching these two dogs prance about that my brain was hit with two new, glorious, pieces of information: (1) There is a big difference between animals dressed as humans by their humans that take it seriously, and animals dressed in drag. And (2) Animals in drag are the funniest damn things I have ever seen. How could I have forgotten the Pets and Owners In Matching Drag shows on the Castro I attended in my early teens? Sheesh - my sense of humor isn't usually this slow to kick in but, now that it has...

Poor Joey is sooooo screwed.

For All Those Who Still Think Homosexuality Is Unnatural And That Gays Make Lousy Parents

"Gay penguins expelled from zoo colony for stealing eggs are given their own to look after following animal rights protest."

By Caroline Graham
15th December 2008

A pair of gay penguins thrown out of their zoo colony for repeatedly stealing eggs have been given some of their own to look after following a protest by animal rights groups.

Last month the birds were segregated after they were caught placing stones at the feet of parents before waddling away with their eggs.

But angry visitors to Polar Land in Harbin, northern China, complained it wasn't fair to stop the couple from becoming surrogate fathers and urged zoo bosses to give them a chance.

In response, zookeepers gave the pair two eggs laid by an inexperienced first-time mother.

"We decided to give them two eggs from another couple whose hatching ability had been poor and they've turned out to be the best parents in the whole zoo," said one of the keepers.

"It's very encouraging and if this works out well we will try to arrange for them to become real parents themselves with artificial insemination."

Wildlife experts at the park explain that despite being gay the three-year-old male birds are still driven by an urge to be fathers.

"One of the responsibilities of being a male adult is looking after the eggs. Despite the fact that they can't have eggs naturally, it does not take away their biological drive to be a parent," said one.

One campaigner who did not want to be named welcomed the move and said: "It wasn't fair to stop them becoming parents and keep them apart from all the other birds just because of the way nature has made them."

Last month zookeepers said the couple were removed from the group not because of discrimination, but so as not to disturb the colony during hatching time.

At least a Chinese zoo is getting it right - sheesh! All it took was one little protest, how far behind can the Mormon Church be? Oh yeah, historically, 30 - 50 years. Crap. Let's see if that time table is sped up with all that is set to hit them this following year. Again, I really don't think they had any idea what they were getting themselves in for with Prop 8. They poked the wrong giant with their stick - is all I have to say.

Gay penguins. Cool. Seems fitting that the most well dressed animal would be the first to come out openly. Granted - it was uncool of them to steal other penguin's eggs and replace them with rocks. Even I wouldn't be too happy about a gay couple sneaking into the hospital and absconding with my baby - leaving, maybe, a watermelon in exchange. That would just be rude.

The perfect solution? Again, we can look to the zoo for that. Give gay couples babies made by inexperienced first-time mothers! Of course the mothers couldn't just be inexperienced. Taking away babies merely because of the mother's inexperience would also be kind of rude. Let's be honest here - there are plenty of moms out there that have proven that they are incapable of caring for the countless babies that they insist on cranking out. I was never more depressed about the state of humans as when I was working as a staffer for Kelly Temps - not just as a glamorous temp myself.

There were these two girls, in their early twenties, who kept calling in for work but never showed up for the work we actually got them. They lived in a van together with their litters of babies. They would come into the office, wreaking of BO and cigarettes, and giggle/apologize about missing work, in the middle of winter, with hungry, shoe-less and coat-less kids hanging all over them. I couldn't take it.

I wanted to bitch slap them, storm their van and take their kids someplace safe where they would be cared for by loving parents. I didn't know at the time exactly where I would take them, where I would find guaranteed capable and responsible parents, but I sure as hell do now...

A zoo in China.

Milk

"Burst down those closet doors once and for all, and stand up and start to fight." Harvey Milk

I have been absolutely dying to see "Milk" ever since I first saw the trailer for it and got a glimpse of Sean Penn's performance. I was ecstatic. Saw it on Friday night. To say that I loved it would be the grossest of understatements. Sean Penn is stunning and, I have to admit, has taken Robert DeNiro's top spot on my list of favorite actors. He is like Meryl Streep - taking on a role so convincingly that he becomes lost in it. And I do have to admit a tiny, perverse thrill in knowing that audience members are squirming to see two yummy straight men, Sean Penn and James Franco, make out with one another. That they are being forced out of their comfort zones and are witnessing something that is stretching them - making them a little bigger and, in my opinion, better.

Anyway, the film is a must see. For anyone I think it would be moving and educational, but for me? Holy shit, talk about a trip down memory lane! To see the Castro recreated like that - the theater, the stores and bars, the Muni station I walked through hundreds of times on my way to my dad's apartment, the men and the way they dressed and cut their hair...

I remember when all of that happened. My family had moved to the Bay Area roughly two years before the murders. My dad told me, several times, about Harvey Milk the self proclaimed "Mayor of Castro Street" who had become the first openly gay individual elected to public office. In fact, weirdly, my dad had lunch with Harvey Milk the week before he was killed.

From my mother's freakishly meticulous diary:

November 28, 1978:

I called Gerald this morning to give him my sympathies and tell him I had been thinking about him through it all… Gerald told me that just last week he had eaten lunch with Mr. Milk, had asked him more about the intended march next summer in Washington. Mr. Milk had expressed interest in seeing some of Gerald’s poems. Gerald also told me that two weeks ago Milk had made tape recordings of all his goals and ideals and hopes for what he would like to see happen in this nation by way of its dealings with homosexuals. He did this knowing that something might eventually happen to him because of what he stood for.

How amazing is that? He told my dad about the tape recordings that were shown in the film. Floors me. I remember how outraged everyone one was when Dan White was sentenced. I remember the ridiculous "Twinkie" defense and the White Night Riots. My dad was in his first post-divorce apartment that overlooked Castro Street and was woken up by the commotion. He went down to the street and saw the police beating gay men with their night sticks, dragging them out of bars, the anger, the violence... According to my father, he locked arms with the other gays of Castro Street in a huge, united wall and together they slowly pushed the police out of their neighborhood - all the while singing Happy Birthday to the late Harvey Milk, whose 49th birthday it happened to be.

Earlier this fall I marched around the Salt Lake Temple in protest of the Mormon Church's involvement with Prop 8. My mother marched in San Francisco. We both did so with love for my father burning in our hearts. Just before she left to protest, wearing my dad's leather jacket, Mom opened the November issue of San Fransisco magazine to the large article on Milk, the film and the man. In the middle of the article there is a big, vintage black and white photo of the 30,000 person candlelit march the night Harvey Milk was killed. There in the photo, marching in the middle of the crowd is Gerald Pearson. My father.

I know there are a lot of people that just don't get why I am so passionate about all of this. Why I rant and rave as I do. Why I don't just put down my sword and shut the hell up.

As I sat in that movie theater this weekend I took a long hard look at the legacy I have been left - by my father, my mother and my former church. I thought about the many, many times I've tried to ignore it - to reject it and walk away. I can't. It lives in my skin and courses through my veins. It is for my father. It is for my mother. It is for my brothers and sister. It is for my children. It is for myself. It is for my fellow human beings and I can't let it go until I have done all I can do. And Honey, I am just getting started.

Me shut the hell up? I don't think so.

So Totally Alive

So, Mom just called and said, "I see from your blog that you are still alive. At least you were on Wednesday. I always know you're still breathing if you've blogged." It wasn't a guilt trip - not some "Why doesn't my daughter call me more seeing as how I was in labor with her for a thousand hours..." comment just a statement on how happily busy I am these days - swimming in Christmas, play time with the Loin Fruit, book proposals, LLCs and other yummy wonders.

After we hung up I thought that checking my blog to see if I'm still alive is very smart of my mother and maybe I ought to give it a try. So I logged on and here I am. Hot damn.

Still alive and still a dork.

Persnickity Pickle Pants

I love words. Words, to me, are magic. There is nothing in the world like finding the right words to string together to create a sentence, lyric, paragraph or dialog so yummy that it feels like the sweetest of chocolate infused honey is dripping from your fingertips as you write them and your lips as you speak them. My favorite are quirky words. Single words that feel like an amusement park in your mouth and just make you laugh out loud when you say them.

I had a blast looking for the right word(s) for my film production co. Hullabaloo: a loud, silly raucous - what could be more me? It's a little bit retro - it was the name of a weird TV show in the 60's and a film in the 40's. Doesn't take itself too seriously. Perfect.

In researching and brainstorming, I was reminded of just how many goofy words I adore. Top Favorites:

Hullabaloo
Hootenanny
Snarky
Whizbang
Thingamajig
Lollygag
Tomfoolery
Brouhaha
Skiwompus
Smorgasbord
Shpedoinkle - that one makes me SO happy!

Then there are combinations of words:

Willy Nilly
Namby Pamby

Chicken Lips: you can actually put lips or pants, head or butt after any word and make it even better than it already was. Ointment head. Snarky pants. Banana butt.

Or Lipstick on a Pig: Same goes for pretty much anything on a pig. Or that one word that I am trying to give up for lent. The one that starts with an M. And rhymes with fidget.

But for some reason, my absolute favorite word that has never failed to make me laugh every single time I say it is... Sheboygan.

Sheboygan. Who the hell named that town? I want to throw them a parade and shower them with a Smorgasbord of Ginormous Lollygagging Shpedoinkles!

The End Of Someday

You know that collection of things we're saving for someday? Those jeans we'll wear someday, the dishes we'll use someday on that really special occasion, that trip we'll take someday, all those things that we will experience someday? Someday we'll tell that person we love them, someday we'll get around to learning that instrument, someday we'll make that amazing thing happen. Someday we'll dare to... someday we'll finally...

My list of somedays has been extensive and I have had every intention of making them happen. Someday. But, something in me wasn't ready. Something in me was still scared. Something in me was still healing. Something in me was waiting... for someday.

But this year, miracle of miracles, something in me finally clicked. Something really cool finally snapped into place. I think it's a combination of finally being healed enough, and strong enough, and brave enough, and finally implementing all my hard earned internal tools. The last two times that I was smashed to the ground by something huge in my life I realized that, having been rock bottom so freaking many times before, I already knew how to rebuild and reclaim and reinvent myself, so I simply did it again - and I took notes.

I wrote to myself, talked to myself, listened to myself, coached myself... and woke up one day, not too long ago, and was floored to realize that I was - am - living in my someday. I am happier than I have ever been. I am in a new home. I use the good dishes every day. I am in my skinny jeans. I run 4-5 miles 3-4 times a week. I've started singing again. I have a Tai Pan Trading Company commercial running right now (that everyone on the planet seems to have seen but me!), I am dating again - without the help of sugardaddy.com - praise Jeebus. My life is getting organized again. And...

[Drum roll]

Dancing With Crazy - 52 days after the big Rewrite Ah-Ha - is done and sell able. And, behold, it is very good.

The LLC for the film production company I was going to start someday has just been registered. Hullabaloo Productions is my brand newest baby and its first project is the film version of my mother's play Facing East. Work on the screenplay of DWC is underway.

I feel like I am finally living in technicolor - and I cannot tell you how that feels after having been the dark for so many years. It really is a time of such wonderful things. I know that the economy and many other larger issues have people down. Many are feeling discouraged and afraid. I get that. But we get what we look for. We feel what we focus on and create internally for ourselves.

So, Internetland, the next time someone says to you their version of, "Things suck!" repeat after me: NOT IN MY WORLD THEY DON'T.

Things are only getting better and better. Not someday. Today.

Prop 8: The Musical

See more Jack Black videos at Funny or Die

Too Damn Funny

So, I was just on the phone with Juiceman and noticed the current Google ad on this blog. I burst out laughing as I read to him...
Are You Gay?
You might be gay. Find out for sure Take this fun personality quiz now!
TheGayQuiz.net

First of all: How pissed am I that I am not allowed to click on my own ads??? I might be gay and not even know it. And now, perhaps, I never will. Shit.

Second of all: If someone needs to take a personality test to find out if they're gay, THEY'RE NOT.

Third of all: If someone takes this test, and actually does discover out of the blue that - SURPRISE! - they're gay... I'm thinking they won't find the little quiz they just took all that "fun."

Juiceman took the quiz, read me the questions and I peed my pants. But he couldn't finish and find out if he is gay or not because they wanted his phone number. Why? Because the guy that made up the quiz IS gay and is wanting to hook up with all the brand new gays that he just found.

It's a good thing Juiceman couldn't finish the quiz because he has nice hair and eats Caesar salad and looks good on his drivers license picture - meaning he was about to find out he is really gay and now has to stop having sex with women. Bummer.

Memo From A Fairy Princess

I have, on many occasions, been called a Fag Hag. I HATE it. A hag is an old, saggy, smelly, toothless woman with warts on her nose and boobs around her ankles. And, I have already told you how I feel about the even worse term of Beard. Call me a Fag Hag and I will most likely kick you in the shin. Call me a Beard and I will run at you with a staple gun.

A few years ago, people started referring to me as a Fruit Fly. I'm not sure that Fruit is a whole lot less offensive these days to gay men than Fag. And while Fly is a bit better than Hag, it is still a nasty, germy, annoying insect that starts out as maggot larvae and eats poo. So, no. I reject Fruit Fly.

If you have to stick a label on my forehead just because I love gay men, I have decided that the only acceptable one is Fairy Princess. I learned years ago that, if there is a gay man anywhere in the room, I do not get to be queen. And, while I have reclaimed the throne in my own home, I have accepted the title of lesser royal spiffiness in general. Hag and Fly are out. I am happy being a Fairy Princess.

I am in good company. Margaret Cho kicks ass. Grace and Karen kept us all laughing for years. On TV and in film, the Princesses are fun and brash and as snarky as the Queens whose trains they carry. But, in real life, I am finding cause for concern.

I had already been musing over this topic then had a conversation with my cousins at Thanksgiving that really got me thinking. They have a friend that has been engaged to be married, in the Mormon Temple, for about ten years to a guy that is clearly gay. Everyone in his world knows that he is gay. Everyone in her world knows that he is gay. I'm guessing that he has a fairly good idea but is clinging to his safety net for dear life. She gets violently outraged if anyone dares bring up the subject. They have come close but he calls it off at the last minute. They don't have sex - and this woman is freaking gorgeous. Like, Supermodel right off the pages gorgeous. She is completely devoted to him and won't even think of dating anyone else. They started dating when she was a teenager. Now she is in her late twenties and, looks like, will dangle until the end of time.

He has said: I love you but I won't marry you. I won't ever marry anyone but you and I want you to have my children - but I won't marry you. He lives his own separate life that she has no part of and she keeps dangling. They see one another now once every week or two and she keeps dangling. He won't marry her but they stay engaged and she keeps dangling.

BARF.

Man, I rode that Merry Go Round from Hell for a long time and it is beyond dizzying. And it is a waste of life. I know a few women that fell in love with gay men in their early twenties, got engaged, then the guy broke it off, came out, broke her heart and they remained best friends for decades and the women never really moved on to find their own relationships with straight men that could love them the way they deserve to be loved. I totally get it. Gay men can be amazingly lovable and charming and sensitive and funny. We fall in love with them then stay best friends after the heartbreak because we can. We love their subsequent boyfriends. We take trips with them, spend holidays with them. We never stop loving them because we don't have to. We still love them and they still love us. We will always be the only woman they ever loved and that thought is intoxicating.

And we can't move on because once we have been in love with a gay man, we expect straight men to be just like them. Only straight. We look for, and expect, straight gay men to come into our lives and shop and cook with us, throw fabulous Oscar parties with us, yell bitchy things at all the contestants in the Miss America Pageant and sing show tunes on road trips with us.

And then, year after year, we go to bed alone.

I finally learned for myself. And I discovered straight men. Hallelujah. And I learned to have the reality check conversation with myself when I started dating someone that wasn't "gay man" enough. Memo to all Princesses everywhere: it is time to put down the Queen's train and wave your magic wand on your own behalf. Spend at least as much time with straight men as with your gay friends. Learn to appreciate and celebrate straight men for all the incredible things that they are and give. (That rant to come at a later time...)

A gay man will decorate your body head to toe like none other but will never love it like a straight man will. A gay man will love your soul with all his heart but will never let it live there.

Go ahead and love your gay friends all you want. March for their rights and support them in being all the wonderful things that they are. But, don't forget yourself. Don't forget that you deserve to be loved too - that you have a life to live too. Trust me, nothing is better than coming home from a night out at the gay clubs and crawling into bed with your very own cowboy.

Just make sure he has never spent time on Brokeback Mountain.