Mode of distraction: Watching live Adele performances. Distracting me from: Putting clean laundry away.
It's Gay Pride Month! Pride is a mere few days away, but the gay gene knows nor cares about any such calendar. No matter the month, there are a few things that will send me into a queeny fit faster than Shangela in a lip-sync competition. I realized this at the gym today when, while lifting dumbbells, N*SYNC's "Bye Bye Bye" came on and it was only due to the struggle to lift the dumbbells that I didn't break into an all-out dance in front of the wall-to-wall mirrors. So, in the spirit of the month, I've been pontificating as to what triggers my inner gay to become an outer one. And because I'm OCD like that, I had to make enough to do rainbow colors. Deal.
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1. Halloween
I mean, duh. Costumes, makeup, candy, alcohol, parties, dancing...sign me up for twice a year. And though I only dipped into drag once, it was really amazing, if I do say so myself (if completely wasted on a Davis audience):
AbFab, natch.
2. Wedding dance floors
There's something about them--the age range, the go-to 80s songs, the open bar (ideally), and--most often--my sister and mother at my side that just puts me in my element.
3. Nostalgic bubblegum pop/R&B
Including, but not limited to, early Britney and Destiny's Child, as well as "The Boy is Mine," "Hit 'Em Up Style," "Bye Bye Bye," "Wannabe," "Genie In A Bottle," "Faded" and "Are You That Somebody?"
4. Champagne
It's alcohol. Bubbly alcohol. Bubbly alcohol that's perfectly acceptable to consume morning, noon, and night. Check.
5. My favorite famous females
5. Scrapbooking
SHUT UP. I've made three (well, two, but my Davis one required two scrapbooks to fit all the modness) and I love them. Too expensive and time consuming to do regularly (plus I'm sure at some point I'd actually acquire menopause), but I love putting on my headphones and crafting out at 3 a.m.
6. Movies I've memorized
There are comedies that are so good, committing them to memory just sort of happens. Such films include The Birdcage, Death Becomes Her, Drop Dead Gorgeous, and Best In Show. Proper intonation required while going through dialogue with those special family and friends that have memorized them, too.
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So voilà. Bask in my pride, and what brings it out faster than anything else. Well, except for, you know, naked men. Attractive naked men in particular. And this guy in most particular:
Mode of distraction: Contemplating a lifetime (i.e., spending too much time on YouTube for the purposes of this post).
Distracting me from: Getting back to work.
"25? Fuck I'm old!"
I've been waiting to say that phrase since I first saw the Sex and the City episode it belongs to back in the early 2000s, when I finally came around and caught up on this show. A drunk loser says it during Carrie's birthday dinner from hell (she's turning 35, by the way).
And now I can finally say it. Time most definitely flies.
But this is where Oprah and I differ. Oprah, after a mere 25 years, is calling it quits. This bitch. What kind of message is that sending to those like me, only just turning 25? Is it really over now? All downhill from here? Oprah has proven herself a truly savvy businesswoman--maybe she just knows when to get out, while I (and most others) do not.
If 25 really is the peak, then I'm giving myself a slice of Oprah and doing a very special birthday blog post. Iiiiiiiiit's...
MY FAVORITE THINGS!!!
Having lived/survived/managed/grown/learned/succeeded/failed for a quarter of a century now, and because--again--Oprah and I have just so much in common, I'm going to reflect on the things that make me me, broken down into key (superficial) facets. And you will watch. Because it's my birthday (week).
No, this is not going to be a list of my favorite movies of all time (mullhollanddrthebirdcagedeathbecomeshermoulinrougerequiemforadreamangelsinamerica). Movies have been a part of my being since, well, yeah, seeing all the Disney movies growing up. But I really think A Fish Called Wanda earns the most credit for shaping me, my love for movies, and my family's intimate connection with them. I think I first saw this Rated R flick at age, what, seven? And Jamie Lee Curtis' swiftly delivered "What about my tits?" line proved to be absolutely the funniest thing I'd ever heard in my life to that point. It marked the transition from movie watching to movie memorizing, and my entire family can repeat lines to that movie on a dime. That, my friends, is how you judge a comedy.
True to growing-up form, I have continued to love and appreciate the movies watched and recited with my family, while moving on and finding my own. My #1 most quotable comedy goes to none other than Mike Nichol's sublime The Birdcage. It's simply the best. And trust that TRAC and I can quote the entire thing, from start to finish, with perfect intonation.
Sigh, Nathan Lane really did deserve an Oscar for this role. Perfection.
Admittedly, my appreciation for music came late in life. Most of my early CDs were simply movie soundtracks (such as the one for Speed 2, and I'm not even kidding). Though, I must give props to TLC, who managed to break through my ignorance with CrazySexyCool--the first CD I ever purchased and one I both still own and love.
But even TLC was no match for one voice that would shine above the rest (well, okay, two if you count my sister, because her voice does all the same things for me). In 2002, two things happened: my sister became interested in Broadway singers as she started voice lessons, and American Idol started. Upon listening to Linda Eder blasted through my sister's walls, I realized I really appreciated that she had such a good voice. That gay tuning fork inside me began to ring, and just as my love for big-voiced divas was finally starting to take shape, an adorably confident and humble Kelly Clarkson took the cheap, Season-One stage of American Idol to belt out a twangy and pitch-fucking-perfect "Respect."
Seriously, how cute is she? And amazing? I thought so, too. I really liked Tamyra as well, and still think they're the best contestants to ever grace this rapidly declining show (that I haven't actually watched since Season Five). I went through a big-voiced diva phase (Whitney, Mariah, Celine, Barbra, Linda, etc.), and while I still like and appreciate their talent, my musical taste has since expanded greatly. But my love for Kelly Clarkson has only grown. Her voice is phenom, she can sing anything, and she just seems like a way cool person. I'd post more videos, but I don't want to lose you, and when her new album drops this fall I'm pretty sure I'll be dedicating a whole post to her anyway.
Can't forget this. I grew up a terrible speller, probably from some mix of laziness and my first-grade teacher who had us write in journals every morning using "inventive spelling." She just wanted us to write and not worry about the technicalities. So...I didn't. Until my best friend, Kevin, in fifth grade, in big letters, on the big whiteboard, wrote "BROCKEN" and explained to anyone listening that this was how I continually misspelled "broken." Oh, the shame. But hey, it kick-started me into getting my shit together. And now I am a copywriter, editor, and soon-to-be-recipient of an MFA in Writing. Who knew?
But I must credit one teacher for really making me realize I had a knack for writing, even though I hated her (for, like, two seconds) for doing so. We had an assignment in seventh grade to write about a personal experience. I wrote about the time my dick of a third grade history teacher gave me an F on a test--my first F--and I realized he actually marked one of my answers as incorrect when it was correct. He looked it over, nodded, and put a "+" mark next to my F. Piece. Of. Shit. Anyway, my seventh grade teacher thought the story was so good (it sort of writes itself, doesn't it?) she read it aloud in class. Embarrassing, but then I knew I was good at something. It took plenty more years and teacher confirmations before I pursued creative writing aggressively, but that was the start.
I need my TV time. I just do. It's how I unwind. I watch it all, from brilliantly written shows like Weeds, Damages, and Modern Family to trashy reality TV like the Real Housewives franchises (even the shitty ones like Miami and D.C.). I get absorbed and happy when I watch, so I don't care what you say. And when it comes to marathoning a favorite, it doesn't get any better than the groundbreaking and beloved Roseanne.
Finally, gymnastics. Yes, I did a sport. Only for fun, but it's been a huge part of my life and, through the magic of YouTube, still is. I use to watch it endlessly, and left patches of dead grass in my backyard from where my feet hit as I ran up to our trampoline. It's the most demanding and spectacular sport there is. And over the years, my numerous favorite gymnasts over the years have changed and finally settled on one: Vanessa Atler. She is far from a household name, but was touted to be the next big name in 1997. Her talent, at least in the United States, was truly unsurpassed, but a lack of mental toughness and confidence (plus eventual surgeries and an eating disorder, as well as a host of other disadvantages) left her off the 2000 Olympic Team. I was there with my family for those Olympic Trials, and it was heartbreaking to watch her fall so spectacularly apart. But now I remember her fondly for her power and spirit, and this routine remains my favorite floor routine of all time.
The choreography is great and so well executed, but that first pass is really what stands out. Unreal. Incidentally, I ended up writing her on Facebook to geek out for a bit and she responded and was really sweet. Win.
Um, pretty much deserves her own mention. And I've met her. It might have been as a brace-faced 15-year-old who announced to her within seconds of meeting her that Death Becomes Her was my favorite movie of all time (we were at the Academy Award rehearsals for the year she received her Adaptation nomination, by the way...), but I still met her so I still win. Proof that my 25 years is superior to Oprah's is right here:
So, that about covers it for this epic blog post. But you only turn 25 once. And, yes, obviously, I would be nowhere (quite literally) without my family. They are everything. I couldn't have asked for more love, support, inspiration, humor, and drama (you have to have the drama or then you just grew up too lucky and jaded). And, since I'm a total mamma's boy, my mother deserves her own special shout out on this monumental occasion. You really are the best.
You're now free to get back to your daily routines. For all those people in my life who I both like and love, thank you for making this all so worthwhile that I am, unlike Oprah, continuing with life after 25. It seems like the thing to do. For all those people in my life who I both dislike and hate, fuck you. You're probably necessary to keep me grounded and all that, and for that I...well, whatever, I still don't like you.
