Isn't it bro-mantic

Welcome, pimps! I'm baaaack!

I'd like to discuss with you the following term: lesbro*. Say it with me now: lesssss-broooooo. Lesbro!

It's like faghag, but slightly more manly and certainly more butch. Lesbians and lesbros don't talk about their feelings! They drink them away! Lesbians and lesbros share hats! Lesbians and lesbros engage in a very special kind of talking about their past wherein they almost reveal everything and yet, at the same time, reveal nothing at all.

Lesbians and lesbros are like pimp daddy gay dudes and faghags, but with higher tolerance for alcohol and less interest in grooming products. Lesbros are the faghag to the queer butch's straight girl, and god bless my lesbro for coining that term.

So, lesbro: mine is a married, miliary dude. Bless his fantastic, liberal, absolutely rad wife for tolerating my totally gay presence in their lives. If I had to look back (and I will) on my life in the capital of the Confederacy and choose one positive, it'd be Lesbro and Lesbro-wife (I'm sorry, but there just isn't a set of words that would indicate both your liberal radness and your queer-friendliness, so there you go).

Just a brief shout-out to lesbro and lesbro-wife: y'all are fantastically, crazily awesome. You should totes sell your house and move to D.C. and be crazy, no-money-having D.C.-ites with us.

No? You ... you want to have all of our money? We'll totes buy your house so you can move to D.C. and be rad with us.

Bah! Fine! But I still think you guys are the shiz-nit. XO.


*"Lesbro"= Disturbingly close straight male friend of a lesbian; same as a faghag, but less obnoxious and sad. Usage: "Yo, my lesbro is gonna come over for some beers. Do we have any Miller Lite?"

Long time coming

The Wifey and I decided to go on vacation to Minnesota since we weren't able to get tickets for Thanksgiving (over $600 per ticket? No fucking way) and since taking off time during the "real" holiday time would be damn near impossible. So, we took the first week of December (before it got too cold) to fly to our home state. I'm going to go on a tangent here and say it's great to live far away sometimes — you can pick where you want to live and once you make the big move, it's much easier to move to other places. You can start over if you want, be who you really are or who you really aren't. I love to visit friends and (some) family, but I really enjoy coming back to D.C. Moving on.

So, in a brave move, I decided to visit my parents up north. I hadn't seen them for over a year and a half and felt that it would be a healing move. It was an even harder decision to go by myself while Wifey visited with her family. I made a pact with myself that this visit would be solo — to show my parents that I indeed was alive and well but to establish the line. I drove up and tried to conjure emotion — any emotion — but I couldn't. Save for the ever-growing feeling of numbness. I drank my last sip of gas station coffee and unlocked the trunk to get my suitcase out. Slowly, I walked up the driveway, making snowy prints and knocked on the door. My dad greeted me with a hug and immediately started crying (he's a cryer and probably where I get it from). My mom was smiling really big and when my dad finally let go, she hugged me. I smiled, but it felt fake. Like the smile you smile after you've been crying really hard and someone tries to make you feel better or laugh? That kind.

It was good to see them, but for the first time, I felt like an outsider. Because my mom and I would argue every time we spoke over the phone, the last four months we had communicated strictly through e-mail. Which was probably a good thing, and saved a lot of tears, but left it really easy for one party to ignore the other parties words. I would mention Wifey in almost every e-mail to her because she is a big part of my life and truthfully, there isn't much I do without her that's worth mentioning. My mom would reply, and ignore any girlfriend references. So fine, I get that. And I'll put up with it for awhile. But she was doing this in person too — I'd say anything with the girlfriend mention and my mom would start talking about something else or ignore it. But, again, I'll put up with it. For awhile.

Thing is, I wasn't sure there was ever the right time for the "So, the next time you see me, it will be the both of us or no me at all" conversation. And, consequently, I never got around to it. So, here I am. Weeks later and I haven't talked or e-mailed my mom. I just don't know what to say, where to start or what to do. There seriously needs to be a guide put out for this shit. Welcome to Gay World! Here's your map and guide and rainbow sticker for your car and list of gay-friendly places and places you should never go at night and good gay bars and good (mostly only OK) gay movies, etc. Someone's gay agenda should be to put something like that out there. For the rest of us. Who are winging it every day.

So, that's why the blogging has been a bit on the low side this past month. I've got a lot on my mind and was semi-depressed for a week or so after coming home because of my parents. I just felt alone while there and I missed my girlfriend and I just couldn't relax. It made me sad that this is what the relationship with my parents is reduced to. One day at a time. Or something shitty like that.

I heart RuPaul like WHOA

More Gay & Lesbian Video

RuPaul's new show on Logo, "RuPaul's Drag Race," looks like well, the best reality show ever? Starts in February, you can read all the deliciousness at rupaulsdragrace.com.

Prop 8: The Musical

I'm late on this, but if you haven't seen it, it's so worth it. Makes me glad I was a theater geek in high school. The highlight is Margaret Cho — decked in tattoos.