Posts Tagged ‘Gay’

As culture goes it is very rare for gay househusbands to hang out. Maybe due to the lack of trust in their partners? Monogamy being truly tested within the househusband(s) allowing their attractive muses to leave the nest?  9/10 it’s just hysteria within their own subconscious. Insecurity when they ream “why do you have to hang out with them.. ALONE?” in a tone that deems suspicious. Assuming that us real housewives have an arterial motive of fucking on the brain. If we as a gay race are trying to delete social stereotypes. Then? We should start within our culture. I’d say.

It was a Monday morning. The weather overcast as it whispered sweet nothings to my eyes. “Sleep in sweet man. It’s your day off.” in a voice i’ll pretend was Queen Latifah.  The crust in my eyes making it uncomfortable to watch as Kathie Lee goes on yappin about the Kardashian backlash. Slightly tuned out by my wrestles neighbor upstairs and the beeping of the coffee maker. Feeling the sharp pain as falling asleep on the couch has become a real nuisance lately. I grab my phone and pick the eye boogers out while reading my texts. Neurotically rolling them in balls by fingers as suddenly it occurred to me. “FUCK.. I have my Housewives in a couple of hours.” *Flick*

Four men. All four in relationships that are fairly domesticated. Four different personalities coming as one. To well? Become friends. Dive a little deep in our social bag as such has been lacking as of late. Something I feel all wives could agree on. Just a Monday afternoon of alcohol and board games. Such a thing feeling relatively innocent as men get along socially than woman. And the excitement to meet new friends seems to be the best high at my old age. Not having many gay friends, myself, I was absolutely prepped for this adventure. Champagne….check! .. Green party favors… check!

I’m greeted at the door by V. A young native of Hawaii with incredibly attractive dark features. He’s the  Gabby of our group. Also the one who set this pow wow in flight. V voice purrs when he talks as I always think he’d make a great Catwoman. He’s delights in his charm and making one feel welcome.  Luckily for me V takes the reigns of a lot of social events too. Which makes breaking the ice with others, oh so smooth. Clearly such a strength stemming from his career as an Event Coordinator . I really am grateful I have V as a friend. He has been honest and kind always. Even during days that I may be stand-offish or physically clocked out. V with his vivaciousness  again confirms how “Good this will be for me.”.  Maybe due to my recent hermit phase? Watching as my days slip away and my history lies in purgatory.


V and I prep as we unravel our bought goodies and prepare for the other wives. Joking about our cheap champagne and what to anticipate. I decide within moments that I was going to get drunk. A luxury I rarely defied in. Not like, shit tanked where I’m foolish. But a good buzz to help butter the social anxiety I was facing. The older I get the lack of witty & engaging charm sweats from my pores. Sometimes I come off relatively distant to folks. When in reality i’m just watching. Observing while preparing to write  about you without consent 🙂

We are interrupted by a soft knock. As if knocking in code, i think as V nearly parawets to the door in childlike anticipation. Smiling as our new guest puts the Housewives meeting in order.” It’s official” i say. “Let the 1st Annual Housewives Meeting begin.” Only one more to go.

Within the cold lies Quiet J. Hair flowing from face and head in perfect sync with the wind gust. Striking blue eyes staring back with a smirk. I look down and take notice of his basket of baked goodies. Quiet J is the Bree of our group. A man who’s overall presence fascinates me as he comes off..well? quiet (Hence the nickname). Not your complete mute that would make such a presence uncomfortable. But, I relate to his actions. He watches. Observes too. Catch him on a drift and he’s passionate and witty with comments. I can only imagine that this man has lots of great stories. Perhaps, like me, it just takes awhile to hammer at his wall.

“Boys, I made some goodies,” said with a glow. V and I already eye fucking the basket while licking our chops. Assuming such goods have pheromones leaking as I prepare to spray. We make our way to the basement. Sitting in a circle as we await out last guest. Pouring mimosas and refilling while divulging in some greenery. Coughs heard in rotation as we three begin drifting in our weed fueled comma. I look around and smile. I love these guys already.

Random, funny banter coming from the mouths of 3.4 housewives as our eyes lie heavy. Relaxing as the bubbles make their way to our heads. V proudly announcing that “4 attractive gay men CAN hangout without drama”. Me silently saluting his brilliant idea of our club. Wishing that a pizza would arrive along with the 4th wife on her way.

“Hey guys.” we hear. Standing at the foot of the stairs stands J. An All-American boy with the attractive features to boot.  A smile incredibly infectious as he eyes the scene. Which I imagine is funny considering we have started without him. Feeling the buzz as I politely veer him to the champagne in offering. V being the organized one greets with the pipe. “Teamwork”! – J is the Lynette of our group. This being because out of all he has two MEN to take care of. Quite a big task I can only imagine. But most indubitably a cute trifecta of partners 🙂  . I admire people who go for what they like. No pussy footing. Love doesn’t restrict to just two individuals.  Love is something you follow when it clicks. No matter how it’s offered.

As J settles into his new settings. It occurs to me that like The Planeteers. Our group feels complete. J being the cherry on the top.  What a gift to finally get to know these men on a friendly level. Allowing myself the ability to make new friends and feel disarmed. Such a similar event seems to have occurred decades ago. We begin our gluttony by consuming in more alcohol and weed. Occasionally making the cigarette pit-stop outside. However, only lasting moments as we are pitted to war by the cold.

Hours slip by and my champagne buzz heightens. The afternoon was a complete success. Only anticlimactic as this was our first get together. I’m sure there’s a lot of barriers one goes through for full comfortable. Yet, innocent fun as board games were played and laughs were had.  Still lots to get to know, i think. As I survey the goodbyes. Sitting in the garage with lit cigarettes being smoked in a endurable manner. I effin love these guys.

“Till next time fellow Housewives!” – Susan

K

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Ginger. It’s a cookie. It’s a flavoring in my coffee. It’s the color of hair.  And importantly it’s a persons name.

The Ginger that I know is basically a concoction of all clichés rolled into a doughy young woman with freckles sprinkled in. Her pale skin only heightens the visibility of her Pippy Longstocking features. Her voice is bubbly but masks a stern punch that causes a little intimidation. An intimidation I find oddly endearing.  Ginger is my nutritionist. Ginger is a friend. Ginger is a fucking bitch.

There is only one day left till Thanksgiving. The stress of making small talk with my caustic relatives leaves me exhausted. The type of tired where you pre-rehearse answers to typical questions asked. “Well Grandma I haven’t worked at Blockbuster in over 10 years.” to “NOPE.. no girlfriend for me..(Gulp).”   Basically I just go from relative to relative in drabness and a little Winona Ryder swag to my mannerisms. All the anxiety of holidays makes it difficult to enjoy the wonderful food offerings from my hard-working mother. The way her deviled eggs carry a kick as if an aphrodisiac. Shoveling em in my mouth silently enjoying the mental orgasm. Cleaning up with a whiskey and seven and a belly full of tryptophan. That is Thanksgiving to me. Only 24 hours away.

Ginger. It’s a plant. It can be a spice in your food. Sometimes it’s the name of a crayon. But most importantly folks.  Ginger is a bitch.

My dialysis unit is quiet as i anticipate a tumbleweed  at any moment.  Patients enjoying their vacation out-of-town with relatives I’m sure? I feel a little abandoned by my peers as I’m left with the medical staff and a handful of  crazies. I scroll through my phone to a Selena Gomez song I have been listening to on repeat. Feeling a little embarrassed & old to be enjoying this Disney starlet. However monitoring the volume carefully so nobody can hear. I look around as the catchy fluff narrates the nurses every move. You have to entertain oneself somehow.

Distracted by people watching I take notice that Ginger had appeared in the facility. How I missed that auburn glow from her hair is beneath me?  How its flames wicker behind her pale head as she floats around the room. Her natural powdered face baptized with soft freckles. Her clothes puritanically wrapped upon her  figure teasing with the occasional midriff sighting. Ginger’s discreet sexuality just baffles my sexual orientation as I can’t help feeling enthralled. She is the Pines Facility Nutritionist on call. Someone who teaches you the importance of a renal failure diet. A diet that I joke is limited to ice cubes and dust.  A diet that NOBODY follows. I sometimes wonder why they even bother funding her program? Listening to her once a month bitch about the importance of staying away from pizza, chocolate & soda just makes patients loathe her. Somehow though? She manages to make eating healthy sound cute.

Ginger. It can be used medically. It is normally a yellowish or reddish-brown. It compliments sushi well. It’s a delicious beer. But most importantly folks. Ginger is MotherFucking Bitch!

Moments later I feel a stapled correspondence packet land on my thigh. Ignoring the content I greet Ginger with a typical wink and playful shoulder pat. It’s my way of flirting without coming off too creepy. Since flirting with a girl while plugged into a machine filtering your blood doesn’t rank high among romantic settings. Well? so says Shakespeare I bet. She softly brushes hair from her face and we discuss impending Thanksgiving plans. I bet she smells like strawberry bubble-bath I think as my eyes twine down her curves. I cant explain the crush that seizes over me? Normally I’m a little discriminatory towards the ginger race. Especially ones that are male. And importantly I’m gay. So why I exhaust energy flirting excessively can only mean I have great taste. Right?

My eyes end on her cute velvet flats and I compose eye contact again. There’s a stinging in my temples as I smile on and  listen to what she says. Occasionally chiming in on words catching my attention. “Awww so Pumpkin pies your favorite to eh? I praise. I can sense my dominant act of flirting has her snail trailing at this point. A ginger snail trail? I would normally shutter at the thought. But she is so wholesome I want to cuddle and do cute ginger things. I’m not sure what gingers do in their free time?  But I bet hers involves baking & playing The Sims. Perhaps dry humping too? I dunno? She composes herself like a kindergarten teacher. My thoughts are overly creative and i need to stop I realize.

Ginger. It can be a festive bread. It’s my grandmothers favorite smelling candle. Most commonly the carpet DOES match the drapes. But most importantly folks. Ginger is a bitch!

“So Kyle. Speaking of pumpkin pie. That is why I’m here to see you today.” she scolds as my heart flat lines. Her apparent arterial motive crushes all previous chemistry. I look down at the paperwork that had been weighing on my lap. THANKSGIVING ALTERNATIVES. The words practically rape all holiday excitement leaving my pupils dry. I recall a deja vu with this nutritional bible from a year ago.  Detailing the healthy Do’s and Don’t for the Holiday season. In aggressive BOLD COMIC SANS font it details the health risks of pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, gravy, yams and much MUCH more. Pretty much asking me to drink water and breathe air. But to have a wonderful Thanksgiving still. I feel setup I think? . A sexy woman is hired to crush a dialysis patients holiday spirits. Bah Humbug!  Manipulation by distracting with her unique beauty until the time of year she presents this nutritional bible of bullshit?  Jokes on her though, I’m Agnostic & gay. So her charm becomes shielded.  red flag!

The feeling of disappointment deepens and I listen on. Treating her the way I would my relatives. “So? What exactly am I suppose to eat? I ask glancing up at the TV as I turn on my male selective hearing. She continues on sounding as a PEANUTS adult. I hear the words “High potassium,” & “Entirely to salty.” I dismiss her kindly as i reflect on our fabled courtship. My anger towards Ginger magnifies as she suggest ” I eat an apple over pumpkin pie. And only a spoonful or so of mashed potatoes”. With every nutritional idea read I shutter with disillusionment. I feel as if the time has come to end my pretend relationship with Ginger.

I realize the importance of maintaining a healthy diet. Especially having renal failure I can feel the affects of high salted foods and how it effects my body negatively. The heavy bureaucracy of receiving a kidney are exhausting. A part of that being a monthly report card based on your current nutritional facts via blood work (Potassium, Phosphorus, etc). I realize that if I do follow this alleged bible that I’m following a pretty paved path to a kidney. Something that a lot of patients tend to ignore. I tend to be incredibly stubborn individual. And with a red-haired ginger forcing a limited diet during the BEST time of year. Well fuck? It’s excruciating.

Ginger. It’s a heartbreak. It’s ironically always a woman with red hair. Is a nutritionist with no holiday sympathy. But most importantly I learned. That Ginger is a bitch.

My dialysis technician Kris unplugs me as my run has come to an end. I watch on as the needles are carefully released from my left fistula. My voice barking on about my hate for Ginger and how dare she take Pumpkin Pie privilege away by force of papered guilt. Kris smiles on patiently as she waits for my vent to end. “And can  you fucking believe she said NO stuffing? I can’t believe I enjoyed her company.” I snarl in my queenly tone.

 “Damnit Kyle, shut up,” Kris finally interrupts. Angering me as I tend to love the sound of my voice. “Ginger normally only lectures YOU about your diet.” she continues. “Haven’t you thought it’s cause she is rooting for you?”  Once again I’m faced with a lesson learned. I’ve noticed this has become a theme with my dialysis adventures. I reflect on the fact that Ginger had only passed out those  sheets to the handful of patients. However, intimately going through the importance of my diet verbally. She hadn’t done that with anyone else that day.

My face feels warm with guilt. Guilt I can easily dismiss by the positive outcome of this particular situation.

Ginger. It’s the color of Garfield. The name of a Hollywood Starlet from the 50’s. My favorite flavor of Brandy. And most importantly folks. The name of a woman who cares.

Lesson Learned..  now pass me an apple 😦