...and the rest of what's left

out to party, party to out

a few weeks ago, we we're invited to a party by a friend of the friend of the birthday boy's neighbor. yup, that's five degrees measure of relationship from me and the people in the party. it also goes to show how friendster can work it's wonders for a thirsty student on a look out for a free booze.

now you know that winter can be this boring.

in the party, nonchalant to the many unknown yet smiling faces before me, i held my plate and enjoyed myself to the odd mixture of grilled ribs, pansit, carbonade and cold rice. but hey wait, where was the booze? the promise of over-flowing alcohol?

wishful thinking: it was a children's party, bozo. i learned this after the host opened the door to a cacophony of one thousand kids screaming for the sole ps2 joystick (the other one was with the dad). the only liquid at hand that had alcohol was the disinfectant to wipe the germs off the birthday kid's behind. ewww. thus, i consoled myself to drink flat water, and as per the hospitable host's request, i went to look for the genever in the cupboard. oh god, i prayed 'let the bottle be there'.

voila! i found the bottle of genever in the kitchen, hidden behind the expired bottles of exotic condiments that were probably part of the houseowners' loot when they travelled abroad. i opened the famous alcohol from limburg and poured portions in small plastic cups (didn't i tell you it was a children's party?). as i passed the cups to the other guests (which were mostly moms and dads), i gave a smile of thanks to the host. the host is a beauty, this i have not told you, the kind of beauty that exudes street-smart-alecky confidence. she nodded back and gave me a look that said 'you better finish that bottle or else...' i think shuddered there.

meanwhile, the guests on the dining room were cracking up to my friend's jokes. the jokes were as tasteless as the flan cake left untouched on the table, but still the guests were lapping them up. i pitied the cake because it had too little sugar, the caramel was not dark enough, and unlike her jokes, the eggs were over beaten. while i was mulling the fate of the flan after the party, i did not know that my life was now party fodder: my friend was dishing out her jokes in the same breath that she was telling them that i am as gay as a daffodil, gay as brokeback mountain, gay as wearing an earring on your left earlobe, gay as a tutu, and gay as gay can get. i was publicly outed to people i don't even know from adam! and in a children's party even!

my initial reaction? i flamed! i swished my fingertips in mid-air! i enjoyed the new-found attention! and i even gave them a show they will never forget as i sang 'don't cry for me argentina' complete with evita's graceful right hand wave which madonna mastered. at a drop of a hat, i even danced to kylie playing on the telly.

fabulous you think? NOT.

to tell you the truth like i haven't been all along, i was graceful under pressure, thank you very much. i remained composed and deftly shifted the topic away from me by letting them in on a gossip. we gay guys have mastered this art of distraction after living in the closet for too long. with perfect timing, i said "oh, did you hear about blah blah who now is with blah blah?!" works for me all the time because people will never miss out on a gossip, let alone miss a ride on a bandwagon. i do this all the time and watch the spotlight move away from me as people add their own two cents worth of (mis)information.

that night however, my trick did not work for one guest. she had the spotlight aimed at me. she can't help but let her homophobia show as i counted how many times she said 'don't touch my kid' (5 times) or 'don't play with him' (3 times) or 'don't get too close or he might turn out like you' (1 time). i was so proud of myself because i counted in french! hey woman, didn't i tell you i can count in francais until 100?!

so this is what i get in exchange for freebies? darn.

anyway, i let her be as zen as i can and decided to avoid her as much as the crampy house would allow. on my way home, i consoled myself with a made-up story that maybe she have had heard a story of an uncle who wronged her brother's best friend's cousin. but i also secretly wished her son would turn out as gay as a daffodil, gay as brokeback mountain, gay as wearing one earring on your left earlobe, and gay as a tutu. i wished he becomes gay as gay can get so that he can give his momma a make-over.

it's not a bad wish at all, believe me. i know how better it is to be gay than to be unhappy. right, baklush?



listening to the sade's your love is king.

this is marc's version of the truth, sometime at 3:27 PM if you can't live with it, he can.