Fairyland's Redheads

Fairyland's Redheads

Sitting here in the ole Midwest, I realize that there's one type of game here which seems especially drawn to me: the Irish American buck. I didn't really notice it much, the first time around. I mean, as far as I knew, there was only Irish Coffee, with whom I shared a fantastic equation. I mean, we ate, we drank, we drank, we drank, we shared conjugal relations *titter*, we drank some more, and we bitched about the British, and then I really didn't think much more about the Indo-Irish connection.

Till I found out, Bearded Boi was Irish American too. Aha. That made me think the world was a small place. Bearded Boi and I drank a lot too (sheesh!) and ate Mexicano food, and drank some more again. And anyone who's known me in real life knows I'm what they call a cheap date: I get drunk after one-and-a-half beers. So, of course, Bearded Boi and I had fun.

And then, I met the Scriptwriter, we had a great date dancing all night, got drunk beyond ourselves, bonked like rabbits till the early morn, and then he tells me at the door while leaving that he's (surprise surprise) Irish American!



So, now I'm left wondering what that special connection between moi and the Irish Americans of the Midwest is all about. It's become a joke for me to ask my hook-ups during the online chat, whether they're Irish or not - and six out of nine times, they are. I mean, back home, I didn't really have much of an idea (or opinion) about the Irish laddies. I knew all about the conflict with the Brits, I knew about the poor ole peasants who had to migrate to America, and I'd seen Ralph Feinnes look very sexy in a variety of Irish roles on the big screen. O, and yes, there was that soppy soap opera movie with Tom Cruise (ages ago, when he looed human) and Nicole Kidman (who is simply gorgeous) playing Irish American immigrants, and that hideous movie with Leo DiCaprio in NYC as an Irish hoodlum. Ahem, ahem.

So... my notion of your average Irish man hasn't really been dripping in style (except, maybe Ralphie). No, they're mostly the rough men-of-the-soil, who drink and belch and fart and laugh, but don't really know much of the finer things in life. But then, neither do I. :) When I tell Irish Coffee this, he has his standard reply ready: "The British stole it from us!"

There are of course, lots of gay men who like swarthy men-of-the-soil. Like me, for instance. :) Like my friend Diamond Choker Baccha for another. O, also Vivian. When you come to think of it, a lot of Indian guys go for that kinda MAN'S MAN - ok, well maybe not SnowWhite's Stepmother, but then, that's not catastrophic. Had sauntered over to an Irish American Festival sometime back, and it was quite fun, watching all the cute redheads fanning around, drinking Guinnes and swearing loudly. I'm no leprechaun, but I do like my redheads! :)

D-I-S-C-O-C-T

D-I-S-C-O-C-T

You won't ever see me in an Afro, or wearing shiny pants (ok, well you might see me in thos e sometime), or doing coke on the dance floor (though prior posts have found me snorting in the bedroom), but don't let this mistle you - I am a Disco Queen.

So last weekend saw me at Irish Coffee's place, and after the episodes of Sex and the City, I force him to sit by me and watch Studio 54. Ryan Phillipe. Yummy. OK, so he's awfully skinny in the movie, but I completely loved the idea of disco-dancing in a great big amphitheater, under a giant shining ball or two. May not be any sort of Ghetto Superstar, but hey, I can do a meeeeaaaan disco! :)

And what bugs me is the complete lack of disco in the gay bars these days. I can't even call it a Midwest thing, because Bombay was the same. Well at least Bombay used to play the odd Shakira and Justin Timberlake which might not be exactly disco, but are gay as gay can be. You can do the sexy shake here and there, raise your arms and scream, get down and dirty with your partner and do everything else that makes a gay man live on the dance floor. And hell, at least they used to play the odd Madonna and ABBA and Cher... sigh. Not so here in the Midwest, though. The staple here is trance. Dance music, they call it. Which means a lot of DJ intervention. Which means that I can't do all my bumps and grinds and tricks with the umbrella that I did back in Bombay.

Throw the DJ out!



(Well, maybe not, if he's that cute!)

Strange to think I'm a puritan like that. I like listening to Donna Summers and all the rest. I like to wear something slinky and sexy and boogey on the dance floor. And I think D-I-S-C-O is the only way to go. Disco complements gay men like no other brand of music can. And it's no just about the tune or the tone, but soooo much more about the attitude! An attitude that you can't find anywhere else. *sigh* Gosh - listen to me: 26 and I sound like a 70s hippie. *grin*

So Irish Coffee watched me dance to the closing credits of Studio 54 with a very bemused expression - I can only imagine SnowWhite's Stepmother's look of chagrin if he had been in the room - but I didn't really pay any attention. There I was, in my cowboy hat, jeans and nothing else, and wishing I could head out to a gay bar right then and there.

Halloween is coming up: I was all set to go as Zorro, but I have a good mind to do a skanky disco queen instead. :)




If I could read your mind, Love,
What a tale your thoughts could tell.
Just like a paperback novel,
The kind the drugstores sell.

SSIs (Singleton Slut Infections)

SSIs (Singleton Slut Infections)

Somewhere in Season Three, Carrie muses, "How many men is too many men? Are we simply romantically challenged, or... are we simply sluts?"

I've been watching a lot of SATC as you can probably tell. They show about five to six episodes a week here, and even though it's not in any particular order of seasons, it's still fun. So I flop down on the weekends over at my friend's home and torture him while I imbibe the girls - he calls them "trollops". :)



Getting back to the episode I quoted, Miranda is all crushed when she discovers she contracted chlamydia from an old lover, and of course that ties in perfectly with Carrie's reflection of what makes a "slut", when she's really hoping to sleep with Aiden but Aiden seems more interested in cultivating her enough to "care" for her. (Of course, watching the episode with my friend just reinforced his notion of the SATC gals as "trollops", but I didn't really care.)

And then, there's us. The gay boys of the world. Who are often accused of being sluts. The stereotypical gay boys. Who are often looked down upon for being sluts by those other gay men, who hate being thus stereotyped and hence look down upon the gay boys who do have sex regularly. *ulp* I once had someone who I was dating read this blog and decide I wasn't the "right kind of guy" for him via sms, and of course that pissed me off big time. Because that kind of thinking really gets my goat.

So, today, I was online chatting with this really fun/ cute guy and after some time, the conversation somehow turned toward matters of sexual regularity. He asked me if I were a "playa", and of course I've had this conversation before with Natureboy, and I tell him of my views... which is basically, I don't think that someone who's a slut while he's a singleton is necessarily going to be disloyal and bad "relationship material". The two are not mutually exclusive, so says CT's Law.

So then, Online Guy says, "I agree. There have been times when I've hated the periods of long abstinence and wanted to feel a body next to me in bed, so I've gone and gotten some. *grin*"

*sigh* My reply? "Abstinence doesn't do a thing for me, dah-ling."



Aside from the psychological infections a Singleton Slut might have to deal with, there's also the physical kind. Getting back to the Miranda issue, I once had the conversation about Sexually Transmitted Infections with Natureboy: he educated me about crabs, and called me the "cleanest slut in town" if I didn't know what they were with my track record. So, I took pride in my achievement, but when I hastened to pass on the information to SnowWhite's Stepmother, he had the fits and refused to hear anything about the ghastly subject. *sigh* Crabs. The skank's handmaiden. Poor Miranda.

Over here in the midwest, being "clean" is very important in the online chat room. That question may not have come up too often in the Bombay chat room, but three times out of five, it does here where I am. Of course, as I've posted about earlier, a lot more gay men unfortunately seem to have HIV and thus seem to either be in the dark or lie about their actual "clean" status, but the point is - that question does come up online.

Makes it easier to hate them when they say they are, and it turns out three weeks later, they're not.