October 17, 2006
An Interesting Place To Keep One's Keys
Oh. My. Sweet. Lord.
I saw another man's penis this weekend, ladies and gentlemen. And it was weird.
But it totally doesn't count as adultery because it's owner is gay, and I didn't even touch it! In fact, I shrieked embarassingly like a virgin, then pointed and laughed.
...
Perhaps I should start at the beginning.
Remember my friend Big, Gay Joe, of Barbie-enabling fame? Well, he, a grown man, throws himself a big birthday party every year. With champagne and meatballs and presents and singing and everything. I think it's awesome, but then again, you know how I feel about presents!
I don't think I've missed many of his parties in the... twelve? years that I've known him. Sometimes I bring a girl friend (safety in numbers). Sometimes I brave it alone, and the only people there I know are Joe and his nephew Ken, the token straight guy.
Since I've been to so many of Joe's parties, it's to the point now where I know a few more people. Charlie, the model/dancer. Lawrence, the theatre nerd. Monica, the biker lesbian.
I know what you're thinking. Wenchie HATES people! And small talk! I can't believe she'd willingly walk into a party like that ALONE!
Actually, it's much easier than a non-gay party. At non-gay parties, all the guys are staring at my boobs, and all the chicks are staring at my boobs and hating me for them. At non-gay parties, I'm a freak for being 36, for not having reproduced and for having teenaged step daughters. At non-gay parties, you have to talk about where you work, where you grew up and where you live now.
At Joe's party, we talked about how long it would take Arlene to recognize Craig, since he wasn't dressed as "Gina," and how were the lesbians going to get the cake to the party on their motorcycle? And, for some reason, it's not as annoying when women stare at my chest -- probably the novelty factor.
I love Joe's parties. I'm completely white bread, and oh, how the gay men love to take me under their wings and talk trash with me! They think they're educating me, and I am a rapt pupil because gay men are Thee Most Hilarious People On Earth!!! Especially black gay men. Is that racist?
Anyhoo, this year, Husband came with me. Willingly and of his own accord! And with little or no trepidation. See, he works in a field where, if he were a homo-phobe, he wouldn't be the successful, filthy-rich man that he is.
We sat on the couch with Charlie and "Gina" and made fun of all the other guests. Then we moved on to the guests who weren't there but had been in past years.
Gina kept calling me into the kitchen to do shots with him and tell me how cute Husband is. He actually used the words "puppy dog eyes." Yeah, Husband will be hearing that every, single day for quite some time.
Charlie called me into the kitchen and whipped out his wang.
See, Charlie recently got a Prince Albert and, despite Joe's admonishments to "quit pulling down your damn pants," was very excited to show it off. And really -- if you're going to go through the trouble of getting your penis pierced, why wouldn't you show it to people?
My first reaction was, "Oh my God! It's huge!"
And I suppose Charlie thought I was talking about Charlie Jr., but really, I was talking about the ring. I mean, seriously, it was no delicate earring or something. It was like a Tiffany key ring! HUGE!
But I let him think I was talking about his johnson.
And no, I don't have a photo. I really do need to upgrade to a camera phone for events like this. I'm sure Mom has never seen a Prince Albert, and that's what my blog is all about -- education.