Few sounds are louder than a room full of gay midwestern humans, drinking , cheering on a famous drag queen. So, as my coffee brews and the cats vie for my attention, I’m popping my ears trying to minimize the tinnitus. Also, I may make an ibuprofen scrambled egg because alcohol seltzers go down real real easy when I’m in the mood
Boyfriend and I thought Alyssa Edwards was gonna punish the Folly stage with high kicking dance, glitter lipstick lip synch and she did, with ripped hunky dudes backing her up, as one of her high stature does at this stage of her career. But mostly, she wanted to tell her story whilst sucking Red Bull out of a silver straw and sipping a flute of champagne. As far as I’m concerned, that was more engaging. Alyssa (Justin) grew up in Mesquite, a small Texas town, an obviously gay son of a redneck, with a grandma who took the role of mama- bear, protecting him with fury when the macho inculcation got out of hand. One story about his dad putting him in front of an automatic baseball pitcher was particularly harrowing, bringing up my own memories of dodge ball and running the wrong way on the football pitch- all the stuff that forms a young queer, putting them on the fraught path to what we refer to as ‘coming out.’ She chose dance.
I chose choir. You find your niche, where there’s a person or two (often ladies) who see you and acknowledge the rainbow that can’t help but spill out of your mouth. If you’re lucky there’s someone in your family, maybe your whole family, that gather and protect you when the drama gets hot. But in the in end you gotta figure this shit out for yourself and for many it takes years.
Me, I’m still working HARD BITCH, interrogating my insecurities, my tendencies to obsess and objectify. White knuckle shit, but the process, baby, is WORTH. IT. And the love I have around me, the love I have to give feels infinite.
Ok, onto the cats- they’re not crazy about this new writing in the morning thing.