2.26.2008

I'm a Hag. And I'm Proud of It.

My friends need to get out more.

Seriously.

And not just with me, either.

I had drinks and dinner last night with two pretty savvy gal-pals -- as serendipity would have it, in the very room of our posh hotel where Nana tried to see Calvin Coolidge. It’s now a really nice restaurant with a fabulous bar area. Which is where we ate.

Anyway.

We were playing catch-up with our lives and what-not, and somehow we got on the subject of girls’ nights out. I mentioned going out with my friend and her “gay husband” to the local gay hot spot -- drinking, dancing, carousing, etc.

And they looked at me like I was out of my mind.

They weren’t familiar with the concept of a “gay husband.”

Gay boyfriend. Pal. Whatever. I use the term husband because as a se├▒ora, it works for me.

You get the picture.

That bastion of hep coolness and questionable taste, Urban Dictionary has the best definition under the term “gay buddy:"

A gay buddy, also spelled "gaybuddy" or "gay-buddy," is a homosexual male friend of a heterosexual female. While a girl may know several gay males, she will usually only have one gay buddy who she has nominated as being above the rest, the one she comes to for aid in such fields as relationship advice and fashion -- in other words, most anything that a gay guy would be helpful with or sympathetic towards.

The common gay buddy often fulfills a need for the girl, coming across as a non-threatening male figure, who can provide the guy's opinion without the usual sexually-motivated advances. A gay buddy is usually comedic, perhaps not intentionally but as a side-effect of the conversations that will ensue, namely involving the discussion of other hot guys.

Above all, a gay buddy must be trustworthy and helpful, as he is to carry the secrets of most of his fag-hags with the utmost confidentiality.


I’m a lucky girl -- I have two gay husbands/buddies. One who lives here (thank goodness) and one who unfortunately lives a continent away in Seattle. We dish, we laugh, we cry, we snark, we ogle.

We share common interests -- theatre, fashion, music, design, men. Although I find that my taste in men tends to run a little differently than theirs -- which is no big surprise. And I just discovered that my hometown GH is a registered Republican. Knock me over with a feather.

They appreciate me and my curves just the way I am right now -- a night out at a gay club is the best ego boost a girl could have. I leave feeling like a goddess. Who could ask for anything more?

I’ve always had gay buddies...

...my prom date

...many of my leading me in our high school drama productions

...the great unrequited love of my life. Duh. Now I know why it was unrequited in the fashion which I wanted it -- but at the time, he wasn’t out and proud and subsequently chipped away at my heart every time we we together.

I’ve been through AIDS scares and breakups and illness and other life issues with my gay pals. Still have my blown glass red ribbon that I wore EVERYWHERE in the early ‘90s, before such things became counterproductive.

Once I gave my galpals the condensed version of this definition, they got it. And now want to go out with us the next time we go clubbing.

Being a self-proclaimed fag hag with a gay husband or two...

It’s fabulous.

And so are they.

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