Way more than 10% of the population is gay

Thank you to my friend Zee for turning me onto this. This underscores my belief that way more than 10% of the population is gay. It just hasn't been properly documented and with all of those closet doors shut, how can it be?

The Gays Need To Get With It

I am still on the search for a fabulous, gay friend in Seattle. Male, of course.

This closeted gay thing is getting old and since I can't find any good metrosexuals to hob-nob with, the idea of outing people is starting to become more and more attractive.

I even tried it out for size last Saturday night. Just because.

I was out with my new friend Tara, who is also from Connecticut, and I left her mortified when I called it like it is. At this point it is unclear whether Tara will ever hang out with me again, but that's okay. We're in a crisis situation here.

We went barhopping in the part of my 'hood, lower Queen Anne, which is where the young, trendy people hang. The yuppies are just up aways, on the "hill." Believe me when I tell you it's two different worlds. I prefer my yuppies up on the hill.

When we arrived at Peso's, our last watering hole of the evening, we found two seats at the end of the bar. Next to us were three, pretty gay-looking, straight-acting guys. While Tara would later shriek at me that I have no filter and cannot just tell someone they are gay, that's actually not quite how it went down.

One of the three guys, a cute, short little guy in a green sport's jersey was about to pass me on his way out. I touched his arm and said, "You should live in LA." Little guy stopped dead in his tracks. "Why do you say that?" he asked. "Because," I said, "you have an LA vibe." That's all I said. "You have an LA vibe." I was being nice.

I didn't say, because you are obviously gay and West Hollywood would be the best neighborhood for you to live in. I just said he had an LA vibe and left it at that. Then he asked me "are you saying I'm gay"? How he made the correlation between LA and gay came from his own mind, not mine. Mind you, I wasn't trying to be the Gay Whisperer and wasn't trying out any of my extrasensory powers on short little guy.

Of course I answered "yes." I'm an honest Injun. That's when he told me, "I'm not gay."

Okay, if you say so was what I was thinking. He repeated it, about four or five times before he left. But, before he departed, he made sure he told me he thought he came across as rugged and manly. Rugged and manly?

You should be proud of me, because I did not laugh. Even though I wanted to. Desperately. It took everything I had to keep a straight face, because short little guy was about as rugged and manly as...well, me.

He looked like he was about to cry before he ran out of Peso's. That's when Tara laid into me. What did I do that's so terrible? Maybe ten years from now, when short little guy is still in denial, married to a woman and unable to get out of the opium den he's chained himself to in Thailand, he'll remember my words and they will set him free. Or maybe not. The bottom line? It's not my problem. I just tell it like it is.

Where's a Metrosexual When I Need One?

First off, I need to define metrosexuals for my readers (namely, older relatives who may not be familiar with the term). Let's see if Merriam-Webster has a listing. Hmmm. Whaddya know? They do!

Here's what it says: a usually urban heterosexual male given to enhancing his personal by fastidious grooming, beauty treatments, and fashionable clothes. The term is said to have been coined in 1994.

You may not know this about me, but I'm pretty metrosexual-friendly. In other words, I hate sloppy men, AKA slobs. This also sets me up to be one, first-rate fag hag. Put a straight-seeming, good looking, fragrance wearing, well-dressed gay man in front of me - and I'm in love.

I know, it's pathetic. Yes, I'm sure I've dated a bi guy or two, and probably at least one gay man in my life. If you're thinking, "Maybe that's why she's still single," hush.

I have lately wondered: do true metrosexuals really exist? Men who are neat, tidy, clean, and...straight, without one gay bone in their body?

If I think about most of my friends' husbands, some are slobs and yes, some are metrosexuals. A friends' late brother definitely fit the bill. He was handsome and dressed well and had his eyebrows waxed. While I don't know if he was in danger of a unibrow if left unwaxed, he was definitely a metrosexual and very heterosexual if you know what I mean.

I have another friend whose husband is also a metrosexual. He is well-groomed, well-dressed and has better taste when it comes to decorating (she's the first one to admit it) than she does. Again, nothing gay about this guy.

The reason for my existential angst?

Because I'm in Seattle & the rules are different here. I'm pretty sure that almost every metrosexual is indeed gay. The metrosexual phenomenon isn't as nuanced here as it is in other places I've lived. For starters, Seattlites aren't exactly known for their fashion sense. In fact, most should be hauled off by the fashion police (if only they existed!)

Yes, it's dreadfully stereotypical here. The prototypical male wears a plaid shirt and has a scruffy beard and longish scraggly hair. Yuck! As a fag hag, I find this horribly offensive. I can't tell you what the rest of the outfit consists of because I stop looking at this point and divert my eyes to anything else. Even my 80-year old father makes fun of them. It's depressing.

Then there are the hipsters. Puke again. Luckily they are usually out of my age-range and tattooed and pierced. Really - could you get enough tats & studs? It's not like there's just one and it's tasteful. Usually they're covered in both ink and jewelry. So not attractive in my book.

Then that leaves the rest of the male population here in Seattle. Let me just rant for a moment - I've never come across so many closeted gay men in my life! Let me just tell you, Seattle is not as progressive as Seattle thinks it is! Yes they recycle - great! Yes they ride their bikes - get the fuck out of my way! Yes they compost - good for you! But on a regular basis, I'll see an obviously gay man with a wedding ring on and wonder (after living in LA for 18 years), "Where's his husband?" and then gasp in shock when a woman appears. I want to shriek, "Does your wife know you're gay?"

It seems like after living in LA, where I know gay men who have adopted children (God bless them!), that I'm ruined for the Pacific Northwest. When I lived in Vegas, I dated three delightful metros. Just delightful. I'm feeling out of sorts here. I need a metrosexual fix.

Somebody, help!

I'll Have a Shirley Temple, Please

On New Year's Eve, my housemate Donna showed me a column in the local paper.

It was written by a Mother of a student at Donna's daughters' school.

It was about adopting a "Dry January."

This woman wasn't talking about staying out of the rain in Seattle. She was talking about not drinking.

I got the feeling that Donna wanted to give it a try. I told her that if she wanted to do it that I'd be willing to do it with her. You know, for moral support.

Tomorrow is February and I've had a mostly dry January.

For the exception of 3 occasions.

When my friend Karen visited from Vegas earlier in the month I met her for dinner at a Moroccan restaurant. The food was exotic and pretty tasty, but by the end of the meal we were both tired of eating with our hands.

That's not why I resorted to consuming an alcoholic beverage, though. I had decided before Karen even arrived at the restaurant that I would order a glass of champagne. I was even neurotic enough to send her a text message while I was waiting for her (she was detained coming from the airport) asking if she drank champagne. She said she did and I was looking forward to breaking my vow with her.

It's not like I'd been miserable since I hadn't been drinking. Really, it was quite uneventful as I'm not a big drinker to begin with.

Karen recently published her first article as a writer and I wanted to celebrate her success. I also wanted to celebrate me getting back into acting. When Karen arrived, we each ordered a glass of champagne, toasted each other, then embarked on our strange meal. While I love international cuisine, not so much with the Moroccan food. I don't know about Karen, but that glass of champagne helped the meal immensely.

Then I went back to being dry until this past Saturday night when I had dinner with my friend Debbie at our favorite Seattle Thai restaurant. Again, I had decided in advance that I wanted some champagne. Now, this is coming from someone who rarely drinks champagne. I again felt the desire to celebrate with a friend. This time the reason for celebrating was because I had gotten confirmation from the talent agent that I'd met with last year that she indeed wanted to represent me for Film & TV work. I'd waited to tell her I was in Seattle until I knew I had job security and flexibility, which luckily I do.

I was okay, 2 for 2 with the champagne. It was consumed with food and didn't leave me feeling horrible. I went home, got a good night's sleep and woke up the next day and went to yoga class.

Everything was fine until last night when I decided to imbibe once again. This time with some red wine.

I went to a concert at my favorite jazz club and had eaten dinner before going out. I had decided beforehand that I might have a glass of wine. Other than my new champagne habit, I prefer red wine over white so I ordered a glass of Pinot Noir. The waitress brings it, I take a sip and I tell the woman sitting across the table from me (Ann, I believe her name is) how lousy the wine is. She says that maybe it's a cheap table wine.

It hadn't occurred to me that maybe something was wrong until the waitress came back to tell me she had Cabernet on the brain and brought me the wrong wine. Great. So she returns with the Pinot, I take a sip and am happy.

I drink the glass of wine. I sip it. And I drink about 20 glasses of water.

For those of you who have been around me when I'm out and having a drink, you know how I go through the water.

I'm sitting there, listening to WAR, a band who was big in the '70's who was known for their hit "Low Rider." I'm enjoying the music and the wine is definitely helping. Since I was born when most of their songs were written, I didn't know a lot of them. But, that was okay. I was feeling good so I ordered a second glass of wine.

The waitress brings the wine. I drink it. Slowly. Again, I drink a ton of water.

After the second glass I realize I'm not feeling so great. It's not like I was feeling sick. I just wasn't feeling great and the thought of staying in my seat till the end of the concert didn't appeal. I started thinking about my car sitting in the parking structure next door and how great it would be to get out before those 200 other cars did. Now, I wasn't drunk. Luckily I drank enough water so that wasn't the case.

When I got home, I wasn't ready for sleep. That red wine was just sitting in my stomach. So, I wasted time until I felt ready for bed. I surfed the internet. I did the LA Times crossword puzzle online. Unfortunately, I never really felt ready for bed. Finally I popped a couple of melatonin and closed my eyes.

I woke up this morning feeling like crap. Moral of the story? I think my days of red wine, if not completely over, are definitely numbered.

Am I just getting old?

You know, you hear about people as they get older, not being able to eat the foods they enjoyed when they were younger. I've had problems in the past wine with red wine & sulfites and found that imported wines, that don't contain them, were much easier to handle.

It looks likes other than the occasional glass of champagne, I'm out for the count.

I guess it could be worse. Someone, invite me to a wedding please.

To Join or Not To Join?

Okay, so the Kiwanis are trying to recruit me.

It all started so innocently.

I was sitting at my desk at work today staring into space. It's been a week where I have a lot to get done. My golf event looms a few months down the road and while I haven't been hurried, I've definitely been focused. Out of the blue, appears Mike - my Kiwanis buddy, and he announces he'd like to buy me lunch. It was lunchtime, I hadn't eaten and didn't know what I was going to do for lunch as I hadn't packed my lunch this morning.

All of a sudden, lunch with the Kiwanis sounded like a fabulous idea.

Let me just tell you, it wasn't as much fun as their holiday luncheon.

Mike led the way to the boardroom and got me seated. I then noticed that my boss has also been suckered into lunch by his boss. I say hi to my boss & my bosses boss, our CEO, and made a crack that I've joined the Kiwanis. They both laughed. Who knew my joke could potentially be foreshadowing?

Also, FYI, I wasn't going to write another blog post so soon, but my lasagna is taking an incredibly long time and cook and well, you get the idea.

So, back to the Kiwanis.

I haven't attended any sort of gathering that was so organized in decades. Silly me - I thought I'd get to sit back and watch the Kiwanis do their thing.

Uh, no. We were all ordered to stand, whereupon we sang a hymn. Yes, a hymn.

Okay, a little annoying, but I can live with that.

Then we had to sing the flag song. You know, the patriotic one.

That's when I realized how seemingly unpatriotic I am, since I don't attend sporting events or any other such occasions where one might sing to the flag.

I don't even know what the song is called. That's how much I'm not a joiner of anything recognizably organized.

Then we had to put our hands over our hearts and say the, you, know... whatever you call it. The declaration of independence? You know, what they make the kids say in school. I could google it for journalistic purposes, but that would make me look like I know something and I don't. I am frightfully ignorant and apart from whatever it is that good, God-fearing Americans do. The Pledge of Allegiance! It just came to me. It's scary that it took a good half hour to remember.

Then there was the prayer. Said by one of the Kiwanis members, a solemn man with a beard. He freestyled it, made up his own prayer. Everyone said Amen.

Now, while I have nothing against prayer, it's just one of those things that makes me realize how not religious I am. At all.

It's at times like these, it seems more than obvious that I'm an oddball.

While the Kiwanis seemed like a good enough group for me to spend my time with back at Christmas time, with their fancy buffet spread, I was now starting to feel like I was in an AA meeting.

I ate my lunch, which was kindly paid for by Mike, and then had to listen to a pitch from a representative from the local Leukemia/Lymphoma Fundraising Chapter. What saved me from being super bored, is that I was able to think about someone I know who recently lost her husband to Leukemia. I know, not super cheery thoughts, but it helped the time go by. Otherwise, I'd be staring at my hands.

As soon as her pitch was over, I was outta there.

But not so fast.

That's when Mike moved in. With his sales pitch.

He wants me to join their group.

So, to join or not to join? That is the question.

His angle is if I join, they will provide me with a list of 100 other Kiwanis group locations and then I can spend my lunchtimes getting people to sign up for my causes. Hmmmmm.

Not a bad idea. But do I really want to become one of them?

The jury is out on this one.

Getting Some Perspective

After my last blog post, some of my readers (okay, friends - I admit all of my "readers" are personal friends - the masses don't know about me yet) were concerned that I was feeling lonely in Seattle. Don't worry friends! I'm okay! A fairly solitary person by nature, I'm fine. You won't find me crying anywhere in or around Seattle. Many people might not know this about me, but I spent my sophomore & junior years of high school at a dreadful private school in Connecticut where I was miserable.

I refer to the snooty prep school as dreadful because the school was populated by rich kids, many who drove Beemers to school, and I felt at age 15 that I was the only virgin in the school who wasn't snorting coke. I don't want my parents to feel bad when they read this, as they spent a lot of money sending me and my brother to this school. It wasn't all bad. In fact, I learned a lot. After spending grades 3 through 9 in the same public school system, I was terribly lonely when I arrived at St. Pukes (really, St. Lukes). In addition to the education being first-rate, I also learned a lot about self-reliance. My mother told me years later that she was impressed I tolerated the place, even though I was very unhappy.

So what I'm trying to say is that those couple of years of character building served me well. They toughened me up. They taught me to enjoy my own company. Really, not much can get me down at this point. What I'm trying to say is, don't worry about me being sad in Seattle with the less than exuberant, unfriendly folk. I'll be just fine. I'll persevere.

Back in December, the President & CEO at my new job (who happens to be a member of the local Kiwanis chapter), invited everyone to the Kiwanis Holiday Potluck which was held in our boardroom. While I admit, the idea of hobnobbing with the Kiwanis' wasn't super enticing, the free food was. You should've seen the spread! Baked ham, salad, desserts galore! It was impossible not to salivate as I walked by the spread laid out on a table in our hallway. Who could resist!? I sure couldn't!

The next thing you know, I'm shoveling in the ham while singing "The Twelve Days of Christmas" with a roomful of Kiwanis, holding up a sign every time we got to my line in the song which I believe was "Three French Hens." It was a blast. The head honcho, a man named Mike, sat me and my co-worker next to him at his table. The other reason I was at this luncheon, in addition to the free food, was to sell raffle tickets for a 9L bottle of wine that was donated to my November wine event. Tickets were $50 a pop and I still had about 30 or so to unload. Sitting next to Mike was handy as I could ask him to make an announcement to the room. Even Mike, himself, pulled out a 100-dollar bill and wished me luck.

Mike and I chatted and we started talking about education. It turns out his wife taught Special Ed for 4 years and as some of you may or may not know, I also taught Special Ed. Middle School. I know. I'm still alive. We were saying how boring school is and he mentioned that his wife was looking for volunteers at the elementary school where she works and asked if he could pass my name along. Long story short, I am now a volunteer at her school.

Yesterday was my second meeting with my "lunch buddy." While I wasn't sure what I signing up for when I first met Mike, when I spoke to his wife Mary I was under the impression that I'd be having lunch once a week with a foreign student who needed practice with their English. When I arrived at the school last week for the first time, I found out that Mary is the school Family Advocate and that Destiny needs a friend.

Things at home are rough and at 9 or 10 years old, the poor kid needs someone to tell her it's okay to relax and have fun and just hang out. I can do that. Fun is my middle name. Funny, it's taken me a while  to get there. I was a lot less fun as a younger person, ironically.

During our first lunch, I asked Destiny some questions about school to get the ball rolling and to break the ice. She mentioned a kid from her class and I asked if so-and-so was her friend? Then came the kicker: Destiny told me that she doesn't have any friends in her class. I asked her how long she'd been at the school and she told me since Kindergarten. I now have a mission - to help find a friend for this kid.

I figured if I could survive a year of high school with hardly any friends due to a transition to a dreadful place, I can hopefully help find a friend for a 4th grader. Wish me luck. That kid from the book fair - he's so being targeted.

The "Seattle Freeze" - How Am I Gonna Defrost These People!?

When I arrived in Seattle, all gung-ho, at the beginning of August, I was thrilled to be in a new city. A city full of culture, and promise. While I missed the great friends I made in Sin City, Las Vegas was never a place I wanted to put down roots. Heck, I was there for 4 years and never changed my L.A. cell phone number. I knew Vegas was temporary. When I arrived in the Pacific Northwest, all lush and green, I was super excited. You hear about Pacific Northwesterners being progressive and cool. I figured it would be easy-peasy to meet people.

Well, I was wrong.

It's not that it's super difficult, it just isn't easy. Seattlites are polite by nature. It is one, big, polite city. Drivers let you in. If you are lost, people are friendly enough to give a stranger directions. Accessible? Not so much.

In Las Vegas, people were so super friendly. A new city, and transient by nature, people want to make friends. Maybe it has something to do with the successive months of rain here in Seattle, but I've moved to a city of introverts. That would be fine ... if I wasn't one myself. While I consider myself to be pretty outgoing and friendly, as I get older and get to know myself better, I'm realizing more and more that I'm an introvert. And now I'm living in a city with a million other people just like me. Great.

In the neighborhood I lived in in Las Vegas, if I walked out my front door and was spotted by any of my neighbors, I'd be bombarded with "hellos," "how are you's?" While I wasn't always in a chatty mood while backing out of the driveway at 8 a.m. or walking around the golf community, it was nice. I felt welcome. Here in Seattle, I've been at my new place for exactly 5 months and it's taken this long for the next-door neighbor to finally say hello.

The guy's only seen me a million times. He saw me move in, furniture & everything and enter and exit the house on a regular basis for 5 months. Once, a few months ago, he even spoke to me. He asked me to move my car because I was blocking his driveway. Did he say: "Oh, and by the way, I'm so-and-so, clearly we're next door neighbors. Nice to meet you." No, he just asked me to move the car. My Dad says because I'm living in a big city that I should expect the neighbors to be rude. Is it just me, but I think that's so sad. Living in Las Vegas spoiled me. Even living in LA, a city of assh@#$les, the neighbors were fairly friendly.

Last week, as I was fumbling for my keys to open the front door, you can imagine my surprise when the next door neighbor (who's name I still don't know) saw me, smiled and gave me a huge hello like we were buddies. I nearly fell over. "Oh, hi" I said as I picked up my keys and ran into the house. I was in shock. I wasn't prepared for words to emanate from his mouth. I didn't know what to do.

Luckily I work for a company that is chock full of nice people. I haven't met anyone yet who isn't super friendly, accessible and warm. There is a lot of camaraderie in the workplace. Even our CFO is super friendly & chatty and shoots the shit with me on a regular basis. Every time he sees me, he asks how I'm doing, how my weekend or holiday was and is ready to chat. The day I told him that I thought our health insurance plan sucked, he was very nice and listened and let me vent.

Seattle "freeze" or no freeze, I'm determined to thaw this city as much as I can while I'm here. How, might you add, me being an introvert myself? Even though I'm a quiet person by nature, I'm still somewhat whacky and I'm hoping I can do some damage that way. I'll do what I can to get these people to lighten up. It would be easier if you could get them to look you in the eye when you walk down the street, so I'll just have to resort to subterfuge.

And you know how I mentioned the perception of Pacific NWerners as progressive? They're not as progressive as they think they are. Oh they recycle, and ride their bikes, and the men fail to shave, and everyone has a tongue ring and at least a dozen tattoos, but they are a timid, wimpy people. Progressive people, as far as I'm concerned, should have personality, spunk and gumption. Seattlites lack that in a big way. And no one thinks outside of the box. That is evident with the Subaru being the state car. At least there aren't Hummers everywhere. Now, that's refreshing.

Oh, and everybody and their mother runs here. For exercise. Outside. Even in the lousy weather. I wish they would stop so I wouldn't feel so lazy. Oh, and don't get me started on the number of closeted gay men. I'll save that for another day.

But, overall, I'm glad with my decision to move to Seattle. It's a fun place to be and there are a lot of cool things to do. I just felt the need to whine.