Aaahhh the great smell of freshly cut roses, I actually don’t like roses, there are a lot of things that i don’t like and one of them just happens to be people thinking they own me. You know those people that think they can tell you what to say, who to be friends with and they suggest how you should dress. Under normal circumstances your mom or your wife (if you are a heterosexual man) would tell you that, but I am not a man and I don’t think I will have a wife – no, I am not a lesbian (not that I am against lesbians, I just don’t swing that way and my mom might read this – I really have to clear that up. I am single by choice). Back to my point I really don’t like people telling me what to do or think or telling me anything that forces me to behave in a way that pleases someone else before me.
A while ago in my younger days, I woke up one Saturday morning, bored, broke and living with the devils spawn who was still behind her cloak where she held the life size dagger that she would later stab my back with and laugh all the way to the bank with my hard earned money, but that is a story for another day. The point is I woke up this particular Saturday Morning and as usual I took a jog , but this Saturday was different as I felt that I needed more than just another Saturday in my boring and newly single life - I wanted more, I wanted to meet people interesting people and I called the only person I could (well, the only person who answered my please call me). I picked up the phone and called the king himself. And if you know anything about being cool you will know that calling a guy called the king guarantees a day filled with good times. This story is not about that day, it is about who I met that day and how I finally got my hag stamp (almost).
The King as he is affectionately known, took us to a strangely crusty guys house, but he is celebrated in the in the creative industry, so everybody, sort of became an ass kisser and we had to be nice – he did have a nice house though – this story is not about him either. Well, to cut a long story short, everyone arrived at the house in drones - I was not entirely familiar with everyone , but back stabbing cloak and dagger girl had the 411 on every human that walked through the door. I say human in the nicest way because a few of the characters that walked in could have past as exotic creatures (will not blog pictures for fear of being sued for telling the truth. You know that happens right?). Then my favourite person at that time walked in – let’s call him Jude, luckily he was one of the human looking people.
The day was filled with activity, the King was the main entertainment, he was on a roll and his mouth ran like it had been charged with Duracell batteries. It was great, there was food moving around music making us dance and well Jezebel juice for those who are prone. Backstabbing, cloak and dagger girl kept whispering in my ear about Jude: “he’s gay and he doesn’t want anyone to know – he is friends with my sister.” Ok I thought. Why is this any reason for me to care? To cut to the chase, Jude was a nice guy who would behave straight and flirt until he knew me for about a week, then he found it fitting to state the obvious: “buddy I am gay.” My replay was a quick nonchalant: ”I actually know”
So, weeks went by and we began to hang together everyday, since I actually did not have a job and Jude did nothing at work, we hung out and partied and to Backstabbing cloak and dagger girls dismay we dragged her along too – not like she had anything better to do. Time went by and short and natural cropped hair went from a wig, to a punk relax and my face went from clean to thickly covered with makeup. Everyday of my non working I had to wake up, dress up -no seriously I would pick outfits the night before. Me! An entire Chumi was wearing liquid tights and dancing in gays bars as the new and improved version of the Golden hag. And boy did we dance. I ended up at places that my ex used to take me to (I did not know they were gay clubs – I guess the sign should have been when he kept disappearing) and when I was there I realised I was a hag all along especially when I was dating WOW! Jude was not the gay guys we see in Birdcage or Milk or other movies about queens or lady guys. No he was a guy, guy... a guy who almost beat up another guy ‘cause that guy called him a bitch.
One night, when my face was covered in about ten layers of make up and my lip gloss looked like I had eaten a greasy pork chop without using my hands. We ran into a really fabulously gay couple that did not have a hag. I danced with them we all had fun and they gave me style tips and one of them wanted me to become their dressing project – This is where Jude jumped in and said: “She belongs to me!” All of a sudden I was a Barbie in a bar. The conversation was about me, but not with me. I took out a mirror and I realized i looked like plastic. I heard the Fab guys say: “Then mark your Barbie – you know, tattoo her under her foot.” We laughed, but this was not really funny, at least not to me. I left there feeling like – well like I had run into my ex and his friends. I am not the personality I am just the face next to him.
I became a girl, and started going on about how i really need a boyfriend, I complained to Jude that i wanted to be like him and his boyfriend, I wanted someone to cuddle and share secrets with. Jude told me that I didn’t need one he was my boyfriend. He would give me everything I need - just not the other stuff – I mean the guy was gay people. A few weeks later I found a boyfriend, the pressure the jokes and the ‘he is so useless speeches finally led me to driving him away. Ok truth is the guy was just pretty everything else the Lord did not bless him with at all – 90% of his conversation was about how much he loved his velvet suites. Personally i was afraid of them. No really he had like seven of these things in every colour you could imagine. Week 2 i told him to take a hike, i just couldn’t listen to anymore velvet talk, plus the friends were not happy (I was young ok... I can feel you judging me).
So, time went by and i carried on the adventures of the Golden hag – then I got a job, needless to say i did not have time to HANG OUT THE WHOLE DAY. Then problems began, Jude and my friendship took strain... wait I wanna back track. Did I mention the part where Jude took us to a gay club and my window (car) got broken and I decided that I was never hanging with them again, but I did. Now Moving on swiftly. So, i got this job and i dedicated all my time to it. I actually enjoyed working saw Jude less, I started forming my own opinions. Jude would get angry that I was not coming over as often. Then the big fight came he said: “You have to choose between me and your life out there.” What?? All i did was refuse to hang out in Soweto at night, with a car with no window. You would think that it would end there. I started looking less plastic and more human, he started calling me every pay day. It seemed i was paying something called a hag fee. This fee was never under R1000 – as if I had no bills to pay from lounging and not working – wait I still had that window to fix... yeah the car one. So, one day i said no and i had big family responsibilities, I got insulted and found myself a gayless hag. I am happy that it all happened before i got the tattoo under my foot. Yes the one that was scheduled to be done so that everyone knows which gay guy i belong to. No, we were no Karen and Jack, neither were we Will and Grace. I was the puppet he was the master. My rebound relationship was a story of a gay guy and his plastic hag.
Every morning when i wake up and see the big zits on my face and my nappy hair popping from my braids . I pull my gappy smile and say hey there strange looking sister – it’s good to have the stupidly opinionated you back. Thanks to twitter I think I have a life
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