This Post is So Gay

My parents forgot my birthday. Regularly.

On my 8th birthday they were flying back from a job interview trip to North Carolina. When they got home that night my mother gave me my birthday present – an oversized pencil from North Carolina. The kind you find at the airport. Right after you call your house and are reminded by your 15 year old son that it is your daughter’s birthday.

On my 16th birthday, in some unintended and twisted homage to John Hughes, I had to buy my own birthday cake. I bought it, brought it home, cut a slice of it and left it on the counter to go celebrate my birthday with friends. When I got home the cake was half eaten and not a word was said about it.

After I left home at 18 there were a handful of remembered birthdays here and there. Mostly, however, my birthday was easily forgotten.

This has probably increased the importance of birthdays in my mind.

Which is why I have ZERO understanding why Andrew could care less about his birthday. To me it’s a time to celebrate and have a special day (read: month) that is all about you! To Andrew it is a morass of potential over-exposure to humans. I have learned to not celebrate his birthday Hadas style because it is exhausting to him. But, I have not yet given in to celebrating it Andrew style  because that is not celebrating at all.

But, the stars do align. Instead of “celebrating” his birthday, I find things to do around town that he would like and instead of being the girlfriend I am and having him take me out, I treat. By some blessed arrangement with the god he doesn’t believe in, Andrew’s birthday coincides with gay-pride week/weekend. Last year I took him to see Jane Lynch speak. This year I took him to the gayest concert ever.

It was the Portland Gay Men’s Choir sing Broadway. Yes, gay men singing the gayest of songs. Andrew and I could not have been more delighted. Well, until they had a sing-along portion! Then we were more delighted (at least I was – and when I am more delighted, Andrew, by default, is more delighted).

la foto (1)This  picture was taken at intermission. You can see the delight in our eyes. Also Andrew is haloed by crotch in the background so this picture is doubly delightful (and Crotch Halo is the name of my new Punk Band).

The concert was fabulous. There was wonderful choreography and a guest choir from a high school in Seattle which was touted as the first gay and straight alliance choir. Andrew’s response to this was that every high school choir is a gay and straight alliance.

That’s just true.

But, it was adorable to see a bunch of awkward teenagers singing and trying to do choreography. Especially when they sang Time Warp.

Oh, and by the way EVERYONE ELSE in the Schnitz last night. HOW? How was it possible for you to just sit there and watch the Time Warp and not dance. I was the only person who stood up to join along on that one. How embarrassing for you.

By intermission I was feeling pretty romantic from all the love songs. Andrew said he could tell I was romantic because I didn’t even boo the wedding scene that they performed. What he didn’t take into account was that they were singing one of my favorite Sondheim tunes (Not) Getting Married Today (link is of the inimitable Madeline Kahn’s performance).

The second half was… well, it was long. The show started at a Portland 7PM (about 10 – 15 minutes late) and didn’t end until about 10PM. That was a lot of watching people sing. But, we loved it. And, it was truly the gayest show I have ever been to.

I can’t wait until next year to see what gay activity we do for Andrew’s birthday.


2 thoughts on “This Post is So Gay

  1. Pingback: I Am A Gay Man | klutz in my pants

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s