30 Day Song Challenge: Day 13: A song that is a guilty pleasure

Just because I’m gay doesn’t automatically mean I like Cher.  Or Madonna.  Or Bette Midler.  Or any of those somehow-designated gay idol divas.  I remember when I used to work at Future Shop and we were looking for some CDs for callbacks.  My coworker Christine asked Marcus and I if we knew where a Bette Midler CD was and all he did was turn to look at me, as if I knew the exact location of the CD in the store just by being gay.  I glared at him in return.

And for a long time, I had been resisting one of the newer self-proclaimed gay idols, Lady Gaga, since the very beginning.  I didn’t find any of her songs particularly interesting and “Telephone” was the same way.  But ultimately, the catchiness of the tune got to me.  I don’t love the song but I will sing along to it if/when I hear it, and I do like it, and I like what Lady Gaga stands for so maybe that’s a part of my tolerance for the song.  Hmm.

I don’t see this trend continuing but who knows.

Gaydar

Gaydar

All I hear is
…..
No bing, pang or even simple blip would suffice
But no, all I get is cold and grating
……
What use am I?
A cat without a purr
Lady Gaga without her gay fanbase
A dildo without a vibration

The US army could locate weapons of mass destruction better than me and my defunct gaydar
Perhaps I wasn’t given the genes:
my father didn’t love me nor did he pass on the most important genetic material
(thanks, dad)
Or perhaps gaydar is acquired:
like battling other Pokemon for experience points and leveling up:
Aaron grew to level  7!  Aaron learned “Guys who wear purple have a high probability of sleeping with other men.”
or like Super Mario collecting coins
except instead of coins it’s Madonna albums:
“Got Ray of Light today!” (1up sound)
At least a flatline means there was once life;
but it’s a television set without even a cord to plug in
It’s Straight Night every night at Celebrities
and Davie street is just another breeders’ block.
And don’t get me started on hetero heaven that is the so-called Pride Parade.
Every coming out implodes my universe:
Clay Aiken:  WTF!  But he’s even more macho than Sylvester Stallone!
Elton John:  OMG!  I just thought he had a big wardrobe!
Ricky Martin: Well, even I knew that.  *shifty eyes*

What if I die alone?
My siblings will bring their other halves to Christmas dinners;
the empty seat beside me will never be filled.
Whenever a knight throws me a glance
I’ll assume it’s meant to strike the bubbly blonde bimbo behind me
There’ll be nights of making snide comments about the girls from Sex and the City
with no one to tell me I’m an idiot,
no one to leave a warm imprint next to me in bed while he takes a morning leak
no one to find utterly repulsive
no one to find utterly attractive
to–

wait!  What was that?
…
blip!