Sunday, 26 August 2012

Lazy Sunday thoughts....

I've come to the conclusion that I need a gay best friend.

Not want, not "would like". No. NEED. It is an essential requirement for my life to continue.

Before you jump ship and run away screaming from the crazy blog lady, let me explain...

I was brought up surrounded by a huge variety of people. There were my nan's loud Irish family (where I got my storytelling skill and stomach for Guinness from), and my grandad's seriously insane lorry driving buddies (my grandad was a lorry driver, in case that didn't make sense). I then had my uncle's "badman rudeboy" friends (some of whom went on to form/join So Solid Crew. Yeah, I know.) and my dad's "geeza" mates, who taught me everything I needed to know about downing a pint in under ten seconds.

Every group taught me something new. The Irish taught me to not take life too seriously, and the truckers taught me how to make a joke about literally anything. The rudeboys taught me how to stick up for myself and the geezers taught me the offside rule. Each and every individual contributed to the hot mess I am today. But there was one group in particular that truly helped to shape me as an individual.

My mother's friends.

My mum had the greatest group of gay friends any young woman could ever hope for. They taught me about acceptance, tolerance, Barbra Streisand, Judy Garland, and living life to it's fullest. They were the only group of people who would happily sit down on a Sunday afternoon and watch my one-women retelling of West Side Story in it's entirety (god I was an obnoxious child) before giving me pointers on how to use my South American heritage to my advantage to make my Anita just that bit more fierce.

I have a huge fondness for musical theatre, gay icons, and general hilarity. It's something that is rather unique to me within my family. And it's on days like this - slightly overcast Sundays when I'm at home alone watching rubbish reality telly - that I have a sudden urge to blast the Gypsy soundtrack at full volume.

My sister dies of embarrassment whenever I start singing a showtune in public (I have a showtune for every possible situation I find myself in) and the Lurch isn't particularly fond of musicals (go figure), so I'm stuck in this weird land of being a gay man's best friend without actually having a gay man as a best friend.

This is a really weird post, isn't it?

I'm not too fussy, either. I'll take a Will or Jack from Will & Grace. Either completely straight-lace (terrible choice of words there) or so deeply flamboyant a feather boa would blush. So kids, if you happen to know of a gay man who is desperate for a female hanger-on, kindly point him in my direction.

Muchas gracias.

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