I Need Drag Queen Training...

So I was going to wear red and green nail polishes for Christmas. Well, let's just say that I'd be fired the first episode if Rupaul had an Apprentice TV series. I did one green thumb and it was blotchy, then smeared... I couldn't get it to smooth out. Boo-hoo. Dejected, I got the polish remover. So I gave up on this idea. I guess it'll be a butch Christmas after all. Oh my... I suddenly have the melody of "It's a small world afterall" in my head! When I was small I dragged a victimized parent (or guardian, I don't remember who "volunteered") back through the "Small World" ride at Disney because I loved it. It's still really cool in my mind and who doesn't like the song. Right? RIGHT!? Ok, everyone hates the song but I was a kid and I liked it dang it!

So it's Christmas, wrapping up Down Under in about 90 minutes and just over 3 hours old here in the Western States. I've got the car packed and just wrapped two books for the nephew. The cat's stocking has her new collar in it and the catnip and hairball paste are on the mantel above.

I don't know if I want to do dinner with the SIL, et al. First off, garlic has no business in mashed potatoes! Second, the butter content is high enough to put a team of cardiologists on the moon. Third, I'll either be tired as hell and fall asleep on the sofa or my head will feel like a slowing tightening noose as the neice and nephew bounce off the walls. And if the SIL's brother's son is there to whine like a banshee I'll be down for the count. Kid's a Jew, what's he doing celebrating Christmas anyway? Will the Tylenol flow like baby's drool? Ok, so I'm feeling a bit anxious finally. I haven't really played "uncle" this year and I'm kind of burned out at the thought. Ok, I don't want to do dinner but told mother is she *really* wants to stay, fine. We'll stay and I'll play plate hockey with a slab of dried up turkey flesh. Maybe I can fill up on biscuits and honey like last year?

Maybe I'm just uptight about the hackish acting adults invariably do when getting gifts. I can tell. I have the emotional intelligence of an amoeba but I'm not blind. I know my brother's gotten me something and he has already said he thinks I'll like it which is code for "Fake it if you have to, you fuck."

We three (brother, myself and Mother) went out to the cemetary yesterday to deliver the little Christmas tree for Father. I didn't really "visit" with him. What am I going to say to a slab of marble? "Hi there. You're dead and I'm not, see you next time." So I wandered the nearby markers taking note of dates and what wars were served in. One was depressing since it was for a soldier's twin sons. Born and died the same day. Both of them. Must've been a living hell. And there's a missing headstone. There's no temporary between old and new markers so I guess the person was "dug up" and no one has been put in that open spot. Maybe Father wanted a better view. It's right in front of him. Still, I can understand going out there and cleaning off the pine needles or fertilizer but what's this business of getting all sentimental and "talking" to the dead? I cleaned off a couple of markers which were put down in September. I thought it was the least I could do. Besides, Father haunts my dreams many a night as it is. I admit I "feel" more for Father than I did when he was alive. It's very strange but perhaps it's because he was so closed off in life that in death he can't remind me of how distant he was even in the same room. We had a terribly disconnected relationship. I did my best by him in the end. I think we reached some kind of "understanding" on that level. Maybe I'm projecting but who cares? Just me I guess, so fuck off. :)

What did all of my loyal readers do with their Christmas cheer? Ok, there's no loyalty among readers. We all know that!

The first "gay themed" film I can recall watching was something called "Edge of Seventeen" which is set in the 1980's and features the song "Hey Mickey." It's not high art by any measure but there's some truth in the scene where the main character Eric tells Maggie, his best friend (girl) that he wants to be with her and that he can love her "like that." This is after he "came out" to her and had experimented with (groan) Rod. Eric thought Rod "loved" him but Rod goes back to college and Eric learns he was just a fling. The weight of this realization lead him to wooing Maggie who has long had feelings for him. After he sleeps with Maggie, she realizes he's cold the next morning and that he really doesn't (or can't) love her "like that" so she storms out. At the same time (hey, I said this wasn't "high art") his mom finds a matchbook from a gay club in his laundry and confronts him. He chases after Maggie. At the end, their friendship is apparently over. He ends up at the gay club and "out" to his mom. Whether he ends up going to NY or not to study music is left to the viewer.

*sigh*