Lemme fast forward for you or.... aren't you precious....

So, I've been mulling over the joys and follies of the psyche of gay men and it occurred to me, it would behoove me in my infinite and omni-media, almost Oprah Legends Ball style awesomeness for me to sit y'all pretty ladies down and have a talk with you about gay life.... and where you fit in.

Dear Twink, Yes we get it, you're gayer than a glitter covered disco ball at gay pride, you couldn't be more proud and refer to EVERYONE as "Girl" and everything is "Fabulous" and your role models include Lady Gaga and, judging from your bodies, starving un-exercised children in eastern Europe. Let me tell you a little something.... reel it back in. Fast forward about ten years and you're still wearing body glitter and rainbow jewelery, that doesn't say pride.... that says substance abuse and K addiction. We're all proud of you finding out who you are and nobody's trying to put you in a hetero-normative box nor tell you how to express yourself.... wait I take that back I am telling you how to express yourself. So go out, find a J. Crew, talk to the lovely and attractive sales associate, and get yourself a V-neck cotton blend sweater my dear, cuz you're "I can't even think straight T-shirt"?.....got's to go. oh and btw eat a bagel, they're delicious.

Dear Bitchy Queen, yes yes, I see your eyes judging me when I go to the grocery in sweatpants and a t-shirt from 1997. No I don't wear prada (fill in the blank) when I go out, and I'm not up to speed on Mark Jacobs new line or don't have the latest ummmm neck chains??? But if there's one thing I've always found about you is that your job will consist of an executive/admin assistant, low level aide, or some other ungodly job that requires little to no skill because let's face it, you've spent all your formative years memorizing the latest vogue instead of developing any kind of marketable skill except the uncanny ability to spot a Louis Vuitton knockoff from 30 paces. So let's fast forward down the road in ten years when you're up to your ass in debt from repeatedly buying this seasons gucci loafers, and having cocktails at some lounge with your equally tragic friends talking about me in my sweatpants at the grocery and how dreadful it is..... Lemme tell you what's dreadful my dears...... renting and not owning in your late 30's...... think about it.

Dear Muscle Queen, yes yes, I can see your abs from space and you can crush oreos in between your steroid laden pecs. I'm sure that you look wonderful when you're peeling off your abercrombie and fitch muscle tees and look wonderful whilst doing ummmm lat pulldowns or whatever but let me tell you something.... let's fast forward 10 years when instead of pecs your muscle has turned to fat and your chest looks more like my grandmothers than an adonis and your testicles have shriveled up from too much steroid use and your once virile man parts are now sad reminders of orgies gone by. Let me say something, in this day and age fit is great, fit is fun, and a washboard stomach is next to godliness, but let's draw the line because I don't want to sleep with a guy whose only addition to the conversation is the latest protein shake recipe he's just found or 101 ways to really make your triceps pop.......

So I've hit on several of the major gay subgroups in our fair city... where status is measured in proximity to power, not proximity to Gucci, where a mans worth is measured in the contents of his contact list, not on what's on his feet. So take note gays, in DC nobody cares who you're wearing.... just who you know and what you do so if you want to succeed as an A-list gay in DC.... be smart, not slutty..... ok just a little....