Bitter. Sweet.

As you may have noticed I’ve taken time away from the site to do some work for those in CA and FL trying to marry.  And as I’m sure you know by now, ha8e won last night.

President Elect Obama, I have faith in you that you will unite us.  I applaud you for acknowledging my gay brothers and sisters during your speech.  Your speech made me cry.

California and Florida also made me cry.

To those of “faith” who voted to discriminate, be forewarned: you cannot hide behind religion to mask your hate.  Focus on the Family leader James Dobson, you are no different than the grand wizard of the KKK–only there are no white robes to cover you.  Instead, you hide behind the shroud of what you perceive to be holy.  

My friends and I will unite in solidarity and love, and we will overcome.

This is far from over.  This is only the beginning.  

xoxo 

Farrah

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Guess Who’s Back? Back Again. Insert Eminem lyrics here.

So yeah, I’ve been away.  Thanks for the emails of concern.  No, I didn’t have a vicodin overdose–why? what did you hear?  

I’ve been working my ass off for Mr. G and unfortunately he’s been flitting around my desk so I haven’t been able to blog.  And when I wasn’t working, I went on yet another date. Shocker, right?  More on that this week.  Let’s just say if someone puts comic books under “interests” in a personal profile, RUN.

Anyway, I did manage to get a lot of fundraising in for you Californians for “No on 8.”  Selfishly, I’m doing it to help Christopher get married.  However, we did raise some dough and my fingers (and legs) are crossed that the amendment is defeated.  The boys and I did have a lot of fun harassing a lot of the “Yes on Prop 8″ people on YouTube.  What do most of them all have in common?  They’re all mormons.

Funny, if you take the second “m” out of Mormons you get something more akin to what this particular sect of Mormons actually are:  Mormons=Morons.  I’m just saying… 

Hmmm… Now, I’m not one to EVER rip on someone else’s religion–except when their bigotry hurts the ones that I love.  And guess what? The claws just came out.  

(Before you send me hate filled emails, I’m referring to a particular group of people of the Mormon faith who have tirelessly tried to remove a basic human right in the name of religion.  To say all Mormons are this way would be ridiculous.)

ANYWAY… Back to MY LIFE

All of my gay friends have been in a bit of a  “gay panic” these last few weeks and it’s driving me nuts. 

The Economy you say?  “No on Proposition 8″ in California, right? I’ve got it–the election, of course!  

No to all of the above.  

What my gay posse is most concerned about is what the hell are we going to do now that Rachel Zoe is gone!

Rachel darling, you are the frosting on a cupcake from Billy’s Bakery. You’re that delicious.

I’m the first to admit I was ready to hate her and the show as were my boys.  But come on, let’s be honest gays and gals, she’s got access to De La Renta, Dior, and Louboutin.  Not to mention she comes across incredibly endearing.  She seriously rocks.  

The NY Daily News called her a pox on humanity–i mean, really?  

If Rachel Zoe is a pox on humanity, then The Daily News is humanity’s gonorrhea. 

What are my friends and I going to do without Taylor, the angry blonde assistant who is obsessed with her eighties “Risky Business” sunglasses and her obvious girl crush on “The Zoe”?  My boys and I aren’t saying she’s a lesbian, but we’re saying she’s a lesbian. I mean who else would hate the terrifically effeminate 2nd assistant, Brad, but a butch lesbian?  Straight women, like “The Zoe,” would adore Brad’s keen fashion sense and ass-kissing ways.  Trust me, I’m one of them.  But honestly, we love you Taylor and frankly we’re a little bit frightened of you too.

But Brad, please stop your crying for godssake.  It’s embarrassing.  We particularly loved how you made your fuck-up that caused Rachel a minor meltdown all about you.  Score one for the gay!

And how about the hair and make-up guy who rarely takes off his sunglasses?  I hate to tell her this, but the role of Anna Wintour has already been cast. Take off your sunglasses, you’re very cute–show off the eyes.  Besides,

The only people that wear sunglasses indoors are blind people and douche bags.  

(Rachel is excused of course as she’s the doyenne of style)

And then there’s Rodger…Wow. Okay, you’re all thinking it. So it doesn’t need to be said.  Rach, feel free to call me.  I’ve been there.  Many, many, times. 

I’m off to bed, and my TiVo awaits.  I’ll be falling asleep tonite to Rachel screaming “I die!”  But don’t die Rachel, because I need you back next year.

*More tomorrow. Lots of gossip with the boys, the wedding, and of course comic book guy.*

 

xoxo

Farrah

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I’m Still Here Damn It.

Since the economy took a nose dive into hell last week, I had to lay off posting but thanks for all the kind emails I got about supporting “No on 8.”  Have you donated yet?

I’ll be back tomorrow like a herpes outbreak.

Lots to tell you…Had a date with a comic book aficionado, went to see “the other” Madonna, and of course lots of cocktails.  Don’t worry, I’ll fill you in starting tomorrow.

One thing is for sure, after seeing the craziness of what’s going on in the world I need to figure out my life. Pronto.

XO

Farrah

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The Wedding Is OFF?!?

Pardon the interruption….

As much as I bitched and bitched about Christopher getting married before me…I’m disheartened to hear that marriage may no longer be legal for gay and lesbians in California.  Daniel informed me today that it looks like the “Yes on Proposition 8″ assholes are winning.  Apparently, their message of hate is resonating with young people.  

Sadly, my best friend’s wedding in California could be off. As I mentioned previously, Christopher plans to marry in California, and with some luck and help from Governor Patterson, gay marriages will be recognized in the state of NY.

The purpose of this blog was never intended to be a giant political statement.  It’s about sharing my life with my four gay best friends with you.  

However, I don’t look at gay marriage as a political statement, it’s a basic human right be it republican or democrat. Therefore, I implore everyone in NY, CA, FL, and every city in between to support “No on 8” and donate ASAP.

As much as I’m loathe to be a bridesmaid, I’d be even more sickened if Chris were unable to fly to California to marry the man he loves.

One last thing, and then I promise to hurl myself from this soapbox.  Where are donations from gay celebrities like Rosie O’Donnell? Ellen Degeneres? Melissa Ethridge? Elton John? Clay Aiken? I could go on and on.  As I sit here looking at my pug, Madonna, I also wonder where is the other Madonna?  Why hasn’t she spoken out? Or donated money considering it’s the gay dollar that has supported her from day one?

Before you send me hate emails about how much money these entertainers have donated and raised for various charity organizations, let me just say this, the solidification of gay marriage is historic and is a fight we all must get behind to ensure equal rights for all.

I’ll be back to regular scheduling programming in a hot minute.  My friends take precedence over my personal ramblings.

XO,

Farrah

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Breakfast with J-Lo

I had missed one Sunday brunch and apparently in that sparse amount of time Michael had found himself a yet another boyfriend.  Michael is a serial monogamist.  (Except when he’s whoring it out in gym steam rooms.)  Daniel, Ryan, Christopher (sans Alfredo) Michael, and I sat at Cafe Cluny to get the skinny on his latest boyfriend.

“He’s just so incredible and is probably the most attentive man I’ve ever been with,” Michael cooed.

“I would hope so, considering you’ve been together for literally four days,” Christopher said taking off his jacket and settled into his chair.  It was nice to have Christopher back with out his fiance.  I couldn’t stomach yet another weekend of wedding talk.

“What he’s like?” I asked.  “Wait, let me guess dark hair and eyes.”

“Ha!” Daniel blurts out. “Dark hair?!?!?” Daniel continued.

“He’s got a few gray hairs,” Michael, still wearing his sunglasses, turned to me and said sheepishly.  

“Speak,” I said.

“Well…” he said taking a long gay pause.  “He’s older,” he added.  As if I didn’t figure that out from the gray hair observation.

“Older?” Daniel said surprised.  “Farrah is older.  This guy is Old Man Winter.”  Evil Queen.

“I’m sure that’s how your NYU boy-toy thinks of you,” Michael snapped back at Daniel. 

“Please, you wish you could have him,” Daniel shot back.  It’s like two dogs fighting over the same gay bone.

“Jesus, could someone please just tell me how old this guy is?” I asked.

“Fifty-six,” Ryan finally said.  He then turned to Michael and said, “Sorry. She’d find out anyway.”   

I swallowed hard. This was only four years younger than my Dad.  Michael could be dating my Dad.  

“Michael, I really want to know more about this guy–but could you for the love of God take your sunglasses off.  It’s like I’m talking to Anna Wintour.  And frankly you’re no Anna.”

Michael lifted his oversized Mary-Kate sunglasses and rested them on top of his head.  “Oh My God,” I gasped loud enough for the nearest four tables to turn around and flash me dirty looks.

“Too much?” Michael said.

“You look like Jennifer Lopez’s butch sister,” I said. “And not the pretty one.” 

“Who Linda?” Daniel asked to no one in particular.

Michael’s eyebrows were as about as thick as a paperclip.  Michael had visited his waxer, Sasha, yesterday.

“Was she injecting heroin at the same time she was ripping out your eyebrows?” I asked. 

“Charles likes totally smooth,” Michael explained.

“Okay that’s just plain pervy,” Ryan said and crinkled his forehead.

Ignoring him, Michael continued, “So I waxed nearly everything.  That’s why I couldn’t go out last night.  I literally applied a bottle and a half of Tend Skin to my entire body.”

I gulped down my water to avoid laughter.

“The eyebrows were an accident.  She told me she got a bit carried away.”

“Carried Away?” I said nearly spit out my water.  Before I could say anything else, Ryan interrupted.

“Okay, seriously.  You need to go in there and get your money back and have them correct it immediately. Maybe they have some sort of eyebrow extension or something, but you honestly look like the joker.” Ryan said. 

“Before the food arrives, really Michael, you have to put your sunglasses back on.  I can’t look at you while I’m trying to keep food down,” I said and gagged. I continued:  

“It’s like I’m sitting across from my nana who forgot to paint her eyebrows on.”

After this many years, I was allowed to be direct with my boys.  They hate me for it at the time, and most likely talk about me when I leave the table, but they do appreciate my honesty no matter how it is delivered.

In turn, Michael gave me the finger.

“I just don’t get why you did it.” Ryan said.  “You’re intelligent, you have a good job, you can practically quote the New York Times back to me, you go to the Met, you attend art openings.  Why all of the sudden, after thirty-five years, do you feel the need to feel like a dolphin?

“You wouldn’t understand,” Michael said annoyed.

“Try me,” Ryan said.

“You’re hot Ryan–as gross as that sounds coming out of my mouth–you’re generally someone that three quarters of gay New York wants to sleep with.  You have no idea what it is like to be me,” Michael said. 

“Here we go,” Daniel interrupted.  “I’m not participating in this pity party.”

“Do you guys know how absolutely fucking amazing it feels to be someone’s trophy boy?” Michael said.  The truth was most of the boys had been a trophy boy to someone at one point in their younger days except for Michael.

“I’m thirty-five years old–I’m literally in my gay twilight years according to New York gay scene standards.  But right now, as fleeting as it may be, I have a man that WORSHIPS me.  So if he likes me to be completely smooth from head to toe, goddamn it I will be.”

We were momentarily silent.  He was right.  To have someone be enamored with you at any age was an incredible feeling.  We should be happy that our friend found someone plain and simple.  We were immature assholes. 

Before we could express our deepest apologies, Michael finally spoke up and said:

“And he has a huge penis.”

 

Apparently, some things never change–no matter how old you are.

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Italians Do It Better

There comes a day in every straight woman’s life when they must play the role of “girlfriend” for their gay friends.  Sometimes, a woman is an active participant in aforementioned farce, and other times she is not.  I’ve had the pleasure of playing both roles many times.  

Many, many, many, times. 

Last Sunday, I forwent brunch with all of the boys and trekked to Middle Village, Queens to visit Daniel’s parents for Sunday pasta.  

I know, I know, CARBS.  Sometimes, a girl’s gotta take a hit for her gays.  I’ve marched in the parades, emailed congressman, and…

I’ve attended so many HRC events that Michael suggested that instead of  using it’s actual name, Human Rights Campaign, they should rename it in my honor by calling it Hags Really Care.

So a little penne and gravy (what Daniel’s family calls tomato sauce) wouldn’t kill me.  But the conversation almost did.

Daniel’s parents are off the boat from Italy.  Is that politically incorrect to say?  His mother, Clara, never left the kitchen the entire I was there and mumbled things under her breath every two or three minutes. While Daniel’s father, Andrea, stewed on the couch watching the Italian channel, RAI.  All he did was bark orders at Clara from the kitchen:  

“Clara, bring me some wine!”  “Are we ever going to eat?  Where’s the goddamn food? I’m hungry.  Bring me the prosciutto.”   This explained Clara’s inaudible mumblings.

I think Andrea was just angry because this extremely macho “man’s man” had a woman’s name at least in the United States.  I, of course, made it a point to emphasize the American pronunciation of his name just to piss him off.  This didn’t go over with Daniel.  

“My father just said to me in Italian that he thought you were a real bitch,” he said to me in a whisper.

“If he weren’t your father, I’d tell him to go finger-bang himself until he got hemorrhoids,” I said just loud enough so ANdrea heard me.

 

Daniel looked as though he were about to throw up.  I grabbed his hand and then kissed his cheek to give them something in the cheap seats.  As my lips pressed against him, I thought, If his parents only knew that Daniel had a more rigorous skin care regiment than me.

As we sat on the couch, I pretended to know what the hell was going on in some ridiculous Italian game show.  By all accounts, we looked like an actual couple, we held hands publicly and bitched at each other through gritted teeth privately. 

This was a family that barely spoke.  Our entire first course was in silence.  I hummed a few times to make sure I hadn’t spontaneously gone deaf.  And the humming?  Didn’t go over well.  

I’ve seen a nicer reception from the Westboro Church at Gay Pride.

Finally while eating a hot bowl of pasta (heaven!), Andrea asked me about my job as a publicist.  After about ten awkward minutes of explaining about the life of a publicist and what it is that I do, he was frustrated and confused.  I hadn’t sold it well.  Perhaps because I wasn’t quite sure what the hell I was doing at my job. I hadn’t been particularly excited about my career as of late.  The only saving grace in that office is Mia.  But more on her later.  Who knows. Maybe it was time for a career change?  But at my age, what the hell was I going to do?

I felt like the American version of Bridget Jones, except with much better hair and teeth than the original British one.

We finished the rest of our meal with only a handful of polite pleasantries. I smiled and tried to engage his parents in conversation as best as I could, but I was flailing.  About an hour later, Daniel and I were on our way back to the city.  Thank you Jesus.  

I began to feel tremendously guilty as though I’d failed in my acting job and could have somehow screwed things up for Daniel.  I had let him down and that was the last thing I wanted.

About fifteen minutes into the car ride back, Daniel said:  “Thank you so much for doing this Farrah.  That was amazing!”

A bit dumbfounded, I squirmed in my seat and said, “I’m sorry, but we were at the same dinner?”

“Yes!” he said excitedly.

“Why in God’s name are you so happy?  That was horrendously bad Daniel.”

“I know.  Isn’t it great?”

“Um, I thought the point was for me to pretend that I was your girlfriend to keep up the whole ‘your straight’ thing.”

“Yes, but they actually disliked you SO MUCH that they never once brought up marriage.   They’ll never pressure me to get married as long as they think we’re together.  This is like Christmas morning. But better. Could you die?”

Yes, actually I could. 

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Why Gays Why?

I’m not one for posting pics…but I couldn’t resist on this one.  

I was perusing the Conde Nast Store online and came across this hot photo from artist Jean-Jacques Bugat.  

 

You know some fashion gays told these women they looked "fierce" in this.

You know some fashion gays told these women they looked fierce.

 

Enough said.

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