Anyone who knows me fairly well knows that I don't look the poster girl for gay culture. If I’m going to be really honest about this, let me start here: I often look like an East Coast Republican (except with blond hair because I live in California). In fact, I resemble the villainous Harvard girls in Legally Blonde with my J. Crew and Ann Taylor suiting.
So based merely on appearances, we could say the following: you’d expect me to be one of the folks funneling money to the Mormons last election, while wearing a headband and a Jackie O coat. Then I probably went home and watched “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” or “Alley McBeal” with plans to enjoy “quality time” with my vibrator named Mitt Romney before falling into a sleep full of very conservative dreams.
That means I’d be one of the last people you’d ever expect to be shrieking with joy when U.S. figure skater Johnny Weir hit the ice for his short program last night. And you’d be completely wrong, because nothing gets my heart pumping like Drama On The Ice™ (trademarked because I’ve totally got a screenplay in the works). Hot pink! Black vinyl! Tassels! Stylized male corset! I once dated a guy who dressed like that (you know who you are, and I still hope your lack of an ability to “salute” properly still haunts you to this day).
I held my breath as my sweet Johnny Angel (thank you, Miss Shelley Fabares) posed, waiting for the music to start. Would it be My Chemical Romance? Oh god, please let it be MCR, because this would be the most perfect moment in all of the Olympics, to hear some crazy mash-up between “Teenagers” and Lady Gaga’s “Boys Boys Boys.” At this gloriously elaborate thought, I also imagined myself twirling through the streets of West Hollywood, throwing streamers while covered in rubber glow bracelets and passing out Pucker-based shots, all with muscular men in thin, tight shirts following me, dancing in unison and performed complex, Cirque du Soleil acrobatics. Tears blurred my eyes as I held my breath in anticipation.
Well, that vision evaporated faster than spilled Everclear when the classical music kicked in.
At least my darling Johnny Angel showed some sass with his hand movements. Sadly though, the costume promised so much, while his routine and music delivered so little. Don’t get me wrong: he was a graceful, technical wonder, a beautiful addition to the sport. But where was the gayness???? Johnny, you wore an Emo Suit! You’re coy! You’re sassy! Bring that special gay artistry to the ice––and melt it, turning that stadium into a searing, sweaty sauna of Canadian rave-ery! Be daring and don't be afraid to gay up the Olympics! Be the one that shows men all over the world that it's OK to wear hot pink-laced black vinyl corsets! Bring that equality like you did in Japan, skating to "Poker Face!"
And to get The Boyfriend™ to sit on the couch and actually watch men’s figure skating with me, it required the following:
- Lots o’ manly, chest-hair-growing beer
- Manly drunkenness
- Constantly saying, “No. No. Just––no. That dude’s not straight, I don’t care what you say. You will never, ever convince me, no matter how much you try and don’t even start, because I don’t want to hear it where’s my beer I need more beer I should Facebook this.”
- Constant reaffirming that he will get a blow job when it’s over (from a girl)
So you can see my disappointment, when this very gay man, in this outrageously awesome skating outfit that is straight out of a West Hollywood gay club, did not follow through and bring about complete gay domination of the sport.
The only thing that saved me from a massive bout of depression was, after the short program finished, the Sundance Channel ran an ad for the reality show, “Be Good, Johnny Weir” (you can see it below). This prompted me to plead to the screen "Be bad, Johnny, be ever so bad, you luscious creature!"
Then The Boyfriend™ said, “I’ve already set up a TiVo season pass for you. It’s cool. My TiVo already thinks I’m gay. Now get your mouth down here.”
Oh, appearances. You are deceiving, aren’t you?
