Hag Fag

[Working here with the assumption that you've seen and adored St. Margaret Cho's I'm The One That I Want, filmed at the Warfield here in S.F. with John and me among the many other shrieking queens in the audience. Nothing got those queens shrieking louder than her proud proclamation of being a Fag Hag, and the various trials and tribulations associated thereto.]

[The primary t&t is being left behind at the bar when the Hag's Fag hooks up with Trick #3657. "You'll be all right, right?" And suddenly, there's all these immaculately made up girls standing about, slurping the dregs of their white russians while another endless Madonna remix plays, wondering what the hell happened.]

[Well, I'm here to tell you the reverse is at least as true. I am proud to be a Hag Fag. And I have been left to pick up the pieces in the wake of Tropical Storm Brad or Brian or Jeff. For us HF's, it's not so much being left behind at a bar (that would mean going to the Marina, I think...ick) but being the shoulder to cry on the next morning or the next week. It means absolutely squelching the urge to say "I told you so."]

[It also means really, really suppressing or exorcising the wish to be straight, just for a little while, just so you could show these girls how cherished they really deserve to be. If the only way they can feel whole is to be done to by Sean or Josh or Steve, some sort of crazy logic suggests...]

[But no. It won't do. And so we order another round, talk about them endlessly, and fail once again to make a few necessary connections, and so to learn.]

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