liteenie-deactivated20121031 said: Hiii! I mean.. Hiii???
Oh, good old copy and paste, here it is:
It’s cool if you want to post it. I feel like women who go around collecting gays like purses should know that their purses are people, and shit will get real from time to time.
BAHAHAHAH OMG you are fucking awesome.
CheersLoading… Hide notes
thefavoritefaghag answered you:<!— Reply pane —> <!— Share post —> I read your last post about the break up and I could relate sooo much. My gay best friend and I have had a complicated, intense friendship to say the least. If I had a dime for every fight I’ve been in with him, I could retire. Twice. I don’t think people realize the kind of work a friendship like that entails, it’s not all shopping and gossip. I don’t know what I would do without mine, and I hope yours comes back to you someday.
It’s a blessing to receive this response so shortly after I’ve posted this. It’s taken me awhile to process the experience, especially since I really do love my best friend. I love how you point out both the intensity and the false perception that people have about these types of friendships.
Just curious, would you like for me to post this coversation on the blog? I’m never really sure whether or not to make these questions and answers public.
I’m glad that you and your friend have a dope and understanding relationship. Take Care!
Anyhoo, I’ll be following you.
We’ve only had one fight in the fourteen years since we’ve been friends.
I think it was late July. I knew we had some things to talk about. Our friendship had been complicated for years, and I had just unloaded on him why I was unhappy in it. This particular phone call was to be expected. I could tell from the tone of his voice that this was going to be that serious conversation, so braced myself for what he was going to say, but I didn’t expect this. This isn’t the whole conversation, but this is what I held on to.
J: “I want to cancel out trip to Chicago, and I think we should take a break, till both of us are in a better place.”
J: “I’m not breaking up with you.”
Me: “You know that I love you.”
J: “I love you too.”
Me: “This is really extreme. How much space do you need? We already live in different cities. So you’re just going to abandon me?”
J: “If you want to think of it that way, then that’s on you.”
Me: “You know what? You do you, and lets start this break right now.” *click*
I had been dropped from the longest friendship I had ever had. It doesn’t surprise me that he reacted this way, I just thought I was important enough to him to rethink it. We’ve been in constant communication since High School, and now my first gay friend and my ultimate best friend was no longer in my life.
After me and the gay bestie stopped talking to each other, I felt like fourteen years of my life just went “poof.” I wasn’t sure if ever wanted to be a F*g Hag ever again. It didn’t feel right to call myself that without him. Not only that, I started to hate the way F*g Hag sounded. I started to loathe the negative connotation attached to it. I started to think, have I seriously just been this guy’s fucking accessory for all of these years? Like a chic purse. I hope at least I was a top handle. Those bags are cute.
But my life isn’t about him, and neither is this blog. Within the next couple of months after we stopped talking, there were a gaggle of gays that still made their way to me, in coffee shops, in the gym, and fucking everywhere. I guess I still got the voodoo. So I will continue to talk about the voodoo.
So here we are. Is this a bitter divorce? No. I will love my best friend till the day I die. He was right, we both needed to take care of ourselves. It’s complicated. I’m not bitter or angry, but restarting our friendship doesn’t feel right, right now. It was time for one of us to put up the healthy boundary. He was the one that was brave enough to do it.
Our friendship is still as significant as the day it started. I just need to pause.
I think any woman that labels herself as a F*g Hag should really consider what she is embracing and what she is sacrificing. Don’t just be someones hag, be their friend and keep it real. On that note, keep it real with yourself too.
I’m going to do my best to update this blog with honestly, but hopefully with lots of fun still. All of the gay friends in my life, the sisters and the misters, I love them dearly. I write for them.
So I was out to lunch with one of my favorite gays, and I was trying to show this picture to him.
He himself was going to try to look for her on Grindr, but I decided to help out so I typed “F*g Hag Grindr” into the google app on my phone… and look what I found! Do you recognize someone down at the bottom right at the corner? LMAO!
For the record, I will NEVER go on Grindr to find friends. That is a BIG BIG BIG NO NO! For the homegirl on the top. I hope you are not real. If you are, lets have a chat.
samsikle said: i miss your posts beezy. i'm totally channeling my inner christina. in all my classes the gays have me in the crosshairs and there is no escaping. fag hag, uc berkeley chapter.
What’s up bootch? I took a little break. I had to get some things together, but yes, the adventures continue. I’m gonna keep up with the postings on this blog, cuz it’s my favorite. Glad you are enjoying school and the gays, I can see why they love you :D
A friend of mine told me that I should try Waacking. I suppose my sassy demeanor in the club would make make me a good candidate, but don’t get it twisted, it’s a pretty hard freaking dance.
The best reference I can make to the history of Waaking is the beloved documentary Paris Is Burning. With its roots in Ball Culture, in the NYC Latin and African American community, it’s a dance that was rudely plucked from its natural habitat and turned into Madonna’s Vogue.
So I tried Kumari Suraj’s class at Debbie Reynold’s dance studio, and although I had a hard time absorbing the choreography, Kumari had a great way of getting the class into character. She had us in all of these imaginary places, such as the library, the disco, the runway, and wherever else we felt fabulous in our minds. She’s just over all a dope teacher and I can’t wait to take her class again.
My back HURTS today. Jesus, now I know why this is a gay man’s dance, it’s cuz they have the lat muscles to do this for days. I definitely did not feel the “realness” yet.
I totally didn’t breathe the whole time I was in class, I was sweating like rain, and I’ve never posed so hard in my life, but it’s not just a dance. You really have to believe your character. In my mind I was saying….”OPULANCE!” but instead my arms flailed like I was in the middle of an exorcism. I think it’s easier for me to do this dance proper when I’m in the club and I’ve had a couple of drinks. The question is… will I?
I’m sure if I’ll ever become a full fledged voguer, but at least for a small period in time I will dance like a snooty bitch because “I AM OPULANCE!”
In the meantime I’m practicing my waacking in the bathroom mirror as we speak.