It is extremely difficult to take care of all your fag hags on Friday the 13th when Saturday the 14th happens to be Valentines Day.
Per said fag hag, we must go out clubbing on Friday, because how else are we going to meet Prince Charming who will ask us out on a real date the following night, Valentines Day, and make all our dreams come true and sweep us off to his castle in the sky? So this is problem (a) unrealistic expectations of meeting someone great the exact day before Valentines Day. Compound that problem with the Wounded Disney Princess Syndrome, which all fag hags have, and you know the weekend is going to end with her drunk and crying on your phone all through the Saturday Night Live 40 Year Anniversary Spectacular on Sunday night.
But, says she, Friday the 13th is a horrible time to go clubbing, or anywhere, because it’s Friday the 13th which is bad luck which means even if you meet someone special he’ll probably turn out to be a serial killer or at very least a meth head. So obviously, Gay Best Friend’s Advice is “Then stay home”.
This is problem (b) “If I stay home I’ll never meet anyone and won’t have even a chance of finding Prince Charming and will spend yet another year home alone crying (in my goddamn telephone) and eating two gallons of ice cream and probably a cake and maybe a pie.
Gay Best Friend’s Advice is then “So go out and forget about it being Friday the 13th and have a good time and try not to seem so desperate and maybe just maybe you’ll meet someone. Or not.”
Problem (c) “I can’t tell the Princes from the Creeps after two drinks. YOU HAVE TO COME WITH ME TO TELL ME WHO IS A PRINCE AND WHO IS A CREEP.”
I just had major surgery last week. Right now, I’m doing pretty good if I can make it to the bathroom before pissing down my own leg. I am most certainly NOT going ANYWHERE, and VERY MOST CERTAINLY NOT GOING CLUBBING.
So the compromise is I’ll be available for support via cell phone. Which means I’m trying to watch Grimm on television, which comes on at 9:00 p.m., and she’s already calling from the club about some old guy who keeps eyeballing her boobs but he seems to be nice enough and should she let him buy her a drink if he asks to do so?
Needless to say, I got very little sleep last night, I’m extremely grumpy today, and I’m currently letting all my phone calls go to voice mail but can’t do that much longer because I know she’ll just show up at my front door, which is not what I want right now.
The nice thing about Fag Hags is they remind us of when we were 20 and thought all this excess drama was exciting and necessary and proved that we were adults living in the real world instead of just kids trying to find their way. Still, it gets a little old once you’re in your 50s.