Damien Galeone

The B Monster came out of the closet just for this post

The first time I ever heard the term “Gay Friendly” in reference to me I was somewhat surprised. It went: “Someone asked if you were gay and I told them you were just gay friendly.”

Hm.

As a bartender in Pittsburgh, I had heard the term “Gay Friendly” before, and due to my cat-like mental reflexes + context + superhuman wits + asking a gay friend, I was able to piece together what it meant.

But to hear the term used about myself was a bit odd.

Honestly, it was more surprising than hearing that someone had questioned my sexuality. I was sort of used to that. I had lots of gay friends, they taught me how to buy clothes and make martinis. I liked showtunes and was usually single. It’s essentially the same specs as now, except that I am forty-one, have a cat, and once went on a Southern Italian holiday entitled “Spritzerfest” with two friends who happen to be a gay couple.

I get it. I also don’t give a shit.

But I’m “gay friendly?” Now that was odd.

While I understood, even appreciated, the sentiment – context + superhuman intellect strikes again – I have to say that I was a little shocked. You see, I never considered myself gay friendly; I have always just been friendly.

As with most of my friends, I have never once in my life given a flying fuck about who people decide to fuck, flying or otherwise. Never. Not once. Now, you own Bjork albums or think Warhol was a genius then we have a problem, but who you sleep with doesn’t matter to me. There are certainly gay men and women I do not like. Obviously, as in every other community, there are gay jerks. There are also Italian jerks, Irish jerks, and Mexican jerks.

So it’s not gay friendly, as much as it’s not caring who someone fucks. If someone isn’t “gay friendly,” I’m inclined to think they’re just kind of a dick.

There has obviously been a lot of rhetoric in the last week related to support of the LGBT community. Fortunately, most of what I have seen has been an outpouring of support, sadness, and love. Unfortunately, I have also seen shamefully awful and rotten comments made towards members of a community who were attacked senselessly while doing nothing more than having fun in a club.

As I read the hateful comments, I wonder if these idiots know who they’re dealing with.

We’re all familiar with the popular caricature of a gay man. He is a lisping, flaming queen who prances to his job at the hair salon in a hot pink half shirt while pressing his dainty fingers to his waxed chest and singing a Steve and Eydie tune.

But let me tell you something you already know: this dude has been through a lot. He has dealt with open hatred, fear and insecurity that would cripple others, he has been through persecution, seen many friends die of AIDS. This man has survived Rip Taylor.

So while I support and love my friends in the LGBT community, now as always, it’s important to note that this is no dainty community of wilting flowers. They are the toughest, most resilient community of people out there. And I am fairly certain that they are about to open up a big old glittery can of whoopass.