Who Needs the Pot of Gold

I didn't sleep at all last night. Not even for a moment.

I swear that all of my internal organs are still sore from being so violently ill. And I wasn't comfortable enough to sleep. But that's not the whole truth.

Yesterday evening I was able to talk to both of my best friends on the phone. I talk to Patrick just about every day, but most of those conversations are quick, friendly check-ins. He's usually walking from one part of New York City to another and wants some company. But at least once or twice a week we catch each other at a time where we can really talk and share. These are the times when our friendship grows. We're way past the honeymoon stage now, and we can argue and disagree but still always get each other in the end.

I don't talk to Aaron as often. Maybe once a week. But when we connect we almost always talk for a half hour or more. And while we joke a lot, we can also say pretty much anything to each other. I ask him personal questions that I would never even consider asking anyone else. He endures certain rants from me that no one else would ever hear. We haven't argued yet. Maybe we'll get there. I don't know. But one of the things I love about Aaron is his ability to see the beautiful in everyone and everything.

I was thinking about both of my friends last night. And that's why I couldn't sleep.

I love those guys. They are my best friends. But I love them in ways that are as different as the two of them are from each other.

When I first met them in person, I thought they had so much in common. I guess they do. They have similar family histories. They're both artists in their own ways. They're both short. They're both handsome. They're both outgoing and fun. And, oh yeah. They're both gay.

Patrick says that gay men and their straight women friends have a sacred bond.

I've talked about it here before. I used to avoid the words "fag hag" like the plague. Partly, because of the words themselves and partly because they invoke a stereotype and that just doesn't seem right. And the use of the term has been argued here too. Others prefer other terms or none at all.

But I've learned a lot in the last year or so. I've learned that when the guys joke with me about being a fag hag, they are actually letting me know how much they love me. I've read Tales of the City now and I see where the words come from. And while I still hate the stereotypical image of the often fat, always lonely, can't-get-a-man-so-she-surrounds-herself-in-the-security-of-gay-men (oh, and she's probably really in love with one deep down and hopes he'll let her have his sperm to make a baby) hag, I have no problem adding fag hag into the many labels that define me.

I wasn't a big fan of Will & Grace over the years. But then I made my own very close gay friends and I started watching some of the syndicated shows. Hell, it's on at least five times a day here. I admit that I would watch with an eye for pointing out the ways in which Grace and Will's relationship was dysfunctional so that I could compare myself and say, "See. That's not me!" I'm not proud of that.

Patrick and I had a bet going in Marie's Crisis one night. We were betting on whether the guy and girl who were hanging all over each other were a straight couple or a fag and his hag. I should have bowed to his far superior gaydar skills, but I think I really wanted them to be straight. I didn't really want there to be a girl out there who was so obviously hopelessly in love with a gay man. "That's taking the Will & Grace thing too far," Patrick said.

He was right.

But I have a favorite Will & Grace quote now. Grace is so mad at Will that she's ready to annihilate him and Leo says to her, "I still need him for the 20% of you I can't handle."

That's so perfect. And I can imagine that the husband's of fag hags everywhere know exactly what he means.

And speaking of husbands, I have one. A great one. One that can drive me crazy sometimes. One who can be insecure. But a really wonderful husband no matter what.

And so I live the life of your average married couple. The 2.3 kids, mini van, single income, trust fund, pastel house that might as well be on Wisteria Lane...

We have all of that.

And we never have to think twice about the safety of holding hands on the train. We never have to consider what the banker might say when we apply for a mortgage together. We never feel out of place in a restaurant. We never think twice about the million tiny facets of life that are easy for us because we're the norm.

There's so much I don't get about being gay. And of course I wouldn't. For obvious reasons

My two closest friends have been out for decades (sorry, guys) and are so far from those issues that most straight people think consume gay men's lives.

And so I forget sometimes. I forget that it's not always so easy.

Patrick has been saying since last year that he wants to take me to a Pride event. I don't want to speak for him, but I think it is because he wants to share that part of his life with me. And because he wants to have fun. When we're together we always have fun.

I'm going to Pride with him in New York City this summer.

And so I've been thinking of the symbolism. The rainbow and what it represents. What Friends of Dorothy really means. The lexicon and the history and even the tragic body image issues.

I've been thinking a lot about my friends. Patrick, who has started his life over from scratch with none of the stuff and all of the baggage. That takes a tremendous amount of courage. And Aaron, who has found love and risked so much to nurture it. Though he probably doesn't see it that way. And that takes a tremendous amount of courage. And all of you guys.

It would be easy for me to just say, whatever. Fiddle dee dee. All that gay stuff means nothing to me.

But it does. I've just never had much reason to think about it before.

I'm not saying I'm going to turn into Debbie Novotny overnight, though I'm probably destined for her figure. I'm just thinking about this stuff more than ever before.

I don't want to be a woman who considers gay men to be her own personal cheering section. Her own human playground of enabling and flattery.

As the morning broke and my sleepless night's rain paused, I woke up my kids and fed them breakfast in a better mood than I'm normally in at 6 a.m. I had a moment to pause and look out my back window.

And I saw a rainbow. A double one at that.

With all my musings of the night before I couldn't help but feel it was symbolic. A rainbow is such a simple thing. A scientific result of light and water. But it can be so hard to see. You have to be in the perfect place at the perfect time. And every rainbow is a complete circle. We just can't see it from where we sit.

I'm going to keep on thinking of this. I'm going to keep on learning with my friends help.

But in that moment when I called the kids to stand on my back porch and watch the rainbow fade to nothing, it all became simple to me.

I love my gay friends with all of my heart.

I am PROUD of them.

So fucking proud.

For now, that's enough. The rest will come when I'm ready.