mrs-roboto's Diaryland Diary

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Queen of Gaydar

I know I'm late to the party in writing about this but I've been watching Boy Meets Boy on Tuesday nights. I actually starting watching the show under the impression that it would horrifying, awful television and to some extent it is but like a car crash, I can't keep my eyes off the debris.

One of my favorite things about Boy Meets Boy is my ability to play along. In case you've missed the show thus far, here is a brief synopsis. I am happy to report that I have been able to identify all six heterosexuals posing as homosexuals thus far. Oh yes, marvel at my skills! Last night, I called out to Pete (who was smart enough to leave the room when the show began) "I'm so good at this. I have an uncanny ability to pick out the straight guys. It's simply amazing." Pete recommended I add it to my resume. So yeah, I'm proficient in Dreamweaver and I can spot a guy who chases skirts. Go me!

I think one of the reasons I've been so proud of my predictions is that I wasn't always so intuitive. It all started when I was about ten years old and my mother agreed to take me to the salon to get my hair done by her stylist. Up until that point, all my haircuts had been of the homestyle variety - bowls on the head, scissors that were used to cut paper, etc. For the most part, my hair was just left to grow in long stringy pieces which were twisted into tight braids or pony tails. But we were entering the era of the puffy perm and I desperately wanted me some curl. My mom was reluctant. She felt I was too young but I was so determined that she made me an appointment.

I went to the appointment alone. The salon was only a handful of blocks from my house and there was no need for adult accompaniment. My mother gave me one final warning. "Talk to Jack before you just go all curly. He has a good eye for this stuff and he'll know what will suit your face best." I didn't bother to tell my mother that I could care less about this Jack, that I was getting a perm regardless and that I would look like Lisa Lisa from Cult Jam when I was done (nevermind that I was flat chested and as white as Wonderbread). With that thought in mind I strutted into the salon.

You know those moments in romantic comedies where the eyes of the two main characters meet and there is undeniable chemistry? The music reaches a fevered pitch and the everything looks soft and bright? I had one of those moments upon entering Sheer Ecstasy Salon. My peepers locked on Jack, his dark thick tresses and crystal blue eyes burning a hole into my soul. His skin tight jeans revealing the tightest behind and his button up shirt left opened to reveal his muscular and smooth chest. When he smiled at me with the whitest of teeth I melted into a puddle.

"You must be 'Lil Miss," he said in a voice slightly higher pitched than I had imagined it would be. "Your mom called and told me you were on your way. Come on sweetie, come over here and take a seat in this chair."

I did as he commanded without saying a word. I was dumbstruck by love.

"So your mom tells me you want a perm today? Is that right?"

I nodded and tried to smile.

"Well darling," he said. "I can do that for you. We'll make you the belle of the ball!" I nodded wordlessly yet again and he spun the chair to face his mirror.

My heart froze in my chest. On his station was a picture of the most beautiful and glamorous woman I had ever seen. She was slender and elegant with perfectly coifed hair and a little nose that turned up at the end. She wore a long black evening gown that made me ashamed I had chosen Jordache jeans and my pink Playgirl bunny T-shirt as my ensemble. I mustered up my confidence and spoke for the very first time.

"Is that your girlfriend," I asked.

"Girlfriend," he sounded on the verge of laughter. "Oh honey, please don't tell me you don't know who that is. Audrey Hepburn, you know - Breakfast At Tiffany's? Oh, sweetie, you're missing out if you don't know about Audrey. She was the greatest actress to ever grace the big screen and what a beauty."

"Oh," I said feeling relieved to know that Jack was still on the market. "I'm a big Molly Ringwald fan myself."

That first meeting with Jack was the beginning of many things. It started me on the path to regular haircuts every six weeks. It introduced me to the world hairspray and conditioner and gel and hairdryers. It allowed me the opportunity to "grow out" my first and only perm (I looked like an electrocuted poodle). But more than anything else it afforded me the opportunity to crush on someone older and wiser and more cultured than me, someone who dressed to the nines and had fantastic shoes and a pierced ear and who loved to dance. Oh how he'd blare the stereo in the salon and dance about. I was so in love.

I'd ride my bike by Sheer Ecstasy every day just to catch a glimpse of my future husband. Yes, I had constructed a fantasy whereby we dated and married and moved out to the suburbs to raise our children. I made excuses to go to the shop and buy shampoo and brushes. My bathroom looked like the salon with it's diverse products, curling irons, and mousses strewn about. I found a picture of Audrey in a magazine, clipped it out, and taped it to my mirror so I could remember what to strive for and I studied Breakfast At Tiffany's as if it were a Dead Sea Scroll and I a scholarly Rabbi. This obsession went on for almost two years.

Of course, you can see where this is going but perhaps you wonder how I discovered that Jack would never be interested in me no matter how graceful I became nor how big I made my hair. You see there was a neighborhood boy who had been pursuing me for the last several months. "Pursuing" for a twelve year old boy consists mostly of teasing and chasing and sometimes pinching. John Monas was doing all of these things to me for months. One day, while playing a game of tag, he cornered me and planted the biggest, sloppiest kiss ever on me. I was shocked and repulsed.

"What did you do that for," I asked in a voice filled with anger.

"I like you, that why."

"Don't you know I am in love with Jack, my hairdresser? I am saving myself for him. For you, I feel nothing."

John nearly split his sides laughing at me. "The guy is a fag, 'Lil Miss. He has no interest in you."

"A fag," I repeated incredulously. "He can't be, he loves Audrey Hepburn and he dresses so good and he has this body to die for and....."

I listed a thousand things about Jack that made him straight, things that now seem so insane but made so much sense in the mind of a twelve year old girl. John disputed every one but I held fast to my beliefs. It wasn't until later that evening when I broached the question with my mom that I had to give up hope.

"Mom," I asked tentatively. "Is Jack a fag?"

"Don't say that word," she scolded. "It's a mean thing to say." She paused. "Jack *is* gay if that is what you are asking."

I'm sure she tried to explain the whole thing to me in a compassionate and open minded manner but I was too broken hearted to retain any of that information. I threw away a ton of banana clips that day and Breakfast At Tiffany's was replaced by The Breakfast Club. I did wind up dating John for a number of months, letting him be the first to get to second base with me, but I knew he was just a rebound relationship. His shoe collection sucked (just hightop sneakers and one pair of dress shoes for Sunday mass) and he had absolutely no interest in dancing. I stopped seeing Jack and acquired myself a female stylist who didn't call me "sweetie" or encourage me to get a mullet. Mostly I realized there were many different people in the world and that everything wasn't as black and white as I had once thought.

10:56 a.m. - 2003-08-20

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