Bite Me, Mother Nature (or: The Saddest Gay Post This Week)

Better call me a waaahhm-bulance.

As I sit in my home office writing this post, the 'historic' storm Nemo (really, Weather Channel?) is raging outside. Well, it's snowing. And has been for several hours, amassing less than 2" so far. Not enough to be crippling like in 1996, but just enough to make travel unwise and spoil a very special evening I was supposed to have with T. This after a truly  horrendous day at the Day Job. The storm is having a major impact on us, while causing unnecessary panic for our clients who don't read or bother to look at the updates on our website (or look in completely inappropriate places when they attempt to -- it's on the home page in bright orange! How can you not see that?). This was the worst possible weekend in all of winter for this storm to hit. I ended up having to stay late, on top of (and this is really just adding insult to injury) cancelling my very much-anticipated date with T because of the impending driving conditions (45 minutes of highway driving in sleet and snow isn't really all that wise). To be honest, it was quite possibly the worst Friday I've ever had (or at least certainly in the Top 5). 

So I came home and tried to cheer myself up a bit. I watched some comedies I'd DVR'd and then poured myself a drink and visited good old Towleroad, where there were two exceptionally gay clips that almost did the trick. You'll see why I say "almost."

First up, openly gay Bravo president and talk-show/reality-show host Andy Cohen recently had Jenny McCarthy and Calvin Klein Superbowl model Matthew Terry play a ridiculously exploitative game called "Paper or Plas-Take It Off:"

Terry may be young and very pretty,  but McCarthy might as well be an SNL cougar. Fail.

So, I went for some nonsense and the video for RuPaul's latest single, Peanut Butter. Watch first and then we'll discuss (may be NSFW):

First, let me get this right out of the way: Who the f**k is Big Freedia? Bitch scares me. Second: Ru, bubbulah, what the hell? Stick with dance tracks, girl. This bizarre rap/dubstep mashup weirdness just doesn't work. For anyone. 

Of course, RuPaul is outrageous. We get it. And we know you have to keep up with the times if you want to stay in the spotlight, but aren't the dancing twinks in banana hammocks in a video for a 'song' that's basically one big penis joke just overkill?* We deserve better from the Queen of Drag.

I really shouldn't complain. I know it could be so much worse. New York and New England are going to get slammed for the second -- and even third -- time in less than a year. Still, sometimes it seems I just can't get a friggin break for myself, ya know?

So I am left to console myself with smoke and drink, taking some pleasure in the idea of anticipation. After all, half the fun of any great roller-coaster is the anticipation as the train climbs that first hill, waiting to take that first breath-taking, soaring, weightless plunge*... I need a cigarette, now. Just don't remind me that an exceptionally horrendous Monday is just a brief two days away.

*Every single pun ever, intended.

I'll make this up to you, T. Promise.

More, anon.
Prospero