You're Not One of Those Lip Syncing Fags...

...no matter how inappropriate the song is, you're the type of boy who'll sing your little heart out in the shower as if you were trying out for American Idol. When you're done, you and your boombox prance across the living room wrapped up in a towel as your Hobosexual roommate looks up from his Sex and the City rerun to scowl at you. He is definitely Simon to your Kelly Clarkson. But you're not letting him bother you today. Hell, you're not even letting your Lovely Lady Mumps rain on your parade today. Especially since it's the Gay Pride and you're running late for the parade! The party you wind up at ends up being at a fabulous Fifth Avenue apartment, with a balcony! While catching up with a Medical Student friend of yours, you decide to ask him about the lumps in your neck that feel as if a mother Robin has laid a couple of eggs and decided to hatch them in your throat. He feels them and is visibly shocked. But not as shocked as you when the Mockter Doctor asks, "Have you had a lot of sexual partners lately?" You gulp as you say, "Not really," even though of course you have. Whore. The whole thing just freaks you into having another cocktail or three and you and your ice clink your way out to the sheltered balcony and watch it pour on the poor gays because of some freak thunderstorm.

After the Parade Party, you and the Boy Luck Club head over to the West Village for a Pre-Pier Party on Greenwich that one of your Kinsey 8 Fire Guyland roommates is throwing. This place is also gorgeous, and although his first floor loft has no balcony to the outside, his ceilings are so high that it actually has a balcony on the inside! Unlike the last few parties you've attended, everybody is super chatty and friendly and you wonder if perhaps that has something to do with the fact that you're at a daytime party? You follow Fat Albert's footsteps as he seems to be a magnet for the cute boys, and since he's already got a boyfriend, you don't mind chumming for his sloppy seconds. However there is nothing at all sloppy about the Emergency Room doctor that Fat Albert introduces you to. And unlike Fat Albert, you actually have an emergency! You apologize profusely in the same breath that you begin to describe the symptoms of your Lovely Lady Mumps. And then something wonderful happens. Your temperature rises as Dr. McSteamy reaches out to examine your neck. Softly. Thoroughly. Even though you're so swollen you can't help but swallow a bit of anxious excitement as Dr. McSteamy lifts your shirt to feel what appears to be your kidney as he asks you if it hurts. You reply with a simple, "No," as right now it is impossible to feel pain. Dr. McSteamy instantly informs you with authority that you have nothing to worry about. He's sure that your Lovely Lady Mumps are stress related due to your impending move. The two of you continue your chat and everything in the background seems to fade away. Without all the static it suddenly seems easy to spot the one simple truth that you've known all along: This is how it's supposed to feel when you meet someone special. Although you've been hung up on Blonde Beard for months now, he never made you feel this comfortable. Conversation was never this easy. Dr. McSteamy is exactly the type of guy you could fall for. That is, if you haven't fallen already. He's laughing at your jokes. But more importantly, you're laughing at his.

You begin to fantasize about how you'll finish each other's sentences whenever someone asks the two of you, "How did you guys meet?" You'll both say, "Gay Pride," in unison as you beam with pride and continue your Happily Ever After story with lots and lots of wonderful "We's." Things are about as splendid as they could possibly be when Dr. McSteamy starts chatting with Fat Albert about what a catch you are! So cute, so funny, etc. Yes, you actually hear him say this! And then it's suddenly like someone scratches a record player needle across your fantasy with one horrible screeching word that comes out of Dr. McSteamy's mouth: "We." And, unlike your daydreams, this "we" isn't referring to you. You immediately interrupt their conversation and say with extreme disappointment, "Who's 'we'?" That's exactly when you have your Alanis Morris Ironic moment as Dr. McSteamy introduces you to his beautiful wife. Or busted husband. Whatever.

The Busted Husband immediately takes his cue and swoops into the conversation. Your conversation. You want to say, "Shut up, I will wreck your happy home!" but instead you just smile as you swallow a bit of throw up as the Busted Husband tells you his nauseating "Love at first sight" story. Of course your mind wanders as you try to find the silver lining of this extremely disappointing experience. Ultimately, however, you realize that there are boys out there that you can have a magical moment with. And hopefully one of these days one of them will be single.

Between your Lovely Lady Mumps and your imaginary break up with Dr. McSteamy, the Pier Dance ends up being mildly annoying yet extremely sweaty. Surprisingly, you don't recognize anybody. And honey, you know a lot of New York boys. Hell, you've dated most of them. But the pier seems like it must be full of Circuit Queens who have flown in for the "Event," which everybody seems to think will be either Madonna or Jennifer Hudson. But as the evening wears on, the DJ seems to be having a Madonnathon with all the songs from her new album. And since Madge needs to promote it, and since she's living in New York since she filed for divorce, and since she has never ever done the pier dance before, it seems perfectly viable to you that tonight will be the night! So you squeeze past the Tweekers and push your way as close to the stage as you can physically muster! You are sooooooo excited, not to mention convinced that Madonna is about to pop onto the stage when the MC comes out to introduce this year's surprise guest! Your heart palpitates and your Lovely Lady Mumps throb to the drum-roll as he finally introduces..........Jennifer (I just swallowed the) Hudson. And if this isn't enough of a buzz-kill, the American Idol bitch actually has the gall to lip-sync. Needless to say, you are less than impressed. Anyway...