Ambiguously Gay

My good friend Frank came down to visit for a fun-packed labor day weekend full of drinking, drinking, and more drinking. I've done the math already: my alcohol consumption this weekend equates to a little over 4,000 calories worth of beer. You can now say goodbye to any remote possibility of me posing in the October issue of Playgirl. And don't EVEN get me started on all the pizza, Whoppers, and Pokey Sticks that went straight to my thighs after I drunkenly and mistakenly ate them at 3 in the morning three days in a row.

But this blog entry isn't about my expanding gut. It's about homosexuals. And it's about Frank. Ambiguously Gay Frank.

I've had incredibly acute gaydar ever since my freshman year of college, when I was roommates with the most homo homosexual you could ever meet. His name was Dan, and he was so flaming gay that when he turned 18 he wasn't issued a draft number. Dan was the type of queer that would get fired from Siegfried and Roy for parachuting straight into the white tiger's ass. All of my friends that year sympathized for me for getting stuck with "The Gay Guy", however what I gained from the experience was not only a great friend, but the ability to see and interpret the world of gays around me.

I'm kind of like that kid in The Sixth Sense, who can see ghosts when no one else can. Only instead of saying "I see dead people," I say, "I see GAY people." Wasn't that joke in Scary Movie? If it was, then here's a new analogy: I'm kind of like Neo seeing the matrix code all around him when he finally realizes he is The One at the end of The Matrix. Yeah.

The thing is, gaydar became obsolete about three years ago. In the past, what I would generally look for in determining homosexuality was a guy's posture, hand gestures, and voice. Now you have to throw all of that out the window, all because of metrosexuals. These days, every other guy is a metrosexual, and the girls love them for it. The rise in metrosexuality has made it increasingly impossible to tell gay and straight guys apart, thus frying my gaydar circuits permanently.

Also, what is up with all the frat boys on campus wearing pink polo shirts? As Bill Maher says, "Frats are for fucking assholes, not for fucking assholes!"

Anyway, the real reason I'm writing this post is because for years, I've always been confused about Frank. We all know that his favorite team, the White Sox, suck. But how many White Cox has he sucked?

This is the guy who confuses me because he watches hours upon hours of sports, yet still lives at home with his mom and has more action figures than any 40 Year Old Virgin. He's also the guy who indeed used to have a girlfriend for a couple years, but listens to Barbara Streisand and Journey.

Notice that the acronym F.A.G. stands for "Frank: Ambiguously Gay".

I would easily give Frank the benefit of the doubt if he wasn't always playfully joking (or shall I say, "gayfully" joking) with me in such a gay way. One too many times, he's told me he could see the bulge in my pants. Two too many times Frank has told me he wanted to toss my salad. He always follows those statements with a quick "Just kidding," but you lose a lot of hetero-credibility in my book when you start rubbing my knee for longer than a half second.

Frank is even willing to joke like this in public. This one time last year at a party, I was talking to two really attractive girls when Frank came from behind and put his arm around me and said into my ear, "Hey honey. I missed you." It didn't help that I angrily shook Frank's arm off and said, "Frank, not now! Not here!" because those two girls immediately walked away.

I had a conversation this weekend during one of my drunk munchie binges with Frank about how all of his "gay joking" was a little too excessive, how it made me wonder about him sometimes. "Dude," he said. "I'm not gay. I just joke that way because it's funny. Would a gay guy talk about ass-fucking 24/7? No. He would be more discrete about it. Trust me man, I only talk that way to all my close friends because I think they can take it with a grain of salt and just laugh. It's all jokes. I'm really not gay, man."

"It's okay, dude," I replied. "Just chill. I believe you."

And then he deepthroated a Pokey Stick. All of it.