A Family of Weird

Quick update: I went on a lame date last week with a teacher. I don't have anything to write about...the whole thing was super vanilla. He wasn't a bad person, or weird, or anything. He just existed. I kept trying of things to make the date witty or fun, but it was just there. We went to dinner, we talked a bit, we went home. NO SPARKS. I am, however, going on a date with a lovely British man this Monday...

(I say lovely...but it's a blind date and we all know how well they turn out for me.)

I have a lot of weird tendencies and I am generally a pretty "eccentric" (read also: nuts) person. We all know this and have made peace with this (read also: therapy), but all this wonderful craziness had to come from somewhere...right? Well it did. A lot of my oddness (which I also like to refer as "lovable quirks") comes from Mama and Papa Fabulous. You see, they have been an ever present force in my life from the time that I was really little. They are obnoxiously accepting and are also an amazing role model for what marriage should be about. (They have also ruined my expectations of what should be "normal"....jerks.) They have actually gotten weirder as my brothers and I have gotten older, thus making me feel it was safe to let out all of my weirdness. (I'll show them weird! #stillsingle #celibacy2012).

Until very recently I have been under the impression that Mama Fab had never really drank too much in her younger years and that the one time she did, she got very sick and never had beer again. (To her credit, she doesn't ever drink beer.) The stories began to shift and change after my younger brother turned 21 and we were all above the drinking age. All of a sudden we began drinking a bit more as a family and discussing things that had only been briefly mentioned in passing. We, as a family, enjoy a beverage...or two...

(The blue one looks like a very good bad decision to make.)

Anywhoz, two weeks ago, when I spent the weekend submerged in other peoples love stories, I had a breather moment from weddings and engagements where I was able to go out with my date for the weekend, British Cowgirl. (She was born in Philly, spent 7yrs in England and now fancies herself a life in the wild, wild west.) When we got back to my parents house from one wedding function, we were geared up to grab a cab and go get drunk with some townies. Instead, we were met by Mama and Papa Fabulous who were giggling as they were decorating the house for my older brothers engagement party.  It took me only a few moments to realize that they had been going to town on my box of wine that I was given by my Twin for my birthday. 

(Slap-a-da-bagggg. The only way this moment could have been more perfect is if they were doing this)

There was logic that went into their choice to devour the boxed wine and it was truly flawless. They wanted to have a classy brunch for the engagement and having boxed wine on the counter would detract from the classiness. (A notion I will readily disagree with, but it wasn't my engagement party. And also may be why I am single) Because of their sound logic, British Cowgirl and I decided it was only right to help them out on this quest to rid the house of my prized Franzia. We filled goblets up with the savory Chablis and sat down for a 90min pep-talk with my parents. 

British Cowgirl and I had been making jokes that we were going to form the "Singles Room" at the party, knowing full well that we would be the only singles at the party. I guess my parents didn't take kindly to this, so they began telling us about how we will find love that we deserve. Honestly, it was such a self-esteem booster because they believed everything they said. We sat there and listened and squeezed the bag dry before we left them to finish their decorating and go out. The next morning all parties involved were a little hungover and forced to entertain for hours. However, I will never forget the night that I killed a box of wine with Mama and Papa Fabulous. 

(THEY HAVE BOXED WINE TASTINGS!!!!! It's the little things in life)

Papa Fabulous has other quirks outside of drinking boxed wine, he has also planned out how his funeral should play out and what he wants our grandkids to call him. (Not in that order. Thats creepy.)

When my brothers and I were younger we would ask really weird questions of my parents on our trips up to Maine. One year, right around when I was 9 or 10, we asked our parents how they would want to be buried/where they would want to be buried when they died. (Looking back, we were morbid weirdos...who wants to plan their parents funerals??) Mama Fabulous has always been a bit like the perfect mother. She used to sing us lullabies, held us when we were sick, read us stories with different voices, and volunteered her time at our schools. Her answer to the question fit perfectly in line with what we would have expected. 

Mama Fabulous: I don't want you to have to go visit a grave to "see me." I would love it if you had me cremated and then planted a tree and poured the ashes over it. Then, whenever you see a tree like that, you will see me. 

WHAT THE HELL?? She is like Mother Theresa. Like that is literally the best effing answer you could've ever told a child. Mama Fab for the win! Now, Papa Fabulous took a much different route with his answers. He was also a great parent who coached soccer teams, made us Saturday morning breakfast, and came up with the lullaby "Go to sleep, go to sleep, you rotten little creeps". Anywhoz, Papa Fab took a moment to think about it and then, without hesitation, stated an elaborate plan for his funeral. 

Papa Fabulous: I would like a funeral pyre. Not just any old funeral pyre, but a viking one. I would like for you to wrap my body up, put it on a wood canoe (nothing elaborate!), and then push me out to see or to the middle of a lake. Then you will have to shoot a flaming arrow onto the boat and you can watch it go up into flames. There is no way you will be sad then...that's just cool. 

(there are some really fucked up pics when you search "funeral pyre." Just sayin')

Like...I have no words for that. We all burst out laughing and just said Papa Fab was being cooky and trying to make us laugh. The funniest part, though, is that this still stands 15 years later. We still discuss it and, in all seriousness, my father claims he wants a traditional viking funeral. 

Outside of planning their funerals, my parents also like to plan ahead for when we have children. (They want me to have lots of little gaybies.) Recent conversations have revolved around what they are going to be called by our unborn children. Mama Fab decided that instead of us wondering what our kids should call them, they would just tell us. 

Mama Fab: I want to be called Oma (German word for Grandma) It's easy for children to say and it has history with the family. 

Papa Fab: I don't want to be called Opa. I'm not German. That just doesn't sound right. 

Mama Fab: Then what do you want to be called? No one is forcing you to be Opa. 

Papa Fab: Hmm...I want the kids to call me Thor. 

That's right folks, he wants to be called Thor, like the mythical God of thunder. This began a semi-serious fight with my younger brother, who decided my father should be called Odin, Thor's father. (I think it's secretly because he wants to be Thor, which would make my father Odin. As I write this, I have decided to start calling him Odin. Because I am nice.) 

(Oh hey kids, there's Thor, just smiting some weird creatures.)

My family is fabulously weird and wonderful. On election night earlier this week my mother and I drunkenly sobbed on the phone to each other over the legalization of marriage equality in the state of MD. Weird or not, I am pretty lucky. 

I am currently, moments away, from getting off a bus in NYC. As you all remember, I have torrid love affair with this amazing city and I have also had some weird adventures. I promise to update Monday with the weird happenings of this crazy hipster filled city. 

Mama Fabulous: Mother Theresa with a cosmo

Papa Fabulous: A true viking 

Fabulously Lost: High standards, high tolerance, high chance of destruction 

Pride or Die: DC Edition

So remember that time I told you that Pride was this past weekend and I would update you? Well...I didn't lie. Here is the update. Boom. I am not a liar. Score one for Team Fab! Before I tell you about my fabulous glitter filled weekend I have to tell you about my pact I made with a small group of my friends to not drink for a month.

I know, shocking right? Over Memorial Day weekend I was with some of my lady friends and the decision was made as the weekend was winding down. For some reason we decided that it would be a good idea to limit our drinking before a wedding we are all going to at the end of June. I stayed quiet during most of this only chiming in every once in awhile because I enjoy good beverage or two. A good drank or two allows me to dance like there is no tomorrow, mack it like my lips will fall off if I don't continue, and fall in love strippers and straight men. I am not a slave to the drank or an alcoholic...but I meannnn cahhhhm ahhhhn. (Judgement stops here...rude.)


We weren't going to go cold turkey...well, because that's just something that's too over zealous for a group of kids in their mid-twenties to do. The girls decided they were allowed 4 drinks, total, in a week and I was allowed 7 drinks. We fdecided to start an email chain, "Sober and Sexy", to help motivate each other not to drink. Needless to say....I failed miserably. A solid 72hrs after this deal was sealed I went to the strip club and obviously needed social lubrication to make it through.

I told the group the next day with my head held low and feeling shameful, and you know what they did? They turned out to be the most terrible AA group I have ever heard of. I didn't realize it was a competition...I tried to win back their trust and didn't go out at all the next weekend. I missed a BAR crawl for them and dancing in the club with old friendz. This did nothing to win them over and I was shamed into the corner. One of my lady friends even gchatted me to let me know how horribly I had failed. I felt like I was on the Intervention episode of It's Always Sunny.

(Check it out: Intervention)

Anywhoz, I told you all of that because I'd like to be able to blame them for my dying at Pride in DC. I figure I am nothing if not a good "blamer on others" and this seems like the perfect time to do this.  I would also like to take a moment to blame a couple of other people for my "state" of being on Saturday. 

• The waiter, Drew--- he was charming and kept bringing carafes of alcohol to our table like it was his job or something. (Facts, it was his job. Facts, he did a damn good job)
• The Allies --- none of them stopped me from consuming carafes like they were water. (they also might have been inebriated) 
• My Parents --- their love of a good breakfast fruity drink was passed on to me and in the end....we all blame our parents for everything anyways right?

Ok, now that the blame is allocated to the correct people I can continue. I went to brunch with a group of my favorite Allies and proceeded to drink mimosa's like I'd just lost my job and my only true form of happiness would be found at the bottom of my glass.

 So drinks were a-flowin' and laughs were being had and somewhere along the line I decided that it would be a good idea to post photos to Facebook/Instagram/Twitter like it was my new job. This caused me to be extra vain and constantly check who was "liking" and commenting on the photos. (I deemed everyone who didn't like the photos to be homophobic. It's a thing).

At some point during the hullabaloo I began texting with my mother. Now I have mentioned before, Mama Fabulous  and I are pretty tight when it comes to Mother-Gay Son relationships, but it has gone to far now. I need to be stopped. I need my phone taken away from me, because for some reason I have decided it is good for me to "drunk dial" my parents on a regular basis. (Yup...I drunk dial my parents...judge away). It usually only happens when I am day drinking or fairly early in the night after a happy hour of sorts, but always ends with them talking to me like a child.

This was our "Pride Day" convo;

Me: Hi there Mama Fabulous, you are so wonderful.
Mama Fabulous: Hi! Is everything okay? 
Me: Yeah, you know, just here with some girls eating brunch.
Mama Fabulous: That's great! Are you having fun?
Me: Oh definitely. I called to tell you that I am grateful that you like gay people. So many people have bad parents who don't like them. You are good. You are a good parent. Thanks for not being terrible. I am less damaged.
Mama Fabulous: Well, you're welcome I think. Have you been drinking at all?
Me: Just a little bit, its early. I have had brunch. I would say this to you without the drinks, because you are good.
Mama Fabulous: I don't want you missing out on more fun talking to me, why don't we chat more tomorrow. 
Me: Look how good you are, I won't miss out on fun. I am fun. Love you!
Mama Fabulous: Love you too, please be safe. 


I am a mess. Who drunk dials their mother? WHO? (That's a rhetorical question...jerk). I have a phone full of people who would love to talk to me and who might also be day drinking and can understand my logic. Jeez, I could also open Grindr...which may or may not have found it's way back on my phone. Uhh...errr.. I was mugged and someone grabbed my phone and then put Grindr on it and then made me keep it on there. It's not my fault. I. was. mugged. (I will go to any lengths to blame others for my actions....). Instead I called my mother.

Outside of that, the parade went off without a hitch and everything was fantabulous. We watched in the scorching heat as rainbow boa's, ass-less chaps, pink cars, drag queens, famous gays, politicians, and religious groups marched around Dupont Circle in support of the most amazing community of people. I purchased enough rainbow crap to last a life time and proceeded to lose a majority of it over the course of the day. I also did that thing where I become insanely generous and bought my group a bunch of rainbow stuff too, that they also lost throughout the day. Overall it was a bad day for money but a good day for Fabulously Lost.

In my head I made connections with a ton of the people marching. I felt myself "making eyes" and falling in love with several of the groups. I also got some stellar photos of my favorite groups:

Ummm...do I need to explain why they are my fav? I'd go all Brokeback Mountain with them....

I have no idea what they are...gay fruit? HAHA...fruit...HAHA..get it?

Everyone went batshit crazy when they walked by...need I explain why? Big Love, anyone? Anyone at all?

I also took about 42 "videos" that I thought were pictures...so I missed a lot of the cool floats due to my inability to use my fat fingers properly. As the parade finished so did my tolerance. I ended up passing out with my Twin until almost midnight. We missed several gay dance parties, made some queen's very frustrated,  but ended up having a grand time staying up watching Footloose.


Ok, ok, so I know it wasn't as eventful and crazy as I thought it would be either. I got drunk, bought rainbow crap, called my mother, and slept. It was a lovely day but I think this weekend with Baltimore Pride might end up being a little bit crazier. Most people tend to think that DC is better than Baltimore for most things, and they may be right, but I know Baltimore like the back of my hand. I know the ins and outs of that little gay community and I suspect there to be some cray cray shiznat to go down. Hold on tight ladys and gents...this might be (hopefully is... *wink, nudge, nod*) a bumpy ride.

Fabulously Lost: Owner of more Rainbows than San Francisco
My Liver: A medical phenomenon
Mama Fabulous: A saint for dealing with me
Photography: Not a job option

I'm In Love With A Stripper

Can I tell you about the weird couple weeks I've had? Ha ha ha...who am I kidding..of course I can tell you, you've already opened this post. In the last two weeks I have blacked out 2x, traveled to the deep south, had my wallet stolen, had my car sideswiped, had a panel fall off my car (surprisingly in no relation to the sideswipe action), fell in love, and became the stripper whisperer. Now this whirl wind of events created a chaotic few moments for me but I remained relatively positive throughout the entire thing, which is not usually how I handle things. In most cases, when something crumbles in my life...I shout it from the roof tops so people will think I have some street cred against my white middle class upbringing. Instead I took most of these things in stride and just tried to fix them...I mean I guess this is kind my "shouting it from the roof top" moment...whatever, suck it.

Alright...so lets get to the nitty gritty of it all. It's true, I fell in love last week with...with...a Stripper.

How does one fall in love with a stripper, one might ask. Well it all started with my Bocce team, (I'm aware of how ridiculous the sport is and even more ridiculous that I am on the team...) which consists of a bunch of gay men and straight women. We all went to a dinner party a couple weeks ago and decided we were going to go to Secrets, an gay all nude male strip club over by Nat's stadium, after our game one week. The last time I went to a strip club I was 18 and it was a seedy female strip club outside of DC. I, obviously, didn't have the best impression of strip clubs from this event and wasn't overly excited about this decision to go. However, I am nothing if not a team player (and you just don't say no to a bunch of queens).


Well, I forgot about all of this and last Wednesday I showed up to our bocce game in critter print shorts, flip flops, and a button down. (I never really understood how to dress for sports...). After the game was over we were all standing around discussing whether we were going to go to Secrets and finally someone made the executive decision we were going to go....and we all followed. The thing that made me feel kinda weird was one of my friends had his straight friend from CT visiting. (we shall call him Straight CT...clever, I know).  I just felt kinda bad for the dude that we were heading to this type of strip club...but I didn't voice any objections.

I kid you not, Secrets is in the middle of nowhere. It is about a 15minute walk from the stadium and it is next to a power plant...there is NOTHING else around it. When we were driving down the street towards it, I was convinced that this was some weird hazing event and some of the new gays were going to be left in the middle of nowhere to find our way back. They'd call the game "Follow the Rainbow" and whoever got home first was guaranteed a spot on our Fall bocce team. (Sooo...I have an active "expect the worst" imagination). We knew we were in the right place because the large black box of a building had the most massive rainbow flag plastered on the front that I had ever seen. (As if being a gay nude strip club wasn't flashy enough...we put our bat signal on the front of the building...like really?)

(We've ARRRRRRIVVVEED)

We arrived at 8:50pm and tried to get in...but the place didn't open until 9pm. WE WERE THE FIRST PEOPLE AT THE STRIP CLUB AND WE HAD TO WAIT OUTSIDE. I was almost completely sober and dressed like I belonged in a J Crew catalog (I am obviously being very generous to myself and my style here...its been a rough couple weeks, just let me have it)...not outside of a nudey bar in the middle of bumfuck DC. When the place finally opened I felt like the guy collecting our cover was looking at us like we were a bunch of his kids who just graduated high school. I bet he was thinking "Awww they just grow up so fast. I hope the real world treats them well." Except in this instance, the real world was dark and upstairs and full of naked men and alcohol. (soooo maybe he was right...)


Literally, as soon as we walked in the door of the bar there were 5 naked men dancing in various places of the bar. Now, I knew I was going to a strip club where the men were completely naked, but I thought there would be some show or they would take some clothing off. Nope, not here. You walk in and all they are wearing are a pair of shoes and socks for you to put money in. I was shocked and kept laughing out of awkwardness. I was laughing and covering my eyes and unsure how to handle this sober. Sooooo, I went to the bar immediately to order my signature gin and tonic (every proper lady has a signature drink...). When I turned around from ordering my drink I was accosted with one of the strippers junk inches from my face....and I gasped and clutched mah pearls.

(I meannnn....yeah basically what I did)

The stripper laughed hysterically at me and pulled away. He then decided to chat with me from his post at the bar. 

Stripper: So, I'm guessing this is your first time here?

Me: The last time I was at a strip club I was 18 and it was female strippers. It was just further confirmation that I am gay. 

Stripper: Yeah, you and some of your friends look lost. Plus...you arrived as soon as we opened. 

Me: I meannnn....not by choice! I was dragged. I don't know how this works. 

Stripper: It's fine...I like people who show up early. 

Me: Well...thats me? I like your boat shoes (I would notice the only piece of clothing he is wearing)

Stripper: Ahh I'm not supposed to be wearing these! I forgot my sneakers, don't judge me!

Me: Uhhh I was serious...I mean I'm wearing critter print, boat shoes are like shoe porn for me. 

Stripper: Haha...oh, well thanks. I'm jumping off but I'll be back...

I proceeded to drink copious amounts of gin and tonics while trying to awkwardly converse with my friends and not look at all of the flailing penises. It was a futile attempt because if you weren't looking at real life penises their were penises on all of the T.V.'s. Before I knew it, I turned around and there was my Stripper. (hehe, notice how he is "my" stripper now?) He was sort of dancing and looking over at me and laughing, because by this point I was attempting to dance with a couple of my friends. Which was sad since we were the only 10 people in the place. I decided to walk over to him and give him a dollar. 

Me: Hey, just wanted to give you this for being nice and loosening me up when I first walked in. 

Stripper: Do you wanna touch me?

Me: HA..what??...I...wait...no. What? Who...thats...I mean you're attractive..but..what?

Stripper: Don't you know the rules? Ohhh I guess you don't since you've never been here (no one ever said he was smart) When you give money you can touch one of us above the waist or below the knees. So do you wanna touch my chest?

Me: Oh, um I mean I don't want to objectify you. I mean, I know you are automatically being objectified because you are a stripper but I feel like that's not me. Other people can, I don't judge but I guess I feel like I want to know someone before I touch them. You seem very nice. There is nothing wrong with you, you are very attractive. I just respect your right not to be touched. So I think I will refrain. 

Stripper: Hahahha, thank you? That's really nice of you. 

Then he..he...leaned over and introduced himself to me. We stood there for the next 20min and he told me his life story. He told me about where he grew up, what he wanted to do with his life, why he was stripping, how many siblings he had, and finally what it was like being nude all the time. When I apologized for monopolizing his time he thanked me for listening to him and said he was happy to dance and talk to me. Every time he came out to do a set he would talk to me for a majority of it. 

On his third set of the evening he grabbed my hand and put it on his chest. 

Stripper: You know me now so you can touch me and be okay with it. I feel respected 

Me: *Blushing* Oh goodness, that, well., you have a nice...its...your body.

Stripper: Hahaha yes, that's my body...I can't give out my number but I can take numbers..

Me: Sure...I mean I don't expect you to call or text but I am flattered you want it. I mean, even if you just want to be friends...you aren't really my type because, well because you are white. But everyone needs a stripper friend, right?

Umm...WHAT??? Did I just say "Everyone needs a stripper friend" to a stripper who I just went all Oprah on? Does everyone really need a stripper friend? I tried to act cool as I analyzed the fuck out of that statement and began getting more and more embarrassed by telling him everyone needs a stripper friend. Finally I handed him my number and he held onto my hand for a moment. We had another moment before I have my friends come over and he dances for them. My Stripper wins over my friends, which I decided was a good sign if we were going to work out. (Because I am crazy and planned out how plausible it would be for me to date a stripper)

My signature drink had kicked in full force at this point and I begin talking to Straight CT.

Me: So how does it feel to be in a gay strip club looking at penises when you like vag?

(I am nothing if not forward when drunk...)

Straight CT: I mean...I didn't think my first strip club ever would be gay and full of men, but you guys are having a  good time. I can appreciate that these are good looking guys. 

Me: That is fairly cool of you. I saw you hitting on one of my girl friends earlier...tryna get at that?

Straight CT: I'm hoping to move to DC soon, so that would be sweet if I could set that up. 

Me: Adorbs. 

Straight CT then began dancing around like crazy and I realized he was the same level drunk as me. He started dancing provocatively with his gay friend who he came with. I thought nothing of it, I have a couple straight guy friends I dance dirty with just for fun...but I did take note of this. Then Straight CT began dancing with me and unbuttoning his shirt. Unlike the stripper, I guess I decided I didn't respect him because I just began touching his lovely body and dancing very closely. 

Then out of nowhere he takes his shirt off completely and wraps it around my neck and pulls me in close to dance. In an unusual burst of confidence I decide I am going to just go for it....I'm just gonna do it...I'm just going to...BAM, I kissed him. We began making out and dancing like maniacs before he pulled away. 

Straight CT: Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. You're a dude

Me: Yes, yes I am

Straight CT: You're a dude and we just kissed. I just kissed a dude

Me: Yes, yes you did, we did. 

Straight CT: I'm in my first strip club, its a gay one and I kissed a dude. Don't get me wrong you are a good kisser. But you're a dude. 

Me: Yup, I'm still a dude and we kissed. Did you want to go for it again?

Straight CT: Let's just dance and let me process?

Me: No skin off my back...

Well, his processing took 5 seconds before we were kissing and dancing again. After a bit we all decided to leave and I said goodbye to Stripper and Straight CT. 

The next day I was feeling rough and talking to my twin (She is literally the short, black, female version of me...SEPARATED AT BIRTH...sister from a different mister...and mother?) and I told her I didn't know if Stripper  would text me or call me and I was sad. She responded pretty flately

Twin: Well, he might not call or text because he saw you getting it with another guy. Might be a deterrent. 

And there you have it ladies and gents. I fell in love with a stripper and I macked it with a straight guy. As if my life couldn't get any weirder I take it one step further....on a Wednesday. 

Secrets: My new favorite place

Strippers: Everyone needs one...?

CT: A now significantly more interesting state

Fabulously Lost: Hot Mess