or, In With Anger, Out With Love
I am becoming my grandmother.
I don't mean with the Aquanet and the Coty Airspun Powder and the paisley leisure suits…well, maybe on Mardi Gras--but that's beside the point. When I say I'm becoming my grandmother, I'm talking about my worldview.
You see, despite her foxy, ballsy exterior, my grandmother was vaguely afraid of the world beyond her boxwood hedge. Whether it was gang violence or the drug war or MTV, she was always up in arms about something, and her reasoning was invariably the same: "It'll come to no good, you hear me, child? Best to steer clear of that mess altogether and stick close to home." Never mind the fact that no one in our little town had ever so much as been asked directions by a stranger--much less been carjacked.
My brothers and I used to make fun of her provincial, maw-maw attitude, but lately, I've been hearing myself say things like, "I don't care who's gonna be there, I am not going out at 10 o'clock on a weeknight!" On those occasions, my boyfriend looks at me with a wry smirk and asks if I'd like my slippers before he brings in my prune Danish, and I think to myself, "Lord, Mary, what next? Golf vacations? Timeshares in Boca? Metamucil?"
I have therefore compiled the following list of New Year's resolutions, which will, I hope, lead me away from a premature dotage and toward a path of hedonism youthful abandon. With a little luck, they'll also make me a better faggot….
1. At least once this year, I will rock and roll all night (and part of the subsequent day). Problem is, I'm a morning person--which is fine, except that types like me are invariably saddled with the whole Protestant Work Ethic thing, which makes us feel guilty if we're still boozing it up come sunrise. Normally, when rosy-fingered dawn starts creeping up, you'll see me dash from the bar and high tail it home like a vampire on some $10 rock. This year, however, I will attempt to "chill," as the kids say nowadays.
2. As an extension of my inner night-owl (see #1), I will stop belittling the tweaked-out hordes who insist on haunting the same three blacklit watering holes every goddamn Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. They're obviously too addled to notice the repetitive DJ playlists and too incoherent to mind the fact that the music's so loud they can't have decent conversations. I will remember that Charity is the third Heavenly Virtue.
3. I will try to buy into the whole J-Lo thing. If this proves unsuccessful, I will attempt to buy into the whole Kylie Minogue thing. Should I fail at this, too, I may consider the whole Pink thing, but don't hold your breath.
4. I will attend more concerts. Unless it's Cher or Madonna or one of the other Divas Live demimondaines, we homos aren't really taught to see live music--which is sad, considering one of the best nights of my life was spent at a Peaches show in August in an un-air-conditioned basement in the ghetto. (There's nothing like being force-fed bean dip by a Canadian Jewish lesbian punk rock star in 105-degree heat.) I will therefore attempt to be more hardcore.
5. I may not actually purchase any "fragrance" this year (i.e. cologne, for the stray hetero reader), but I will do my best to avoid pummeling those who wear it in my presence. Santa, take note: this is a tentative offer on my part, and my failure to make good on it should not be construed as an act of naughtiness when evaluating my gift-worthiness in '03.
6. I will curtail my cell phone use to non-brain-cancer-causing levels. I will, however, continue to harass tactless restaurant gabbers under my breath.
7. When cute boys are within earshot, I will no longer try to butch it up by avoiding the term "girl." This is a stubborn holdover from my pre-boyfriend days that prevents me from having meaningful dialogue with many of my French Quarter intimes. Ergo, do not be surprised when, at the newly opened Lucky Chance, you hear me call across the bar, "Darren, girl, fix mama another pink squirrel before I shrivel up and D-I-E die of thirst."
8. I will count neither calories, nor carbs, nor fat except during the established two-week-long crash-diet period immediately preceding Mardi Gras.
9. Should I appear bloated, flabby, or morbidly obese on Mardi Gras, I will nevertheless run the streets scantily clad--unless, of course, it's cold, and then all bets are off.
10. Although I have, in items one through nine, adopted a tone of openness and respect for others' opinions, I will at no point be driven to wear a faux-hawk, a headband, or pleats. Ever!