FBQ Sticky

FBQ Sunday Brunch will return next week in its fabulously regularly scheduled place.

We will be heading to London to celebrate Black Gay Pride and wrap up the Olympics–ending today. No, Miss Things: I am not breaking into my 401k. But I had to find money for airfare and you don’t wanna know what I’m doing to get it.

Suffice it to say that it involves a whip and lots of WD40.

What I do to stay in your good graces…


Cawfee Talk VIII

Hope all you Miss Things had a FABULOUS weekend. The Queen actually spent time with relatives that I’ve not seen for many, many moons. It is a humbling experience to acknowledge the passing of time; and recognize how susceptible and grateful you are to memory and nostalgia. And how much you can eat when there is free food available.

Read More, bitches!

Tea Time V

Okay, the Queen will provide the scones and clotted cream THIS time. Next time, y’all are on your own.

The Queen and the White Boys

When the Queen was a Puerile Poofer, one of his best friends was a kid named Gregory Agostinelli. He had this mass of strawberry blonde hair and long bangs that fell across his eyes like a golden blanket. When the bangs got in his way, he would adeptly remove them with a flick of his head and neck. The Queen was in awe.

So began my first white boy crush. Of course, as a seven-year-old I didn’t know just what it was. I just knew I was happy whenever he was around.

Such was the case with Davy Jones.

Like Marcia Brady, I was smitten. The Monkees was required viewing and Davy Jones in particular captured my imagination. Maybe it was his diminutive stature, or his cherubic face with which I identified. Who knows? All I know is that Davy and The Monkees are tucked away with all my other positive and joyous memories. It sucks that he had to leave this plane of existence so friggin’ early. But I bet it’s cool for him to sit up in Heaven and know that so many people think about him and smile. And at least one FBQ thanks him for introducing him to the deliciousness of white boys.

The Culturalist Queen

Okay, the Queen needs some advice.

Before I go into my diatribe, I need to say that I hate Facebook.

While I fully appreciate the benefits and power of Social Media (I mean who can argue with the unprecedented and awe-inspiring success of the Arab Spring and the Occupy Movement?), it also provided a way for all those people from High School that you never wanted to see again to get in touch with you.

As well as Old Lovers.

So I get this friend request from an old boyfriend. We haven’t seen each other or spoken in almost ten years. I paused before I accepted the request. He’s a really, really sweet guy, and there was a strong mutual attraction between us. But after about a year I ended the relationship.

Mostly because he is Deaf.

It wasn’t the deafness in and of itself. I loved learning a new language, and the beauty and efficiency of ASL had me enraptured. I also appreciated being able to work through my ignorance and prejudices about what it meant to be Deaf, and understand more of the culture.

And therein lies the problem: working to fit into that culture was a female dog.

My lover was wonderful. He did his best to involve me in every aspect of his life that he could. And I could see why. The community that I experienced was supportive, loving, extremely protective and giving…as long as you were a part of their insular environment. I understand this. We live in a hearing based world which can be blissfully unaware of the needs of people who don’t. It makes sense that smart folk would form a society which is able to provide a healthy haven from ignorance–no matter how unassuming it may be.

The community I was introduced to was very proud of their Deafness. It is not a disability, but a trait to be honored. There are segments of the community that take issue with devices for hearing enhancement–such as hearing aids–and consider being profoundly deaf an asset. There was a wariness of the hearing that was incredibly hard to break through. Not everyone, mind you–I made some good friends, but felt alone and frustrated when around a good deal of my partner’s colleagues. I worked hard to explain this–to compare it to the way deaf people might feel in a primarily hearing environment. However not being fluent in ASL, or understanding it’s nuances, made it almost impossible to articulate my ennui. So, like a shallow bitch, I ended it.

So we start to talk on Facebook, and he begins flirting. He lets me know pretty quickly that he’s been thinking a lot about me and misses me. As I’ve stated, he’s a great guy and seems to have only gotten better and better in the decade following our relationship. Miss Things, I know that I’m getting old older, and that hard good men are good hard to find. But the thought of working through my anxieties and frustrations at this stage in life seems extremely daunting.

Am I just being

The Tears of a Fierce Black Queen

gratitude [ˈgrætɪˌtjuːd]
a feeling of thankfulness or appreciation, as for gifts or favours
[from Medieval Latin grātitūdō, from Latin grātus grateful]

Collins English Dictionary – Complete and Unabridged © HarperCollins Publishers 1991, 1994, 1998, 2000, 2003

If the Queen wore makeup–he’d be dabbing his mascara right now.

Growing up whole and sane in this world is a complicated thing. It takes a disparate, and seemingly infinite combination of factors. Some of these factors are individually based: a moment when you had to choose between right and wrong; an instant when you knew that you were truly special. And there are others that seem to be shared by all: love, friendship, understanding and acceptance.

As I’ve said previously, this blogging thing is fairly new to me. The idea of putting your thoughts, ideas and dreams on the end of a hook and casting that hook out into the Sea of Cyberspace can be daunting. Sometimes you can feel quite alone.

I’m here to tell you that you are not.

I’m here to testify in the Church of What’s Happening Now, that there are incredible, INCREDIBLE people who will support you. People who will take their precious time to follow your piddling little blog every day, and have something wonderful to contribute. Warriors who will climb the beanstalk to the Realm of the Giants, and risk being eaten by mentioning your name.

They are out there. You are really not alone. They offer the friendship, understanding and acceptance you need to continue to grow–and hopefully put out something of value…even if it’s mostly about a bunch of Drag Queens.

I don’t know where this blog is going. I often question the relevance of sharing the musings of a fierce black queen. What I don’t question is the fact that there are truly extraordinary people on this planet who will support a short, husky, middle-aged gay man in his quest to be creative.

Thank you all. From the bottom of my fierce, black, queenly heart.