I found in my logs that someone got to this blog by searching for “why are fag hags fat?” Ok, since you asked me this question (albeit indirectly), I’ll attempt to give you my non-professional opinion on the topic. Being a fat fag hag myself, I have a little personal insight into the matter. (Well, these days I’m just a big fruit fly, having ditched most of the weight and having shed the undesirable title I don’t think I ever truly deserved… but I still think I’m qualified to tell you the answer.)

Before I even get started, let me run this disclaimer first: THIS IS A GENERALIZATION. In fact, this is a generalization that references a lot of stereotypes. Yes, I do know there are exceptions, so spare me the cutting rebuttals please. Stereotypes, good or bad, come into being for a reason; they don’t just appear overnight. If you are an exception to any of the generalizations I’m about to present, all I can say is: good for you, here’s your cookie. (For the record, I count myself as part of the stereotypes in many ways, so I know of what I speak.)

For those of you not familiar with the phenomenon (I’m guessing most straight guys know little about this), as a general rule, most fag hags are fat girls. Some are just chunky, some are very, very large. Walk into any gay club and you’re bound to find at least 4 or 5 (if not many more) big straight girls hanging out with the boys, dancing and drinking and having a wonderful time. One of the things I find least realistic about Queer As Folk is the complete absence of any hags. (Michael did have that one girl friend - a skinny girl, no less - in the first season that he worked with, but she doesn’t technically qualify because she didn’t know he was gay.)

So why is it that so often the female companions of gay men are fat chicks?

It’s really a simple answer, and if you’d thought about it for a second before asking, you’d probably figure it out for yourself.

In our culture, big girls are seen as less attractive, and it is assumed by many that those of us of a larger persuasion are lazy, and (for reasons unfathomable to me) unintelligent. Because of this, fat chicks generally don’t get a lot of attention from straight men, unless they have a cute skinny friend that the guys want to talk to. (I can cite many instances of being the fat friend. The guys would strike up a conversation with me, because I wasn’t threatening, so that they could talk to the cute blonde who was hanging out with me without fear of being shot down by her. Many instances.) Fat girls don’t get hit on most of the time, and when they do, it’s likely to be last call and the drunkest guy in the joint. Or one of the jerkoffs that make a sport out of “hogging.”

And this is where the gay boys come in. Gay men, while being some of the most critical judges of appearance for other men, are generally willing to overlook appearance factors in women. A straight woman is companionship, and ONLY companionship. There is no need for them to be attracted to the girl in any way. What really matters when it comes to their fag hag is how much fun she is, what a good shoulder she is to cry on, or how willing she is to bail him out of a bad situation. Basically, she only needs to be a friend.

A fat chick finds a way to fill the void of male attention with this, the gay boy gets a girl friend to hang out with. The male attention is sometimes overwhelming, in fact. I can tell you that personally, one of the myriad reasons I preferred going to the gay clubs to dance was that I got to dance with some of the HOTTEST guys in the room, in the most sexual manner, without having to worry if he was going to misread the fact that I was rubbing all over his ass for 10 minutes and think that meant I wanted to go home and fuck him. Likewise, the gay man gets a girl to strut his stuff with, a girl to take as a date to places where he can’t be out for whatever reason, and a truly (or at least so he thinks) uncomplicated friendship. He can dance and flirt with her all night, even grab a boob or two. (There are two kinds of gay men: those who are disgusted by any part of the female body and so dislike boobs, or those who are simply fascinated by those mounds of jiggly flesh. Seriously.)

So that, my dear Googler, is why so many fag hags are fat. I’m not quite done yet though. Keep reading.

There are problems with this little arrangement sometimes, and these complications are what have led to fag hags having a really bad reputation.

Unfortunately, often the fag hag becomes enamored with her boy. He flirts a lot, and is usually suggestive, albeit in a joking manner. Having lacked that male attention in the past, many girls will glom on to this and start to misread. They will imagine that the boy is really straight, and those advances - the boob grabbing and booty rubbing on the dance floor - start to feel real to them. They suddenly find themselves in love with their chosen gay man, and this is when the trouble starts. Many of them will try to hide these feelings, knowing deep down that their boy will reject them because he’s not interested in vaginas, so they become slyly manipulative and controlling. They become possessive, they get defensive, and they generally start acting like a jealous wife. Eventually the friendship will deteriorate beyond repair, whether because she finally owns up to her feelings or he just gets sick of being treated like a husband.

It’s a bad experience for the gay man and the fag hag to go through. The boy loses someone he thought was a good friend, the girl loses her friend and feels rejected, just to add to the issues. Most times the friendship ends in an ugly manner and leads to lots of nastiness from both sides. Fag hags and gay boys can be the cattiest bitches on Earth.

I’ve managed to avoid this trap myself. The only gay man I ever “fell for” was Marshall, and that was only before I knew he was gay. (I had no gaydar back then.) Once I knew I wasn’t his type, I was over it, and we’ve been best friends ever since. This is, of course, why I adopted the label of fruit fly.

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As a bonus to anyone who made it this far, here are the latest search terms that have made me wonder a bit (since that’s how I got started on this topic in the first place):

fruit shit (Do I even want to know?)
can you find me a poem about cycle of rock
cheery fruit fly
children love to pick fruit (Ok, thanks for sharing.)
arab boys pubic hair (This one has shown up a couple of times.)
www.my space for 14 year old.com (Yes, that was the actual search.)

and

masturbation mixtape (You need specific music for this? I guess there’s always fluffertrax, but without the accompanying video, why bother?)

Ok, so yeah, it wasn’t really that exciting. Though I have to say, it was fun. Earlier tonight, the bossman and I headed out to the Great American Rib Cook Off, me with the intention of violating every tenet of low carb eating, he with the intention of seeing John Waite in concert. I’m happy to report that we accomplished both of our agendas, and met Mr. Waite to boot.

If you’re finding yourself scratching your head wondering who the hell I’m babbling about, here’s an earworm to remind you: “I ain’t missing you at all, I ain’t missing you, since you’ve been gone away…” Yeah, him. You might also remember him as the frontman for Bad English, the band responsible for many a lovesick radio dedication of the cheeseball power ballad “When I See You Smile.” He played both, introducing the Bad English tune with a nod to VH1 having called it a bad love song. Hey, at least he’s got a sense of humor about the whole thing.

He played a very short set - 30 minutes - for an enthusiastic (if mostly middle aged) crowd out front and actually, he was pretty good. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it some. After the show, we stood in line for a while to meet him, mainly so Marshall could get his CD signed. I didn’t really have anything to say to him, but I shook his hand anyway. He seemed pretty nice, and was still friendly even after posing for a billion pictures with the far-past-their-prime groupies ahead of us. Not the most exciting celebrity encounter, but I don’t get many of them these days, so I’ll take what I can get. (And of course, this meant I got to update my concert list.)

Flogging Molly was set to play about the time we left. I have to say, it was tempting to stick around to gawk at all the pretty little goth boys who were flocking to the show (I sort of have a thing for the androgynous goth boy type, and who knew Flogging Molly had such a goth following?) but after all that I really wanted to sit down for a bit. Plus, while we’d been waiting for the autograph session, the skies opened and a nasty rainstorm swept in. We were under cover at the time, and it subsided by the time we went to leave, but it looked like it was coming back any second. So I picked up a couple of ribs to take home to my boyfriend, and we headed for home. The rain started just after we were safely in the car, so I think we made a good decision.

Before all this happened, I hit my own goal by devouring a yummy Carolina Pulled Pork BBQ sandwich (it’s hard to find good Carolina BBQ outside of the Carolinas really) followed by some ice cream from Woo City Ice Cream. This is remarkable really for only one reason: before we purchased our cookie dough ice cream to eat, we tasted Guinness ice cream. As in Guinness beer. It was… different. I loathe beer to be honest, and Guinness, well, Guinness is in a category all by itself when it comes to beer. I’ve only tasted Guinness once, but truly, once was enough. Blech. The ice cream actually wasn’t all that bad. Not good enough that I wanted to buy a whole scoop, but not that bad.

Guinness ice cream may sound strange, but nothing will ever surprise me as an ice cream flavor after being offered garlic ice cream a few years ago at The Stinking Rose. (No, I did not try that. Just the thought makes me kind of want to throw up a little.)

I know this doesn’t really make me unique in any way, but I have a seriously screwed up family. Yeah, I know you do too. Everyone does. Normality is a myth. But this is my blog, so I get to tell you about my family. (Though you may feel free to tell me about yours in the comments; I love good stories about nutty families.)

I am an only child. Simple enough, right? Well, sort of. I am the only product of sexual relations between my mother and my father; me and a diamond ring are all that’s really left of their doomed-from-the-start twelve year marriage. My lack of a sibling is mainly because my mother had her tubes tied shortly after I was born. This probably seemed like a good idea at the time, seeing as how my father was a nutcase and an alcoholic. He’s since straightened out and become as sane as anyone in my family will ever be - we have a good relationship these days - but he was stoned, drunk, and just this side of criminally insane for pretty much all of my childhood.

I’m not really an only child though, as I have 5 step-brothers, 1 step-sister, and 2 half-sisters. This is where it starts to get complicated. Let’s see if you can keep up.

One step-brother, P., is my step-mom’s son from her previous marriage and has been a step-sibling to me since I was 6 years old. The 2 half-sisters (K. and A.) are my dad and step-mom’s kids. Even though my father and step-mom married shortly after my parents’ divorce was finalized (very shortly after, and yes you can make a few assumptions based on that fact), they didn’t have the two girls until much later in their marriage. K. is 13 years younger than me, and A. is 15 years younger than me. (And watching these girls grow up, even though it’s mostly been from a distance, has satisfied most of the maternal instincts I’ve ever had. Not that I’ve had many, mind you.)

The other 4 step-brothers (M1., M2., S. and R.) and step-sister (C.) are my step-dad’s kids. My mom didn’t meet my step-dad until I was 10, and didn’t actually marry him until we’d been living with him and R. for a year. R. was the only one of my step-dad’s kids who lived with us. The others were all raised (and I’m using that word in the loosest sense here) by their mother.

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Subject of the spam email I just received: dysentery bloodshed. The email begins with, “This is your last message regarding the matter.”

I certainly hope so. Kripes.

Just a friendly reminder… if you haven’t voted already, you can still vote for my lovely site for The Blogette Award. I’m holding strong at 1.1% and damn proud of it (even if that won’t get me the prize), but I’d love to crack the 1.2% range. If you think you’ve already voted, check to make sure. You may not have. Or it may let you vote again. I’ll try anything.

If you have already voted for me there, I’d really appreciate it if you could take a moment to support someone else in another poll elswhere. I’ve mentioned a couple times how much I adore Evan Gold, right? It would surely warm my heart if all of my lovely, fabulous, super sexy readers could go and place a vote for him in this poll (it’s in the sidebar, Evan Gold & A Brighter Light).

And thus ends the begging for votes this week. Thank you for your participation.

Two lovely people have tagged me with memes. It took me a couple of days, but I suppose I’ll grudgingly play along. I’m going to also follow the directions and tag others (namely: ocB, Rachelle, malfouka, Reese, KOM, and Noelle - see below for particulars), but feel free to ignore me completely if you like. I’ll understand. You will break my heart in two, but I’ll understand. (Ok, not really. I won’t understand at all.)

So we’ll start with the DVD/movie meme from digital-ed:

1. Total number of films I own on DVD or video:

If we’re counting my boyfriend’s possessions as my own (and I do) - about 45 - 50 is my best guess. Though actually, I know I have a lot of VHS tapes that I’ve yet to replace with DVD releases packed away somewhere. So the total may actually be more like 70 - 80, but it’s been so long since I’ve seen what’s in these boxes, I’m not sure.

We’ll split the difference and call it 60.

2. The last film I bought:

Sadly, we don’t have a lot of expendable cash these days, so movie purchases are rare. Movies are a shared passion for the two of us, but music is higher on my list, and video games are higher on his, so any extra cash we might come across generally goes toward those items.

So, to actually answer the freaking question already, The Incredibles would be our last purchase. We still haven’t made it through all the extras on the DVD… there are a ton!

3. The last film I watched:

The Revenge of the Sith this weekend.

4. Five films that I watch a lot or that mean a lot to me (in no particular order):

This has to be one of the hardest questions for me to answer. It’s so hard to narrow it down to five; there are so many movies I could watch a hundred times and never be bored with them. But here’s my best shot. I claim no responsibility for movies that should be on this list that I forget. (And I have to say, the lack of any classics disturbs me a little. Citizen Kane nearly made the list, but really, these are before it on my list.)

And I’d like to point out that it’s taking all the restraint I have not to give a full explanation as to why each one of these makes the cut. But I figure most of you got bored with the first question, so I’m trying to make this as painless as possible. I do have to say though that Hedwig & The Angry Inch is easily my favorite movie of all time, and that probably says a lot about me.

5. Tag five people and have them put this in their journal:

Five people is a lot… I’m going to be a cop out and go for 3. Thanks for understanding.

Rachelle (you loved me so much for the last one), ocB (as payment for the one that follows this) and malfouka (because I haven’t tagged you with anything yet).

And next is the book meme from ocB:

1. Total Number of Books I�ve Owned:

Have owned? As in, like, ever? Oh lord. Um… probably well over 300… I’m guessing it’s been quite a bit more than that, but I really couldn’t tell you. I only have about 50 or 60 in my possession now though. Over the years, as I’ve moved, books have been the items I’ve sacrificed. Books are easier (and cheaper) to replace than movies or CD’s, so those are the ones I’ve given away or sold to make room in the moving vehicles.

2. Last Book I Bought:

Truly, this is not even close to being indicative of my usual habits, but this is the last one I bought: Don’t Try This At Home by Dave Navarro & Neil Strauss. I was a regular visitor to 6767.com back when he was posting the photo booth strips, so the main appeal of this book was getting to see a lot of those strips. It was an interesting read though, moreso than I thought it would be. And I still have a bit of an unexplainable crush on Mr. Navarro, even after reading it. (And after realizing that Carmen Electra is actually his soulmate, which can lead to a number of conclusions.)

3. Last Book I Read:

Because I tend to read in obsessive sprees, then take a break for a bit, I haven’t actually read anything (other than magazines and blogs) for the last few months. The last full book I read though was Clay’s Way by Blair Mastbaum.

4. Five Books That Mean A Lot To Me:

Just like with the movie meme, this is a really hard question for me. Here’s a try though, with the same disclaimer about anything I’ve left off. Also just like the movie one, the first one is easy. Cat’s Cradle almost literally changed my life, and I’ve read it probably 30 or 40 times over the years. Also, I used the image I did here because that is actually the edition of the book I first read. It was my dad’s, and I still thank him occasionally for the discovery he afforded me by leaving that packed away in my granparents’ house. I have since bought another copy to actually read, as that one is falling apart and I don’t want to destroy it completely.

5. Tag five people and have them do this on their blog:

Again… five is too many. I’m going with 3: KOM (because I have lots of love for my fellow Vonnegut fans), Reese (because I’d like to see her list), and Noelle (because she’s a self appointed book geek and happens to like memes). I’d also love to see Zane’s answers, but since he still hasn’t done the previous meme I tagged him with, and he’s out of the country at the moment, I don’t actually expect he’ll do it.

Let me me make a couple of things clear before I even get started here:

1. I do not actually live in or work in the city of Cleveland, but living and working in Lakewood is very close, and I would be affected by the addition of a Wal-Mart as much as the residents of Cleveland.

2. I am not very good at expressing my politically charged opinions. This is because I am not always well informed when it comes to the things I feel strongly about, yet, like a good American, I still feel strongly about them.

Ok, I’m not quite that bad, but I do tend to go with my gut or instinct on some things, and I can’t always express why I feel the way I do without sounding like I’m completely uninformed. This is one of the reasons I tend to avoid political topics on my blog.

However, I feel like I need to say something about the impending doom that is coming to Cleveland in the guise of a Wal-Mart store as part of the Steelyard Commons project, despite the fact that I likely do not know half the story.

I do not know much about the whole local deal that was done to get the Wal-Mart to come to town, but apparently there was a bit of backroom politics played and a lot of people are very upset about that. I find it disturbing, and irritating, but it seems as though backroom politics is the name of the game these days, and I don’t have enough information to argue that particular point. If what I’ve read in other places is true, I do think it stinks, but I just don’t know enough of the facts.

What I do know is this: I do not like Wal-Mart.

Wal-Mart uses their powers for evil, near as I can tell. I have been told that that’s the way business goes when I’ve presented my arguments, but I have issues with business being that way in general. (Thus my giving up the corporate life to do something different.) I think they are hard on small businesses - both retail and manufacturing - to the detriment of our way of life. Yes, you can buy things at Wal-Mart cheaper than anywhere else, but what’s the real cost?

I know of a small manufacturer that was dealing nearly exclusively with Wal-Mart when they wanted to break into the market. Their product was retailing for $0.96 in Wal-Mart stores, and Wally World was one of the few places you could find said product. Not long ago, they finally decided to make their wholesale business available to other small businesses, and I talked to them about buying the product for our stores. I found that their regular wholesale price was higher than the retail price Wal-Mart was using, meaning they were supplying their product to Wal-Mart for a much lower wholesale cost. (The average markup in retail is twice the cost, so I’m estimating that Wal-Mart was paying around $0.50 a piece.) I can’t imagine this company was making any money on the product they were selling to Wal-Mart; in fact, I’d venture they were probably losing money on the deal. I happen to know that they have since stopped selling to Wal-Mart, and the fellow I spoke with at the company hinted that it was because Wal-Mart tried to negotiate an even lower wholesale cost, which I’m guessing would have put this small business under. But not having their product available in the nation’s largest retailer is hurting them too.

They can’t win.

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For your entertainment, I present this re-enactment of the slightly insane conversation I found myself participating in while working in the not-gay store just a bit ago, proving that persistence is not always a virtue.

(SHOPPER walks in the store, and walks around for a few minutes, then approaches the counter.)

SHOPPER: Do you have stickers? Funny car stickers?

ME: No, sorry.

SHOPPER: You don’t have stickers?

ME: No.

SHOPPER: What do you have?

ME (wondering what he might have missed in his walkthrough): Candles, bath & beauty, cards, frames, magnets, buttons, lamps, vases, barware…

SHOPPER: You don’t have t-shirts?

ME: No, sorry.

SHOPPER: No t-shirts?

ME: No.

SHOPPER: No t-shirts or stickers?

ME: No.

SHOPPER (while staring directly at the candles): Where are the candles?

ME (gently pointing straight ahead): All along that wall there.

SHOPPER: Oh ok.

(SHOPPER proceeds to ignore the candles entirely, walks over to the frames instead, looks around for a second, then walks back to the front and stares at me for a second.)

SHOPPER: Ok, thank you.

ME: You’re welcome, thank you for stopping in.

(At this point I am pretty sure - and a bit relieved - that SHOPPER is headed out the door. But no. SHOPPER walks around the store again, then back up to the front counter.)

SHOPPER: So you don’t have stickers? No funny stickers?

ME: Um, no.

SHOPPER: Do you know where I can get funny stickers? I went to the store on the corner and he said only gay and lesbian stickers were there. I don’t want those. I want funny stickers. You don’t have funny stickers?

ME: No, and I’m not really sure where you could find them around here. Sorry.

SHOPPER: No funny t-shirts either? No stickers or t-shirts?

ME: No, sorry.

SHOPPER: They only had gay and lesbian stickers. That’s not what I want. You don’t know where I can find funny stickers?

ME (as patiently as I can muster at this point): No.

SHOPPER: Ok, thank you.

(SHOPPER continues to browse at the front for one second more, then dejectedly wanders out the door.)

_{*The quote from the title has been attributed to Benjamin Franklin.}

Why do I watch Queer As Folk? The show makes me groan out loud at least 5 times per show, and that’s not because of the gratuitous sex scenes and full frontal male nudity. (I’m not complaining about those, mind you, but I do think they make my boyfriend a tad uncomfortable when we’re watching it.) No, the groaning sounds are due to the fact that there’s so much cheese in the dialogue it makes me want some tortilla chips to go with it. Pour that cheese sauce on top of the most predictable story lines in the history of television and the one dimensional characters (or is that caricatures?), and really, what you have is the makings of the worst show on TV.

Yet, I still love it. I truly do. And I’m terribly sad this is the last season of the show. I will really miss it when it’s all over.

The new season started tonight, and there’s been no improvement, yet I was still glued to the TV for every second of it, both episodes. I can barely wait until next week to find out what’s going to happen to my boys and girls in Pittsburgh, even though I already know full well what’s coming. You know, that whole predictability thing.

As an aside though, someone get Lindsay (Thea Gill) a sandwich, will ya? She looks like she hasn’t eaten since filming stopped for the last season. What is it with these actresses that look perfectly fine suddenly losing a bunch of weight? She was perfectly gorgeous before… now she just looks gaunt.

Anyway, tonight was pure mindless entertainment night, since we went to see Revenge of the Sith earlier in the evening. I know you’re all dying to know what I thought of it, so here’s the official FruitFly review: Eh, it didn’t completely suck.

I definitely don’t think it was nearly as awful as Anthony Lane made it out to be in his scathing review in the New Yorker, but I do love this quote from it:

The general opinion of “Revenge of the Sith” seems to be that it marks a distinct improvement on the last two episodes, “The Phantom Menace” and “Attack of the Clones.” True, but only in the same way that dying from natural causes is preferable to crucifixion.

I love infomercials. Seriously. I’ve been a night owl all my life, and I get completely sucked into watching these things at 4 AM when I should be asleep. It’s mostly for the camp value - infomercials really make for some of the best comedy on television. Not like Kids in the Hall level brilliance or anything, but I find great amusement in these pieces of infotainment. The hosts are completely over the top, the inventors are usually strange cookies, and the products, well, they have to be seen to be believed. The ones with the studio audiences are the best. They show the knife that rips through the tin can and seconds later seamlessly slices through the ripe tomato, then show the audience. They’re amazed! It’s the most astonishing thing they’ve ever seen!

I get a little worried about myself when I watch them though. I start watching for the comedic value, but about 10 minutes into the program my brain starts churning out strange thoughts. I mean, I could roast a whole rack of lamb in the Showtime Rotisserie, just set it and forget it! (Never mind that I’ve never roasted a rack of lamb in my entire life, nor would I ever… I don’t even like lamb that much.) How much fun would it be to peel eggs with the Eggs-tractor?! (Except I never make boiled eggs, since I think they’re nasty and horrid. And there’s really no alternate use for that one.) An AeroBed would be perfect for overnight house guests! (All my imaginary house guests? I suppose an air mattress would be appropriate…)

So far I’ve been able to resist this little voice… Well. Ok. I guess I’ll own up to it. I did actually order the Matthew Lesko book, Free Money to Change Your Life. You know, the guy who wears the Riddler jacket and looks like Andy Dick on speed? (And Andy Dick is probably already on speed anyway, so you know, that’s kind of scary.) I was sold… at the time I was trying to get out of the corporate world, and I kept thinking I should start my own business, and they specifically pointed out that there was money out there for women looking to start working for themselves… It was 3 AM, and I loathed my job, and well, it just sounded so great!

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