I am a pinky lifter. When I drink my cocktails, I lift my pinky straight up. I guess I’ve always been this way, probably through no fault of my own. I know what they say: Queeniness is a choice, not an orientation. But I find it at times to be quite involuntary, especially after I’ve had a few.

This hasn’t dissuaded me in the past, however, from my attempts to prove otherwise. After all, we’re all men here in the gay club, right? Men who like other men. Why would we want a man who doesn’t act like a nice, purebred, manly man with matching pedigree certificate? It’s not like I’m trying to pick up a chicken hawk.

Meanwhile, straight guys who watch Bravo (I’m sure they’re out there) are learning how to be just a little bit gayer. I mean refined. It’s reminiscent of European teens copying American blue jeans and T-shirts, while at the same time, we find ourselves going for those European stilettos. A nice exchange of cultures making us feel worldly.

I’ve always been a slave for what’s in fashion. After some time, I found that I had mastered the technique of finger-down drinking quite well.

Recently, I noticed myself slipping. It wasn’t my pinky that was stirring up trouble this time. It was my index finger. I hadn’t been paying attention, and I found that sneaky finger was attempting to wave in onlookers to my sexuality without my consent—although undoubtedly in an odd way.

I’m sure it looked more like I was flashing the loser sign from “Clueless” than being Nancy in public, so who knows how that would be interpreted. I began to wonder if keeping my pinky down was going to be like smoothing out a rug with no real room to do it. Every hump I push down will just raise another bump in another place.

It does make me think about why I’m putting all this effort into acting. Why put on a façade and misrepresent myself to other people? I’m a gay man. Shouldn’t I act like what I am?

When I really think about it, I do find other gay-acting gay men very attractive. I love their energy, their creative edge, the attention they pay to their looks and the lower occurrence of toenails in dire need of Lamisil. I think gay-gays are actually a pretty nice mix of boy-girl, and I like their spunk in not being afraid to advertise it.

Our goal through modern history has been trying to prove our worth, trying to show straight people that we are just as good as they are. We are desperately waiting for their validation, for them to tell us we’re part of the club.

I’m sure that most people who read this will agree that we’re all people here with pretty much the same goals and desires. We all contribute something useful to the progress of the species.

Well, I have a proposition, and it might make those of you who like to be wrapped up in a nice, fluffy status quo a little nervous. What if gay people (and I mean the gay versions of gay people) are, dare I say, better equipped in some ways?

What if we contribute something far more important that anyone has yet to realize? I’m not talking about superficial things like fashion sense or vacuum-cleaner usage.

Gay-gays are boy-girls. Lesbo-lesbians are girl-boys. We sit smack in the middle of the human gender spectrum while everyone else teeters on the edge. I feel like if I was just a boy, or just a girl, it would only be half of me.

Dare I suggest that we are a more complete human—sexually speaking, gender-role speaking? I’m horny all the time like a guy, but I cry in movies like a girl.

I love cars, and I can probably sit down with anyone to talk about them. I’m probably more knowledgeable on the subject than most straight men. I can explain, in detail, the differences between a gasoline and a diesel engine. I actually enjoy changing tires.

I also love clothes, interior decorating, expensive skin-care products and smelling like mint-chocolate-chip ice cream after I get out of the shower.

We do live in Texas which, despite all its charms, does not have the most fashionable population of women in the world. Did you catch the last runway show at Wal-Mart? Obsoletely fabulous!

The fact is, I know that I dress with more girl sense that a lot of these ladies with Texas Hair. And I know there are straight men out there who, manly as they are, cannot change their oil or a tire.

So here I am, gender multi-talented, and I find myself explaining my cousin’s fiancée’s behavior to him yet again. But wait. Now she has a question about why guys act the way they do, and it dawns on me.

These Martians and Venusians who have had two million years to figure each other out have yet to do so. Enter the gay-gay, the earthling and noble translator that they’ve been waiting for. And I shall translate, proudly.

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