Hi, I'm Still Gay.

I could sense that, with some of my recent posts positively oozing with heteronormity and vag-seeking testosterjit, some of you might be wondering to yourselves, "Wait-- am I still reading a blog written by the gayest, straight, married man alive?"

And I'm here to reassure you that, yes, you most certainly are.

Permit me to elaborate:

* As Vivian, the stock elderly lady B&B innkeeper, was showing us around her reconverted 1850s barn B&B, the phrase that most consistently escaped my lips as we were shown her antique armoires (with original brass finials!), her miniature floral creations that she exhibited that morning at a local flower show (she won first and second place!), and the view, dappled with lamb's ears, mini cabbages, and pink roses was, "Oh, isn't this just lovely!"

Oh. Isn't that. Just. Lovely. Yes, it's just lovely. Faggot.

* Yesterday morning, I woke up at 5:15am, worked for eight hours in a psychiatric hospital trying to keep spitting, swearing, masturbating patients from killing each other (and themselves!), sped home, only to bust my ass at the gym, and then return descend to the dark garage to cut cork flooring with a Ryobi circular saw with carbide-tipped blade (and edge guide!) for two more hours. Any straight man worth his salt and the hair on his massive, clementine-sized balls would crave, and demand, bloody red meat. Me? I was lusting after a, say it with me now: salad.

* Given the option and/or opportunity, I will always, always choose to eat pizza with a fork and a knife-- just like my great grandmother. And Liberace.

* I still wear neckties on the weekends. I don't wear them to work because 1.) people already think I'm a doctor, just for wearing collared shirts and, 2.) you're much easier for a psych patient to strangle when you're already wearing a noose around your neck, even if it's a super-cute one, with lots of carrots and one hungry little embroidered bunny rabbit.

* I bought lots of clothes for my wife for her birthday.

And they all fit her.

And she loves all of them.

And that pretty much proves that I'm the gayest straight man you know. Still not convinced?

* Last week at work, they asked me if I wanted to work a double shift. "Oh, I'm sorry, I can't," I said. "Why-- you've got another job?" the scheduling oppressor asked me. "No," I replied, "I have rehearsal on Wednesday nights. For.... an operetta I'm... in."

Yeah.

See, I could have just said, "Sorry, I'm busy," and, as the mixed look of fear, confusion, and revulsion crossed the face of the work scheduler and he backed away slowly from me as if I had just diarrhea'd out my eye sockets while buttonhole-pounding his mom, then, and only then did I realize that I should have said just that. But, I didn't. Because, hi, I'm (still) gay.

Just like you always knew I was. Lover.