New Attitude

DISCLAIMER:  Do NOT read the following post if you fit into any (or all) of the following categories; stupid. That's all.

 

Due to popular demand (popular demand being all of my two friends who read my first entry and want another) I'm back with another posting. After last posting I've been at a loss as to what to write. I had originally planned to have another posting up by Friday afternoon, so when Friday afternoon came and went with no inspiration (READ: a pillar of light experience similar to Saul of Tarsis but maybe a little more sparkly, less blinding light, and having the breathy vocals of Britney Spears circa Slave For You substituting the voice of "GOD") I was a little disheartened. So, Friday afternoon methinks to myself a little friend named W.E.E.D. might be able to help(that's a pseudonym as the friend would prefer to stay anonymous).  Surprisingly, my brain seemed to be in some sort of hazy stupor afterward, which I seemed to mysteriously remain in until this morning. 

Hoping to get inspiration on what to write, I turned to one of my favorite 80's diva, Patti Labelle and the amazing song, New Attitude.  Now if you haven't heard New Attitude, or are a little unfamiliar with the great Ms. LaBelle, you get yourself over to youtube right now (or just click HERE).  New Attitude should be on everybody's "getting ready to go out" playlist (I know you have one).  I'll put a brief sampling of some the amazing lyrics below;




I'm feeling good from my head to my shoes
Know where I'm going and I know what to do
I tidied up my point of view
I got a new attitude
I'm in control, my worries are few
Cause I've got love like I never knew
ooh, ooh ooh, ooh
I got a new attitude


I'm wearing a new dress, new hat
Brand new ideas as a matter of fact, I've changed for good.


Now there's a gay anthem if I've ever heard one.  Any song mentioning a new dress and a new hat is definitely gay anthem material.  I can only imagine the gay clubs of the 80s bursting with acid washed denim grinding to New Attitude.  I'd go CRAZY if I heard that song.




Now that I've got Ms. Labelle going, it comes to mind that every gay man loves himself two things;  a sensible pair of heels and black women.  Black women, you might ask yourself?  Clearly, this originates from the fact that inside every gay man lives the soul of a black diva. Mine even has a name; Destine.  Destine comes out when the sass comes out.  You sass me, you get Destine back.  So we gays can't help but love us some black divas; Aretha, Diana, Chaka, Patti, Whitney, Mariah (she's kind of black), Beyonce, hell, I'd even count Robyn S.  They speak to our souls, to our true nature, to our core. You turn on any diva song, and the gays can't help but get their booties (double entendre) shakin'.  Take Beyonce, add a sexy beat, and some sparkly sequin micro-mini and the gays go crazy.


Of course I've now downloaded Patti's greatest hits in the time I've been writing this, and leave you with this last piece of advice.  If you don't know what to do, just sashay, it seems to do wonders to anyone and everyone who tries it.    
  

I'm Every Woman

****DISCLAIMER**** Do NOT read this if you fall into any (or all) of the following categories: god-believers (you know who you are), possess the ability to reproduce (aka "Breeders"), white (or of light skinned decent), pregnant (recent studies - as in me looking at fat pregnant women - showed that pregnant ladies are useless at most things besides complaining about being pregnant or eating), lesbians, my father, my mother, any relative of mine over the age of 27, any relative of mine under the age of 24, the pope, and her holiness Oprah Winfrey.

I don't know how to start, so I guess I'll introduce myself. My name is Jonny. I was born on a balmy autumn afternoon in October of 1983 as a gayby. I quickly grew from a gayby, to a pretty little boy and from a pretty little boy to a closeted gay mormon. Then, at the age of 23, I burst forth from my slumbering, closeted cocoon of conformity and as a beautifulbutterfly (cue Chaka Khan, rainbows, unicorns and a giant phallic cake that I come bursting forth from). Bursting, don't you just love that word?

Wow.

That was a quick intro. From gayby to butterfly in 2 sentences, I really burst that one on you. You might be asking, why is he even writing this? Well, I'd like to say it's for all my adoring fans, but I think that would leave me very disappointed as I am my one, and only, fan. Maybe it's just to share my sparkly thoughts with the cyberweb. Maybe it's to express my inner unicorn. I don't know. But what I do know is that "I'm Every Woman" won't stop playing on repeat in my head right now. I hope you're hearing it too (and I won't fault you if it's Whitney you're hearing instead of the original greatness of her majesty Chaka). What a great theme to live your life by. Well, actually, I don't really know what the song means, but every time I hear it I just want to stand up, loud and proud, and release my inner black woman. I hope you feel the same.

You might now be asking yourself, why am I even reading this? And the simple answer is, you must have nothing to do. Like NOTHING. Because I can think of 10 things that sound more interesting than reading this.

1. having sex

2. watching sex

3. video'ing sex

4. taking pictures of sex

5. talking about sex

6. thinking about sex

7. reading about sex

8. writing about sex

9. pondering on sex

10. have alone sex (aka masturbating, aka sex for losers)

All of those things definitely sound like more fun than reading this. But since you've stuck through it so far, maybe I'll indulge (another great word to use) and continue on.

Now that I've said all that, I don't even have any indulgences to share tonight. Maybe a word of advice for anyone who stuck it out this long. Watch out for anything that starts with tran; trans fat, trannies, Transylvania, translate, translators, tran tran (a vietnamese cookie) and tranning (it's like tanning but for trannies).