God Save the Queen . . . and Cher

Saturday was a fun filled sugar-fest which means I won't lose a pound this week. In fact, I will only stay in the green (by a hair) if I manage not to gain. Most of the afternoon I was at a cookie swap where I was having so much fun decorating cookies that I narrowly forgot to swap. Then it was off to a party where I had an absolute blast talking to two gay men.

I'm just going to put this out there so there is no misunderstanding. I LOVE gay men. LOVE them. Why? Because they are creative bitches and I just do.

While I was hanging out with my new friends, another girl got in on the mix. She is getting married too so the wedding talk started. Now, normally, I hate when wedding talk overtakes my conversations with new people but when you're at a party where you only really know the host and someone else is also planning a wedding, it becomes the easy ice breaker. However, when it comes to wedding talk, it more than breaks the ice, it chisels away at it until the one piece of ice breaks off and sinks or floats away. It can go on forever. You have no clue what this person does for a living, but you know every minute detail of their wedding.

Go ahead . . . ask me what her centerpieces look like.

Yeah, see.

Now ask me what mine look like and wait for it . . . . wait.

No clue

Discussing marriage in front of a gay man is a slippery slope. Some think, "oh wow, yeah, this is too straight of a conversation for me, I'm going to get some more cheese." And some think, "ohhh girl, let's talk weddings . . . and stay away from the cheese, we have to stay slim for photos." I was talking to the latter. Yay!

While I was telling them about how my friend and her fiancee expressed themselves through music at their wedding down to a heavy metal quartet during the ceremony and cocktail hour, Michael blurted out his plan.

And I do have to say, I LOVE this plan.

"I want a classy affair," he said, "I want it somewhere really nice, outside, black tie with . . . . "

His partner interrupted "He wants Cher."

"To sing?" I asked, "I can't imagine how much she costs."

Um, yeah, like Cher is doing weddings these days. I mean, maybe, since gay men kept her somewhat of an icon, she might do it for them but if I wanted to rent her out so she could sing "Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves", it would cost a mint. No doubt. Yup, all of this actually went through my head to justify my stupid question but it was too late, it was already out there.

"No," Michael said,"I want a black gospel choir to sing. I really want Cher impersonators to usher people to their seats. But not just Cher, 80s Cher."

Ok. Wow! See, that's specific. You're not just asking for Cher impersonators, you are special ordering them. Where was Stew when I had proof that I'm not the only person who special orders subjecting myself to lord knows what according to his theory?

Stew's Special Ordering Theory: If you special order anything, not only is it going to be fucked up, but somewhere between the kitchen and your table, your food will get spit on.

It's one thing to special order some eggs but we're talking people. We're talking Cher impersonators. Classic!

Michael elaborated. "I want the works. Big feather hats. I want the ushers to take the old ladies by the arm and say I'm going to show you to your seat, bitch."