A couple weekends ago, my all-girl improv group Mary Kay Has a Posse reunited for a few rare performances during the Piccolo Fringe Festival. And let me tell you, Charleston’s gay population was in full effect. Not only do lesbians love us, so do gay men. We’re like the porridge that Goldilocks chose. Sipping a beer after the sold-out show, I enjoyed the company of our flamboyant public and began wondering why I ever gave up my old role as a “fag hag.”

Though a lot of people would consider me to be a bit of a lipstick-wearing tomboy, sometimes I feel like a gay man trapped in a straight woman’s body. But it goes beyond us bonding over our mutual attraction to dudes. Who else will obsessively watch Showgirls with you, chronicle the weight loss and gain of Lindsay Lohan, and honestly tell you if those Diesel jeans make your ass look fat? Even my best girlfriends in the world have very little interest in humoring my silly hang-ups. And as far as any male buddies are concerned, they really can’t hold a candle to my gaggle of gays. The straight guys I know are interested in watching a movie only if it has spaceships and/or boobs. But unless the rack belongs to Gina Gershon, most “Marys” I’ve met couldn’t care less and are perfectly happy sitting through an E! True Hollywood Story marathon.

I learned the merits of befriending homosexuals through my mother. Growing up, we ate many dinners at her mustached friend Charles’ apartment — immaculately decorated, freshly vacuumed, and smelling of lavish Moroccan meals complete with handmade napkin rings. My mom taught me that any good fruit fly knows she can always depend on her boys for witty repartee, the latest in social circle gossip, and a fancy-pants dinner companion. Need more reasons to embrace your inner fag-hag-dom? For one, gays always know the new hip cocktail drinks. They’re more than willing to offer a shoulder to cry on. They’ll tell you like it is, whether you want to hear it or not. You can get rip-roaring drunk with them and they won’t try to molest you. And when you crash at their house, the sheets are dryer fresh. But most importantly, they have the best sense of humor. Maybe it’s because of the intolerance and bigotry they’ve had to deal with a good portion of their lives, but they understand satire and can freely laugh at stereotypes. Their humor is their best defense, and the same could be said for myself.

So why did I abandon my homophile post? Because when it comes down to it, I’m a straight girl and they’re gay fellas. Spending all my free time with them gave me a complex. I started developing crushes on men I could never have and not paying attention to the men who were available. I realized I’d never date again if I continued to hang around the gay bars, sipping fancy drinks, and cackling about Paris Hilton’s sex tape with my posse. That is, unless I turned lesbian, but we’ll save that for another column.

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