Sweet Divinity: Gays and days

Hello, Dolls.

I have been asked by the powers-that-be at Watermark to introduce myself, and let you, our gentle readers, in on the tragic magic that is “The Divine Grace.”

If you thought that all I’m about is bad hair and substance abuse issues, think again! There’s also poor decision making and a troubling lack of anger management! What that boils down to is basically a transvestite Harvey Wallbanger who finds herself writing this column in an attempt to fulfill a community service obligation. You’re welcome.

Born and reared (more than once) in the Great Smokey Mountains of North Carolina, I spent my childhood in a little town near the Tennessee border. It was just moments away from the location in “Deliverance” where Ned Beatty’s “purty mouth” landed him anal with a local who enjoyed hog-calling more than a dental plan. My rural Appalachian hometown wasn’t prepared for something as fabulous and, well, literate as myself. That was unfortunate for me. Fortunately for you, however, the incessant slings and arrows hurled at me during my formative years allowed me to amass an incredibly smart mouth and enough staircase wit to climb Kilimanjaro.

I spent a decade in New York City performing and strengthening that classic sense of undeserved entitlement that only living in the “Big Apple” can. During that time, I settled down with an abusive and codependent asshole who helped me to trade the last of my pesky sweetness for a series of dirty looks and evil glances that have been known to make mothers scoop up their screaming children and bolt away. The simple business of living has assisted in sharpening my short temper and bad attitude. What that means is that I am basically passing all of the savings on to you. I will do all of the heavy griping and bitching so that you don’t have to. Isn’t that sweet of me? I give too much.

For instance: GayDayS at Disney.

Initially, let me say that the irony of this title is not lost on me. Each year, 150,000 LGBT travelers invade America’s most beloved theme park, which is roughly half the number of bearded Disney Princesses under the employ of Walt and his rodent. Between the actors, atmosphere performers and dancers, there is a Gay Pride parade at Disney World every day, whether you want it or not. Don’t believe me?

Ask an employee what the name of the indoor boat ride is, and see how many wet “S”s are spat at you when he says, “It’s a Small World.” Pack a poncho.

And I hope that the actresses portraying Disney witches are getting a bonus, because nobody loves an evil queen from a Disney cartoon more than some queen from Jersey shrieking, “YAAAAAAASSS, hunty!” Maleficent will be working double-duty until her horns are dull nubs dangling loosely from her sad green head. Even the animatronic cast at The Country Bear Jamboree are probably forced to have their nipples pierced and Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” at the ready for the sing-a-long.

I haven’t attended GayDayS since 2001, so I’m sure much has changed. I do hope that there is still the time-honored tradition of heterosexuals discovering that a red T-shirt is code for “I’m a Homo!” as they bolt into the nearest gift shop, hands up, hissing “That’s disgusting” to purchase an overpriced white garment with an image of Donald Duck on it, pantless. Even more exciting is the level of creativity gay men muster when discovering ways to alter a red T-shirt so that it emphasizes the five workouts per week that dual incomes and no children make possible.

I assume the Florida Family Association will once again be filling the sky with flying banners that caution the citizens of Orlando that GayDayS is coming. I know that it’s usually the person raising the biggest stink about gay people who ends up being a glittered sausage smoker, but when your method of warning somebody involves copying the Wicked Witch of the West’s warning for Dorothy Gayle to surrender, it might be time to put down the Bible and brush off that Judy Garland impression, queen.

As for me? I’ll be working. At Disney.Everybody in Orlando has to, it seems. Have a wonderful time and stay safe. And if you have learned anything from this column, please let it be that you have the OK to publically violate a popsicle in such a way that offends people of any sexual orientation who identify as “straight-acting”. You also have my full permission to scream like a little girl at everything inside the Haunted Mansion, because you earned it every time you had to wait in that same line with a cheerleading squad from Peoria and didn’t take a hostage.

Amen,

The Divine Grace