Homo Honey

October 24, 2010


In my post “Fag Hags, Fruit Flies, Flame Dames and Homo Honeys” I introduced you to the social and emotional hierarchy that all straight women are classified by in the lives of any gay man. Subsequently, in “Baltimorons” and “Holiday Cards” I gave a few morsels of why my HH is basically the most amazing friend on the planet. But I think it’s time to fully convey HH’s amazing-ness to you and explain why anyone who isn’t friends with her should basically curl up in the fetal position and cry their eyes out.


When we were juniors in college, Pope John Paul II, or JP2 as he was affectionately called on campus, made a trip to The United States and had a stop in Baltimore. At the urging of our parents, HH and I joined the Pope Patrol along with our friend Dana. Pope Patrol was basically a group of college students from the Baltimore/DC area who walked around in obnoxious yellow t-shirts showing over-zealous Catholics where to find plastic rosaries for His Holiness to bless and point them in the direction of the nearest port-a-potty. It was pretty dumb, but it made my mom happy and I think it allowed me an excused absence from a whole day of classes.


The night after the Pope made his way around Baltimore in the Pope mobile, I was lying in my bed, unable to sleep. I don’t know if I was filled with The Holy Spirit or just tired of living a lie, but I decided to march on over to HH’s dorm room and come out to her.


We sat on either side of her bed, chain smoking when I said “HH, I think I’m in love with Dana.” She exhaled a plume of smoke and said “No, you’re not.” “How do you know?” I asked, knowing that she was going to say what I could not. “Please, you’re totally gay.” I cried a little. She held me, and then it was like nothing had happened. We resumed our normal activities of consuming apples and making fun of anyone in eye shot.


And she was there the night I popped my cherry. Well, not exactly there, but she was with me when I met the guy. She approved, gave me a condom, kissed me on the cheek and sent me on my way. The next morning I returned back and there she was, waiting for me outside, having chained smoked the entire night, not able to sleep. I’m not going to go into any more detail on this one as my mother is probably reading this and there are some things a son just doesn’t want his parents knowing.


After college HH moved to Philadelphia and I moved to Miami Beach to live with UJR. She talked me through my obsession with Hector (see “Man Whores and First Loves” for more information) and even helped convince me that I needed to dump my mooching boyfriend (see “Facebook and Ex Boyfriends” for more information), leave Miami and move up to New Jersey with her where she had found a great job and made some groovy friends. So, I did and it was amazing. Within two months of arriving there, I landed a great job and was having so much fun playing house with HH. But then, I lost my job. I came home that night, scared out of my mind that I was going to end up in some homeless shelter, rifling through trash cans for left over hamburgers. HH came home, I told her what happened and, instead of feeding into my anxiety, she took me out celebrate. She said that I didn’t need that stupid job and that something even better was going to come up. And it did. Three days later, I landed a permanent freelance design job and a pharmaceutical company that paid me almost twice what I was making before.


We lived together in NJ for almost five years and I can truly say that I have nothing but fond, fun memories. We has some ups and downs, but through everything we knew that we were a family and that, no matter what happened, our first priority was that we cared about one another. But, like all good things, our time together had to come to an end. Though we never said it out loud, I think we both knew that we needed time apart if either one of us was ever going to find a boyfriend. You see, when two people are as close as HH and I are, there just isn’t room for anyone else. Think of Will and Grace, but less pathetic and clingy. So, I moved to Atlanta and HH eventually moved back home to Philadelphia. Not too long after we parted, we each found someone (see “My Superhero Boyfriend and His One Weakness” for more information) who filled that void left because we were no longer in close proximity.


We see each other about every three or four months now and when we do it’s like picking up right where we left off. Within minutes of seeing each other, we’re finishing the other’s sentences, running to the refrigerator to split a diet coke and reminiscing about all the amazing things we’ve seen and done in our 17 year relationship.


My advice to HH: There’s really no advice since, like Mary Poppins, you’re practically perfect in every way.

My advice to all gay men: If you don’t have a HH, run out and find one. You’ll never be the same. But don’t try to steal mine…she has her gay husband.

My advice to everyone else: Although you may not have a HH, everyone has that special friend who knows more about you than anyone else. After reading this, call them up and reminisce. It’s always fun.