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confessions of a gay boyfriend

There's nothing worse than doing a job that you don't want to do, unless it's a job that was already half-completed by somebody else. Now you have to take their mess, finish it, and make it look good. I guess I should probably mention that I am not the SlackMistress. I am A., boyfriend to the SlackMistress. I am merely a SlackSlave who ended up writing a guest article in a bargain gone awry. The half-finished job mentioned above was a storyboard for the cartoon show I created. I'd been fretting over the thing for weeks and I half-jokingly offered to write her slack article for her if she would help me get through my storyboard block. Needless to say, she did the job and now it's my turn to put out.

Anyway, here it is:



When N. and I were emailing before our first date, she told me that she hated going on dates and feeling like she had to be "on" all the time. She said she'd been on a few dates where the guys had found out she was a comedy writer and they'd spent the entire date just sitting back expecting to be entertained by her shtick. I told N. that I didn't need her to be wacky to enjoy the date, but when we actually got together she was genuinely funny. Funny like a clown, not funny-creepy like most of my other dates. I assumed that she was "on", but she seemed okay with it and I tried not to seem like I expected to be entertained.

Over the last few months, I decided that N. was "on" all the time. That's just the way she was. She's a comedy writer, she does this for a living.

It's part of her charm.

Last night there was a party to celebrate the new season of my show. I, as has been stated in these pages several times, am socially retarded. However, being co-host of this party I knew I needed to be in my best form. It was my job to entertain. N's job was just to look pretty and drink mai-tais.

She ended up doing that and more.

Everybody from the crew was invited, and those people were encouraged to bring guests. I was expecting a big turnout, but was mildly disappointed when the majority of my employees decided to either stay home, go to other parties, or spend the weekend getting recruited into a cult. I'm not kidding about that last one, either. The guest list for the party eventually ended up including half-a-dozen crewmembers from the show and about thirty gay men who are friends with my Line Producer.

Midway through the party I found myself lurking in the corner smoking some reefer, away from the guests. Like a good host. It was here that I got my first look at N. "on". This was my first look at SlackMistress Plus.

A compact gay guy in search of a smoke approached us. Being the gay boyfriend of the SlackMistress I am the flame to the gay man's moth. We were soon surrounded by a gaggle of gay men who were bumming smokes. I don't know if it was the alcohol, the pot, or the sheer abundance of sass in the area, but your dear SlackMistress became suddenly energized. She was still N., but she was the triple-shot-of-espresso N.

It turned out that one of the gay men was in porn. The SlackMistress lit up immediately.

SlackMistress: Ooh! I want to write porn!

She was instantly everybody's best friend. She handled awkward questions that would make lesser humans flee in terror with... well, with sass.

Tall Black Gay Man: So how long have you two been putting out?

SlackMistress: About four months. How about you two?

Tall Black Gay Man: Three days nonstop! And we don't even know each other!

SlackMistress: And you can still walk!?

She was the belle of the ball. The air was so thick with her secreted charisma that I was choked into stunned silence by it. When the conversation got so bizarre and personal that I was tempted to just cut my losses and run, she somehow managed to spirit us away without offending anybody.

Me: That was amazing!

SlackMistress: Yeah. That's how I usually am in meetings.

I still think that the SlackMistress is "on" all the time. That's just how she is. Last night, however, I think she cranked the volume up to eleven. N. is the ultimate party aid for the socially retarded. Every time I found myself leaving an awkward gap in the conversation, she'd be right there to fill it.

N. seems to think that she's as socially retarded as I am, but I have yet to see her become uncomfortable in any social setting. She is, in fact, one of the most amazingly social people I've ever seen.

Then again, she says she doesn't cook either.

It's all a part of her charm.