Monday, April 11, 2005


Brandon and I signed up a month ago to play in a summer softball league. Neither one of us is in any danger of being confused with hardcore athletes (at least as far as team sports go), so we signed up for the lowest level of the least competitive division available. And softball isn’t exactly the butchest of sports, so we thought this would be a great match for our skills athletic prowess ability to shop for shoes and gloves.

The league said they’d contact us when we were assigned to a team, and we’d start practicing and playing by early April.

Well, early April has come and gone, the league’s teams are already practicing, and we haven’t heard a word. And we can’t get ahold of anyone who can tell us what the heck is going on.

Which means we were rejected by the nelliest players in the nelliest summer sports league in Chicago.

Oh, the shame.

There’s this fabulous drag queen I often choreograph songs for and sometimes dance with in my limited capacities as a go-go boy. A couple months ago, he asked me to choreograph and dance in two songs for Who’s That Girl?, which for the last three years has been my favorite performance gig in Chicago. I called him last week to start talking about getting music and finding more dancers—and after a couple rounds of phone tag, he finally left me a message saying he’d already started rehearsing his songs with a different choreographer. And if I wanted to “help,” it was too late to get me in the program.

Which means that—after asking me to do this for him, and after I turned down three other things that weekend to be in the show—he’d cast his numbers with other dancers and booked another choreographer without offering me so much as an explanation or an apology or even a heads-up.

I’ve been bitch-slapped out of a drag show. Which TOTALLY trumps the nelly-rejection quotient of the whole gay softball thing.


windreader said...

my gut was knotting up praying this was not one of those shit-happens-in-threes postings until I got to the last paragraph. quick - write a crap poem and send it to the New Yorker.

J. said...

For what it's worth, all LGBT sports leagures I am aware of are entirely volunteer and organization is usually not their strong point. For the most part, they are also totally inclusive to all, and want new interest and new teamates at any level. It was more likely you are your friend were innocently overlooked as opposed to rejected.

And Drag queens are flakes.

David said...

So who was the drag queen? Did she deliever her line to you like Faye in 'The Starlet'? "Don't call us...we'll call you...,"

Brandon said...

If its Truelly the drag queen I think it is - I was bumped outta one Scrumptious little number much in the same manor. Rude. Rude. Rude.

Christopher said...

Number three - I was having a little moment of my own this evening while listening to "Dream A Little Dream" sung by Mama Cass. Feels good, don't it?

vanguard said...

I too was bracing for badness at the end of this little post, but yay...happy sort of ending.

Spider said...

PUBLIC HANDHOLDING! Woohoo! Sounds promising - keep us posted! CONGRATS!

Alina said...

Yeah, thank you for the hope-to-be-happy ending! There's this thing about hearing of a new-born promissing realationship: you start thinking "If he got lucky, maybe I'll get lucky too. Sooner or later. Sooner, i hope"!

Seriously now, I really wish you the best!

RcktMan Rick said...

That Scrumptious bit of gossip was Truly fabulous. And here I thought she was so "in control."

As to item #3... hm..