Sorta adventures at the Thai restaurant - By N.L. Belardes

I walked into Thai Garden and passed a couple of flamboyant characters deep in conversation. Chingpea let out a giggle and elbowed me. Why not? People need to smile, even on 9/11 after a morning of talking heads on every TV station reciting their favorite Ground Zero moments.

I could sit here and write another rant about the World Trade Center movie—Nicolas Cage acting more like a lost pizza delivery man than a lone star Port Authority cowboy surviving the OK Corral of our generation. Or maybe I should get serious and write about the Bakersfield/Yemen Conspiracy—those Bakersfield cigarette sellers who lump government secrets in with cartons of Marlboro Lights. Yeah, give those suicide bombers who hide in the Yemenese hills discount smokes while they contemplate exploding their own skulls in a Baghdad marketplace. Assholes.

Nah.

Chingpea and I didn’t talk about 9/11 at all. We passed the table, got seated in the back—our usual hangout—and talked about sexual orientation. No, I don’t mean if you’re gay or not. I mean if people think you’re gay or not. A friend of mine had been wondering what people thought of his orientation. There had been a few uncomfortable innuendos from a certain character. My friend's hide got chapped. I’d heard another story about a guy who was getting free coffee at Starbucks every morning because the worker had a crush on him. He flirts to a nice level of “You can give me coffee, but I ain’t giving you shit” without sounding like an asshole. He’s married. His wife knows. He gets free coffee.

What we’ll do for a pricey latte.

Personally, I wouldn’t take the freebee. But that’s not my call. Besides, morning coffee rituals are an expensive habit. It’s cheaper to buy those Yemeni cigarettes. And you get American government secrets rolled up for an added bonus.

I asked some friends, “What would you do? Would you take the coffee?”

“Sure. Doesn’t mean you have to jump in bed with them.”

”What?”

”Hey, as long as you’re clear that you’re not interested, why not get some free double shots?”

“No thanks.”

At Thai Garden I told chingpea that I’d gotten an email from a local theatre chick who swore her gaydar wasn’t rusty. “You’re too cute to be straight,” she wrote me.

What the hell? I suppose if the worst I have to put up with on 9/11 is someone asking if I’m gay isn’t such a bad thing. Just means people have a misperception of me. I wrote to her about the Wilcoboys and accused her of not being a regular reader.

But then maybe she saw me recently wander into a gay and lesbian event to take photos of Three Chord Whore. Yeah, I was there and I learned something more about Bakersfield gay culture. It hides. Or does it? Sometimes...

I was told at the gate to the event, “You can enter, but we ask that you’re sensitive to people’s privacy.” Translation: historically, gay folks have been persecuted, and many have led hidden and often dualistic lives, especially in Bakersfield, a town with conservative tendencies where some gay folks, believe it or not, come across as straight in greater urban walks of life.

You’re telling me? I wrote Lords.

While at the event I talked to an old friend from my childhood who read Lords in Brooklyn. I asked, “Do you think my novel is gay bashing?”

“There are parts that are open for interpretation. I don’t think it is. But you never know what people might think.”

That’s right. You never know what people might think. Someone might think you’re gay simply because you support the arts, have big black glasses, and live in a town where gay people sometimes hide their livelihoods. I know this. People might just think you’re gay simply because we live in a cultural area where gay lives are hidden. So I think folks just get confused. Or they live in a world of stereotypes in their head.

I knew a probation officer who admitted hiding sexual orientation for years, claiming that climbing up the corporate ladder just wouldn’t work as an out-of-the-closet gay. So that person hid their orientation. So… what does it matter?

It doesn’t matter. But it’s funny. Just because I’m creative and wacky doesn’t make me gay. Might as well say all the writers for Spongebob Squarepants are gay. I like to think of people who might think I’m a bit flamboyant this way… I’m a writer. I have a gift that makes me able to be whatever kind of character I want people to believe at any given time. If my writing is catchy and hip and fun, then that’s OK. People who don’t know that I’ve broken ribs, fingers, thrown my shoulder out playing hockey while trying to impress girls just don’t know that about me, and don't read enough of my writing. Read Thick White Crust. It's autobiographical. It's about 9/11, ghosts and visions, and it's a love story...

People might perceive me as the character Enrique Fuentes, when I wrote the blog, Queen of the Downtown Fur. Here's a sample:

Glitter, frost, fashion - an evening with Enrique - the Gay Bakersfield Parade
I am a parade. I don't need anyone else. Do you hear me honeys? I am shouting! I’m going out tonight and I’m all made up. Are you?? Do you want to be ready? Do you want to say to those hoochies who call on you every night, “No way, Jose! I have a hot date tonight with myself in front of my vanity mirror! You’ll have to take a number. And you! And you! And you!” For all you ladies of the day, it’s time for the night. Yes, I know you’re so nice about applying during the morning hours. But now it’s time for frost and glitter! Yes! You remember my Padre piano bar stories? Yes, you could get lost in my glitter back in those days. I could wink at you and I was a star! I still am! But don’t get mixed up. Daytime make up uses neutrals, like grays and browns with lighter colors for blushes (but not necessarily lip make up because if you’re like me you can hoochie it up a bit so that Paulo will kiss you again, and again! Yes! Get back babies, Paulo is mine!) In the evening… mmm yes… get close for this one, let your eyelashes touch mine because you want to hear what my moist lips are whispering: evening shades are bold, like us! Use blues, greens and reds with options like frost and your babydoll glitter to catch the moonlight, or candlelight (or light of Paulo’s heart) Add two (or more) coats of mascara and you are completely ready! You don’t need to go to make up school to get your desired effect: sexy hoochie lovely purr kitten. But you do need to BELIEVE that you are an artist! Because you are! Shout!

And if it’s hot outside like it gets in Bake Town’s panties when Angelina Jolie is on the big screen, then please honeys, use water-based eye liners, powder blushes, and lover, you know it, face powder: sexy it up because honey you don’t want to shine like some hoochie who looked like she just sweat with her man at the next table! Run and get it and show it off! But listen, I am serious, if you want to do it right, you need to look at the fashions. You can’t do a thing if you haven’t seen fashion. Do you know what’s going on in metrofashion? Oh ruffle it up and then contrast because mama is waiting for you to be sexy. Don’t you dare put that make up on if you’re going out in last year’s dungarees. Think 1970s, just looser. Re-create your vintage heart and soul, babies! If you don’t? I’ll call you a hoochie and slap you and say you’re not fashoo or faboo! Run to me and hug me right now!


I think it's funny to have flamboyant characters out in society that throttle the very fabric of homophobic cityscapes. That's why I had an actor play Enrique Fuentes at Narducci's one night. It was hilarious. I'm no actor. I couldn't play the part, although I guess some people think it's right up my alley.

One last word: shut up chingpea and Matildakay. I know you're going to give me shit.

This entry was posted by N.L. Belardes, on Monday, September 11, 2006. You can leave your response.