and earl grey shuddered

Just when I think I couldn’t be any gayer—I learn that I’m a little straighter than I thought I was.
I kissed a girl last night.





Sorry, just had to take a break and run to the bathroom to throw up. Back now.
Thankfully, there was no kissing of girls last night—not that straight. Thank God!
However, I did go to a tea house. Did you know there are such things as tea houses? If you did—you’re even gayer than me! One of the teachers is retiring this year and it was her retirement party. She is an amazing, amazing, gorgeous, classy woman. One of those women you only read about and wish you could meet. She wanted to have a tea for her retirement. (Being the unassuming, accommodating woman she is, she just thought we’d have the tea in the library of the school—instead we went to a tea house. She was so excited and thrilled.)
As I have no idea what tea houses normally look like, I have no idea if this one was par for the course or if it was unique. Either way, its gotta find its way into a novel at some point.
Nearly every single woman went bonkers over how adorable this place was. How cute every knickknack was. How it was so charming and delicate.
I think there was an alternate dimension thing going on. It was one of the tackiest things I had ever seen. It was like ten thousand neurotic grandmothers who have a hoarding addiction had an orgy in a room about a third the size of my classroom (which isn’t large). There is truly not a way to exaggerate what I saw. I honestly don’t think I have words to capture it. Every square inch was taken up with the most cliché and sickly sweet stuff [crap] you can imagine. It wasn’t even nice tacky old woman stuff. The only thing I didn’t see were those crocheted toilet paper covers with the top half of a Barbie sticking out. Actually, that might have been an improvement.
The one redeeming aspect to my sanity is that I could tell my principal (I’ve talked about her stunning taste level before—she’s a gay man’s muse) was having a similar reaction to myself. She definitely thought she was too good to be there. And she’s right. So was I. So was everyone. What is crazy strange is that the woman who was retiring is equally as stunning and classy as my principal. I have never seen this teacher where she didn’t look like she just returned from strolling on Fifth Avenue. It seems that many women must have a missing gene when it comes to cuteness.
Altogether, it was a pretty great adventure. A surreal experience of a culture I didn’t even know existed. My favorite part was, of course, myself. Surrounded in all things horrifically and sterilely grandmother, amidst countless china teapots (hideous ones), doilies spewn [new word—write it down] everywhere (EVEN PAPER ONES!!!!), and countless pictures of the Red Hat Society, sat an overly tattooed, musclely red-head, with a Mohawk. To top it off, most men that would be wiling to go to tea house, everyone would assume to be a flaming fag—which all my lovely teachers know to be true. However, I guess because of my appearance, the women at the tea house had no idea, and kept apologizing for the feminine experience I was having (which is an insult to the feminine experience). I guess I looked a tad out of place. DUH. They probably assumed I was counting the minutes until I could go watch sports, bang a chick [again with the hurling], or join my Mohawked tattooed gang shooting heroine. Little did they know that their tiny little teahouse had just got a fabulous makeover in my mind, and that their little demon dimension of yarn and cheap china was now fierce and refined.