Tonight was a gayer, as a I saw a one-woman show called "You give gay people a bad name", by and with Helena Sandström. It was a fabulous hour long comedic monolog, with a few interruptions by her male heterosexual sidekick. I watched, I laughed, I identified. The show was all about psychotic lesbians, trying to pick up chicks, and crying yourself to sleep because you still haven't gotten laid. And there was singing and dancing as well. So basically, it summed up my life nicely. I involuntarily ended up in the show when Helena was going to demonstrate how good she is at picking up women on a member of the audience. Of course it worked (even though her pick-up technique only consisted of walking by and ignoring me), I would have totally gone home with her.
Unfortunately she had a show to finish. Before picking me out of the crowd she had just finished telling a story about boiling an ex-girlfriend's hamster and calling her every night for three weeks to prove her love. So clearly, she was playing somebody psychotic and we all know how the psychos are attracted to me. All in all, it was very "Killing me softly" moment. (You know: "Strumming my pain with his fingers, Singing my life with his words..." and so on.)
I loved the part where she explained to the straight people in the audience that there isn't one who is "the man" and one who is "the woman" in a lesbian relationship - there's one who's tall and one who's short. And that is how you divide the housework: The tall one changes the light bulbs, the short one fixes the car (since they can fit under the hood). And the garbage? You take turns, as long as both are tall enough to reach the trash can. Hah.