GBFs

Every girl wants one, most girls try to steal one, and some girls have one. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I am talking about the Gay Best Friend. To be referred to as GBF, henceforth.

The other day, I was thinking about all the GBFs I have had in the recent past. (Yes, people I just got a job, so will spend less time thinking of such things). However, like every Carrie needs a good Stanford to run to for relationship advice or the usual clever gay quip that these men never fall short of, the Supreme Goddess also needs a regular GBF.

My first GBF was Billy K., a greek lanky, long-haired, eye-brow tweezing, Janet Jackson repertoire dancing, funny guy. He lived down the hall from S and I in the hall where everyone got baked at UMASS, Baker. He had a body most of us would die for and treated the institutionalized hallways as his personal catwalks. He would steal dishes from the dining hall and then return them when they were dirty because he didn't want to wash him. He was totally high maintenance. He made fun of us for being fashionably fallible (come on, we were hippies! We rarely bathed, forget fashion!) I remember that being gay was a big deal for him because he came from a very traditional family.

It wasn't until junior year of college, when our South Asian group was doing a fashion show (why are people obsessed with these in college?), a Pakistani friend introduced me to Aamie, a fashion show coordinator extraordinaire. We instantly became dancing partners, he and I had fantastic dance chemistry. We performed in many dance items together and managed to become good friends as well. Well, that was until (from intense pressure from his friends) he asked me out on a date. I was doing laundry in the center of town (at a Laundromat, of course, not in the town common) and Aamie came bearing ice cream and a sheepish look. Later on, he told me, that while he was asking, he was saying "please say no, please say no" in a silent meditative chant. Thank god my gay-dar was right-on. I suggested we remain amigos. Soon after, Aamie came out and went through a very difficult time, including a long hiatus in Pakistan. We kept in touch and solidified our friendship. When he finally landed back in the US, we were ready to hit NYC, fag n' hag style. We helped each other through break-ups and make-ups and always provided a non-objective opinion on each other's men choices.

Two thousand and four brought me to Mumbai, India. Because I wasn't allowed to become friends with my colleagues, I ventured on to the wonderful world of Friendster. As I was scrolling through people in Mumbai, I saw this guy who looked vaguely familiar. Wait, a gay guy that used to live in Somerville when I lived there! I had previously scoped him out for Aamie but the distance could have been a problem. I contacted him immediately and we decided to meet at Mocha in Bandra, he lived about 10 minutes away from me! It was Vikster (also blogging at sourapplemartini.blogspot.com)! He says the first day he saw me in a salwaar kamiz, he thought I looked like an Auntie-Ji and had re-considered my Hag status. However, when he knew I could hang at the Gay Bombay parties and score more numbers than him, I was a hag with a bag. He not only was a companion, he was witty, funny, knew Monsoon Wedding by heart, celebrates his life with his fashion criticisms of everyone, and does a mean interpretation of Auntie-Ji's.

Through Vikster, I met Abhi. He worked at a call center and approached me and a friend at a gay Bombay party. Really nice, really sweet, and had a huge heart. Abhi took me to a straight bar (after so many Gay Bombay parties, I couldn't even see straight!!) called the Hawaiian Shack. Well that little experience changed my life, because that's where I met my future hooosband A!!

I may be lucky, many women crave multiple international GBFs, and I have been fortunate to have so many. The GBF is a quick phone call (or 10.30 + EST) away. Always there for you, whether it's a snappy comment or a chiding remark about the size of one's ass, you will never be alone if a GBF is around. The moral of the story is, if you hang out with enough boys that pitch for the same team, you might just find one who pitches for yours! The GBF's satisfaction is guaranteed!

Well, not completely.