I also play 'Bad Romance' and 'Womanizer' daily. Five times.
Because all the burned CD's, suggestions from friends, and time spent in Los Feliz will not change the fact that I am a gay man trapped in a woman's body, and I panic for a bitch. I friend of mine recently described himself as having a gay boner for Barbara Streisand, and while Babs doesn't quite make me put a metaphorical notebook in front of my pants, I know what he's talking about - when a bitch is so awestrickingly awesome that the very thought of her elicits a reverent rush of enthusiasm so intense that it's almost sexual, but it isn't, but it is, but it isn't.
My inner gay is straight for Lady Gaga.
The facts are these:
1. While most artists spend years rising to stardom, Lady Gaga showed up at our doorsteps pre-packaged as a super star. One minute, the world was existing as we know it, and the next, a platinum blonde piece of performance art was taking the world by storm.
2. Old girl knows how to hide a problem area. Namely, her face. Forget X-Tina reminding us that 'I am beautiful,' Lady Gaga has inspired the millions in this country who have a face for radio by making it socially acceptable to hit the town with all or most of one's face obscured. Ladies, have an Adrian Brody nose? Next time you're going to a party, slap a giant light up sparkly star on your face, and call it a night.
3. Let me begin by saying that I acknowledge how disgusting, obnoxious, and well-trod upon the word is, but bottom line, everything she does is un-be-fucking-lievably fierce. Everything. She bats a hundred. If she's existing, she's unzipping a faceless dress to accept an award by 'thanking God and the Gays,' writhing on stage lamenting that what she 'hates more than money is the truth,' or otherwise making us all glad that we live in a time when such a hot, fierce bitch exists, while simultaneously reminding us that we are not said bitch.
And now onto my other wife, my 'starter wife,' if you will.
I think we can all agree that Britney Spears is the first time that white trash has become famous and stayed exactly as trashy as she always was. Having such a public specimen gave middle America a chance to see what white trash was really about - it's not all sunshine and PBR. True 'country' means bare foot trips to the Chevron, public spats with your significant other, and melodramatic cries for help in the form of pill binges, manic shopping sprees, or head shavings. Also, they really like Doritos and frappucinos.
Because Britney offered such a fascinating glimpse into this other world, we became maniacally obsessed with her, and sicked a running-of- the- bulls style gaggle of paparazzi on the girl, sacrificing a human life so that everyone would have something good to read while we got our nails did.
We all know how that shit show ended - with an all bets off, piece de resistance known as the Circus Tour, wherein the Britney we all love - fake tanned, hair extensions, and sequined bra and panties that are a smidge too small, came flying from the ceiling of convention centers across the country, appointed herself the ringleader of the circus that her life had become, and reminded the world that 'It's Britney, Bitch!'
I was lucky enough to see her at the Staples center, and the second she hit the stage, whip in hand, two thousand girls in the audience lost it, and never got it back... not when she did 'Piece of Me' writhing around in the gilded cage we'd all created for her, not when she hopped around to 'Baby One More Time' and busted out original choreography, not when she lip synched 'Every Time' while suspended from the ceiling on a giant glitter umbrella.
And yes, I knew she was going to lip synch. Anyone who points out that she does not really sing is completely missing the point. You don't see her because of her voice. We all know 'Britney's voice' is a computer somewhere in Sherman Oaks. You see Britney because you want to see the bitch pretend to dance, whip her dancer boys as she makes them do push ups, and maybe, just maybe catch an earful of her complaining off stage that her 'pussy is hanging out.'
The best thing about Britney is that the worse she gets, the better she gets. The more trite, slutty, and ignorant she becomes, the more unique, untouchable, and brilliant she is. She is still legitimately hot in any of her several lingerie ensembles, but we all know what a treat it is to catch a glimpse of overalls, glasses, and no make up Britney.
There's no wrong way to spot a Britney.
And so, next time you get in my car, and Kiis FM is blasting, before you bash my taste in music, remind yourself that I can't help myself. It's who I am. I was born this way. I am biologically predisposed to panic for a bitch.