Supergay Meets Girl-in-the-D

Well kids, it was bound to happen someday, but I suppose you are never really ready.

Regular readers of this blog know I've had a little fun turning the Girl-in-the-D blog into my fake arch-nemesis, primarily around the issue of winning the Metro Times "Best Pop Culture Blog" this fall (I do have to admit, that is still one of my all-time favorite Supergay graphics). It's really a tale as old as time: girl writes blog, girl wins award, aspirational faggot moves in and snatches her weave.

Well, it's the season for holiday parties. Every fucking night. If you don't have this happening to you, it's like 70% great and 30% annoying. But it does involve a lot of free food and booze, and generally you get to see some of the same friends you see out and about (and inevitably one random guy with whom you attended high school) so you know I'm there.

This was a lovely party high up in one of Detroit's gorgeous art deco skyscrapers, thrown by some great folks involved with development in Detroit who, more importantly, are acquainted with the art of gracious entertaining. It was a veritable who’s-who of the Detroit development world, as well as a who’s-who of my Detroit social life (not that the two necessarily overlap), and I mixed and mingled with a jinglin’ beat over vodka tonics and prosciutto-wrapped asparagus.

It was later in the evening as I glided through the crowd that I ran into the handsome husband of Girl-in-the-D, whom I’ve met several times before around town. We exchanged salutations, chatted briefly, and then he uttered those fateful words, “Have you met my wife?”

Well, actually, no.

I feel like I get around town a lot, so it was weird to me that I’d never met her before, especially considering the facts that she writes about goings-on and development in Detroit on her blog AND that half the people I know have met her. So it was with great curiosity that I was ushered over for my introduction.

She is, as you might expect, lovely, and the most concise way I can describe her to you is to say essentially I met Charlotte York from Sex and the City. You can totally not tell that she is from Sterling Heights. Mr. In-The-D introduced me using my civilian identity.

I said, “Nice to meet you!”

She said, “You stole my title.”

Cut to: two cars collide in an intersection
Cut to: a woman screams
Cut to: the World Trade Center collapses
Cut to: Oprah drops her china
Cut to: Supergay slowly shrugs.

Well so much for a fucking secret identity.

So I stood there in my Burberry, and she stood there in her, well, probably Burberry, and a blogger’s chat ensued. I confessed that I forced everyone I know to vote for me. She confided that she had no idea about the award until three days after she won (bam!). We talked about whether or not Metro Times issues award certificates. She told me she won the Ambassador magazine award for best blog this year and she actually got a trophy (pow!). We talked about her freelance work. I talked about my work. She said she hoped to patronize my place of employment someday, possibly when someone she actually likes draws her there (zing!). I am paraphrasing.

There was no overt hostility, and given the fact that I’ve been somewhat vocal with my thoughts on the strengths and weaknesses of her blog, I wasn’t really bothered that by the time our five minute conversation was ending she was looking around the room for someone else to talk to. I’ll let you be the judge of whether or not that blog works for you, but the fact of the matter is that I was very probably out-classed that night. There’s no blogger out there vying for my title that I know of, but if there is, I would hope I could be as Charlotte-like as Girl-in-the-D was.

Unless he were hot, then I would hope to be as Samantha-like as possible.