The Gay Buffet

Tonight's Special: Cream Of Sum Yeung Gai!!

Had a hankering for some Chinese buffet tonight. Every so often, you gotta have an overdose of curry chicken, rubbery wonton and that bizarre collection of desserts.

Normally I go to one of the Lucky (insert noun here) shops. They put on a good feed, as long as you go to one of the newer ones. Tonight, though, I was outside of my usual stomping grounds and took a chance on a steam table Squat & Gobble on Westheimer called Lam Bo Buffet.

I'm thinking Lam Bo must mean "Weener Party" in Cantonese. I wasn't even seated when my Gaydar starting jangling. There were just too many tables full of impeccably groomed buff men to be a coincidence. The fact that Lam Bo is also right across the street from House of Guys might also be a clue. The collection was quite diverse, ranging from black men out on the "down low" to some amazingly beautiful trannies. Like The Man said, the woods is full of 'em!

Now, this is normally not a problem for me. I've got too many gay friends ranging in stages from deeply closeted to prancing down the Pink Pike to give a shit about who's sitting next to me at a restaurant.

So, why even bring it up? 'Cause there's one thing that DOES piss me off, and it's a goddamned bitchy queen pushing for a confrontation.

I've known more than a few "divas" in my adult years, and when they're a friend, ain't no better friend to have. They'll keep you in stitches with a non-stop barrage of sarcastic snark, and since you don't have to play the "Who's the Alpha Male" game like you sometimes do with another straight male, your conversations can actually make some headway without frequent stops to see who's the Big Swinging Dick in the room.

OTOH, when you're on the receiving end of the verbal venom, it's a whole 'nother ball game. No sooner had I sat down when Miss Thang at the next table started in on the snark with two friends. It started off with a critique of my Corporate Armor, since I had not changed clothes after work, and quickly progressed to my receding hairline, my exceeding waistline, and all points in between.

I know how the game is played, having watched Masters (Mistresses?) of the Snark for years, so I said not a word, didn't even make eye contact. When Miss Thang's got her bitch on, she's looking for you to do one of three things.

First, you can attempt to "play the dozens" right back. This more than likely is a losing proposition for you. Odds are he's had people ragging on his homosexuality since grade school, and there's a layer of armor built up that you won't crack. Also, you might think you're witty, but sweetie, you got nothing on a Bitchy Queen. Trust me on this one.

Second, you can go in for some serious obscenities and verbal gay-bashing, which will: A) Get you tossed out of the joint, and B) Prove to Bitchy Queen that you are just another homophobe, and get him Pity Points for suffering oppression by The Man.

Third, You can go in fists swinging, which will result in you either: A) Spending the night in the hoosegow with an assault charge awaiting you, or B) Spending eternity in a pine box because Bitchy Queen's a member of the Pink Pistols.

Nope, the proper way to deal with this situation is to take a page out of the Gandhi manual and just ignore the whole thing. Bitchy Queen didn't like it, but that was his fault for assuming I'd get dragged into the Bitch Web.

Those trannies I mentioned earlier? Almost fooled me, and that's rare. The pair had some serious surgical work done. No protruding Adam's apple, jawline thinned down, liposuction, the works. Looked like women, walked like women, talked like women. Beautiful women at that. Know what gave 'em away? They ate like men! Bent over the plates, arm on the table around it, shoveling it in, eating far more at a sitting than a woman of that build would.

For what it's worth? The food at Lam Bo Buffet sucked. Poor selection and so-so quality. Doubt I'll be back.