As I spend my Sundays binge-drinking mojitos at The Abbey, I do my best not to judge the people and personality disorders who strut on by. Oh, who am I kidding? Afternoon Bacardi busts at this homo watering hole are ripe with opinionated shade, and I stand as no exception. I usually keep my comments to myself, but there’s a ridiculousness that has gone on far too long, and it must be addressed here and now!

To the man who has been bringing his “therapy” chihuahua into the bar around 3 p.m., I am sincerely asking you to find a new place to patronize. It’s not that I mind your three-pound rat dog. In fact, I love all of god’s four-legged friends. It is you specifically I am disgusted with.

Not once, not twice, but thrice have I seen you stand at the bar, clandestinely scoop up the bartender’s tips with your Chihuahua-free hand and stuff his hard-earned greenbacks in your Jordache mom jeans pocket. You are the personification of everything our people do not do!

Stealing from six-packed Smirnoff-slinging strippers while sporting stonewashed Kohl’s khakis and lugging around a Louis-laden rat pup—never before have I been so horrified. You should be ashamed!

An Affair Not to Remember

Grindr, Manhunt, Gay.com—oh my! There are a million online hotspots for men of alternative persuasions to chat, meet, greet, bump and grind. And while most of the boys you ping and poke are 10 years older and 50 pounds heavier than their pics profess, occasionally you find a bonafide hottie for a NSA ride.

That’s exactly the type of under-the-radar relationship yours truly has (almost) stumbled into as of late. As my regular readers know, I’m single and ready to mingle for the first time in over a decade. While that’s not necessarily gossip, the man I most recently met is. Not only is he a celeb, and not only is he in a Hollywood power-couple relationship, but he’s also “straight.”

Now, I’m classy, constructed of a tried-and-true moral fiber that cannot, will not and shall not be broken by lust. That said, nothing happened when I sauntered over to his Hollywood Hills home three nights ago. We simply talked over Two-Buck Chuck about life, love and the pursuit of homo happiness. Yes, he eventually made a move, but I am not into breaking up homes—even if they are unhappy and covered by an unkempt beard.

But let me tell you, if anything eventually comes of this Adam4Adam rendezvous, TMZ may be setting up camp outside my NoHo home. And in Hollyweird, isn’t that the true tell of La La Land success? Stay tuned for updates!

Octavia Awesomeness

I spied with my queer little eye Ms. Octavia Spencer at Toluca Lake’s The Counter last week. Yes, the burger joint was jumping with local business professionals, in and out for a quick lunch. However, relaxing directly behind me with her two best ‘ladies who lunch’ gal-pals was Ms. O for well over an hour.

The gossip columnist in me always gets a little creepy when I see an Oscar nominee out in the real world. I begin to scan them up and down with a judgmental glare, looking for some snarky observation to share. But there was nothing here. Not once did I overhear —and yes, I was eavesdropping—a single witchy, bitchy comment about a fellow A-lister! It was just old friends laughing over old-fashioned burgers in the L.A. ‘burbs, which I find kind of refreshing.

I love you, Octavia! Keep on keeping things classy!

XOXO,

Gossip Gay

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And don’t worry, I never give up my deep throat!