When I was around 22 years old, there was a man/boy (ironically, now a drag queen) who invited me to join him at a dinner in Little Rock, Arkansas. This was not an ordinary dinner, but an event that would forever haunt my silly “girly” dreams. It was my first taste of politics beyond my own political aspirations as the President of Choir (“vote for me, I’m fun!”). This was real politics, and while I had heard all of the rumors about how the speaker at this dinner was dull and boring, I wanted to go, to be in that world (even if I was maybe slightly high) and have something to blog about almost 13 years later.
As I sat at this big table, surrounded by women in colorful suits with perfectly coiffed hair (mine wasn’t too shabby, either) and men who laughed deeply and nodded at each other in that weird “let’s swap wives tonight” manner, I was overwhelmed by the intelligence and determination of such a crowd of people. No, wait, that’s wrong. I was sitting at this table because my “date” (for the record, we were not dating) had abandoned me, leaving me to pick at some really bad chicken and listen to conversation that had nothing to do with anything in my world (because my world was pretty much revolving around drugs at the time). I was bored, frustrated and wanted to smoke, and I looked far too good to be sitting at that table alone. LeSigh. I was stuck, and while I did manage to sneak out to the bar, there wasn’t enough booze in that place to make it all better.
But, then, he appeared. Him. Flowers and hearts everywhere! Little naked cherubs with bows and arrows! Ladies and gentlemen, I present: the video face of Al Gore!
My date didn’t even get the good seats in the other room where I could bask in the physical glory of the Gore. Ho hum. (Kill. Me. Now.) I was the abandoned trophy date for a Young Democrat who was actually gay, about to listen to the alleged “least likely to have a personality” politician on the planet, on a TV, because he was in the other room, probably drinking rum and eating much, much better food.
I picked at my chicken, cursed my date and watched Mr. Gore… and I even listened, and while I’m not sure if it was the possible chemical issues I was having at the time that caused what can only be called an auditory hallucination, I would like to say that I think Mr. Gore cracked a joke. A funny joke. A joke that probably changed my life (why can’t I remember that damn joke?).
Mr. Gore, in that moment, became MY Al.
The people who know me today patronize me and my love for my Al. They smile and nod as I tell them of our first meeting (TV screen or not) and how he was instrumental in helping people in New Orleans after Katrina, using his OWN plane/money/hands to help out. My Al, my incredible Al. I only fall in love once, maybe twice a week, but my adoration of Al has lasted well over a decade. It has gotten me through the times people mocked me with his “creation” of the Internet, and his Inconvenient Truth that may or may not be 100% accurate (but I totally admire his ability to use that weird elevating thing).
What’s your point, Melia?
Well, its simple. As of today, Al is officially back on the market, and Melia Lore is one letter away from Melia Gore. Not that I’d throw away my ideal feminist anti-marriage propaganda (yes, yes I would) and “take” his name (you betcha!) and be shackled (awwww yeah) to Al forever and ever.
I mean, really, what’s not to love?
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