Fat Gregg Is Dead

Article excerpt

I've been two things as long as I can remember: fat and gay. And when I say fat, I mean fat. At my peak I weighed nearly 400 pounds. I was one cheeseburger away from someone tying ropes to me and floating me down New York City's Fifth Avenue during the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade.

And I've learned the hard way that fat and gay go together about as well as Barbara Walters and Star Jones.

I've spent the last few years living and socializing in the gay capital of Southern California--West Hollywood. Needless to say, I do not fit in. But I am surprised at the outright hostility, heartlessness, and viciousness I've experienced from my thinner peers.

I have been mooed at, pointed at, pushed, called every name in the book, and basically treated like a terrorist in my own city by members of my own community. A bartender at one prominent club called me "fat ass" when taking my drink order. Another refused to serve me at all. I stood there for nearly a half hour while he helped all the pretty thin people. But I was invisible to him. Humiliated, I finally had to ask one of my thinner friends to get my drink for me. …


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