Fridae

I am the victim of an orchestrated character assassination attempt.

Contrary to vicious rumors circulating around the gym showers and the gay club circuit, I am NOT a drama queen.

Yet despite my chest-thumping protestations, the term has found its way into the glossary of obviously biased labels (together with brazen hussy, public address system and neurotic nelly) used by envious enemies of yours truly to smear my once pristine reputation.

And to think it all started when, in a moment of pure charity, I decided to throw a house party for closest (now ex-closest) pals last week. In spite of the fact that preparations for the party started way back in May, I somehow managed to overlook the fact that the liquor cabinet needed restocking. In other words, I realized that I was out of vodka minutes before my first guests were scheduled to arrive.

Unfortunately, last-minute searches conducted frantically through my entire apartment yielded nothing remotely alcoholic (except for a misplaced packet of rum-rimmed condom). And as I stood with lips a-trembling, the doorbell rang.

Reacting purely on instinct, I flung the door open with the force of a hurricane and greeted my guests with wails of "Everything is ruined! Utterly ruined!" Thankfully, my partner was able to maintain his composure and invited our terrified guests in while I collapsed into a useless weeping heap by the door.

And that, my dears, was how the absolutely baseless rumor started.

As any reader with a brain the size of an Oreo can clearly discern, I am so NOT a drama queen. Is it any fault of mine that I'm born a perfectionist who judges the success of my house parties according to Martha Stewart's fine hosting standards? (That's a rhetorical question.)

In truth, my melodramatic meltdown would hardly register a spike on the Drama Queen Scale. And if I may say so myself, the title of "Drama Queen" has somewhat lost its former lustre.

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Once reserved for painted, plucked and primped starlets from the thirties as well as true leading "ladies" of the gay community with a penchant for over-the-top dramatics (not me), the title is now used to describe any gay men who exhibit the slightest sign of hysteria over any given situation (okay, maybe me).

Yet nothing could be further from the truth. True blue drama queens are real life divas and their antics would often put any supermodel's hissy fits to shame. Think Tammy Faye Baker's remarkable "restraint" in the face of adversity. Think Zsa Zsa Gabor's courageous stand against the LAPD. And closer to home, think Sir Elton John, Liberace and Andy Bell from Erasure.

For drama queens, no gesture is too melodramatic, no hairdo too "big", no outfit too outrageous and no wail too loud. In fact, should the life story of a drama queen ever see the light of day on the silver screen, even Meryl Streep would have to turn down the role because she just doesn't have the range to do it justice.

The larger-than-life personas of drama queens stem from their fervent belief that life is a stage and others merely bit players while they are the prima-star actresses. And as the star attraction - drama queens do not merely demand attention - they revel and live right in the center of it.

Whatever the case may be, drama queens are far more than just nervous nellies with a self-destruct button. And if you're wondering whether you belong to the former or latter category, there's only one way to find out: my self-concocted "What's Your Drama Range?" Quiz (in tribute to my favourite section in Cosmos) designed to sift out the true divas from pathetic pretenders to the throne.

Question 1
In a club, you espy someone you had an ONS with but who never called you back the next day chatting up another guy. Do you:

a) Ignore him and enjoy your club outing;
b) Sulk and start the vicious rumor that his steroid-popping habit has resulted in a "small" problem;
c) Throw your martini in his face and scream: "That's for giving me genital herpes!"

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Question 2
At home, you spot a bump at the back of your neck you have never noticed. Do you:

a) Wonder how the bump came about and then forget about it;
b) Worry and immediately rush off to pay your doctor a visit; or
c) Assume you are dying of cancer, make a will and start to leave ominous messages on the answering machines of those nearest and dearest to you?

Question 3
In the subway, a stranger bumps into you with her LV tote bag causing you to momentarily lose your poise. Do you:

a) Tell yourself it was unintentional and let the matter slide;
b) Utter loudly "Well EXCUSE ME!" and roll your eyes; or
c) Focus a death stare on the unfortunate stranger so intense that children cry and pit bulls whimper within a 50-metre radius.

Question 4
At a departmental store, you try on a pair of really fierce jeans only to discover that you have ballooned from a wasp-like 27-inch waist to a 30-inch waist. Do you:

a) Accept your fate calmly while mentally making a note to hit the gym;
b) Insist on trying on every single pair of waist 27-inch jeans and then storm out of the store when you can no longer deny the truth; or
c) Demand to see the manager and threaten to sue the store for mislabeling their merchandise and for causing you unnecessary distress.

The Results
If you have picked (a) for most of the questions, you're not even remotely any where choose to being a drama queen. And as a gay man, we really don't know whether to congratulate you or pity you.

If you have picked (b) for most of the questions, you're susceptible to royal tantrums more befitting members of the royal family found lower on the pecking order. Congratulations, you're the dramatic equivalent of a princess, a countess or a duchess.

And if you have picked (c) for most of the questions, we'll like to present you with a scepter and crown amidst cheers of "All Hail The Queen!" - for your Majesty is an undisputed drama queen whom even RuPaul is afraid of.