I’m Just Sayin: George Michael Will You Marry Me?

Dear Georgios Kyriacos Panayiotou,

(Or do you prefer to be called George Michael?)
Personally I feel I can skip all the proper formalities and call you by your nickname Yog.

Seriously, at this stage, we should pretty much be on a first name basis. After all, we’ve closely known each other for three solid decades now – Although technically, you might probably argue that you do not know me per say, but believe you me I more than do! I’m not gonna go again into the gory details of how I met your mother after two- days of non-stop, massively intense detective investigation throughout the lovely suburbs of London back in 1986 while you were vacationing on the French Riviera in St Tropez, which, by the way, was a tragic irony of fate I have yet to get over myself about it.

Just keep in mind that my (seeming) stalking efforts were successfully rewarded and that not only did I have the immense pleasure of meeting your adorable late mother, but also, and, most importantly, my future mother-in-law (that would be your mom of course) gave me her blessing and full seal of approval when I respectfully made her know of my noble intention to have your hand in marriage. Now just so you know the only reason why I never acted on my proposal was because I was only fourteen and a half years old back then, and obviously not of legal age to be joined (with you) in matrimony.

Then, evidently as luck would have it, by the time I turned eighteen, after you had split from Wham!, you had already released your seminal, multi-platinum solo debut album “Faith”, and had gone to turn into one of the biggest pop stars on the entire planet, which suffice to say made it quite impossible for me to bypass the barrage of executive people in suit surrounding you and directly contact you to make good on my marital objective.

But times clearly have changed now and as the saying goes “good things come to those who wait.” I never thought I would live to see the day you and I would have the chance to be together forever. It’s been my desire since I was knee-high. But since you made it publicly known last week at the opening show of your European tour “Symphonica” at the State Opera House in the Czech capital Prague, that you and long-term partner Kenny Goss were no longer an item (the best news ever!), I feel the timing is now right to redeem my rain check.

I know you’re currently on a tour with a symphony orchestra and are justifiably super uber busy, but this is an urgently pressing matter that can no longer wait.
So this is part where I come in and ask you on my hands and knees: YOG, WILL YOU MARRY ME?

Now before you say no and blame it all on the gay thing, please hear me out.
First of all, I beg you to keep in mind that none of this would have ever happened if someone had sent me a letter from the future warning me that fanatically idolizing you to death (for years) would prove to be a pragmatically non-realistic idea – I mean, seriously, what were the odds that both you and I would turn out to be queer, right? But because I am a hopeless optimistic I choose to look at this alleged glitch as just being a minor, rather inconsequential, detail – really nothing worth bothering ourselves with when we look at it from the point of view that we/you’re not gay, but our partners are. But ok, no big deal! So what if we/you’re gay – whatever! Let’s not go on record here.

All jokes aside, the reality of the situation is that we’re actually perfect for each other. Beside the fact that you will never find a woman who will love you as unconditionally as I do (with perhaps the exception of your mother), I have quite the marriage material package – and come highly recommended armed with a spectacularly impressive resume and beyond exceptionally valid credentials. If you ask any members of my entourage they’ll unhesitantly vouch for the fact that since I saw you perform “Careless Whisper” live on Top of the Pop back in 1984, I have persistently being harassing them with my unwavering love for you, not to mention, have obsessively been trying to convert them into my George Michael religion. Admittedly while I have yet to make greater strides in my disciple-recruiting endeavor, I have nevertheless dazzlingly succeeded in sort of preprogramming them to ALWAYS automatically think about me when they hear a song of yours. I mean my late grandmother, God bless her soul, used to call every time one of your brilliant tunes would pop on the radio just to let me know that your song reminded her of me. That speaks volume!

You have no idea how compatible we really are. I for one would even go as far as saying that we’re almost telepathically fuse. I mean, we were both dating someone from Texas at the exact same time: you Kenny, and me, whatever her name was! Also at the exact same time you released your single “I Want Your Sex” – obviously paying tribute to moi – while I wasn’t saying it out loud, I was thinking it! That should account for something, right?

What more do we have in common? There’re the obvious things: we were both born in June; we both have a Mediterranean cultural background (you Greece, me Lebanon); you’re the only boy at home and I’m the only girl; we’re both writers; we both have a dog; we both own a “Choose Life” t-shirt; we’re both classic neurotic queers; your father originally disapproved of your singing career and mine well, just disapproved of me being so invested in your singing career as a queer (I think he was concerned it could potentially be contagious); when you were hanging out with your (fag hags) Shirley and Pepsi, I was hanging out with my own gay gang, namely GI Joe, He-Man and Big Jim.
Oh there’s so much more! Evidently this just a small sample of the many other similarities we share in our “complicity” shop.

Now clearly the most vital part of our commonwealth is our dramatic chops – as in, how exceptionally well we excel at spectacularly displaying our formidable addictive personalities. Having said that, I’m not talking about your highly publicized public bathroom debacle – you know that episode when you were accused of engaging in a “lewd act” in the toilet of a park in Beverly Hills and were arrested by undercover cop Marcelo Rodriguez in a sting operation (don’t as me why I remember the policeman’s name, just know that I got your back and that I know people). That I can’t really compete with! After all the most risqué stunt I’ve done in a public lavatory (besides getting high in one of LAX’s bathroom stalls) was dangerously flush an applicator down the septic tank, which nearly resulted in a bloody embarrassing flood!

On that note I have to say that I’m a bit disappointed you were caught so many times being under the influence and in possession of illegal substances. Seriously had you replied to the letter I sent to your fan club on the topic of how we similarly share a crazy passionate love for dope, you would have gotten my digits and would have been able to call me (as I politely suggested you do) so I could have taught you a trick or two on how not to get caught by the authorities. It’s not that I am a master expert in the getting away with semi-criminal behaviors department, but you’re talking to someone who successfully defied the law continuously using for 3 solid freaking years without once getting her ass nailed by the cops – if you know what I mean! Take my word for it: I’m GOOD at whatever I apply myself to.

Clearly we both made some crazy choices along the way some of which have made us look more deranged than humanly possible; but, and I can only speak for myself here, everything I do, I do it for you. You might not know this but I am the one who inspired Greg Berlanti to write the TV series “Eli Stone” and name each episode of the first season after one of your songs. I don’t personally know Greg but let’s be real here, the entertainment industry is such a small circle surely he got word of how I’ve made my life a monument to you and how the entirety of your repertoire provides for its soundtrack.
How else would he have come up with the idea of having his lead character have hallucinations/visions involving you and constantly find himself in situations revolving around a range of your songs? Hello! That’s the story of my life – everybody knows it!

I’m not just a stupid groupie or psycho fan. I am THE fan!
On that note I have to ask why I am not the one running that fan club of yours?
Seriously, what’s that all about? For God’s sake I’ve been collecting news clips on you since 1984 – and from all imaginable media outlets in all foreign languages known to mankind. I also ditched school twice in a row to see your “Faith” concert in Paris’ Bercy – I practically became homeless for 48 hours sleeping at the door to make sure I would snatch the best possible seats. When you did your “Twenty Five” tour, I drove to San Diego to watch your opening show and then followed you to Los Angeles to see it again (well, technically, I didn’t really follow you since I live in the City of Angels but I like to say that for dramatic effect). When you made the vintage perfecto motorcycle leather jacket fashionably popular courtesy of your “Faith” music video, I almost severed my relationship with my grandmother because, despite my monumental tantrums, she adamantly refused to buy me the exact same one – something about not being lady-like and too dyke-looking. However, she did OK the cowboy boots and the Levi’s 501 blue jeans. In addition, my bedroom was a shrine to you (and Wham!) – I had posters of you covering every inch of my wall to the point where you could no longer see the color of the paint.

Want more proof? I bet you I’m the only one who knows you did a duet with Jody Watley called “Learn to Say No”, which was only featured on her debut album? Am I right or I am right? You also provided the background vocals at the end of Elton John’s single “Nikita”; and did the same on your long-time bass player, Deon Estus’ “Heaven Help Me”.

That’s right! I’m a walking encyclopedia of odd factoids, pointless information, random facts, and useless trivia when it comes to my favorite topic: YOU!
This is probably something that deserves additional professional (medical) attention but at another time. Tell you what: perhaps when you and I are married we could go to couple’s therapy and while I talk about how and why I named my little puppy George Michael (aka “Georgie”), you could discuss your obsessive addiction to anonymous sex and cannabis?

Again, I’m very well aware that you have a lot on your plate right now … as do I.
But we’re not getting any younger and if we want to get going producing mini-yous and mes, I suggest we put everything else on the back burner pronto (that includes Kenny – why rehash the past?).

I say, let’s get married next week and go all out with a big deal, fat ass wedding of the century. We’ll show Kim Kardashian and Chris Humphrey how they have nothing on us! If anything at least our union will be more believable than theirs – not to be a party-pooper, but I give them a year. Seriously this will be a gigantic boost to your career and a great platform for a mega huge comeback. Think publicity stunt!

So what do you say? Are you in or out?
Wait! What? You’ve long been out?

…you’re just saying, right?