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QColumn: A Gay In The Life: Blame It On Britney

Call it hypnosis or brainwashing, but it looks like Steve Prince has gone crazy. Hey, it’s not his fault.
Blame It On Britney
By Steve Prince
July 2008
I’m sick. I’m coughing, wheezing and something is coming out of my nose that looks like something from Ghostbusters. It has been three days now that I have had this bug. I can’t remember the last time I was sick like this—oh wait, yes I do…
December 2003
“Bye sugar”, I said as Jenny got into to her car. “Have a good time.”
I walked back into my apartment and shut the door and locked it. Ah, a night alone. I loved my roommate Jenny but I was glad she was going away for the night. I had not lived in Los Angeles that long and I was glad Jenny was from Orange County. She knew tons of people in LA. Basically her friends were my friends and I hung out with her and her friends all the time. This was great; I loved Jenny and her friends, but I missed my alone time. I mean, I’m a Pisces. It was going to be nice to have some peace and quiet by myself. I’d have the night to clean my room, maybe watch a movie, and catch up on reading—amazing.
I decided cleaning first would be best, especially since I love cleaning. I know it’s weird, but it’s very cathartic for me. Being on my hands and knees scrubbing my kitchen floor is like scrubbing away past emotions, past resentments, and old fears. I dunno. Cleaning is just like a good emotional douche for me and I really can’t explain it. I also wanted to listen to the new CD I got. Yes, it was Britney’s In The Zone.
Say what you want about Britney Spears, I’m not here to debate her mothering skills, her state of mind, or even her weave. You know why? In 2003 none of that was important. It was Toxic, and Her Against the Music. It was truly Britney bitch and I have to say I love the album still to this day.
Cleaning and listening to Britney of course involves occasional dance breaks in which I would dance/clean into a sweaty frenzy and then sit on my couch and admire my beautifully decorated Christmas Tree. Yes I’m gay people—thank God. Or in this case, thank Britney.
I had just finished scouring the stove top and I was about to bleach the sink, which is my favorite chore. A song came on that I wasn’t acquainted with. I had only gotten the Britney CD the day before so I hand only really listened to Toxic so I could learn all the words. But this song, this song was different. A low base thumped from my CD player and then came Britney’s manipulated, raspy sorority-girl sounding voice:
Ooooohhh, it’s so hot, and I need some air.
You’re right Britney it is hot. Maybe I’ll open a window. I put down my bleach and then I was stopped by the next lyric:
And boy, don’t stop ’cause I’m halfway there.
Britney, halfway to what—?
It’s not complicated, we’re just syncopated
We can read each other’s minds.
Well, Miss Britney I think you’re growing up. Am I to believe you’re talking about—
One love united
Two bodies synchronizing
Britney oh my goodness. What would Justin say?
Don’t even need to touch me
Baby, just
And then it happened. In that moment I lost myself to Britney. Her song “Breathe On Me” took control of my senses. I felt powerful. I felt seductive. I felt hornier than a cat in heat. I ran to my CD player and pressed “Repeat Song”.

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