Cassie gives thanks for her pawpaw, and offers some vaping advice

Hey, everybody! I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. If you are like me, you can’t get that damn “beans, greens, potatoes, tomatoes” song out of your head. If you haven’t already heard gospel cassie-nova-purple-dresssinger Shirley Caesar’s song … do not Google it. You will not be able to get it out of your head. Every time I think of what to have for dinner, I’m singing it again.

I just read that there is a pastor in New Zealand that claims that the gays are responsible for earthquakes. He said that us being gay, and all of the gay sex we have, literally caused earthquakes. Well, Bishop Tamaki from New Zealand, you cray-cray. I know some of us like it rough but damn, we not causin’ earthquakes … unless the gays are all X-Men.

Could you imaging if we had that kind of power? Bitch, we can’t even get the person we want elected for president. Hey Mr. New Zealand idiot! Let me introduce you to my friend — science. I guess it’s good to know America doesn’t have a patent on crazy. I swear I have spent the past few weeks in a state of disbelief. What the hell is going on? Crazy is the new normal.

I was recently reminded of a story about my grandpa that I love and thought I would share with y’all. Pawpaw was a gentle giant. He was a tall cowboy with a calm demeanor and a firm handshake. He also had a pacemaker. If I remember correctly, it was put in the year I was born, so he had it a long time before his passing about six years ago.

I remember being told at a very young age that we were not allowed to run the vacuum if he was in the house because it could somehow interfere with his pacemaker. I took that very seriously. One Saturday afternoon, around my junior year of high school, I woke up to a list of chores my mom wanted done before I went to work. My grandparents lived with us because their house burned down the year before, but when I woke up that day, I had the rare occasion to be home alone.

I clipped my Sony Walkman cassette player to my belt, put on my headphones and rocked out to the Pet Shop Boys or Depeche Mode. I did the dishes with a bounce in my step and dusted as only a gay teenager could, with great flair and spiked hair. I pulled the vacuum from the closet, plugged that bad boy in and proceeded to dance around the living room and hallway, sucking up dirt. I was really in my own world when I noticed something moving out of the corner of my eye. Pawpaw was leaned against the wall clutching his chest, slowly sliding down to the floor. I was killing my grandfather. I screamed and ripped the cord from the wall in a panic. I yanked my headphones off and ran to him to help — call 911 or something. I got over to him nearly in tears and completely grief-stricken, wondering how I was going to tell Mom that I killed her father … and he is laughing. Sitting on the floor just giggling.

I was relieved, embarrassed and a little pissed, but his laugh was infectious so I laughed, too. Apparently he was home the entire time taking a nap and the vacuum woke him. He got me good. After that, we joked that if he didn’t watch it I would use the vacuum on him. Thinking about that still makes me smile.

Around that same time, I remember us watching TV and Whitney Houston’s video for “I Wanna Dance with Somebody” came on. In that video, there is this fine-ass guy that does a flip, goes onto his back and pops up onto his feet. It was impressive and I thought the guy was hot. I was a kid and did not want to say anything to give a clue to my gayness, but I felt I needed the world to know that I thought the guy in the video was cute, so I told Pawpaw, “That is what I wanna look like when I grow up.” He just nodded his head in his quiet way.

About a year before Pawpaw died, we were sitting on the front porch of my grandparent’s house. It was me, Pawpaw and my husband Jamie. Pawpaw and Jamie hit it off from the start. Jamie actually reminds me of Pawpaw, now that I think about it. We were just making small talk when out of the blue, Pawpaw told me he loved me. I don’t remember how he worded it, but basically he kind of told me that it didn’t bother him that I was gay. He said he had known for a long time. I asked when did he know? He very quickly told me, “When you made me watch that video with those dancing boys over and over.” I knew exactly which video he was talking about. I thought I was being so subtle; apparently not. Pawpaw was kind of a quiet guy and didn’t express his feelings much — that’s why that conversation was so great and surprising to me. I truly miss that man.

And now…let answer a question from our studio audience.

Dear Cassie, My boyfriend and I have been together for about two years. He smokes; I hate it so much. I only went out with him because he is so damn fine: Great body, cute AF with a nice piece. He is a courteous smoker — he doesn’t smoke in the house and tries not to do it around me, but it still drives me crazy. I hate the smell on his clothes, his car and sometimes on his breath. I finally talked him into trying an e-cigarette and it somehow has made it worse. He vapes everywhere, all the time. He has gotten really into it. He tries all of the different flavors and now has a super vape that produces a lot of vapor. I’m embarrassed to go anywhere with him. He vapes at the movies, restaurants and even at Kroger. What should I do? Please help. I really like him — actually I love him — but his smoking (and now vaping) drive me insane. Thank you, VapeHater2112.

Dear VapeHater2112, What you have is what we call a “douche vaper.” There is nothing more annoying than someone that makes a production out of their vaping. Some may find it cool to look like douchey choo-choo train. Trying to control your vape like you are The Last Airbender, when in reality, unless you vape, it is so off-putting.

Last week in the Rose Room, a girl was super-vaping and creating her own fog. She looked like Pigpen from Peanuts. She kept blowing vape on the people in front of her. Well, the girl sitting in front of her had a pink streak in her ponytail, turned to her and asked her to please stop. Miss Vape told her no, she could do whatever she wanted as she worked her neck from side to side and took a big ol’ drag off her vape-box thing. Miss Pink Streak stood up. Miss Pink Streak was at least 6 feet tall. Miss Vape said, “Sorry,” swallowed her vape, turned and got the hell out of the Rose Room.

If your boyfriend is going to smoke or vape, he won’t quit until he actually wants to quit. Ask him to please just be respectful of those around him. Ask him to be as courteous a vaper as he was a smoker. You sound like you have been dickmatized because you put up with a lot of bullshit. Offer him your penis every time he needs something in his mouth. Tell him to “smoke this” as you whip it out. Good luck!

Remember to love more, bitch less and be fabulous! XOXO, Cassie Nova.

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This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition November 25, 2016.