I've done it again: I've got another stray gay from somewhere in the country, bringing my total to five now. Stray gay: the gay kids who are lonely and usually haven't come out yet, therefore are clingy and a little desperate. I've got five of them. Quick statistic moment: five stray gays, five YOUNGER stray gays. Three think I'm dating them, and of those three, two think we're going to devirginize each other. Three think I'll be visiting them at some point in the future, and four want to visit Utah just to meet me. Only one has actually had cybersex with me—not that any of you wanted to know that, but there you have it. Locales range across the country, from California to Missouri to New York. Joy, I'm dating a multicultural posse.
What is up with me? Is there something that gets transported through the internet that screams "LONELY CONFUSED GAY TEENAGERS! PLEASE TALK TO ME!"? Really. I would turn it off in a minute if I could.
This one I didn't even TRY to pick up—and yes, it feels like I'm cruising bars and picking people up. He started chatting with my best friend since third grade, who apparently is slightly bi. (First I've heard of this. My fault, I think. I kind of used him to help figure out who I was, and now it seems there were side effects. He has yet to explain if it's just me or males in general. And why hasn't he told me before? Honestly, if anybody at our school was going to come out to somebody it might as well be me. Apparently I'm a good shoulder to cry on.) Because I'm infinitely more experienced with chatting up random strangers online, my friend transferred SG5 over to me.
Judging from past experience, the SG will latch on to me because I listen and can empathize. Trying to cut off the major we're-dating-from-three-states-apart latching, I tried explaining how I love talking and stuff but there wouldn't ever be a relationship until we met—though at the time I was nowhere near as coherent—and he was disappointed. "I'm beginning to feel you and really like you." Thanks, but we've been talking for maybe twenty minutes at this point. Sure, I can be all mentor-esque because a lot of the same stuff has happened to me, but that doesn't give you permission to start like, hanging on my every word or something. And it certainly doesn't give you permission to say we're dating if we haven't even met.
SG5 seems like a great guy, don't get me wrong. The only "problem" I picked up in our two-hour conversation is his lack of self-confidence. As well as his ignoring what I said for whatever delusional romance we have. "You're turning 18 in a month, so why don't you move to LA?" Yeah, right. I have no car, I have no money, and I certainly have nothing in LA. "I could come visit you in Utah." Great gesture and all, but I'm really not that worth it. "I've got a car and I can drive it, I'll totally come visit you." Um, aren't you listening?
Okay, so maybe I can be excessively flirty and, how shall we put it, open no matter who I'm talking to or what we're talking about. Maybe I sent mixed signals? I don't know. I just don't want another stray. I feel slightly guilty having them so dependent on me, because that's what it feels like. I feel as though these people I've never met are depending on me for love, and all I can do is ask for love in return. I don't want to be sucked dry, but how can you avoid it? And it's impossible for me to say "no" to people. I see no way to say to SG2 that no, we're not together and no, I'm not driving to Missouri to see you because yes, you are barely older than my younger sister so I could be arrested for statutory rape after November 8.
I like all these random people. I can see why they're doing it, or at least why they're becoming so attached to someone so vague. I have the same problem. There's no gay people here. Nobody to relate to here, nobody to possibly fall in love with here. So we turn to the internet, where we can be whoever we want to be, where we can talk across the country in seconds.
The only difference I can see is that I separate online long-distance relationships from actual relationships.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
The Note That's Not About Me (I Hope)
I've never realized how insanely self-centered we as people are. Okay, amendment: I've never realized how insanely self-centered I as a person am. I've noticed it in pretty much everybody else, but it's taken me years to see it in myself.
Background to this epiphany: I've got a P.E. class first thing in the mornings, which is bad enough by itself—it's full of sophomore boys who have to make dirty jokes about everything, bother the teacher as a hobby, and pick fun at that sickening gay kid who sits in the back and tries not to be involved in any way, shape or form. (Three guesses, folks!)
So. Today we were doing warm-ups and stuff, and the teacher left to get the equipment (a giant inflatable neon pink ball—I know, I want one too). The minute she rounded the corner we all stopped jogging and started chatting, as usual. We always sit down in little clusters and gossip about random stuff. Later, when we were actually getting ready to play the game, I noticed a crumpled piece of paper lying on the ground. Nosy person that I am (something I desperately try not to be, as my mother is one of the nosiest people I know and I make a point of not being like her) I walked over and picked it up. Imagine my surprise when thick pencil streaks stare up at me: "That kid wants to have sex with me."
Ego enters, stage left. I had absolutely no evidence that the note was about me. There was no name, no indication that I was involved. And yet, I immediately glanced around to see who was talking about me behind my back. (SIDE NOTE: By this point I am so used to people talking behind my back that it rarely bothers me—that is, the talking doesn't bother me. I get irked to no end when people discuss my faults or whatever. If somebody has a problem with me, they should be brave enough to talk to my face where I can either justify their doubts or politely tear them down. Okay, rant over.)
Maybe it was the handwriting. I realize I'm stereotyping, but no girl would write so over the place. Even if they have not-so-neat handwriting, it's at least legible and much perkier than guy's handwriting. Or maybe it was the wording. That kid seems like a derogatory term, up there with that couch. That old thing. "That old thing? Oh, that kid spilled something on it. I've been meaning to get rid of that couch."
And all of a sudden I remembered I think everything is about me. That group of girls whispering in the hall are talking about me. The kid who makes eye contact for a split second and starts chatting with his neighbor, he's talking about me too. Everybody's gossiping about me. Everybody.
No. No, they aren't. There's more interesting, not to mention recent topics than me floating around the school. I came out a year and a half ago—that's not exactly a recent event. I wore the GAY shirt six months ago—once again, not a recent event. Besides, what's there to talk about with me as the subject? "Oh my god, that kid is so gay." "Oh, I know! We've got PE together and he's always reading something." Wow. Nothing new there. "Did you see that kid?" "Yeah, he pierced his ears!" Me and everybody's dog seems to be doing that—though they're all clones of each other, with their square diamond studs and their gansta speak. Really, I'm not that interesting of a topic.
Anyway, as a human race we really need to get over ourselves. As much as we like to think so, not everything is about ourselves specifically.
Background to this epiphany: I've got a P.E. class first thing in the mornings, which is bad enough by itself—it's full of sophomore boys who have to make dirty jokes about everything, bother the teacher as a hobby, and pick fun at that sickening gay kid who sits in the back and tries not to be involved in any way, shape or form. (Three guesses, folks!)
So. Today we were doing warm-ups and stuff, and the teacher left to get the equipment (a giant inflatable neon pink ball—I know, I want one too). The minute she rounded the corner we all stopped jogging and started chatting, as usual. We always sit down in little clusters and gossip about random stuff. Later, when we were actually getting ready to play the game, I noticed a crumpled piece of paper lying on the ground. Nosy person that I am (something I desperately try not to be, as my mother is one of the nosiest people I know and I make a point of not being like her) I walked over and picked it up. Imagine my surprise when thick pencil streaks stare up at me: "That kid wants to have sex with me."
Ego enters, stage left. I had absolutely no evidence that the note was about me. There was no name, no indication that I was involved. And yet, I immediately glanced around to see who was talking about me behind my back. (SIDE NOTE: By this point I am so used to people talking behind my back that it rarely bothers me—that is, the talking doesn't bother me. I get irked to no end when people discuss my faults or whatever. If somebody has a problem with me, they should be brave enough to talk to my face where I can either justify their doubts or politely tear them down. Okay, rant over.)
Maybe it was the handwriting. I realize I'm stereotyping, but no girl would write so over the place. Even if they have not-so-neat handwriting, it's at least legible and much perkier than guy's handwriting. Or maybe it was the wording. That kid seems like a derogatory term, up there with that couch. That old thing. "That old thing? Oh, that kid spilled something on it. I've been meaning to get rid of that couch."
And all of a sudden I remembered I think everything is about me. That group of girls whispering in the hall are talking about me. The kid who makes eye contact for a split second and starts chatting with his neighbor, he's talking about me too. Everybody's gossiping about me. Everybody.
No. No, they aren't. There's more interesting, not to mention recent topics than me floating around the school. I came out a year and a half ago—that's not exactly a recent event. I wore the GAY shirt six months ago—once again, not a recent event. Besides, what's there to talk about with me as the subject? "Oh my god, that kid is so gay." "Oh, I know! We've got PE together and he's always reading something." Wow. Nothing new there. "Did you see that kid?" "Yeah, he pierced his ears!" Me and everybody's dog seems to be doing that—though they're all clones of each other, with their square diamond studs and their gansta speak. Really, I'm not that interesting of a topic.
Anyway, as a human race we really need to get over ourselves. As much as we like to think so, not everything is about ourselves specifically.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
How is it that people can be so utterly stupid sometimes?! Ugh. I don't get it! I have done my best to help a friend of mine and I am being ignored. I WANT TO HELP YOU! WHY DON'T YOU GET THAT?! I am willing to do absolutely ANYTHING for you at this point, anything except leave you alone because that's NEVER helpful in situations like this! IT IS NOT YOUR FAULT! What you did was absolutely necessary for the situation! "I didn't have any alternatives—it just got to the point where I had to choose. . . . Sometimes, there isn't any way to compromise." (Thank you, Stephenie Meyer.) I GET that you had to choose! I DON'T CARE that I got the "losing side"! I still want you around, regardless of what you may think about yourself! I AM DOING EVERYTHING HUMANLY POSSIBLE TO HELP YOU!!!! And you're not listening! That right there is hurting me more than any other rejection you may or may not inflict upon me! I can't just sit here and know that my best just wasn't good enough for you. You want to stop hurting people? You're hurting me a million times more than is necessary!
Monday, September 14, 2009
The Regrets of Mr. Bradley
So I'm sitting in third period, making sure that nobody vandalizes the library, and also putting off my homework for fourth period. I'm retaking Creative Writing this year cause it counts as an English credit, whereas last year it counted as an elective credit. At first I thought it would be great and all, and it is, but so far we're just doing the same things we did last year.
Don't get me wrong, it's a fun class with fun people—one or two in particular—but for some reason I thought we'd be doing different stuff. Which is absurd, because the teacher has been teaching that class for years now. Why should he change the whole curriculum because one student has already done it? Honestly. That's probably the most egocentric thing I've ever thought.
Regret #1: I kind of wish I'd taken AP Lit instead.
Ugh, and my back is killing me. It's my own fault entirely—I have the strange and fatal disorder known as biblioitis: it is not physically possible for me to have under five books from the library at one time. I usually go on a binge-purge cycle, checking out seven at once and turning the old seven in, carting them to and from my house on a daily basis. This is wreaking havoc on my back and shoulders, not to mention the time constraints. For not only do I have to check them out, I have to read them all, regardless of if I've read them before. Not all of them are worth reading again —just this morning I was talking with my friend Erica about the new New Moon trailer, and now I just have to reread the Twilight saga again. It doesn't matter that I'm 4/7 of the way through another series and plowing through the first book in a hefty trilogy, or that I've also planned to reread Eragon et al—now I can't live without some angsty vampires as well.
Regret #2: I wish I wasn't so book-sessed.
*sigh* I'm also getting really sick of being lonely. I've already ranted about this to tons of people, but it's constantly on my mind, whether or not I want it to be. It's just getting very, very old watching everybody else fall in love with each other, then coming to me to complain how their relationship sucks and is there anything I can do to help, please that'd be great, then falling out of love with each other, and then complaining to me about how they're lonely and sick of being single. While they go through the cycle over and over like a broken top or a washing machine, I exist in a perpetual state of NoBoyfriend.
"The state of NoBoyfriend is not a state like New Jersey is a state. It's a state like catatonia is a state. Or depression. Or ennui. (Ennui: Another one of my new words. It means "listlessness, boredom." As in, "I would save the world, but I suffer from ennui, which forces me to lie on the couch and eat spearmint jelly candies instead.")
"A person in the state of NoBoyfriend is in stasis. Nothing is happening on the boy front. So little happened last month, and so little is expected to happen next month—or ever that [he] is immobile in terms of romance. [He] is also affliicted with mild depression and ennui due to a lack of affection, excitement, and horizontal action.
"[He] knows, of course, that Gloria Steinman, her favorite feminist from American History and Politics last year, would tell [him] that "a woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.
"But maybe, depending on who [he] is, [he] wants a boyfriend anyway. Maybe the fish wants a bicycle.
"The state of Noboyfriend is hard to leave, once you're well and firmly in. The longer you are there, the more entrenched you are. Doctors and shrinks won't be of any help. There are no pills for the state of Noboyfriend, no psychoanalytic diagnoses, no miracle cures." from The Treasure Map of Boys by E. Lockhart
Well, I'm sick of Noboyfriend. But there's not a whole lot to choose from—nothing, in fact. Which brings me to the actual regret. Sometimes I wish I were straight, if only because it would be so much easier to find what I want in this world. I'm not in the mood to wait until college or beyond to get my first kiss, because that's just absurd. And yes, part of me wants a happy-teen-movie-ending, where everybody gets who they want and goes out for pizza and a bit of "horizontal action."
Regret #3: I wish I wasn't gay. But only sometimes.
Don't get me wrong, it's a fun class with fun people—one or two in particular—but for some reason I thought we'd be doing different stuff. Which is absurd, because the teacher has been teaching that class for years now. Why should he change the whole curriculum because one student has already done it? Honestly. That's probably the most egocentric thing I've ever thought.
Regret #1: I kind of wish I'd taken AP Lit instead.
Regret #2: I wish I wasn't so book-sessed.
"The state of NoBoyfriend is not a state like New Jersey is a state. It's a state like catatonia is a state. Or depression. Or ennui. (Ennui: Another one of my new words. It means "listlessness, boredom." As in, "I would save the world, but I suffer from ennui, which forces me to lie on the couch and eat spearmint jelly candies instead.")
"A person in the state of NoBoyfriend is in stasis. Nothing is happening on the boy front. So little happened last month, and so little is expected to happen next month—or ever that [he] is immobile in terms of romance. [He] is also affliicted with mild depression and ennui due to a lack of affection, excitement, and horizontal action.
"[He] knows, of course, that Gloria Steinman, her favorite feminist from American History and Politics last year, would tell [him] that "a woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle.
"But maybe, depending on who [he] is, [he] wants a boyfriend anyway. Maybe the fish wants a bicycle.
"The state of Noboyfriend is hard to leave, once you're well and firmly in. The longer you are there, the more entrenched you are. Doctors and shrinks won't be of any help. There are no pills for the state of Noboyfriend, no psychoanalytic diagnoses, no miracle cures." from The Treasure Map of Boys by E. Lockhart
Well, I'm sick of Noboyfriend. But there's not a whole lot to choose from—nothing, in fact. Which brings me to the actual regret. Sometimes I wish I were straight, if only because it would be so much easier to find what I want in this world. I'm not in the mood to wait until college or beyond to get my first kiss, because that's just absurd. And yes, part of me wants a happy-teen-movie-ending, where everybody gets who they want and goes out for pizza and a bit of "horizontal action."
Regret #3: I wish I wasn't gay. But only sometimes.
Friday, September 11, 2009
A Graduation Speaker
So, I'm sitting in the auditorium listening to some dude talking about how we need to GRADUATE and SHOW SENIOR PRIDE, even though ONE PERSON IN YOUR ROW WON'T BE AT GRADUATION. Wow. The school seems to have to resort to some pretty low measures to motivate us. My friend Kelley and I are making snide comments about everything, including how all the senior class officers look the same from the back. It takes the concept of Robotic Students to a whole new level.
Well, I hate to break it to you, Mr. Loud-Graduation-Dude, but I really don't want want to reminisce on my wonderful, memorable last year of mandatory education. And I really don't feel like showing up at the graduation ceremony. I'll just let them mail my diploma to me and celebrate at IHOP instead. It'd be much more fun and a lot less listening to people talk about how we're the future and we're going to make a difference because we are the next generation.
Personally I don't feel like carrying on the Caveman legacy, especially into the workplace. Cavemen generally are looked down upon in mainstream society. I mean, looks at the Geico commercials. The poor guy has his dumb, not-shaven face all over the buses and billboards.
And then we're moving on to Classyrings, Cap'n'Gowns, and Graduationnouncements. Lots of hype for pretty much nothing. And what is it about rock music with a loud bass line that makes people think we're going to get excited and pay attention to whatever they have playing on the screen? They could at least give us something to be excited about.
Like a dildo. (Thank you, Kelley.) What if they gave us Class of 2010 dildos? That would certainly be memorable, and a lot more useful than a fancy expensive ring. The ring is only really used to punch people and look chunky. Dildos have lots of uses, though I really don't think I need to go into detail here. Maybe later, but certainly not here.
Aw, they have a Grad Bear. That's the only remotely interesting thing I've seen so far. It's small and adorable with that fluffy brown fur and a cute little Cap'n'Gown. See, that's something I could live with. I could look up on my shelf and see the cute Grad Bear with my '10 dildo as their own little display. Good times, good times.
Ohmigod. I could buy a sweatshirt that ADVERTISES how much a senior I am. I could "broadcast it daily"!!! I think I might faint from the excitingness of it all. I can hardly stand how exciting this is! I can't breathe!!!! AAAAHH!!! AAAAAHHHH!!!!!!! AAAAHHH!!!!!
I THINK I'M GETTING LIGHTHEADED FROM ASPHYXIATION!!!!!!!!
God. I think that's what they're expecting of me. A SeniorTankard? With everyone's name on the back? Wow. I don't know HOW I can live without it!!!!!
I totally blame the coffee I had this morning for my mood. I haven't had any coffee since my friend Katie's birthday party. (Well, it wasn't really her party. Afterwards, at about 10 at night, we all went to IHOP and I got the neverending coffee pot. Which is one of the most glorious things in the history of mankind. I mean, as much coffee as you can drink for $2.04? Who wouldn't want it?) So the sudden onslaught of iced mocha (mocha=coffee+chocolate syrup=the greatest thing ever) has been having major effects on my system. During 1st period PE I actually participated, something I only do when the teacher makes me. But no, today, and entirely of my own free will, I valiantly went sprinting across the wet soccer field to save my friends from the clutches of the jail in Capture the Flag. Though my lack of coordination caught up with me, and then I was on the ground doing a full-body slide across the wet grass.
Which was pretty much the most exhilarating thing since finding my mocha on the table before school.
Oh damn. I just remembered that Mrs. Warby (the choir teacher) is going to make me go to the graduation ceremony so I can play for the senior choir. Maybe I'll even have to sing for the senior choir.
Well, there goes my plans.
So, this guy has been talking for almost an hour now. I think we've covered all the main points. Oh, wait. High-Fives-and-Hugs!!!! Wow! At graduation, all of a sudden the social boundaries break down, and we see the Football Team hugging the Chess Club! Wow. It brings a tear to my eye. It's like an eleventh-hour Breakfast Club. Yeah. Sure. I'll believe that when I see it. I can name a lot people off the top of my head who wouldn't hug me if their lives depended on it. They might catch my disease and suddenly have hot-crazy-wild-man-sex in the locker rooms or something.
Sigh. So, yeah. I think we're wrapping things up with the speech. Apparently we all get to sign a banner committing ourselves to graduating on time, something I'm planning on doing anyway, regardless of how many SBOs I get cornering me with felt pens and forcing me to sign my promise.
This was a perfectly good waste of second period.
Well, I hate to break it to you, Mr. Loud-Graduation-Dude, but I really don't want want to reminisce on my wonderful, memorable last year of mandatory education. And I really don't feel like showing up at the graduation ceremony. I'll just let them mail my diploma to me and celebrate at IHOP instead. It'd be much more fun and a lot less listening to people talk about how we're the future and we're going to make a difference because we are the next generation.
Personally I don't feel like carrying on the Caveman legacy, especially into the workplace. Cavemen generally are looked down upon in mainstream society. I mean, looks at the Geico commercials. The poor guy has his dumb, not-shaven face all over the buses and billboards.
And then we're moving on to Classyrings, Cap'n'Gowns, and Graduationnouncements. Lots of hype for pretty much nothing. And what is it about rock music with a loud bass line that makes people think we're going to get excited and pay attention to whatever they have playing on the screen? They could at least give us something to be excited about.
Like a dildo. (Thank you, Kelley.) What if they gave us Class of 2010 dildos? That would certainly be memorable, and a lot more useful than a fancy expensive ring. The ring is only really used to punch people and look chunky. Dildos have lots of uses, though I really don't think I need to go into detail here. Maybe later, but certainly not here.
Aw, they have a Grad Bear. That's the only remotely interesting thing I've seen so far. It's small and adorable with that fluffy brown fur and a cute little Cap'n'Gown. See, that's something I could live with. I could look up on my shelf and see the cute Grad Bear with my '10 dildo as their own little display. Good times, good times.
Ohmigod. I could buy a sweatshirt that ADVERTISES how much a senior I am. I could "broadcast it daily"!!! I think I might faint from the excitingness of it all. I can hardly stand how exciting this is! I can't breathe!!!! AAAAHH!!! AAAAAHHHH!!!!!!! AAAAHHH!!!!!
I THINK I'M GETTING LIGHTHEADED FROM ASPHYXIATION!!!!!!!!
God. I think that's what they're expecting of me. A SeniorTankard? With everyone's name on the back? Wow. I don't know HOW I can live without it!!!!!
I totally blame the coffee I had this morning for my mood. I haven't had any coffee since my friend Katie's birthday party. (Well, it wasn't really her party. Afterwards, at about 10 at night, we all went to IHOP and I got the neverending coffee pot. Which is one of the most glorious things in the history of mankind. I mean, as much coffee as you can drink for $2.04? Who wouldn't want it?) So the sudden onslaught of iced mocha (mocha=coffee+chocolate syrup=the greatest thing ever) has been having major effects on my system. During 1st period PE I actually participated, something I only do when the teacher makes me. But no, today, and entirely of my own free will, I valiantly went sprinting across the wet soccer field to save my friends from the clutches of the jail in Capture the Flag. Though my lack of coordination caught up with me, and then I was on the ground doing a full-body slide across the wet grass.
Which was pretty much the most exhilarating thing since finding my mocha on the table before school.
Oh damn. I just remembered that Mrs. Warby (the choir teacher) is going to make me go to the graduation ceremony so I can play for the senior choir. Maybe I'll even have to sing for the senior choir.
Well, there goes my plans.
So, this guy has been talking for almost an hour now. I think we've covered all the main points. Oh, wait. High-Fives-and-Hugs!!!! Wow! At graduation, all of a sudden the social boundaries break down, and we see the Football Team hugging the Chess Club! Wow. It brings a tear to my eye. It's like an eleventh-hour Breakfast Club. Yeah. Sure. I'll believe that when I see it. I can name a lot people off the top of my head who wouldn't hug me if their lives depended on it. They might catch my disease and suddenly have hot-crazy-wild-man-sex in the locker rooms or something.
Sigh. So, yeah. I think we're wrapping things up with the speech. Apparently we all get to sign a banner committing ourselves to graduating on time, something I'm planning on doing anyway, regardless of how many SBOs I get cornering me with felt pens and forcing me to sign my promise.
This was a perfectly good waste of second period.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
The Stupidity of Humanity, or the Musings of Mr. Bradley ii
People can be very cruel sometimes. They hurt each other and manipulate each other and kill each other, if not always physically. Why, though? Why is it that we are so insecure about ourselves that we have to take it out on those around us?
Small series of anecdotes: I always ride the bus home. I always sit at the front. It's an easy seat to get to, and very few other people will get there anyway. Plus it gives me a great vantage point to ogle the new bus driver Jake. He's only 23, maybe 24, with these gorgeous blue eyes and that kind of to-hell-with-it hairdo. You know, the kind that guys wake up with and then never do anything about it. I've done it a lot, and it can be incredibly awesome or incredibly stupid.
Anyway, so I'm sitting in the front, all by myself, no one else for like, five rows. And this major major douchebag gets on the bus, deep in conversation with his mom. The one line I hear as he passes is, "Because there's always this little shithead who sits at the front."
Well. Thank you for the ego boost.
You see, Parker and I had never gotten along anyway. Ever since I came out to the bus during an argument over Proposition 8 in December 2008, Parker seems to have made it his life goal to taunt me. He's constantly saying how that fag can't be on the bus, how that fag should be locked up. Yeah, same to you. His favorite greetings are "Hey, fairy" and "Morning, fag kid." Invariably I want to respond "Good morning, bastard." Though I never do.
He doesn't even make an effort to talk behind my back. He loudly discusses me when I'm only half a bus away. (Though I'm used to that by now—once there was a group of sophomores in the very back talking about that gay kid at the front. Unaware that I could hear them, they all turned to look at me at once, only to find me waving flamboyantly back at them. Okay, so I don't help my case much sometimes, but more on that later.) One day I just couldn't stand him asking the air around me if I would do him or not, and for the first time I actually talked to Parker. I said something to the effect that I wanted to sink my teeth into him, as a metaphor of course, and why on Earth couldn't they hear the dripping sarcasm in my voice?
Shortly thereafter Parker stopped riding the bus. The next school year comes around, and here he is again, talking about how he hates the bus because of the little shithead at the front of it.
I know I bring a lot of the comments on myself, what with my ever-increasingly bright and colorful wardrobe, recently pierced ears, and an affinity for rings and nail polish (but only when I can get some). Parker always has to comment on whatever I'm wearing/sporting, which has really gotten annoying since he ran out of original putdowns. "Only gay people paint their nails," he says. No shit, Sherlock. I thought you knew that months ago? Or is it just now hitting you that we exist and we're closer than you think?
What I don't get is why Parker, with his acne-free face and beefy body, the kind any man would kill for if he didn't have to work out to maintain it, is so insecure with himself or his sexuality or even his popularity, I don't really know, that he has to put me down to build himself up. I mean, yes he's got the smoldering good looks and the contours of the Grand Canyon, but the sour personality underneath puts me off completely, something I've told him more than once. "You have nothing to worry about," I would say, conspicuously running my eyes up and down his figure before shrugging and turning back to whatever book I was reading at the time.
So why is he still convinced that as a gay man all I want to do is ravish his poor, poor body? Oh wait, I forgot. A gay person couldn't possibly be looking for love in this world. No, gay people are all about sex. It's all I think about! That cloud looks like people having sex. That cake makes me think of sex. Reading a detailed description of the construction of the Eiffel Tower makes me think of sex. It's everything to gay people! They'll stop at nothing to get it, even if they have to ravish every good, upstanding straight person to satisfy their deviant, carnal desires.
Wow. That makes me sound like I actually have an interesting life. I probably go clubbing every night, waking up hungover in the arms of some muscly stranger I've never seen before, our clothes in tatters from our fits of passion and my body aching from the rigorous activity. At least that way I'd be getting consistent exercise.
Not that I don't want sex with men, I mean cause it sounds great and wonderful if slightly terrifying when I think about the vulnerability of it, but I really just want to find love. Don't we all want someone who thinks the world of us, who can argue without making us mad, someone who calls just to hear you talk to them, who we can snuggle with on the couch while watching The Notebook? Someone we can hold hands with and spend time with and generally live our lives with? Why is it that some people can get all that by default, while others are doomed to live lives of wild partying and nightly orgies? It just seems so unfair that all those women get love, and I'm stuck with the lust, because any self-respecting woman would never lust after a man's body. After all, don't we gays do that enough to compensate?
In my friend's history class, they were discussing the origins of America, the pilgrims who sailed here looking for a land where they could worship as they choose. Some idiotic student points out that no, we don't discriminate in America anymore—what a terrible notion! I hate to burst whatever glowing happy bubble you live in, kid, but yes we do.
It's not that I think gay people need to be able to marry, though I do. (My friend and I discussed this once—she says that marriage should be for heterosexual couples and something else should be for homosexual couples. I think that's like denoting a straight man with fashion sense as metrosexual: entirely pointless, because why give something a new term just because it makes you uncomfortable? There's never a law that a man can't be straight and have good taste, but they have to denote him as a whole new category.) It's more about the equal rights, things like visitation laws and inheritance rights and stuff that straight couples get but gay people don't.
Today in the library I helped put up a display of multicolored socks, accompanied by the quote "Choose your friends by their character and your socks by their color. Choosing your socks by their character makes no sense, and choosing your friends by their color is unthinkable." (Anonymous) Because when you really think about it, things like skin color and what you do in bed with other people are so far down the list of things that matter in a person's character that they nearly cease to matter at all.
A few arguments as to why homosexuality is wrong:
1. It goes against God. Well, a lot of things go against God. Another great quote, despite its length: "An engineering professor is treating her husband, a loan officer, to dinner for finally giving in to her pleas to shave off the scraggly beard he grew on vacation. His favorite restaurant is a casual place where they both feel comfortable in slacks and cotton/polyester-blend golf shirts. But, as always, she wears the gold and pearl pendant he gave her the day her divorce decree was final. They're laughing over their menus because they know he always ends up diving into a giant plate of ribs but she won't be talked into anything more fattening than shrimp.
Quiz: How many biblical prohibitions are they violating? Well, wives are supposed to be 'submissive' to their husbands (I Peter 3:1). And all women are forbidden to teach men (I Timothy 2:12), wear gold or pearls (I Timothy 2:9) or dress in clothing that 'pertains to a man' (Deuteronomy 22:5). Shellfish and pork are definitely out (Leviticus 11:7, 10) as are usury (Deuteronomy 23:19), shaving (Leviticus 19:27) and clothes of more than one fabric (Leviticus 19:19). And since the Bible rarely recognizes divorce, they're committing adultery, which carries the rather harsh penalty of death by stoning (Deuteronomy 22:22).
So why are they having such a good time? Probably because they wouldn't think of worrying about rules that seem absurd, anachronistic or - at best - unrealistic. Yet this same modern-day couple could easily be among the millions of Americans who never hesitate to lean on the Bible to justify their own anti-gay attitudes." (Deb Price, And Say Hi To Joyce) The quote really says it all. Why use the Bible in your defense when I can just as easily use it in mine?
2. It goes against Nature. Um. Hello? Animals have gone gay for forever. The gay penguins in New York that adopted a rock for an egg. The dolphins that do what dolphins do. The dogs that hump each other. How can you say we go against Nature when Nature's doing it all the time? Honestly.
3. If we give gay people equal rights, we'll have to give them to everybody! Well, who wants equal rights? They're so overrated there's no point anyway. But what about all those prostitutes and beastial people, wanting to get married to everyone and everything? Those poor goats! Well, what if (and I know this is a radical new policy) we define a marriage as between two legal consenting adults? That right there takes care of the goats, at least. As for the prostitutes, well, they're going to sleep with everyone anyway, so why are they fighting for marriage rights in the first place?
Anyway, people are just really stupid in general. I know I am sometimes, but I do my best not to be. Why can't everyone be like that?
Small series of anecdotes: I always ride the bus home. I always sit at the front. It's an easy seat to get to, and very few other people will get there anyway. Plus it gives me a great vantage point to ogle the new bus driver Jake. He's only 23, maybe 24, with these gorgeous blue eyes and that kind of to-hell-with-it hairdo. You know, the kind that guys wake up with and then never do anything about it. I've done it a lot, and it can be incredibly awesome or incredibly stupid.
Anyway, so I'm sitting in the front, all by myself, no one else for like, five rows. And this major major douchebag gets on the bus, deep in conversation with his mom. The one line I hear as he passes is, "Because there's always this little shithead who sits at the front."
Well. Thank you for the ego boost.
You see, Parker and I had never gotten along anyway. Ever since I came out to the bus during an argument over Proposition 8 in December 2008, Parker seems to have made it his life goal to taunt me. He's constantly saying how that fag can't be on the bus, how that fag should be locked up. Yeah, same to you. His favorite greetings are "Hey, fairy" and "Morning, fag kid." Invariably I want to respond "Good morning, bastard." Though I never do.
He doesn't even make an effort to talk behind my back. He loudly discusses me when I'm only half a bus away. (Though I'm used to that by now—once there was a group of sophomores in the very back talking about that gay kid at the front. Unaware that I could hear them, they all turned to look at me at once, only to find me waving flamboyantly back at them. Okay, so I don't help my case much sometimes, but more on that later.) One day I just couldn't stand him asking the air around me if I would do him or not, and for the first time I actually talked to Parker. I said something to the effect that I wanted to sink my teeth into him, as a metaphor of course, and why on Earth couldn't they hear the dripping sarcasm in my voice?
Shortly thereafter Parker stopped riding the bus. The next school year comes around, and here he is again, talking about how he hates the bus because of the little shithead at the front of it.
I know I bring a lot of the comments on myself, what with my ever-increasingly bright and colorful wardrobe, recently pierced ears, and an affinity for rings and nail polish (but only when I can get some). Parker always has to comment on whatever I'm wearing/sporting, which has really gotten annoying since he ran out of original putdowns. "Only gay people paint their nails," he says. No shit, Sherlock. I thought you knew that months ago? Or is it just now hitting you that we exist and we're closer than you think?
What I don't get is why Parker, with his acne-free face and beefy body, the kind any man would kill for if he didn't have to work out to maintain it, is so insecure with himself or his sexuality or even his popularity, I don't really know, that he has to put me down to build himself up. I mean, yes he's got the smoldering good looks and the contours of the Grand Canyon, but the sour personality underneath puts me off completely, something I've told him more than once. "You have nothing to worry about," I would say, conspicuously running my eyes up and down his figure before shrugging and turning back to whatever book I was reading at the time.
So why is he still convinced that as a gay man all I want to do is ravish his poor, poor body? Oh wait, I forgot. A gay person couldn't possibly be looking for love in this world. No, gay people are all about sex. It's all I think about! That cloud looks like people having sex. That cake makes me think of sex. Reading a detailed description of the construction of the Eiffel Tower makes me think of sex. It's everything to gay people! They'll stop at nothing to get it, even if they have to ravish every good, upstanding straight person to satisfy their deviant, carnal desires.
Wow. That makes me sound like I actually have an interesting life. I probably go clubbing every night, waking up hungover in the arms of some muscly stranger I've never seen before, our clothes in tatters from our fits of passion and my body aching from the rigorous activity. At least that way I'd be getting consistent exercise.
Not that I don't want sex with men, I mean cause it sounds great and wonderful if slightly terrifying when I think about the vulnerability of it, but I really just want to find love. Don't we all want someone who thinks the world of us, who can argue without making us mad, someone who calls just to hear you talk to them, who we can snuggle with on the couch while watching The Notebook? Someone we can hold hands with and spend time with and generally live our lives with? Why is it that some people can get all that by default, while others are doomed to live lives of wild partying and nightly orgies? It just seems so unfair that all those women get love, and I'm stuck with the lust, because any self-respecting woman would never lust after a man's body. After all, don't we gays do that enough to compensate?
In my friend's history class, they were discussing the origins of America, the pilgrims who sailed here looking for a land where they could worship as they choose. Some idiotic student points out that no, we don't discriminate in America anymore—what a terrible notion! I hate to burst whatever glowing happy bubble you live in, kid, but yes we do.
It's not that I think gay people need to be able to marry, though I do. (My friend and I discussed this once—she says that marriage should be for heterosexual couples and something else should be for homosexual couples. I think that's like denoting a straight man with fashion sense as metrosexual: entirely pointless, because why give something a new term just because it makes you uncomfortable? There's never a law that a man can't be straight and have good taste, but they have to denote him as a whole new category.) It's more about the equal rights, things like visitation laws and inheritance rights and stuff that straight couples get but gay people don't.
Today in the library I helped put up a display of multicolored socks, accompanied by the quote "Choose your friends by their character and your socks by their color. Choosing your socks by their character makes no sense, and choosing your friends by their color is unthinkable." (Anonymous) Because when you really think about it, things like skin color and what you do in bed with other people are so far down the list of things that matter in a person's character that they nearly cease to matter at all.
A few arguments as to why homosexuality is wrong:
1. It goes against God. Well, a lot of things go against God. Another great quote, despite its length: "An engineering professor is treating her husband, a loan officer, to dinner for finally giving in to her pleas to shave off the scraggly beard he grew on vacation. His favorite restaurant is a casual place where they both feel comfortable in slacks and cotton/polyester-blend golf shirts. But, as always, she wears the gold and pearl pendant he gave her the day her divorce decree was final. They're laughing over their menus because they know he always ends up diving into a giant plate of ribs but she won't be talked into anything more fattening than shrimp.
Quiz: How many biblical prohibitions are they violating? Well, wives are supposed to be 'submissive' to their husbands (I Peter 3:1). And all women are forbidden to teach men (I Timothy 2:12), wear gold or pearls (I Timothy 2:9) or dress in clothing that 'pertains to a man' (Deuteronomy 22:5). Shellfish and pork are definitely out (Leviticus 11:7, 10) as are usury (Deuteronomy 23:19), shaving (Leviticus 19:27) and clothes of more than one fabric (Leviticus 19:19). And since the Bible rarely recognizes divorce, they're committing adultery, which carries the rather harsh penalty of death by stoning (Deuteronomy 22:22).
So why are they having such a good time? Probably because they wouldn't think of worrying about rules that seem absurd, anachronistic or - at best - unrealistic. Yet this same modern-day couple could easily be among the millions of Americans who never hesitate to lean on the Bible to justify their own anti-gay attitudes." (Deb Price, And Say Hi To Joyce) The quote really says it all. Why use the Bible in your defense when I can just as easily use it in mine?
2. It goes against Nature. Um. Hello? Animals have gone gay for forever. The gay penguins in New York that adopted a rock for an egg. The dolphins that do what dolphins do. The dogs that hump each other. How can you say we go against Nature when Nature's doing it all the time? Honestly.
3. If we give gay people equal rights, we'll have to give them to everybody! Well, who wants equal rights? They're so overrated there's no point anyway. But what about all those prostitutes and beastial people, wanting to get married to everyone and everything? Those poor goats! Well, what if (and I know this is a radical new policy) we define a marriage as between two legal consenting adults? That right there takes care of the goats, at least. As for the prostitutes, well, they're going to sleep with everyone anyway, so why are they fighting for marriage rights in the first place?
Anyway, people are just really stupid in general. I know I am sometimes, but I do my best not to be. Why can't everyone be like that?
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Words to Live By
Safety pins = NEVER a good idea. Especially as earring substitutes, even if they're sanitized.
DIY ear piercing = NOT the smart option. Go to Claire's and spend some money to get it done the right way. The right way = NOT a needle, even if it's sanitized.
Blogging at midnight on a school night = NOT a good idea. Ever.
Dr Pepper, and lots of it, right before bed = NOT a good idea. Ever. It generally leads to blogging at midnight on a school night.
Using chatrooms = Hmm. It's hard to take a clear stance on this one, cause I really like using them. On the one hand you get to meet all sorts of interesting people across the country/world, and that's always a great thing. On the other, you get to meet all sorts of pervy people across the country/world. Plus you might start chatting with some random gay guy from Missouri and before you know it, you've agreed to give each other your virginity when (if) you meet. And you might have all these people chatting you up at once that you can barely remember who's talking about what and you get conversations confused. So all in all, not a GOOD idea. But definitely an idea.
Running naked through the streets = DEFINITELY not a good idea. Especially because I would never do it, which makes this section a complete joke. Hahahaha, funny funny.
Going to sleep now = VERY good idea. Like, now and everything.
DIY ear piercing = NOT the smart option. Go to Claire's and spend some money to get it done the right way. The right way = NOT a needle, even if it's sanitized.
Blogging at midnight on a school night = NOT a good idea. Ever.
Dr Pepper, and lots of it, right before bed = NOT a good idea. Ever. It generally leads to blogging at midnight on a school night.
Using chatrooms = Hmm. It's hard to take a clear stance on this one, cause I really like using them. On the one hand you get to meet all sorts of interesting people across the country/world, and that's always a great thing. On the other, you get to meet all sorts of pervy people across the country/world. Plus you might start chatting with some random gay guy from Missouri and before you know it, you've agreed to give each other your virginity when (if) you meet. And you might have all these people chatting you up at once that you can barely remember who's talking about what and you get conversations confused. So all in all, not a GOOD idea. But definitely an idea.
Running naked through the streets = DEFINITELY not a good idea. Especially because I would never do it, which makes this section a complete joke. Hahahaha, funny funny.
Going to sleep now = VERY good idea. Like, now and everything.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
A Piercing Question: Revisited
The deed is done. I now have one piercing in each ear. A quick follow-up of various reactions:
My mother asked, and I quote, "Where did you get those?" and "Who did that to you?" I responded that we did it during lunch and that it was my friend's sister's fiance. And that is all she's said on it. No "I demand that you take them out!" which wouldn't have mattered anyway cause I turn 18 in two months and then she has no say.
My younger sister thinks it's weird but loves me anyway. My (next) oldest sister worried for my life until I actually talked to her, and now worries that I will get letters from my grandma reminding me of my divine purpose and that I must never lose sight of it. My oldest oldest sister hasn't been informed, so her reaction is unknown. My dad hasn't said anything, but by next Tuesday he will. (Why Tuesday, you ask? It was the first day to pop into my head.)
My friends are ecstatic. Those who go to Lone Peak want to journey to AF tomorrow during lunch to view my new fashion statement. And my AF friends so far are like, in awe of me or something.
On other notes, one of the Young Women's leaders in my ward was practically overflowing with happiness when she saw me at the Mutual activity my younger sister forced me to attend tonight. And everyone else, who usually come across as very straight-edge Mormons, was asking about it and saying how cool it was. So it's been handled relatively well so far.
Joy of joys. Now I don't have to worry about being flayed alive and having my heart roasted on a spit.
My mother asked, and I quote, "Where did you get those?" and "Who did that to you?" I responded that we did it during lunch and that it was my friend's sister's fiance. And that is all she's said on it. No "I demand that you take them out!" which wouldn't have mattered anyway cause I turn 18 in two months and then she has no say.
My younger sister thinks it's weird but loves me anyway. My (next) oldest sister worried for my life until I actually talked to her, and now worries that I will get letters from my grandma reminding me of my divine purpose and that I must never lose sight of it. My oldest oldest sister hasn't been informed, so her reaction is unknown. My dad hasn't said anything, but by next Tuesday he will. (Why Tuesday, you ask? It was the first day to pop into my head.)
My friends are ecstatic. Those who go to Lone Peak want to journey to AF tomorrow during lunch to view my new fashion statement. And my AF friends so far are like, in awe of me or something.
On other notes, one of the Young Women's leaders in my ward was practically overflowing with happiness when she saw me at the Mutual activity my younger sister forced me to attend tonight. And everyone else, who usually come across as very straight-edge Mormons, was asking about it and saying how cool it was. So it's been handled relatively well so far.
Joy of joys. Now I don't have to worry about being flayed alive and having my heart roasted on a spit.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
A Piercing Question, or the Musings of Mr. Bradley i
So for all you people out there actually paying attention to me, here it is, the first real musings of Mister Bradley, where I'm pretty much going to ramble on about whatever crosses my mind when I happen to be writing. So bear with me, hold on for the ride and let the ramblage begin. (Side note: sentence structure kind of deteriorates in these kind of things as I resort to a stream-of-consciousness style of writing and my thoughts don't always make grammatical sense.)
* * * * * *
I've been meaning to pierce my ears for a long time now. I don't even know why, really. I don't think people with piercings are any more or less attractive than those without them. And it's not like everyone in my family is riddled with piercings. (Though my older sister used to have three rings in each ear and a tongue stud when she was being a crazy, rebellious teenager. Then she got over it and went back to normal—but with a really cool but slightly grody scar-thing in her tongue.)
I guess maybe I want to do it as a kind of statement, same as my sister. My mom would freak out and demand that I take them out, which would be an ulterior motive at the very least and the primary reason behind it at the most. Plus it's something that gay people do—oh wait, didn't I tell you I was gay? Oh. It must have slipped my mind because it really isn't that important. People who refuse to associate with me or become friends with me only because I'm gay, I see absolutely no point in associating with them. I don't want to be somebody's bragging rights—"I've got a gay friend, I've never had one of those before, you don't have any gay friends so I'm cooler than you"—and of course I don't want to be somebody's excuse to project their insecurities and fears in life on somebody who never did anything to deserve them. Oh, wait, except be different, and that seems to be a good enough reason to put anybody down, because she has funny hair or he has weird clothing or she likes girls and he likes guys.
ANYWAY, I guess the ear-piercing thing is a statement for a lot of things, cause all I really want to do with it is piss my mom off and try advertising to the nonexistent gay population around here. Only I just found out that there's is in fact at least one more gay kid who goes to my school. Thanks to a mutual contact, I started chatting on MSN with this kid from school who was so confused about how he was feeling and stuff like that, which is generally how everybody's story starts out. (I've compared all my homosexual friends' stories—three lesbians and one gay guy, though the numbers are kind of exploding around me— and found we all follow the same mold, so I'm assuming that it's pretty much the same everywhere.) And so now we're becoming really good friends and he told the guy who kept using him for blowjobs to shove it up his ass, and all of a sudden I know of another gay guy at my school, one whom I get along with. (The other guy I can only handle for about twenty minutes before he grates on my nerves.) And this whole thing was a huge revelation/ego-boosting experience, because just earlier that day I had blown up at my other gay friend about how I was so sick of watching everybody be able to hold hands and make out around me while I just have to watch and listen to them bitch about how their significant other is being so /straight-edge/drama-queen/weird/possessive/any other adjective you can think of, not to mention that I was being jealous and bitter of him because he actually had a boyfriend and he hasn't come out yet, so I figured that I deserved it more because I had to put up with the dumb comments and snide jokes and weird looks and even blatant hatred for who I was, with absolutely nothing to show for it, while he didn't have to do any work and got all the benefits. (Tanner, if you ever actually read this, I'm so sorry for all of that, I really am. Yes, it's all true, but it was extremely insensitive and uncalled for. You've done nothing to deserve that, and I really am happy for you and Jay, I'm also just filled with the Evil Green Monster of Envy and Dumbassery.) So the random appearance of another gay guy at the school helped me immensely with my existential crisis.
Anyway, so today during 4th period my lesbian friend and I were talking over the assignment, "Firsts & Lasts" and sharing various firsts and lasts in our lives. She mentioned the last time she pierced her ears (at three in the morning) and then I mentioned that I'd been meaning to do that for a while now. She offered to do it today after school, because she carries random stuff around like needles and rubbing alcohol and matches. But I had to catch a bus, and besides, neither of us had ice. So tomorrow at Poetry Club, if either of us figures out how to get solid, cold ice all the way to after school, I am probably going to get my ears pierced.
Though I really don't know what to expect from my mom. I mean, in the past she's been really angry about stuff that I've done, like having my hair dyed purple and deciding that no, I didn't want to come home right now, but she's never actually done anything about it. She didn't make me dye my hair back, and she threatened not to let me hang out but I always did anyway. So she'd probably be really mad about it but then just try to ignore it and hope that it will go away. The one time my mom and I ever discussed my being gay was right after I had a yelling fight with my ward's bishop in which I said that no, I'm not a sin against God and that he could take his doctrine and shove it up his proverbial ass. I was crying because my bishop was frustrating and frustrating people make me angry and that makes me cry, so my mom wanted to know what was wrong. So I told her I was gay and then we've never talked about it since. So her reaction is pretty much on the unknown side of things.
All my friends would think it was awesome because they think everything I do is awesome, and so me piercing my ears would be cool by principle. So i think we're good on that front.
The rest of my family would . . . well, that's also very unknown. My sisters would freak and stuff, like they freaked when I got the ice blue pants that hug my calves in all the right places. And also whenever they see the FREE HUGS shirt or the NO FREE SAMPLES or the red pants or the red vest (never worn it yet cause it's not cold enough—thank you anyway, Erika). So, yeah my sisters would freak. And yeah.
So, there's really no way to end this without sounding like it's only half an entry and the other half broke off and is floating around cyberspace—but it's not, and this really is the end.
* * * * * *
I've been meaning to pierce my ears for a long time now. I don't even know why, really. I don't think people with piercings are any more or less attractive than those without them. And it's not like everyone in my family is riddled with piercings. (Though my older sister used to have three rings in each ear and a tongue stud when she was being a crazy, rebellious teenager. Then she got over it and went back to normal—but with a really cool but slightly grody scar-thing in her tongue.)
I guess maybe I want to do it as a kind of statement, same as my sister. My mom would freak out and demand that I take them out, which would be an ulterior motive at the very least and the primary reason behind it at the most. Plus it's something that gay people do—oh wait, didn't I tell you I was gay? Oh. It must have slipped my mind because it really isn't that important. People who refuse to associate with me or become friends with me only because I'm gay, I see absolutely no point in associating with them. I don't want to be somebody's bragging rights—"I've got a gay friend, I've never had one of those before, you don't have any gay friends so I'm cooler than you"—and of course I don't want to be somebody's excuse to project their insecurities and fears in life on somebody who never did anything to deserve them. Oh, wait, except be different, and that seems to be a good enough reason to put anybody down, because she has funny hair or he has weird clothing or she likes girls and he likes guys.
ANYWAY, I guess the ear-piercing thing is a statement for a lot of things, cause all I really want to do with it is piss my mom off and try advertising to the nonexistent gay population around here. Only I just found out that there's is in fact at least one more gay kid who goes to my school. Thanks to a mutual contact, I started chatting on MSN with this kid from school who was so confused about how he was feeling and stuff like that, which is generally how everybody's story starts out. (I've compared all my homosexual friends' stories—three lesbians and one gay guy, though the numbers are kind of exploding around me— and found we all follow the same mold, so I'm assuming that it's pretty much the same everywhere.) And so now we're becoming really good friends and he told the guy who kept using him for blowjobs to shove it up his ass, and all of a sudden I know of another gay guy at my school, one whom I get along with. (The other guy I can only handle for about twenty minutes before he grates on my nerves.) And this whole thing was a huge revelation/ego-boosting experience, because just earlier that day I had blown up at my other gay friend about how I was so sick of watching everybody be able to hold hands and make out around me while I just have to watch and listen to them bitch about how their significant other is being so /straight-edge/drama-queen/weird/possessive/any other adjective you can think of, not to mention that I was being jealous and bitter of him because he actually had a boyfriend and he hasn't come out yet, so I figured that I deserved it more because I had to put up with the dumb comments and snide jokes and weird looks and even blatant hatred for who I was, with absolutely nothing to show for it, while he didn't have to do any work and got all the benefits. (Tanner, if you ever actually read this, I'm so sorry for all of that, I really am. Yes, it's all true, but it was extremely insensitive and uncalled for. You've done nothing to deserve that, and I really am happy for you and Jay, I'm also just filled with the Evil Green Monster of Envy and Dumbassery.) So the random appearance of another gay guy at the school helped me immensely with my existential crisis.
Anyway, so today during 4th period my lesbian friend and I were talking over the assignment, "Firsts & Lasts" and sharing various firsts and lasts in our lives. She mentioned the last time she pierced her ears (at three in the morning) and then I mentioned that I'd been meaning to do that for a while now. She offered to do it today after school, because she carries random stuff around like needles and rubbing alcohol and matches. But I had to catch a bus, and besides, neither of us had ice. So tomorrow at Poetry Club, if either of us figures out how to get solid, cold ice all the way to after school, I am probably going to get my ears pierced.
Though I really don't know what to expect from my mom. I mean, in the past she's been really angry about stuff that I've done, like having my hair dyed purple and deciding that no, I didn't want to come home right now, but she's never actually done anything about it. She didn't make me dye my hair back, and she threatened not to let me hang out but I always did anyway. So she'd probably be really mad about it but then just try to ignore it and hope that it will go away. The one time my mom and I ever discussed my being gay was right after I had a yelling fight with my ward's bishop in which I said that no, I'm not a sin against God and that he could take his doctrine and shove it up his proverbial ass. I was crying because my bishop was frustrating and frustrating people make me angry and that makes me cry, so my mom wanted to know what was wrong. So I told her I was gay and then we've never talked about it since. So her reaction is pretty much on the unknown side of things.
All my friends would think it was awesome because they think everything I do is awesome, and so me piercing my ears would be cool by principle. So i think we're good on that front.
The rest of my family would . . . well, that's also very unknown. My sisters would freak and stuff, like they freaked when I got the ice blue pants that hug my calves in all the right places. And also whenever they see the FREE HUGS shirt or the NO FREE SAMPLES or the red pants or the red vest (never worn it yet cause it's not cold enough—thank you anyway, Erika). So, yeah my sisters would freak. And yeah.
So, there's really no way to end this without sounding like it's only half an entry and the other half broke off and is floating around cyberspace—but it's not, and this really is the end.
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