Every afternoon for a week or so now, I've gone to the Barnes & Noble cafe, gotten a tiny cheap coffee, and sat in the corner to watch people come and go. It's been thoroughly enjoyable in that it helps me get in a more write-y mood, helps me give my characters more depth. A bunch of random stuff I've thought of while sitting in or walking to/from the cafe:
•The only depressing thing I've come up with, in relation to sitting in B&N, is that it's a world of transit. Everybody just comes and goes, in their own little bubble. Even if they sit and talk with someone, they have their own space that nobody else enters. All these bubbles bounce and touch, but nobody crosses over. Except for me and the employees. (Yeah, I go specifically to eavesdrop. Got a problem?)
•I'm irresponsible. Sometimes I feel like it's tangible in the air around me, or a sound I make when I walk. I go "irresponse, irresponse, irresponse" like in that Calving and Hobbes comic. Galosh, galosh, galosh. I spent money I kind of shouldn't have (and now DON'T have to begin with) and bought a beautiful 1000+ page book for only $21-plus-change. My rationalization is that 1, this is my September allotment (I've put a restriction on myself that I can only buy one book a month, unless it's a special case; special cases usually constitute midnight releases, but is open to interpretation) and 2, I saved 30% thanks to my member discount and the new release promotion.
•I love the staff at the Barnes & Noble cafe. And I think they love me.
•I can make a fairly decent fake mocha by loading a cup of plain coffee with cream, sugar, and cocoa, for about half the price.
•Current strengths in my life: talking to boys; playing Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook.
•It should rain. [ten minutes pass] It should rain harder.
•My iTunes library has far too many associated memories. I can't listen to anything without thinking of somebody, sometime, somewhere. (This is even after I've deleted the really painful ones.)
•The only place I feel remotely unsafe walking to/from Barnes & Noble is the outside bar a block and a half from the house. Not even the freeway underpass at night triggers the mild anxiety I get when I walk past one people start drinking.
•We need more milk.
•I need a job so I can buy milk.
•I think about milk way too much.
Showing posts with label musings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label musings. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Not thinking. Not thinking. Thinking. Not thinking.
Bah. Now I'm all nostalgic. I blame the caffeine.
A year of my life condensed into thirty-odd blurbs. Thirty snapshots. It's like a really bad journal. (Wait, isn't that what a blog is anyway? Moot point.) Not even good snapshots, really. All the best parts have been the ones I can't put into words. Just hanging out with friends. Moments with my family (edit: Moments with my sisters). Even school sometimes. I grow up too fast.
So. Here's the shoutouts to the people who have changed my life in the past year. Barely any of you actually see my blog, but I'm putting it out there on the off chance you get around here sometime. Apologies in advance for the use of real names. Hope none of you are offended. I'm sure I'm going to miss some of you, but who can blame me?
The family: Sara, Lara and Holly. Love you all so much, even if I don't act like it a lot of the time.
•Sara, thanks for the toaster, it's working brilliantly.
•Lara, the towels are a lifesaver, and they made Amanda laugh the first time I took a shower because I came out covered in purple lint.
•Holly, I do miss you. More than I thought. More than I like. But this is happening and I need it to happen.
The friends: Shelby, Caitlyn, Victoria, Ariel, Amanda, Dustin, Kayelee, Rikki, Briana, Kelley. You made school bearable. After classes ended you made life fun. To the writing ones: You guys are the most incredible people I know. I'm so proud of what we've accomplished, both separately in the role-plays, and by ourselves in our own projects. We will all be published one day, and when that happens you can bet I'll brag about it. "I knew them in high school. Oooh, what now?!"
•Shelby, I will forever love your sense of humor.
•Caitlyn, thanks for being the voice of reason when we needed it — and let's face it, we needed it a lot.
•Victoria, you give fantastic hugs and the best midnight advice.
•Ariel, thanks for leaving behind a great club. You did a brilliant job at running it and gave me something to look up to.
•Amanda, we've had the ups and downs, but I've been as honest with you as I can be. Thanks for (probably) doing the same.
•Dustin, I know things haven't gone the way we expected them to, but I worry about you just as much as you do for me. I care about you and honestly pray for you — though not in the same way.
•Kayelee, you're almost there. You can make it. Thanks for helping me. I'll always think of you when I get a frozen coffee drink or go bowling, you and the Emilys. (Loves to both of you, for the party nights — Emily D for the prom and Emily G for the one with the straw hat and the crackers, not to mention To Wong Foo.)
•Rikki and Briana: we'll be the trio again sometime — Arctic Circle is calling. Thanks for laughing a lot and being ghetto in Rikki's van together. Rikki, my other soulmate, keep me posted on boys/music. Briana, shoot people in HALO and pretend they're me — it'll make you laugh when you imagine my reactions.
•Kelley, thanks for accompanying us, and listening to me whine far more than I should be allowed to.
The boys: Clark and Xandr.
•Clark, you're one of the sweetest people I know. Thank you for putting up with me. Things will work out for you.
•Xandr, things didn't work out. I'm sorry for the parts that were my fault, not to mention some of the ones that aren't, and I wish you the best in life. Thank you for what you've given me. Enjoy the book.
The teachers/random school people: Mrs. Warby, AP Music 2009- 2010, Gina/Abby, Mr. Johnson.
•Warby, I basically love you. You taught me so much more than music, and did so much more than teach. Here's hoping I taught something back.
•AP Music, I love you all. Honestly and hands down my favorite class this year. Thanks for making B3 fun.
•Gina and Abby, you run the library beautifully. I was so privileged to be able to help out.
•J (and by proxy a good portion of the drama department) thanks for the push. I still hate the tambourine, but it was a good learning experience. Also sorry for not really showing up to class those last couple weeks... Looking back, I honestly can't remember why.
The randoms:
•all the cats in their different places;
•all the baristas who make me mochas;
•Misty Lue, for the awesome store;
•Mikey for talking/listening;
•everybody at UTA, even if I haven't met you all;
•Lisa for the comics, the MP3 of the day, and the reminder that you don't have to be married to be married;
•Jennica for letting us eat macaroni instead of going to fourth period, and for talking Mockingjay/Scott Pilgrim;
•Sandy for the rides and the shake;
•Megan at the bank for being friendly;
•Bryce for letting me move in without a job and $160 in cash;
•Mikelle for being epic at the piano;
•anybody who ever returned one of my books in the same condition it was given;
•Shireen for all the song lyrics and wavelengths;
•Tanya for the artwork and camera skills;
•the neighbors for being the neighbors, and putting up with all our craziness;
•Yoko Shimomora, Thomas Newman, Mark Mothersbaugh, and Hans Zimmer, for the music;
•Lady Gaga for the music and craziness;
•Muse, Trifonic, Marina, Tegan/Sara, Meg/Dia, and Thriving Ivory for the music;
•Chris Baty for the ambitious acts of the imagination;
•Æon, for the short shorts and the boat-rocking and general online hilarity;
•anybody who ever sold me a book, ever, regardless of location or time or the book(s) involved;
•everybody at Wikipedia, Facebook and Google for making the internet fun/pointless;
•everybody at Apple for making the internet attractive (as far as the access method goes);
•Eric for the talk and the drink;
•Daive, Cory and Kerisa for the party; and
•my bed for being the best place to sleep, because it's mine and mine alone.
A year of my life condensed into thirty-odd blurbs. Thirty snapshots. It's like a really bad journal. (Wait, isn't that what a blog is anyway? Moot point.) Not even good snapshots, really. All the best parts have been the ones I can't put into words. Just hanging out with friends. Moments with my family (edit: Moments with my sisters). Even school sometimes. I grow up too fast.
So. Here's the shoutouts to the people who have changed my life in the past year. Barely any of you actually see my blog, but I'm putting it out there on the off chance you get around here sometime. Apologies in advance for the use of real names. Hope none of you are offended. I'm sure I'm going to miss some of you, but who can blame me?
The family: Sara, Lara and Holly. Love you all so much, even if I don't act like it a lot of the time.
•Sara, thanks for the toaster, it's working brilliantly.
•Lara, the towels are a lifesaver, and they made Amanda laugh the first time I took a shower because I came out covered in purple lint.
•Holly, I do miss you. More than I thought. More than I like. But this is happening and I need it to happen.
The friends: Shelby, Caitlyn, Victoria, Ariel, Amanda, Dustin, Kayelee, Rikki, Briana, Kelley. You made school bearable. After classes ended you made life fun. To the writing ones: You guys are the most incredible people I know. I'm so proud of what we've accomplished, both separately in the role-plays, and by ourselves in our own projects. We will all be published one day, and when that happens you can bet I'll brag about it. "I knew them in high school. Oooh, what now?!"
•Shelby, I will forever love your sense of humor.
•Caitlyn, thanks for being the voice of reason when we needed it — and let's face it, we needed it a lot.
•Victoria, you give fantastic hugs and the best midnight advice.
•Ariel, thanks for leaving behind a great club. You did a brilliant job at running it and gave me something to look up to.
•Amanda, we've had the ups and downs, but I've been as honest with you as I can be. Thanks for (probably) doing the same.
•Dustin, I know things haven't gone the way we expected them to, but I worry about you just as much as you do for me. I care about you and honestly pray for you — though not in the same way.
•Kayelee, you're almost there. You can make it. Thanks for helping me. I'll always think of you when I get a frozen coffee drink or go bowling, you and the Emilys. (Loves to both of you, for the party nights — Emily D for the prom and Emily G for the one with the straw hat and the crackers, not to mention To Wong Foo.)
•Rikki and Briana: we'll be the trio again sometime — Arctic Circle is calling. Thanks for laughing a lot and being ghetto in Rikki's van together. Rikki, my other soulmate, keep me posted on boys/music. Briana, shoot people in HALO and pretend they're me — it'll make you laugh when you imagine my reactions.
•Kelley, thanks for accompanying us, and listening to me whine far more than I should be allowed to.
The boys: Clark and Xandr.
•Clark, you're one of the sweetest people I know. Thank you for putting up with me. Things will work out for you.
•Xandr, things didn't work out. I'm sorry for the parts that were my fault, not to mention some of the ones that aren't, and I wish you the best in life. Thank you for what you've given me. Enjoy the book.
The teachers/random school people: Mrs. Warby, AP Music 2009- 2010, Gina/Abby, Mr. Johnson.
•Warby, I basically love you. You taught me so much more than music, and did so much more than teach. Here's hoping I taught something back.
•AP Music, I love you all. Honestly and hands down my favorite class this year. Thanks for making B3 fun.
•Gina and Abby, you run the library beautifully. I was so privileged to be able to help out.
•J (and by proxy a good portion of the drama department) thanks for the push. I still hate the tambourine, but it was a good learning experience. Also sorry for not really showing up to class those last couple weeks... Looking back, I honestly can't remember why.
The randoms:
•all the cats in their different places;
•all the baristas who make me mochas;
•Misty Lue, for the awesome store;
•Mikey for talking/listening;
•everybody at UTA, even if I haven't met you all;
•Lisa for the comics, the MP3 of the day, and the reminder that you don't have to be married to be married;
•Jennica for letting us eat macaroni instead of going to fourth period, and for talking Mockingjay/Scott Pilgrim;
•Sandy for the rides and the shake;
•Megan at the bank for being friendly;
•Bryce for letting me move in without a job and $160 in cash;
•Mikelle for being epic at the piano;
•anybody who ever returned one of my books in the same condition it was given;
•Shireen for all the song lyrics and wavelengths;
•Tanya for the artwork and camera skills;
•the neighbors for being the neighbors, and putting up with all our craziness;
•Yoko Shimomora, Thomas Newman, Mark Mothersbaugh, and Hans Zimmer, for the music;
•Lady Gaga for the music and craziness;
•Muse, Trifonic, Marina, Tegan/Sara, Meg/Dia, and Thriving Ivory for the music;
•Chris Baty for the ambitious acts of the imagination;
•Æon, for the short shorts and the boat-rocking and general online hilarity;
•anybody who ever sold me a book, ever, regardless of location or time or the book(s) involved;
•everybody at Wikipedia, Facebook and Google for making the internet fun/pointless;
•everybody at Apple for making the internet attractive (as far as the access method goes);
•Eric for the talk and the drink;
•Daive, Cory and Kerisa for the party; and
•my bed for being the best place to sleep, because it's mine and mine alone.
Two Posts/One Night
Not that this is important or anything, but I've had this blog for over a year now. Weird when you think about it. Not that I'm planning on thinking about it — after all, it's 12:30 in the AM and I've had far too much Subway Drink to be wholly healthy, but oh well.
Here's to the one year and twenty days of Musings!
Here's to the one year and twenty days of Musings!
Friday, March 19, 2010
Thoughts on a Friday
• I am not truly a people person. Put me in charge of a group larger than six or seven, and I immediately get cranky/bitchy. (Put me in charge of a group of 130 and I explode inside.) Inevitably I get a headache and need chocolate or Dr. Pepper. Both is even better.
• Kelley makes everything better. By better, I mean more enjoyable, not that he fixes everything.
• God caused an unexpected fire drill to make me go to fourth period today. For once I was needed in that class.
• Altruism in action: Despite knowing I wouldn't fit comfortably and therefore have a claustrophobia attack, I took the middle seat in a car so that others could have seats better suited to themselves. Someone pointed out they could have sat there, but by then it was too late to do anything.
• Music makes everything well.
ADDENDUM 1: Good music makes everything better.
• Selective tone-deafness would be a great tool to have.
• My friends come in groups, and the groups don't have much crossover. For some reason I get the image of condiment packages, but the metaphor breaks down when you open ketchup and mustard at the same time.
• I think teachers hate me sometimes. And by sometimes I mean a lot.
• Hypocritical moment of the day (well, week): I rescued a book from the trash.
• I made a Flair on Facebook, and it is in the top 310,000. For some reason this is a major accomplishment. (Currently 302,041 — search for Lady Gaga to find it)
• Anne Rice makes everything better.
• Kelley makes everything better. By better, I mean more enjoyable, not that he fixes everything.
• God caused an unexpected fire drill to make me go to fourth period today. For once I was needed in that class.
• Altruism in action: Despite knowing I wouldn't fit comfortably and therefore have a claustrophobia attack, I took the middle seat in a car so that others could have seats better suited to themselves. Someone pointed out they could have sat there, but by then it was too late to do anything.
• Music makes everything well.
ADDENDUM 1: Good music makes everything better.
• Selective tone-deafness would be a great tool to have.
• My friends come in groups, and the groups don't have much crossover. For some reason I get the image of condiment packages, but the metaphor breaks down when you open ketchup and mustard at the same time.
• I think teachers hate me sometimes. And by sometimes I mean a lot.
• Hypocritical moment of the day (well, week): I rescued a book from the trash.
• I made a Flair on Facebook, and it is in the top 310,000. For some reason this is a major accomplishment. (Currently 302,041 — search for Lady Gaga to find it)
• Anne Rice makes everything better.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Twilight! Violence! The Musings of Mr. Bradley iii!
Yeah, violence.
Well, kind of. Let me explain, and of course that means backstory.
August 2nd, 2008. The wonderful pile of literature known as Breaking Dawn is published in the United States. I, being myself, stood in line at Barnes & Noble to pick up my copy at midnight, though I, still being myself, wore body glitter and had the entire Twilight playlist on my iPod for the first time — normally I have my favorites and get rid of the not-so-favorites. (This was also the first time I rode the city buses. Since then it's become a major form of transportation for me.) Me being me, I was up until six reading it, and yes I finished it in about five hours. Squee, vampires, sex, yada yada yada, I loved it. (Still do, just to a lesser extent.) Life is happy.
Several days later I find out that one of my dear friends, very much NOT being himself, also decides to buy the pile of literature. I swear that if D could, he would spearhead a Purge Our Schools Of Twilight! campaign. I certainly wouldn't put it past him to try. Admittedly the writing isn't that great, the characters are flat, and the plot is lacking, but I at least appreciate them for their escapist value — they're a substantial, enjoyable, angsty way to waste time. My friend just openly loathes them, which is why I nearly had a heart attack when I saw the spine with a chess piece staring at me from his meager book shelf. (That was also a surprise. He doesn't have many books anyway, so to buy that, of all things?! My God, he must have been on something that day.) Boo, happy ending, sex, yada yada yada, he hated it. Life is happy.
A long time later (let's say November/December 2009) D came off his drug trip and decided to get rid of the pile of literature. His first method of purging his bookshelf was to hold a book burning. I about had a heart attack at that, especially because he asked me to help, and instead swooped in with a cloud of glitter and angelic choirs, offering to take the book home like the Publishing Saint that I am. He was glad to see it go, practically shoving it down my pants in an effort to get it out of his sight and his house.
Dilemma.
Suddenly my house has two copies of the pile of literature, with only one person who likes it. (Slight correction: My house has only one person who has read or intends to read it.) The second copy is rendered useless and excessive. In fact it kind of made me feel like my books were rabbits, because suddenly the amount of Breaking Dawn doubled in one fell swoop.
Trying to find a home for the useless pile of literature, I posted something on Facebook to the extent of "Bradley Jonsson rescued a copy of Breaking Dawn from a potential book-burning yesterday, but now he has two copies and needs to find a home for one of them. Any takers?" After several comments from people suggesting to go through with the book burning, my sister saying she would take it because they can always use more toilet paper at her house, and a few kinder people saying they would take it if they didn't already have a copy, enter the patron saint. My dear friend K said she would take it and give it to her girlfriend. (K is a lesbian, and a terrible one at that.) The comments stopped, and the book had seemingly found a home.
Well, it's still sitting on my shelf, collecting dust.
Enter the violence! For about a month now I've had the urge to destroy something. An old art project, an ugly shirt, anything — but I've also always wanted to tear a book apart, ever since my older sister had a fight and completely dismantled the family dictionary. All the pages were collected in a shoe box and thrown away, but not before I saw them and coveted them. One of the most vivid memories I have is walking into my sister's room and seeing her sitting on the floor, tears on her face and a dictionary in fluttering pieces at her feet.
Hmm. Need to tear something apart, plus useless and substantial book. Naturally I put the two together.
Except. Destroying anything makes me sad, but destroying a book? That is a sin punishable by extremely painful and drawn-out torture. Death is too good for one who destroys books.
SO WHY DO I WANT TO DO THAT?! It literally goes against the core of everything I believe/like/hold dear.
Sigh. Anyway, I digress.
I've come up with a compromise.
destroy: to ruin the structure, organic existence, or condition of; to ruin as if by tearing to shred; to put out of existence.
That damn structure in there is throwing things off. (Thanks a heap, www.Merriam-Webster.com) The compromise was going to use the dictionary as a loophole in some way or another, but that structure kind of kills it. How can you take apart, dismantle, whatever-you-want-to-call-it a book without "ruining the structure"? Wait, hold on.
to reduce to ruins; to damage irreparably; to subject to frustration, failure, or disaster.
Hmm. (By the way, I'm making this compromise up as I go along.) I will not be subjecting the book to frustration, failure, or disaster. I will not be reducing it to ruins. But I'll definitely be damaging it irreparably. I mean, even with my original plan of keeping all the component parts for some thing or another, it will be beyond repair.
Ah, screw it. That book is going down.
Er, in the nicest way possible.
And I'll post pictures or something.
Oh, and happy Pi Day, everybody.
Well, kind of. Let me explain, and of course that means backstory.
August 2nd, 2008. The wonderful pile of literature known as Breaking Dawn is published in the United States. I, being myself, stood in line at Barnes & Noble to pick up my copy at midnight, though I, still being myself, wore body glitter and had the entire Twilight playlist on my iPod for the first time — normally I have my favorites and get rid of the not-so-favorites. (This was also the first time I rode the city buses. Since then it's become a major form of transportation for me.) Me being me, I was up until six reading it, and yes I finished it in about five hours. Squee, vampires, sex, yada yada yada, I loved it. (Still do, just to a lesser extent.) Life is happy.
Several days later I find out that one of my dear friends, very much NOT being himself, also decides to buy the pile of literature. I swear that if D could, he would spearhead a Purge Our Schools Of Twilight! campaign. I certainly wouldn't put it past him to try. Admittedly the writing isn't that great, the characters are flat, and the plot is lacking, but I at least appreciate them for their escapist value — they're a substantial, enjoyable, angsty way to waste time. My friend just openly loathes them, which is why I nearly had a heart attack when I saw the spine with a chess piece staring at me from his meager book shelf. (That was also a surprise. He doesn't have many books anyway, so to buy that, of all things?! My God, he must have been on something that day.) Boo, happy ending, sex, yada yada yada, he hated it. Life is happy.
A long time later (let's say November/December 2009) D came off his drug trip and decided to get rid of the pile of literature. His first method of purging his bookshelf was to hold a book burning. I about had a heart attack at that, especially because he asked me to help, and instead swooped in with a cloud of glitter and angelic choirs, offering to take the book home like the Publishing Saint that I am. He was glad to see it go, practically shoving it down my pants in an effort to get it out of his sight and his house.
Dilemma.
Suddenly my house has two copies of the pile of literature, with only one person who likes it. (Slight correction: My house has only one person who has read or intends to read it.) The second copy is rendered useless and excessive. In fact it kind of made me feel like my books were rabbits, because suddenly the amount of Breaking Dawn doubled in one fell swoop.
Trying to find a home for the useless pile of literature, I posted something on Facebook to the extent of "Bradley Jonsson rescued a copy of Breaking Dawn from a potential book-burning yesterday, but now he has two copies and needs to find a home for one of them. Any takers?" After several comments from people suggesting to go through with the book burning, my sister saying she would take it because they can always use more toilet paper at her house, and a few kinder people saying they would take it if they didn't already have a copy, enter the patron saint. My dear friend K said she would take it and give it to her girlfriend. (K is a lesbian, and a terrible one at that.) The comments stopped, and the book had seemingly found a home.
Well, it's still sitting on my shelf, collecting dust.
Enter the violence! For about a month now I've had the urge to destroy something. An old art project, an ugly shirt, anything — but I've also always wanted to tear a book apart, ever since my older sister had a fight and completely dismantled the family dictionary. All the pages were collected in a shoe box and thrown away, but not before I saw them and coveted them. One of the most vivid memories I have is walking into my sister's room and seeing her sitting on the floor, tears on her face and a dictionary in fluttering pieces at her feet.
Hmm. Need to tear something apart, plus useless and substantial book. Naturally I put the two together.
Except. Destroying anything makes me sad, but destroying a book? That is a sin punishable by extremely painful and drawn-out torture. Death is too good for one who destroys books.
SO WHY DO I WANT TO DO THAT?! It literally goes against the core of everything I believe/like/hold dear.
Sigh. Anyway, I digress.
I've come up with a compromise.
destroy: to ruin the structure, organic existence, or condition of; to ruin as if by tearing to shred; to put out of existence.
That damn structure in there is throwing things off. (Thanks a heap, www.Merriam-Webster.com) The compromise was going to use the dictionary as a loophole in some way or another, but that structure kind of kills it. How can you take apart, dismantle, whatever-you-want-to-call-it a book without "ruining the structure"? Wait, hold on.
to reduce to ruins; to damage irreparably; to subject to frustration, failure, or disaster.
Hmm. (By the way, I'm making this compromise up as I go along.) I will not be subjecting the book to frustration, failure, or disaster. I will not be reducing it to ruins. But I'll definitely be damaging it irreparably. I mean, even with my original plan of keeping all the component parts for some thing or another, it will be beyond repair.
Ah, screw it. That book is going down.
Er, in the nicest way possible.
And I'll post pictures or something.
Oh, and happy Pi Day, everybody.
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 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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