Faggot Faux Pas

Oh my God.  I saw Marina and the Diamonds live today.  She was amazing, as was to be expected.  Gorgeous, charismatic, and an excellent singer.  What’s not to love?

Just survived eight Advanced Placement exams.  I took the equivalent of two semesters’ worth of college exams in two weeks.  Done done done done done done. 

So I just got accepted into my university’s super-selective honors program.  That gives me access to a million and one things, and it means two trips two foreign countries before I graduate, mostly paid for by the school.

I’M FREAKING OUT.

Currently in New York City.

There are so many attractive people here, and so many of them are gay. 

…So yeah.

With a rack like that, I’m not really convinced that Katy Perry was ever “One of the Boys”…

Being in Cincinnati.  Cool.

Going to New York next weekend.  :SLDFJPLEKCMPOCJSL:DKJFL:DIJFE

Woof!  I’ve been gone forever!  So, as a treat, I’ll update you guys/gals/inter-sex/third sex/non-gendered/whathaveyou with some awesome stories, right after I do that whole ranting-about-gays-and-politics-and-what-the-fuck-ever that I am supposed to be doing on this blog.  That is what I do here, yeah?

Anyway, despite the provocative title (read it again…I mean, come on), this post actually has very little to do with things within the category of sexy.  Rather, this post is about something I like to call orientational narcissism.  

“What in the name of Bill Cosby is that?” you might be wondering.  Well, let me put it this way.  Have you ever asked a gay person what his favorite thing to talk about is?  Spoiler:  the answer is…gays!

No seriously though (and yes, I realize this is highly ironic since I’m a gay who blogs about gays), it seems like all the gay people I know only ever talk about gay people and gay politics and how they just can’t find a gay weed killer gay enough to get rid of the gay crabgrass on their gay front lawn. 

Orientational narcissism is just that.  It’s when people are so obsessed with their own orientation that they forget that they are, in fact, not just another stripe on the rainbow, but a person too.  A person with individual feelings and individual thoughts.

The problem is that the gay community banishes anyone who dissents in the slightest.  For all that they tout the idea that difference is good and that difference does not make you evil, they sure are quick to deride their own for deviation from the homosexual norm. 

For example, let us look to the majestic bisexual.  He finds himself sexually attracted to both men and women.  Dictionary.com defines “gay” as exhibiting sexual desire or behavior directed to a person or persons of one’s own sex.  Many other dictionaries describe it the same way.  “Straight” (more specifically heterosexuality) is defined as sexual attraction toward a member of the opposite sex.  So, by these definitions, the bisexual is both straight and gay.  He has one foot in each social group. 

Notice that those definitions are not mutually exclusive.  “Gay” is not defined as exhibiting sexual desire or behavior directed to a person or persons of one’s own sex, and only to a person or persons of one’s own sex.  “Straight” is not defined as sexual attraction toward and only toward a member of the opposite sex. 

So if, by definition, one can be both gay and straight, why does neither community, especially when one already knows how tough it is to be ostracized, accept him?  The answer is because dissenting is frowned upon.  If you aren’t exactly what the mainstream gay movement wants you to be, you can’t be gay.  End of story.

That is why gays talk about gays all the time.  That is why orientational narcissism exists.  The mainstream gay movement has convinced you that, if you don’t constantly talk about being gay, you are a bad homosexual and will die alone.  They have brainwashed you into thinking that the only thing in the world that matters is the right for middle class gays to marry and file joint tax returns and visit each other in prison with their average 2.5 adopted kids.

I am not saying that you should never talk about being gay.  Hell, with the social repression you go through, it’s something you should be talking about on occasion.  However, don’t let it consume your life.  Don’t let it become the only thing you talk about.  Don’t become a victim of orientational narcissism.

Alright, now it’s story time.  Social justice bloggers who reblog these because you agree with me (or because you want to tear me to shreds with a witty comment), this is the part that you edit out.

Once upon a time, in the small town of Wherethefuckisthat, Illinois, there lived a boy named Nate.  He was gay but he “didn’t believe in labels” so he never really took the time to tell anyone besides the people that actually cared to know. 

Our story begins with a crush.  A girl whom Nate had known for quite some time, herein referred to as MLT (“miserable little trollop”), had developed feelings (unreciprocated, I assure you) for Nate.  However, MLT, despite her unfortunate pseudonym, was actually a very kind and giving soul, and Nate did not want to hurt her feelings.  He never did find a way to politely tell her “I am not fond of your ladybits,” so he dropped subtle hints and ignored her advances. 

Unlikely as it may seem, this lead to quite a few interesting events.  Nate was already friends with some of MLT’s friends, but since MLT was pursuing him, he was spending a lot more time with the aforementioned friends.  He saw them again and again, more and more often without MLT.  This will become relevant later in the story.

Before Nate knew it, it was GBF (guy best friend)’s birthday.  After attending (and winning) a vigorous Mathletes regional competition, Nate was invited to take part in a surprise party for GBF. 

This is where it gets interesting.  This is also the part where I got bored of writing in third person.

So I get to this surprise party, and it is more of a surprise for me than it is for GBF.  Why is that?  Because (dundundun) straight crush is there!  You know, old SC from forever ago that I told myself about a million times that I don’t have the most intense feelings I’ve ever felt for anyone for even though I think about him for no apparent reason and feel warm whenever his around and feel like my body is on fire every time he so much as taps my fucking shoulder?

Yes, turns out SC is there too.  I should have known, considering he is in a band with GBF and is one of his closest friends, but for some reason it didn’t even cross my mind.

Anyway, there is lots of partying going on, playing just dance, and dumb stuff like that.

Then we get to this party game.  It’s kind of like Scenes from a Hat, and basically what happens is that one person draws a card that says something along the lines of “What not to do in a blackout” or “Things you wouldn’t do with a kitten” and everyone writes their suggestion on a slip of paper.  Then the person that drew the card has to try and guess who wrote what. 

Anyway, SC pulled “Things that would improve work.”  So, feeling in a flirty and obnoxious mood (mostly because it was nearing eleven and I hadn’t slept in about 30 hours) I jokingly wrote “Every day is casual day - and by casual I mean nude.”  I didn’t write anything near that suggestive for anyone else and I regretted it the second I added the paper to the pile of slips building on the floor.  I for sure thought he was going to see how pointed it was.

He starts reading through them and guessing fairly accurately.  It takes him a while, since I did something so completely out of the norm for me, but he guessed which one I wrote.  He then started laughing hysterically and saying over and over how “mine was the best” and “it was just so funny.”  He pointed at me every time.

So now I’m actually a little embarrassed.  Everyone there thought it was funny, and they had dirtier senses of humor than I did, but still. 

Then we play never-have-I-ever, which is essentially a game where you ostracize people for living sheltered lifestyles.  Basically, you go around a circle naming things you have never done.  People start with five fingers in the air, but each time someone says they have never done something, and you know that you have done it, you have to put down a finger.

Of course, SC has to start.  And what has he never, ever done?  “Never have I ever kissed a guy.”

So I put my finger down.  Now everybody’s all “Really?” “Did you do it as a joke?” “Did you lose a bet?” “It probably happened as part of a bad joke.” “But you’re straight!”  I wasn’t really looking at SC, so I don’t know how he reacted.  Fortunately, a few other guys that are most definitely straight also had to put their fingers down, so that made the situation diffuse a little easier.

After a sufficient amount of awkwardness, we all got to the point where everyone is to tired to say normal things anymore.  So at one point, SC was just talking in general, and he asked me if I could think of any more party games to play.  I gave a few suggestions, and he didn’t like any of them, so I shrugged and leaned back in my chair.  Then we had this weird staring match thing going on, except it was kind of in reverse.  He’d look at me, and the second I turned to see if he was looking at me he’d quickly glance away.  Then I’d start staring and do the same when he turned.  Sooooo dumb.

Then I needed to get home, but I didn’t have a care.  So K (really, her name is Kay) said she would drive me.  I also remembered that I had to stop at Walmart, and she said that was fine. 

But then SC jumps in, saying he also needs a ride, and that his house is right next to Walmart.  So K agrees to let him ride with us.

As we’re leaving the party, these two girls I’m also friends with (MLT’s friends, from earlier) were driving very slowly out of GBC’s neighborhood.  So, because I was hyper and sleep-depraved, I started running after them.  Like, full-on cheetah sprinting.  I actually almost caught up to them.  I ended up just jogging out to K’s car from where I was, and by the time K and SC got there they both expressed their surprise and “had no idea that you could run like that!”

Um…everyone can sprint…

Here’s the weirdest part.  We get into K’s car and give it a minute to warm up.  I’m in the front with K and SC is sitting directly behind me.  SC gives K directions on how to get to his house.  She nods and starts pulling out of GBC’s subdivision. 

Then, for no reason and with no explanation whatsoever, SBC leans forward a little and says, “Nate, sing with me.”

I’m just like WTFAreyoutalkingabout, and he’s like “Go on, think of some songs we both know.”

We sort of have different tastes in music, so I couldn’t think of anything.  In the end, I just tell him “Hallelujah” by Jeff Buckley.

So we sing the whole song (in the style of Rufus Wainwright instead), or at least, the parts we know.  He was actually pretty decent.  Nothing terribly special, but he could hold a tune and hit the right notes. 

BUT BESIDES THE FUCKING POINT.  WE SANG TOGETHER.  HARMONIES EVEN.  I don’t even know how to fucking sing a harmony but he managed to create them as we went along.

I teased him when his voice cracked on a higher note.  Then he went on about being a bass.  “I just don’t have good tone on higher notes,” he says, “Not the way you do.”

So now I’m like WEKLJ:VKLJSD:OFIJERTOIJSf

We get to his house and drop him off.  K comments on how pretty his ass is and I have to concur.  But after we’re completely out of his neighborhood, we both just looked at each other and wondered what the fuck just happened.

Seriously, I’m not sure I’ll ever know what that was about.  He hasn’t mentioned it since, and I just…gah.  I don’t know.

I really thought I was over this.  But I guess fucking not.

HARMONIES!  HARMONIES I TELL YOU!

Shit.

Anyways, that’s all for my enormous rant/update/I’m back post.  I hope you enjoyed.

The strangest thing about life is that you can try to distance yourself from a situation, a problem, a person, but no matter what you do, you will always cry in the end. 

See, tears are inevitable.  They are the only thing in this world as certain as the air you breathe.  They come when you least expect them to.  They come whether you want them or not.  They come in happy times, they come in sad.

And in the end all you can do is cry.  You cry and you cry and you cry  until you feel like there isn’t a single tear left in your entire body and then you cry some more.

The pain will go away, but it will never leave.  Just like the tears, the pain may lessen in frequency, but it will always be there.  It will always be with you.

One day you’ll wake up and realize that the pain is good, that you want the pain.  The pain, like a scar, is a mark of experience.  You lived, you learned, and above all, you loved; the pain and the tears and markers of all the sadness and the happiness that you were so lucky to have. 

Cherish the tears.  Each and every one is a memory, good or bad, that made you who you are today.  Each and every one is a tie to another person whose life you were so fortunate to be a part of. 

Tears are a beautiful thing.  You are sad, I am sad, everyone is sad.  But in the end, you will be thankful that you had so much to cry about, such wonderful people to cry for. 

Yeah, it’s been really busy over here.  Basically, here’s the beat down:

1. I had my last forensics (speech and debate) meet ever, and I won a fancy trophy
2. I had my interview with Yale, which went really well
3. I’ve studied non-stop to do well on WYSE (some academic test thing);  I got 3rd place in English and 1st place in Biology at regionals, and our team took second over all.  Now I have to study harder for sectionals, and hopefully state (where they give scholarship money)
4. I’ve been trying to get a job.  Trying and failing.
5. I’ve written two hundred scholarship essays
6. I had to diffuse a situation with a friend who apparently had a crush on me
7. SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT SHIT

So yeah.  Sorry for the lack of posts.  I’ll definitely be posting new, highly-opinionated things soon.  Thanks everyone!

Stay classy, fags.

Sometimes I’m casually browsing tumblr and I see pictures with two guys cuddling and kissing or some other innocent but intimate thing.  And then I wonder:  is this from a porno?

…Because I’m pretty sure more than half of them are…