You’ll pardon the heavy boots. I don’t like to make people sad. I like to make people laugh. In fact, I don’t think I know how to write anything that isn’t a desperate attempt at humor. But when nights get particularly long, and I’ve gotten tired of Googling pictures of Chris Evans (or his equally attractive and more GAY brother Scott!) then the trouble starts. Ideas and thoughts start bouncing around in my mind like super-balls from those vending machines, and it’s all I can do to try to put them back into those little clear plastic eggs.
I feel as though I’ve been pretending to be someone else for so long, that I’ve forgotten who I really was to begin with. Now, I know that sounds like something a Lifetime movie Meredith Baxter character would say. Which is why I feel a bit ridiculous saying it. But I think it captures the thought and puts it in a little clear plastic egg for you. Oi. I got balls on the mind. Oh dear… let me rephrase…
Pretending to be straight has become my modus operandi. I know all the moves. I’ve been on a few dates with girls. Hell, I even made out with one (I’ll have to tell you that story sometime. It’s… tragically hilarious.) I don’t mind doing those things once in a while to… appease the mother who thinks that I’m not a whole man without being wrapped around a girl’s finger. But recently it has made me lose sight of who I am, and who I want to be. I think it hit me thinking about my most recent (heterosexual) relationship. Eight months I spent fooling myself and everyone else that I was straight. I ignored the fact that I thought our waiter was cuter than my girlfriend and tried to hide that I watched Just Friends with her solely for Ryan Reynolds (there’s a man I would love to make brazen overtures to!). She ended up breaking it off, but the relief I felt when it happened terrified me. I was beat up, to be sure, but I couldn’t understand why there was no need for chick flicks and pints of Ben and Jerry’s afterwards. The more I thought about it, and the more I shamelessly flirted with the French boy who lived next door, the clearer it became. Me and my ex had the same taste in movies, sodas, and men.
It’s not just about being gay. I’m a people-pleaser. I love to make people happy. I just sometimes feel that that has really cost me. I owe my choices of college, major, sexual preference, clothing, relationships, and future in part to the wisdom and experience of those around me, and in part to the fact that I feel that’s what everyone would want me to choose. I’ve done this for so long, that I can’t decide what I want to do anymore. I’m waiting for people to plan out my life for me. And now that my mother is not doing that for me, I don’t know where to turn. Grad school, career plans, coming out, moving out. It’s a lot to handle on your own. I’ll still rely on those I love for advice. But I’ve also begun to take matters into my own smooth, white, girly, inexperienced hands.
I’m making strides, small as they may be. Despite the throngs of loved ones saying “It’s the best thing for you right now!” I turned down an internship that to me sounded painfully boring. It probably would have been a good move for my career, (and the interviewer was convinced it was the only move) but I just couldn’t stand it. I sought council from some very qualified people, listened to what they had to say, and then did what I wanted. It felt great. Of course it meant a summer spent living with my parents and wearing the same shorts for 4 days straight.
Does this mean I do know where I’m headed? AS IF! (Clueless is on right now. I’m channeling my inner Brittany Murphy). But the realization that you just spent the last 2 minutes skimming over has helped me to start to seriously think about it. That doesn’t mean I’m going to run out and tell everyone that my life goal is to open a jazz club (which at the moment it is) but it does mean some serious introspection over a few beers and an empty house. We’ll see. I’ll keep you posted.
Ok, enough serious shit. I feel like being super gay right now. So here are the things that turn me on. Please feel free to set me up with your single friends who match the following description.
A man’s eyes are the most important part of his face. Most of the crushes I’ve had have particularly stunning eyes. Jeepers Creepers! Would you look at those peepers? Man candy example: Chris Hemsworth.
Glasses also make me swoon. But only the type that he only wears when he forgets contact solution or is reading at night. Man candy example: I’m not gonna lie. Jude Law kinda makes me want to jump off a bridge, because I’ve a sneaking suspicion that in Heaven everyone looks like Jude Law.
You already know how I feel about short guys. Man candy example: Chris Masterson.
There’s a guy in my class with the most gorgeous calves I’ve ever seen. Legs. Who knew? I can see why straight guys dig them so much. I just like mine… hairier. Man candy example: I’m sure his calves are gorgeous. The rest of him is, so I’m just assuming. Paul Rudd, everybody, pre-Anchorman era.
And finally, I was trying to find an excuse to include him. But I can’t. All is I can say is I would boff, marry, then boff again Eric Bana. Why must people like him exist? It isn’t fair, I tell you. Isn’t fair!
How To Be A Hipster Without Really Trying 