25) Blame Canada!

After talking with one of my friends today, and by talking with I mean texting, I came to the conclusion that everyone I know is long distance dating.  Maybe there is more to it than I originally thought.  I mean, you have the freedom of being apart with the comfort of knowing it's just a tank of gas to be together.  Does a seperate zip code give you more satisfaction? 

Is traveling the distance really worth the mileage?...

Back in the days when hopping on your two wheeler with your back pack full of G.I. Joe's and apple juice, the only thing you needed to worry about was not having your mother know you crossed the tracks, being friends or even young "crushers" was an easy deal.  Now, with our Blue/Blackberries, our Nintendo 10.12's and our ability to go just about anywhere at any time in our crazy fuel efficeint motor machines, dating has become frequent oil changes and tire rotations and seperated itself from the casual and over-done pack.  A weekend trip could end you up in Vegas for a quicky.  You may no longer bore your tear ducts dry at the same old, same old.  And imagine getting yourself a lover out of it! 

I'm not sure if I could handle such a distance between the cuddle side of life.  My affection levels are at their peak and it's not looking good for the solitary faint of heart.  The phone can only vibrate so hard in your pants pocket before you have to answer it.  Even the knowledge of it being your boyfriend on the other side isn't enough for my sex drive, no matter how low it drops.  Alas...be it a boy from down the street or living in a country ending in "stan", it just needs to be a boy who loves me.

Canada, here I come, eh?!

Bingo-bango

I added more to Bourne Again: Christian.  Let me know through the email link what you think.  This may turn into one of those old mystery books where you, the reader, needed to chose the ending to find out the correct outcome.  It's a process people.  Thanks for reading and giving me feedback!

22) Chronicles of an over-sexed and deaf gay man.

No means no.  That's all I have for this post.  Why can't gay men understand that sex is not all that there is in life?  Why can't I just have a conversation with a gay man without him thinking it is going to lead to a blow job?  I just want to yahoo message you without feeling like I'm at a bar stool swatting away drunken flies.  I want words!! WORDS!!!!  Oh...friends.  My recently colored hair is turning gray again too quickly.  I need to detox the stress from my life.  1..2..3..I don't need you with me!  Stress be gone.  They actually sell a potion of stress be gone in those little shops where they also sell all those crazy witch candles and love spells.  It has to work, right?  Otherwise how do they stay in business?  I guess it's all in the mind.  Poof!  There.  I'm fine.  God, I need a man!  (ha) 

21) It is true, indeed!

So, I'm not crafty yet at this blogger thang so I'm not sure how to create a page that will allow comments on it.  Maybe for the time being, if you have comments for one of my pages...lm up there, just comment on this entry here and I'll import them to the page when I get them. (that was supposed to be a hand pointing the index finger up, by the way!)  Thanks, y'all.

20) Newbies step to the right.

Ok.  Not only am I having my writings of the week page, but I'm also creating a few pages for my favorite food recipes and drinks.  I hope you join me in these new pages to get a feel of my everyday life and a couple more tid-bits of info on my likes and dislikes.  Feel free to comment on these recipes if you have already tried them and hate them.  Or if you agree and absolutely love them too.  Also, the drinks page is a free-for-all.  Please upload any and all of your favorites so I may join you in the cause of alcoholic freedom!

Thanks, bitches!

19) Hmmmm...

I'm going to start a section of writings on my blog titled: Writings of the week.  This is going to be the new home of all of my short story, film and mini-series ideas.  I have a bunch stored up in my ever forgetful brain and feel like I should write them down to focus on something tangible in my life.  Or at least have a record of them before I completely forget all of them.  This is an open place for all feedback and comments, I expect them.  It will help me adjust, tweek and make better.  The first installment of ideas is going to be a spoof of the books/movie line, The Bourne Identity.

 I'm calling it, Bourne Again: Christian.

This is going to be the story of a man who wakes up alone in a church with no memory of what happened the day before.  He is dressed in a ripped cleric's robe, stained with blood and inscribed with the name Christian Bourne along the monogrammed seem of the cross on the Damascene band cincture.  The story is going to have a Memento type feel to it.  Starting at the end clue to solve the beginning of the puzzle.  I'm classifying it as a comedy, but there will be elements of drama and action along the way.  I'm not sure if I want to write this as a short or feature, or as a book or screenplay just yet. 

If you stumble into this section and see nonsensical ramblings, don't be discouraged to read them.  I may end up just throwing ideas into the pot and wait until simmered to stir.  So don't stop reading if the first batch comes out a little burnt...not sure why I'm using so many cooking analogies, must be hungry.  I can't be hungry.  I just devoured my sister's entire refrigerator.  Anyway.  I hope you come along for Tom-Talk.  Pull up a pinch of carpet and become enchanted by the spillings of my fermented brain cells!  Bon appetite...sorry. 

18) Epic fail!

It seems as though my lack of ambition and low sex drive has ended my very short 80's career make over.  That lasted long, huh?!

There's something to be said about not having any motivation in your life...it's mainly bad things.  I did, however, try out a new hairstyle.  It is sorta emo, but in a new retro way.  Not really.  It's just emo.  The color is not, though.  So I guess it is a smidgen retro.  I think I'm going to grow it out another couple of inches so that when I starighten it hardcore, I'll be a sexy bitch.  At least my hair will be.

That's really all I have today.  Not feeling very talkative, well, writeative, today.
Until next time,
Suck it bitches.

17) Life is a mystery.

In the words of one of the greatest 80's icons, "you're frozen if your heart is not open".  Get it girl!

I've just decided that I am going completely 80's glam for the next few months.  I'm not sure why, but I think it may have something to do with the new movie Hot Tub Time Machine.  I'm decking these halls with everything vinyl and pleather.  Instead of emo-ing my hair like I have been trying for, I might frizz the shank out of it and flock it up to the gulls.  Stellar!

I have always been insterested in the fashion choices people make.  It really opens you up to a whole new world when you try on a new look.  It could be as simple as a suit to sweats change, or as complex as a new era to era transformation.  I'm going with the latter.  Now, the only decision I need to make is if I rock the 80's punk or the 80's pop?  Two completely different looks stemming from the same drugged out concert.  I need help with this decision because one involves a lot of hairspray and black lipstick and the other a bunch of neon, tight fitting clothing.  Or maybe I'll combined the two.  Make my own era.  Since we can no longer call them eras anymore.  Once we strolled into the 2000's we are shit out of luck with terms.  Haven't we come up with anything better than the 20-10's?  It's not like we can take it back to saying the 20's.  That'll just confuse all the emo kids out there.  They are confused enough, with their energy drinks, Blackberry touch's and oversized skater shoes that never seem to be velcroed shut.  What are they not going to talk to their parents about anymore if they start having something in common with them?  Their "hard-knock" lives would be shattered.  I mean, when they take their allowances from mom and dad to waste at the movie theatre, they may actually have to look them in the eye and say thank you.  It's so hard.   For reals, yo.

So, Millenna-Ten here I come!  Anyone who wants to join me in my combining of the two 80's styles together in creating the new Millenna-Ten look, feel free.  Catalogs will be arriving shortly.  Mix and match, word?  Although, if you think about it, the 80's were pretty emo!

16) The emotional experiences that shatter glass.

I have only had one three-some in my life up unto this point.  That one quickly turned into two in the same apartment, with half of the original couple involved with the next.  I'm not sure if it was the stale basement apartment air, the smoke filled lungs of the participants, the case of beer I must have swallowed or the city that never slept, that got me in the mood for such a venture.  I think it must have been the city calling out to me to be the person I have felt inside for years but was too ashamed to actually express.  Or maybe it was the way that the boy came up to me in the bar and blaintently asked if I would fuck his boyfriend in front of him.  I have never gotten that type of attention growing up in Ohio as the fatty gay of the group.  My surprise as I leaned against the bar, back turned to the shirtless twink serving shots and talking through my friend into the eyes of this tall, skinny dirty experience across the crowded bar, when he came over to me through the monotenous drawl of hot pecks and meaningless conversation from the other gay men within ear shot.  I was the most nervous I had ever been in any situation.  Even more so than actually taking the plunge in moving to the city.  The first words that came from his mouth will echoe in my soul for eternity...lips so close to my left ear I could feel the moisture forming around my lobe, his left hand set to place on my right hip, he spoke in an accent I recognized a trashed gay bar lingo..."you're sooo hot, dude.  Wanna fuck my boyfriend as I watch?"
Bleh, really?

At first I was completely taken a back, but you see, there was no back to take.  I was pressed firmly against the bar.  I instantly knew that my life would change at this moment.  I kissed my friend on the check and said, "see you tomorrow after I get back from the free clinic!"

The two "lovers" were making babies in the back of the cab as it drove us further into Williamsburg, Brooklyn.  A place I had just recently been aquianted with.  A cute little borrough.  We arrived at this shitty little basement apartment that you could get lost in if there wasn't that familiar scent of cheese guiding you through.  The cheese at this point was the piss stains on the zebra rug covering the cold cement floors.  But I was in it to win it now.  I had thrown all caution to the wind and was about to "open" myself up to new horizons.  We made it into the cramped bedroom of the first boy that introduced himself as, "horny: vodka tonics" and plopped down on the matress on the floor.  Super sexy as anyone could imagine feeling at this point, I removed my shirt and watched as the 2 fondled into their pants to pull out their semi hard dicks. 

15) Laying low is for suckers.

I am about to venture back to the infamous Los Gallos near my house.  It seems on Sunday, anti-Valentine's day, my sister and I made quite the commotion in one of their booths.  We started our day with brunch at 11am that morning.  What seemed like gallons of cheap champagne mixed with a Circle K brand O.J. and cinnamon laced eggs and ended with a walking black-out to places met with a fog and brief glimpses of Moulin Rouge songs scrammbling out of my head like the eggs in my stomach; we made quite the scene at the restaraunt.

I was warned by my sister to lay low from there for awhile, but in my infinite wisdom and judgement-o-grandure, I am focused hard on leaving my senses behind and swimming in a vat of frozen margarita.  Damn the torpedo's.  A reference from the day that lived in infamy both in 1940 and now again in 2010.  I'm heading for a misstep down the rabbit hole once again.  Wish me luck!

14) It's a little bit funny...

The thing that makes me laugh the most about humanity is the stages we go through in our lives that make absolutly no sense.  Take consumers, please!  Ha.  Nope.  But seriously, take the normal consumer.  As soon as a person puts on their buying shoes, no matter where or what it is that they may possibly spend their money on, they become an entirely different being from when they pulled their hair from the shower drain that same morning.  We transform into these self-absorbed pieces of overly entitled shit bags.  What gives us the right to completely disrespect those that are "serving" us our conveniences?  Are we better than the man cooking the burger because we happen to be eating the burger?  Do we have more right to be alive to purchase the toaster-oven than the clerk does who's selling it to us?  What happens when the person serving the filet goes home to get ready to go out and purchase the filet?  Do they then become more entitled to eat it than the woman serving it to him?  This slope becomes extremely slippery and we are, it seems, powerless to stop it.

Working in a place where humans become their lowest form for years has really opened my eyes to becoming a better man.  I guess I have to thank all of the assholes that waited in line staring down their noses at me.  The catch-22 of it all makes me realize just how connected we really are to one another.  Being thrown money everyday of my life like I was some sort of servant girl made to dance for a high priest has put blisters on my soul.  But because of this I truly feel as though I have made a difference in someone elses life.  I am not that asshole who mocks the person behind the apron, or the man who complains because it took me 37 seconds to reach the front of the bagel line.  I'm not the adolecent who thinks because mommy is a cock ring that it gives me the right to be one as well.  I've learned from the mistakes I have seen for years.  I over came the potential for dumbness.  I have reached a new level of graciousness.  This is my passing along of the torch.  Do of it what you may, but listen to these words...You are the only person in the world as you sit.  The strength you posses in your soul is the be all in the way of forwarding the light to the new generation.  Make the right choice.  You're looked up to more than you will ever realize.  If you allow your character to become shattered by the things you feel an ache for you will destroy everything that has come before you.  Own your soul. 

Your mission is to pass along something that you have learned from another human in your life, good or bad.  The only catch is that you must define the moment as a lesson for the good of the world.  If something happened to you in a negative light tell how you managed to change it around to benifit you for the better?  Comment on this post all of your feelings to send to the world.

One loaf! 

13) Saints and sinners

St. Valentine: The last true romantic.

A man who gave his life for the cause.  Set to death for encouraging love in the heights power.  All my loaf to you Valentine.  All my loaf.

12) The Devil cascades

I wouldn't necessarily say that I grew up a sheltered life.  I mean I had running water and electricity.  I lived my life in suburbs not farm yards or dungeons, so I had family gatherings and television.  I just feel as though my life experiences have been deluded in the beginning and as a result my whole outlook has been misshaped.

Our family has never been one to express emotion.  A conversation is almost too much to ask for when it involves anything more substancial than the news or the weather.  If it has to do with an inanimate object, the story sharing and laughs explode through the ceiling.  If you find yourself at a crossroads in your life you best not waste your time.  Noone seems to be listening.  Or an anger comes out and is forced upon you like you were raping baby bunnys. 
Holidays in our family seem like a meeting for the first time.  Like a reunion taking place after 20 years of solitude.  How's the Delorian treating your gass mileage?  Any big vacation plans for the summer of '69?  Have you heard of this new plastic?  What grade are you in now?  Babies?  Pets?  New shoes?  If alcohol wasn't involved with our family I'm pretty sure we would spend most of our time standing in line at the bathroom waiting in mumbles for a moment of unawkward silence on the toilet.  Take a moment to imagine your family in that same line.  How many half smiles and eye squints are shot from one to the next?  How many arm rubs and watch glances?  Or maybe your family is healthy.  You should describe your family bathroom lines in the comment section...
I guess it didn't help that I went to a catholic grade school for the early nine years of my life.  The same 25 faces will forever be ingrained into my soul.  The classrooms held 30 desks.  The teachers, for the most part, were all middle aged or older white women.  The hallways were narrow and lined with hooks for jackets and backpacks.  My routine as a child was monotenous.  I fell in line with the rest of the class until I realized that I had nothing in common with anyone else there.  I believe it was around 4th grade when I noticed something happening inside the never airconditioned classrooms.  The boys kept looking at the girls in this new and confusing way.  It was almost the same way I had been looking at the boys.  I wasn't sure what to make of it.  I did know, however, to never mention it.  For nine years I was told how beautiful and all loving God was.  That we are all God's children and he loves us all unconditionally.  Unless...God's grace is never ending, unless...God will never foresake you, unless...He is everything and everywhere and he is all forgiving, unless...
This was extremely confusing for a young tot just growing into his ideals and sexuality.  In my understanding of our God, He hated me.  Nothing I could do would ever change that.  I thought that lusting after the girls like the other boys did would help but I felt deep down inside that I was actually making it worse by lying to Him and myself.  So, I did what every confused and alone gay boy does.  I surpressed all my natural feelings and grew into something completely different.  Ever so slowly I was falling into this underwater state of depression.  I felt my soul shutting down.  This, I found out, is bad in a catholic school.  Kids with these sorts of dark feelings get sent to have some one-on-one time with the principle and then the priests.  Hours upon hours I spent confessing to the same Lord that wasn't listening to me in the first place.  I actually felt like my DNA was pulling apart.  I needed to stop this from happening.  So, I became the class clown.  If I wasn't going to fit in with any of the "normal" kids and I most certainly wanted to stop meeting with the Lord, I would need to become something transparent, the entertainment.  My thought was, if I was standing infront of the class with all their eyes on me that I would somehow blend into the blackboard.  Make 'em laugh. 

Making them laugh turned out to be a blessing and a curse.  I was the boy everyone wanted to sit next to in class to make math go by quicker, but I was never the boy called to hang out.  My personality stemmed into this organism that took over people's lives.  You could almost choke on it if you remained too close for too long.  I didn't know how to turn it off.  I was never taught how to make my real feelings interlock with my new personality.  It didn't help that at home I was still the only boy in a family of all girls.  The footballs that came every Christmas seemed to mock me under their finely wrapped plastic Wal-Mart bags.  The only outlet I had growing up was my pillow.  I named him Christian. 

11) It's what could be for dinner.

Let us talk briefly about the little issue I like to call mouth rape and how it can drastically change your life.

I have always wanted to be walking down the street and completely surprise a sexy ass boy with my tongue down his throat.  To catch him off gaurd so that he has no choice but to let me make out with him hardcore.  I often wonder what that outcome would be.  Let's dive into a couple of scenarios:

• You happen to find the only out gay man walking the streets of Bedford, Ohio and you make passionate love on the side of the road.
• You realize that the person you're violating is actually a lesbian and that she turns you on more than it would a man.
• The guy is so shocked he is paralyzed and just allows you to have your way with him.
• It's a cop and you are now in jail.
• Your head meets the concrete even before you have time to wipe your lip.

Any of the above stated could make for an excellent blog entry.  I, however, would like the shocked straight boy.  I may experiment with this one day.  And I hope you all do too.  You can never go wrong with a little mouth rape, I always say.

10) Soulcaliber

Work today was something of a miracle. I thought Jesus had left my side for good when I confronted him with my newest proposal. Who knew he was so far in the closet that he wouldn't just let me stick the tip in? Some people...

But, I survived today so I know he is still looking out for me. For you see, I almost lost my life in the home stretch of my shift today. We'll just say that the floor was slippery with substance, my shoes have lost all traction about 48 hours after I purchased them from Famous Footwear and the sexy boy I was hardcore eye raping was moving too fast in the opposite direction. All-in-all, disaster blooming situation. My equilibrium isn't what it used to be since I've created my V-8. vodka and corn diet. Add a splash of Mrs. Dash and everything is made better. Too bad your spunk tastes like German Shepard ball sac sweat. A small price to pay to witness the power, the Majesty, the gold halo producing mixture of a small town house wife/slave of the kitchen.

I'm alive!

Supermac18 - Target Dance Party

The eigth. Target: End of an Era

The Target store by my house just closed down due to it's new neighbor, Walmart. I loved that Target store. It always smelled like they just cleaned the floor. Probably because they constantly did because of all the urination happening in the corners, I'm sure. But I loved it. They always had the best stuff you never really needed but realized you did when you got it home. And they were the only non-convenient store that carried the Low-carb, blue can Rock Star that I enjoy oh so much. Sad, sad day today.

I will miss you Tar-ghetto!

An ode to the Tarchay...

This was me everytime I entered that Target. Sorry it's so annoying. Suck it.

7) Mucho margaritas with amigos

So today I am going out to my most favorite Mexican restaraunt. I am very excited about this because previously stated, it is my most favorite Mexican restaraunt!

They have amazing food and huge margaritas for cheap-o. The best part about it is it's within walking distance of my house. Are you seeing the subtle connections to the blog title? I'm not sure if i'll be able to walk today, though. it's snowing like a bitch out there.

I'm not really in a funny mood right now so i'll end this with a prayer...

I actually don't have a prayer. Just say an Our Father or something, word.

Peace...oh, there yea go!

The sixth

FAGGOT!

Shout out to all my homophobic, dude man bro's out there.

I was watching a lot of youtube last night, because I'm bored shittless here in Ohio, and I came across a bunch of comments on peoples posts that include a lot of derogatory phrases and ignorant rig-a-ma-roll. I would just like to ask if we could stop it. It's one thing if you are black or gay and you think it's ok for you to use the words because it's empowering to your fellow members, but it's not cool to allow some one to comment on your post these incredibly heartbreaking ideals. If you see someone comment on your posting that you don't like, remove it. It's not hard. Block the asshole. You may lose a subscriber but you'll gain self-respect. And if you don't, you're the asshole and you suck turd popsicles.

For the record I absolutely hate when black or gay people feel it ok to use those words because it's about something they are or about them overcoming the past usage of the words. It's not empowering, it's sloppy and easy. Down right dumb logic. Empowering would be to become educated on the subject matter and slap a bitch in the face with knowledge and walk away, head held high. Although, my experience with the straight, middle class, white variety has always left me tasting garlic in my throat when trying to actually speak about the subject. Good luck.

Anyway, I was following this guy, Shane Dawson, on youtube. He is very funny at times and entertaining for the most part until he sent out a couple of posts using fag to describe his singing/dancing to the backstreet boys. You see, he parody's all of the latest Hollywood shinaneries, much like everyone on youtube now-a-days, and with this last one it was about Lady Gaga's Bad Romance. It was really funny until the end when he was parodying men, i guess. To use that word to bring someone down, even in a joke, is one small step for man, one giant leap back for mankind. An oldy but a goody! I lost all respect for Shane Dawson at that moment. It makes me quite sad, too. He has some good shit up.

Oh well. Enough of my nonsensical ranting about that stupid subject. I just needed to get that one out.

One love.

5) It's Brittany, bitch.

I dreamt last night that I was ass up in my car parked in my driveway and decapitated from the nose up. This might have something to do with the Brittany Spears South Park episode I keep hearing about. This followed the quick slaps given to Julia Roberts by Billy Zane in my fabulously furnished West Village apartment. Not sure if she deserved the last one, he nailed it, it was wicked hard, but the first two she had coming.

Back to my apartment of dreams in NYC. The bedroom was a deep red with black accents. The walls almost seemed to move and sway with the force of Billy's hand. The four post bed was a mixture of cherry stain and natural wood knots. It looked a bit over dramatic for my style but thems the breaks. The bed was the center piece of the room, as it should be, but it damn well took up the entire space. Besides the small amount of room given at the foot of the bed to Julia who was holding her swelling check...this by the way was a bit too real for me. I actually saw the bruise start to form and skin slowly tear open from the pooling blood under it. I did have a lot of bean salsa last night. The bed was huge even for me. I'm not that big. My elephant trunks only hang so far off the bed. I'm not sure of the spread of the bed. I think it was still in blackish-red, like a cherry floated in coke. I get the same feeling in my life from that analogy.

The first moment the cherry hits the fizzing high fructose corn syrup it sinks hard but still has the reserve of a struggling fat actor. It doesn't want to sink. It can't sink. The fizz helps keep it just under the wake line, like his true number one fan who gives inspiration.

My life as a floating fruit.

I feel stuck in a pothole realm where there are not only just a few good men but none that can change a flat. Not to mention, all straight. My expanding sense of humor to incorporate all that is ironic is failing me when it comes to having a relationship with a man. The one that is most important and will always be is the one with my father. Unfortunately, he had three daughters and one has a penis. The disappointment of my pops: the saga continues. No amount of disillusionment can raise the expectations of ones feelings towards the misunderstandings between a father and son. I guess it's my disappointment in myself that is the catalyst of our nonexistent relationship. I blame cheese. More on this installment coming soon.

4) Orange juice and wood

One of my absolute most favorite things in the world is vomiting up orange juice. Especially right after I have brushed my teeth and a smidgen makes it's way up the nose.

The morning is probably the best time of day for it to happen. Followed closely by the moment right before you have completely gotten comfortable before bed. Curling up under the covers after you have made the last stretch of the day and the muscles in your body have given up their battle for first place in the least amount of charlie horses in a given month, contest. You feel a slight burp come from deep within your soul. It's a trick. Don't be fooled. Follow through on that gas expulsion and tangy, warm sludge for the Netherlands will find a new home in the crease of your pillow case. Hold strong. Cupping your mouth will only shatter the stream, spraying the goods in hard to reach places. Have faith in your legs and gag reflex. After all, what have all those deep throating adventures been for if not this precise moment? The bathroom is in mind sight. No time for lights. It's now or never. This is not a drill. Nor is it the time to find the end of your night stand with your big toe. God didn't manufacture carpenters for a pleasure cruise, this is a test of your endurance, of your strength of faith and heart. Navigate blindly over your wooden trenches, past your cherry oak stained mortar mines. Your mouth is filling. Your throat expands with the force of a double sided dildo bent in half and experimented with, only once...never again. This is where your left brain kicks in and dictates to your relaxed muscles to get it together. It's time you've graduated out of fat camp and into the locker room.

The slow eroding feeling against the enamel on the backs of your front teeth and the tunneling between molars is almost too much to bear. But opening now would spell disaster. It would spell it with partially digested fruit all over the walls. The night light that flickers on and off to the right of the sink mocks as it sees glimpses of you stammering to the toilet. Almost robotic in form, ABBA makes it's way to the front of the line in your head. Dancing Queen? As if. It's the Name of the Game smacks you in the face as you lean your right hand on the counter and left hand on the lid of the toilet. "Does she mean anything to you?". Direct hit.

The projectile fountain emerges from your soul as beautifully as a jet from the Bellagio. Splash down. It only takes a second for the warmth to separate from the liquid. Cooling fast, the gut jizz slips into the pot. After a brief moment of enjoying the sensation in your nose, you wipe the corners of your mouth with a swatch of toilet paper and dab your brow. Rising from your knees, which is a practice you have gotten increasingly good at, you try to adjust your line of sight on the bowl. Light helps in this moment. Too rushed before to turn it on, you back track now to the switch. Marvel in your work. You did it. Another successful leap of faith....Too bad you missed.

Alternate endings:
1) Marvel in your work. You did it. Another successful leap of faith....Now clean off grandma, she was sleep walking again.
2) ...Now scoop it out, you've got lube for a month.
3) ...You can eat your corn again.
4) ...You just need to get past the smell and skat is not that bad....that one didn't even make sense.

Looking through the doughnut hole into the mirror

I can't believe I was woken up downstairs shirtless, belt undone and completely out of my mind drunk this morning by my sister. I had one insane night last night it seems.

I'm not sure what the deal was with last night. Too much pent up frustration needed to be drown in alcohol or something more profound.

Living in a suburb of Ohio isn't always a pleasure walk for an overweight gay boy. Living anywhere as an overweight homo isn't easy, for that matter. The never ending feeling of isolation takes a pretty hard toll on self-esteem and progress in self motivation. This could be why I binge with drinking and especially with eating. I hear that we should take that frustration and put it into energy. Making ourselves stronger, leaner, more attractive. The only thing that that frustration makes me see is the mirror and a never changing image that fluctuates wider. My brain has a hard time seeing the truth. My body dis morphia is poison. I mask my body in hatred and jelly doughnuts...I don't even like jelly doughnuts.

The thing that is constantly in the back of my mind is, why sex? What is it about sex that drives us so passionately? Body image in this world we've created is insanely morphed out of control. A once optimistic lad can be forced into complete submission over the V riding atop his belt line.

Walking down the streets of Manhattan everyday for a year and a half changed my life and outlook on life dramatically. What is said silently in the eye contact made in Chelsea between two sexy gay men could fill the ocean with verse. The sound of falling sheet rock that is heard when a chubby gay hits the streets can also fill that same ocean. Only his story doesn't end with a trip to Old Navy for a new shirt to replace the one violently ripped off his chest by a savage, sex hungry romp through the piers. It could help if you carry a puppy. Or Zoloft.

I miss New York. I felt alive there. I definitely felt more love there. The cement was never even, the taxi's had to meet their horn blowing quota for the month, you'd always just miss the N train, the bike messengers were on a mission from God to destroy all non-believers and the lady behind you in line would never fail to piss you off, but it always felt right. Peaceful in mayhem. Even a chubs could feel a glance every once in a while.

The time it takes to heal

As I was at work today, relaxing on the toilet, I was thinking about why it was that my feet always fall asleep as I squeeze out a monster log. I came to the conclusion that I might need to ease up on the old fried cheese and bacon. But because I am completely infatuated with both, I decided to not stop eating those things and to get over the painful two minutes it takes for the blood to by-pass my clogging arteries and slosh into my toes. I got pretty used to the smell and I'm actually encouraging others to buy the bottled product. Puff by Pierre is coming this Fall. I'm thinking I'll add the blue can, low carb Rock Star smell to the follow up cologne. Wal-mart is biting at my heels.

Anyway. Hunching over the sink, grasping onto the counter, I looked up into the mirror and wondered, not about the passing customer who was probably asking himself why this crazy man has his pants down and is doing a sachet to Lady Gaga's Bad Romance in his head but, why my face looked so squishy and strained. Are there some crows that can't land anymore? On one drunkin night out did I steal a bunch of feet that I'm not so secretly hiding on my face? My attention quickly turned to the gray hair that was poking through the Just for Men Brown I had just destroyed it with on my head, and not so discretely coming out of my nose. I don't mind a smidge of gray. Everyone always says I'm distinguished. Fuck a hoe-nut. Distinguished or not, that $7.98 was money not well spent. I don't think I'm that old but I guess 27 is pretty much the start of the decline. Mid-life is fun. And who am I kidding, that customer's bitch ass would have loved these nipps if he knew what was good for him...and they weren't hiding under the sweaty flab sac.

The moral of this story is, I need a boyfriend.

Good morning, somewhere.

The beginning is always the hardest.

I seem to always start at the end and work my way back, or forward depending on perspective. The funny thing about starting life at your death is that the experiences that you encounter seem shallow and deluded. Almost like you've been there before and the re-run is no longer amusing. A bad Seinfeld episode waiting to happen. Aren't they all?!

This is the first day of my blogging life, which I owe to my sister. So shame me for the briefness and spouts of disillusionment.

My blog is going to be about my experiences in this world as a fat gay. The hardships, the love-loss, the waking in the morning feeling like P-Diddy. The normal day to day activity that got me here and the inadequate feelings that manifest in my own mind.

Welcome aboard my little bubbers! We're all in this together.