FAGbulous Tip #36: Always Give a Good First Impression

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Quédate...

Te pedí que te quedaras, para que las lagrimas no pudiesen llegar.

It's the little things that matter.

It's the little things, a gentle touch, a calm kiss, him just grabbing your hand and holding it, and don't get me started on the cuddling... those small details are the ones that really, really let you know... how much in love you really are. For me, holding hands can, and has had as much, effect on my emotions as a kiss. I'm a romantic, can't help myself.

Remember the chocolate guy ? It all started because he didn't mind holding my hand in public. It may sound (it totally is) pathetic, but living in a small town has had it's effects, and finding a guy willing to hold my hand while walking in a park, a hell of a highlight in my life. A straight guy, small detail I didn't want to understand until he started dating a really good girl-friend of mine.

People have always told me that I'm a really loud fag, and that I don't care about what other "normal" people think. Which is totally true, I don't give a flying fuck what people think about who I am as a sexual being; but that doesn't mean I'm having hot-n-steamy gay sex in public, (not that I wouldn't want some hot-n-steamy gay sex, mind you) it means that if I want to hold hands with the guy I love, I will freaking do it no matter who is watching. That's all I ask, you know? I don't find it fair that every time I go out I see at least 2 or 3 straight couples almost having sex in a park (in broad daylight, no less), but two guys holding hands ? NO FREAKING WAY, the outrage! The shame!

WTF?

Being side-tracked, and not in the good way.

Note: This took place over a year ago.
He was almost leaving, he already had his seatbelt on, his door open, I was just outside, my mind made up - It's today, I'm going to tell him right now! - and the moment I was about to say it... he offered me a piece of chocolate.

I was completely side-tracked, without knowing what else to do, I accepted. So he took my hand, and gave me a small piece. I couldn't do anything else.

Fag: *hugs* I... I... (have a freaking chocolate in my freaking hand ! God dammit) I... just leave ! BYE !

I was already inside my house before he was even gone.

Stupid chocolate, disappeared a moment after.

So THAT is what it takes...

It's in situations like this that I know why I love my friends.

Me on the phone with one of my besties:

Fag: I... I went to the mall yesterday... and I bought something...
Her: ... what?
Fag: A... white hemp belt.
Her: OMG, you know what that means? You are officially out of the closet!

Like I said, I love my friends.

I'm a cuddler.

I'm a cuddler, and if there's one thing I love to do with the people I like is cuddling, with my boyfriends and best friends is no exception.

Except that... I don't have a boyfriend to cuddle with, that the only real friend I have left that would help, can't. And that the person I really, really, want (need) to cuddle with... hasn't talked to me in over a month.

But I need the cuddling, the warmth it gives... I needed it so much that I did the last thing I thought I'd ever do for it.

I called an ex.

Not just any ex, my first official boyfriend. The one who broke it off because I didn't want to have sex with. The one who's only real attribute (besides his really gorgeous ass) was that he liked me. No chemistry, no real connection, just him wanting to be sexually intimate with me and me wanting to be with him emotionally. Neither of us got what we wanted.

Last week, almost two years after we had broken up, He logged on and we chatted a bit, he told me he was back in town for the rest of the month. "How about you, coming over to my place?" he said.

And I, against all the warning signs popping in my head, accepted.

....

Fast-forward >> I'm at his place, he's taking a shower... and I feel like shit.

Just because I needed someone to cuddle.

Being a fag is not a fad.

Note: In order for some parts of the post to make sense, I'm not referring to everyone in the new trend of fashion guys that spend more money than an average girl in products, I'm referring to the one's that are gay, duh.

Times change, and the way we look at many things change accordingly. Recently my aunt tried to convince me that there are more gay guys than 30 years ago, I didn't have time to expose my case, but I just said that it wasn't like that. Now I do have the time so here it goes.

We all know homosexuality has been around for ever, in Greece the kids learned the way of pleasing a man from his teacher, Julius Cesar had both male and female lovers, etc. It was accepted and it was normal.

Then, apparently, someone, somewhere, *coughs*StupidChurch*coughs again* decided this wasn't cool, so it became "Adan and Eve" and we got screwed (in a sad, non-literal way). Male with female, that was what The-Almighty-God wanted and that's what he shall receive, if not then YOU'LL BURN IN HELL, ok?

So it was established, a guy and a girl and they would have kids and that's a family.

Do it.

And for many years, that was okay for most, you grew in an environment that demanded the "normal family structure". Some didn't do it, of course, they knew that vaginas weren't made for them and that they wanted something else, more fulfilling (there are so many puns I'm not going to comment on them), so they lived being single, others surrendered to those feelings in secret, meeting with strangers where no one could see them.

We all know there has always been fags around us, but we are turning into a more tolerant society (in some places), 20 years ago the regular family sitcom was a huge family with both parents, know we see TV shows with single parents, gay couples, lesbians, etc. It works for us, since we get to see something we can relate to it more than we would an all-straight show, and it works for the media, they get to make a scandal, cause an outrage with the fans (she can't be a lesbian!), it doesn't get any better than that.

That is why there are so many fag-looking (fashion-oriented, sorry) people out there on the streets (not the only reason, but a main one), because we've learned that it's fine to be the way you are, that you shouldn't be trapped into the "male-female" structure, if it doesn't make you happy, then why do it? If you want to dress different, do it! Some people may be unhappy with that decision, some may even try to offend/hurt you, and you have to learn that the one who has to be sad is the guy calling you a queer from inside a passing car, that the group of jocks laughing at the guy with the berét are the ones that decided to conform.

There are more gays out-of-the-closet than last century, but gays in general? I'm guessing about the same as now.

Quick updates.

Even though I'm not posting anything, I still check my blog every once in a while, read some of the things I've said, hoping to get inspired. Part of me has been inspired lately, but my fun muse has left the building, and the new one has dark and straight hair all over her face, and scars in her arms, as she cuts herself to feeel aliveee.

Joking, kinda.

You've read (hopefully) the last two entries, it's not the last of the emo series. Because, even though our flag is a rainbow, sometimes black is needed.

In other news, trying to learn how to do my own clothes has failed miserably.

The thing I prayed for? Has also failed miserably. Thanks, God. (Can't tell you to go to Hell, can I? Good thing I don't believe in you)

And worst of all? I laughed, again. (*shoots himself*)

Ex-Sighting

I haven't had that many boyfriends in my life, and for some weird reason... I never see them again after we've broken up, my first boyfriend moved out of town a couple of months after, the second one just disappeared from my radar, etc. The last one... we broke up 2 months ago and I just saw him at the mall. I neeever go to the mall, ever. And when I finally go, he's there. Damn it.

The thing is, I didn't want to break it up, I was really starting to love him, and wanted to go on for a long time, but he gave up. He said so himself, he didn't feel like trying... so I said "fuck it," kissed him a last time, told him "I guess this was it... bye" and left.

It was our 3rd month anniversary.

Jesus in da house! (I'm sooo going to Hell)

It may seem obvious to some, specially those who actually know me, that I'm not a religious person. I think that praying has no actual value towards the movement of the world and that it's just a waste of time, time that could be used more effectively towards actually doing something to help yourself. Last time I went to a church, it was to see a friend play piano to celebrate a.... bishop's (???) birthday, and I didn't even enter, it was at the courtyard.

But today, same friend invited me to hear his girlfriend sing with a choir, this one was in the inside of the biggest church there is in this state, anyway as the mass kept on going, I went to this room called "The Room of Miracles". The whole room felt different than what I've grown to know as the inside of a church, there was something else, I felt hope. An almost tangible sense of hope. An old lady with crutches using all of her strength to sit, caressing a saint's clothing and then her legs... Half of the room had pictures, notes, clothing, all of them with a writing on them, some asking for a prayer to help cure a disease, some for protection, to bring a son back from Irak safely... some only asked for prayers from fellow believers, not money, nor any financial aid, just for your time and faith.

Just a prayer.

So I did what I'd never though I'd do again, something I hadn't done since I was a loved-deprived high-school boy (not really, but yes)... I went to a stool that had just been cleared, with 2 candles in front of me, a choir singing in the background, and I prayed.

I prayed, to any God, Goddess, or Entity, to Whatever this may concern: This is what I ask for, clarity. To know what to do before the oportunity leaves my hands, before it's too late, before it's gone for good. I pray, I implore and ask that the person I love the most, for who I've moved earth, water and fat... to please be happy, even if that means he won't be with me... and if so, I ask and pray for the opportunity and the chance to love someone else as much as the way I love him...

... and world peace.

Edit: That was such an old-movie-reference (Miss Congeniality, duuh)

I laughed...

I laughed.

And now you think I don't care.

Then, when you finally left me by my own, I cried.

But when it mattered to you, I laughed.

I know I shouldn't have... God, I didn't even wanted to.

But I laughed, I couldn't say what I really thought. I couldn't tell you what I really felt.

And then you left; you finally gave up on me, on us.

I'm sorry I laughed.

Sorry!

When I started this blog, I was convinced a weekly update wouldn't be a hard thing to manage. It's been over a month since my last post, I fail at life.

There's been a lot of shit going on in my life, I broke up with my boyfriend, work, college (finals!) , etc.

I won't promise to post something soon because my muse is MIA, but I'll try to find her.

Oh, I almost forgot... I'm learning how to sew! I'm having some troubles with the stuuupid sewing machine but I noticed something peculiar about the way I look at some clothes...

F:*is watching a TV show* Wow, that skirt is pretty, and... it's not that hard to make, I can totally see the pattern, maybe I'll have trouble with the pleating but... Fuck, all doubts about my gayness should be gone by now.

May I have the next dance?

As I was watching youtube with my best friend (we were bored so we started looking for videos of cute guys kissing), we stumbled with this.

Accepting the fact I was gay didn't take me long, even though I had to lie in front of my whole class, the moment I understood what "gay" was, was the moment I said "Oh, so that's what it's called? Cool." (Note: Read, if you haven't, the Innocence post, this is kind of a follow up)

I had it pretty easy on myself.

But accepting yourself is one thing, being accepted by the one you love...

When I finished junior-high, we had a prom (per se), we each went on our own and had a small waltz at the beginning, luckily I had my best girl as my partner. Helmet-Head looked really cute, he sat next to me at dinner, he still didn't know I loved him, and then there was... the dancing.

I say I have a pretty lousy memory, and it's true, but I'll never forget what happened that night.

No, we didn't kiss.

But we danced.

I loved him very much, and I knew that after that night we wouldn't be seeing each other, his parents wanted a different school than the one I was going to.

That was going to be our last night together (next time I saw him was 3 years after that), and he asked me if I wanted to dance with him.

Fuck yeah!

(Post-Edit Note: For those wondering... No, nothing happened with him after that; he was straight, so he chickened out of our friendship when he found out about my crush.)

Open Wide! (the mouth!... pervs)

Having money is awesome, everyone knows that… but being a teenager with money? Makes you feel like you own the world. Two weeks after I’d started working as a graphics designer I decided to spend some of it on improving myself. I first decided on going to the dentist to get my teeth whitened, but then they told me how much I had to pay and immediately after that, I went straight to the first Wal-Mart I could find and bought some Crest Whitening Strips, the ones that had to be used for 7 days.

The instructions were simple; I just had to apply the strips 2 times a day, for 30 minutes at a time.

I did an amazing job following instructions, for the most part. On the 6^th day, I had just came back from work, it had been an exhausting day, I remember just putting on the strips and going to my bed to rest for a while, I would remove the strips… soon…

8 hours later, I woke up with the weirdest feeling in my mouth, I checked, and oh yeah, I had completely forgotten the strips. Of course, I did the logical thing, took them off and applied the last pair of strips. Smart of me, right? 30 minutes later I, obediently, rinsed my mouth and continued my daily routine so I could go to work.

Remember the feeling I had? It gradually became a painful one. I was at work already, and I couldn’t just tell my boss I wasn’t able to work because I had a throbbing teeth-ache. There was a lamp in my desk and I started noticing that whenever I opened my mouth, the warmth of the lamp stopped the pain, the warmth was gooood.

Luckily I had a private station there so I could easily have my mouth open with the lamp almost touching my face, while still being able to work. I did that for a couple of minutes, enjoying my pain-free time, when my boss came in, telling me something about a design I’d done. He saw me, and I saw him, and we just kind of looked at each other ackwardly for a moment. I closed my mouth, moved the lamp away from me and continued working, as any good employer, he just went back to his office and came back a couple of minutes after.

Eventually, I explained to him what the fuck I was doing.

Now THAT is what I call a Par-teh!

A couple of years ago, in my eternal quest for independency, I started working as a cashier in a super-mart. It was pretty standard stuff, except for the fact that we sold a lot of different shit, and I mean a LOT. The store was divided in 4 main sections: pharmacy, everyday, liquor store and music department. I was in charge of ringing the last 3; pharmacy had its own cashiers.

Monday evening, no people at all, I was completely bored out of my mind, so I went to the pharmacy to talk to the guys over there, one of them had to be twice my age and he absolutely adored me (in a straight-adoring kind of way); the guy was on his own that day and the moment he saw me he went all “Thank God you are here, I need to piss” (Pharmacy has to have at least one cashier at all times, store policy). I could see my own machine from where I was (and I could be out of station) so no problem for me.

A couple of minutes after the guy leaves, I’m standing there just watching the clock tick, when this huge 50-year-old-all-american-cowboy (I’m not kidding, he was almost a waking cliché) goes up to me and, in all his manly voice, asks me:

Cowboy: Do you guys have generic Viagra?

Fag: O____O Say what now?

Thank the gods my co-worker arrived the exact moment to save me from laughing in front of the poor guy, he had heard the cowboy and immediately told him that, yes we do sell generic Viagra.

I almost ran from there, tears silently going down my cheeks from having to withhold my laughter. 10 minutes later, as I was happily sending txt messages to a friend of mine about the whole thing, Cowboy comes to my station with a basket, I had calmed down by now but then I saw the 2 things he wanted to buy.

He had the Generic Viagra with the receipt, a bottle of scotch, and… a big-size bag of watermelon-flavor lollipops.

I could easily make some pedo-jokes, but I think that, even for me, that’s over the top…

Life's a song...

Why can’t life be a musical? First of all, because half of my friends would commit suicide before the intro, and secondly, if life were a musical… this would happen:

Well, not as glamorous as you'd expect it, but I'm sure Life would make this kind of musical.

Lately I’ve been wondering why life can’t be a musical (I know, I know, really gay of me, let me be)… I’m a huge Buffy fan, I absolutely loved the special musical episode, Hairspray? Chicago? Cats? Across The Universe? Heck, I’ve even watched High School Musical (1 and 2).

I’m not into the idea only because everyone would have a great voice and amazing dancing skills, but because, musicals are honest. There’s an honesty that only requires a minimum effort to capture, you know what’s happening with everyone by just hearing out a bit of the tune they are dancing/singing to. Life would be so much easier, wouldn't it? You'd knew you are screwing things up with your significant other just by hearing them sing or something. So much easier, yet...

Why can't this happen? I'm not asking why can't my boyfriend just start singing his feelings or fears, I'm asking, why can't we just do that? Just... say what's really in our minds without fear. I'm pretty much talking from experience here, but I know I'm not the only one who feels like this (right?). What I really want, aside from being able to sing, is honesty. One of my life's motto is to never complain unless I'm doing something about it, and so I promise this: I promise that I'll live according to a musical's honesty. That I'll say what I feel, when I feel it.

Trying to go back to my point, if there is one, is that… life sucks, songs or no songs, get used to it. No, no, I’m kidding. I’m still hoping for a day when I’m out shopping or something and, out of nowhere, people start singing and dancing for something as trivial as napkins. I guess I’ll keep on hoping.

Note: I’m blaming this post on a friend of mine who made me watch Across The Universe, but who am I kidding? I was dying to watch the movie around 6 months before it came out (and never got to watch it till almost a year after that. Watch it if you are in the mood.

Coming out of the closet (mom edition)

A couple of years ago, when I finally had my first boyfriend, I was still inside the closet with my family (the fact that everyone in high-school and… basically anyone who knew me that didn’t have my last name is irrelevant), so when I went out on a date with my Doctor (oh yeah, didn’t mention that before, did I?) I told my mom “I’m going to Tomboy’s house after work, see you later!”

That week I “went” to Tomboy’s house at least 4 times. Everything was going fine, I actually went to her house one of those times, lucky me… my mom called me on my cell to tell me she was outside of tomboy’s house. My penis shrank so much I almost grew a vagina. That was a nasty analogy, wasn’t it? Sorry.

Sooo, anyway, I finally decided I had to tell her, didn’t wanna have to beat around the bush… no pun intended.

After the fifth date with McQueery, I came home to find my mom watching TV, she’s just sitting there with the soaps, I sit with her for a while; she noticed I wanted to tell her something, she turns off the TV, looks at me and says – What do you wanna tell me? – I really went rigid, trying to find a way of coming out gracefully… and all I can say, is that I failed miserably.

Fag: Mom, the thing is…

Mom: Yeah?

F: Well… I, mmm, well… you saw this guy and well… *inhales* thethingisthatI’vehad5dateswithhimalreadyandIreallylikehimandyeahthat’swhatIwantedtotellyou andthatmybutthurts, butthat’sbecauseI’vebeenseatingforawhile! DAMN! *hyperventilates*

M: So, what you are trying to tell me is that…

F: Yeah, I’m gay…

After a while, she finally told me this:

M: Just promise me that you’ll never wear women’s clothing, ok?

I love my mom.

Louis Vuitton

Straight friend: Wow… look at that hot MILF.
Fag: Oh my gawd, I LoVe her purse, *w*.
S. F.: Don't be so gheeey!
F: *keeps staring*

Valentine's Day

I guess I kind of need to explain last entry... so here it goes.

Everything was going really well, me and my boyfriend were at the last stage of our date, really going at it in the university’s parking-lot, things started getting hot-n-steamy, belt-buckle undone zipper going down and… we hear a door opening and closing near us. I look back and guess who? Oh yeah, Campus police. *dies*

My guess is the cop didn’t actually wanted to see what was going on, he just stayed in his car, waiting. I quickly zipped up and said my goodbye, fuck his stupid-police-ass and his timing.

Blue Balls…

... hurt like a bitch.

Meet the Honest Hobo

A couple of friends and I were going to eat Chinese (food), there were so many of us we decided to car pool. I tagged along with a friend who was leaving town for a couple of months the day after, before we got in the car we noticed that one of the tires was a bit low, we got in the car and before we could make it to the gas station, the tire just went completely flat on us. Friend didn’t have a spare, so he called his brother and told him to bring one and the things needed to change the tire.

I’m so lucky I don’t have to deal with things like that, I mean… I know nothing about cars, I was pretty sure I’d die before I could change a tire, now I don’t think it’s complicated, with the right equipment.

We were waiting when this happened: (I did my best remembering the exact conversation)

Honest Hobo: *approaches us* Excuse me, can I talk to you for a minute? Please don’t laugh; I have something to ask you guys.

Us: …okay?

H. H.: Well, first of all let me tell you that I have cancer, this is not a sob-story and I don’t want you to think I’m lying to get some scam money. I’m being honest and I’m telling you this, I’m going to use the money to buy crack. I’m being honest, I don’t do it to get high and forget, I do it because it eases my pain. All I need for now is 2 dollars, could you please help me?

Friend: I got to admit it; you are really being honest about what you are gonna do with the money, so… here you go. *hands him 1 dollar*

H. H.: Thank you, man. I appreciate it. You know what hurts the most? My feet, they are killing me. *leaves*

BTW, took us (and by us I mean my friend) one hour to change the tire.

I think I left my innocence in the backseat of your car...

When I was 14, feelings towards Lestat (vampire lover, if you have to know) developed in an almost favorable way. I told him I liked him and, not a moment later, he started using that to his advantage. He knew that if he ever needed something, a few hugs and some patting (I’m not kidding) was all it took for me to do it. This went over for a couple of years, we slowly drifted apart. Then, a year ago or so, I had the chance of catching up with him for a while and, guess what? He confessed he had a thing for me for a while… yeah, I wanted to kill him.

Not much to report for the next couple of years… until a month before going to college.

I don’t even remember how I got there, but when I was 18, I found a gay-website with listings of people in MY city; needless to say, I was fascinated. I quickly registered (free!) and asked myself calmly “What’s there to lose?” Soon afterwards I received an instant message from a 21-year-old guy that lived at the other side of the city, we chatted for 8 hours non-stop, and the next day he picked me up from work. It was my first, real, date, and the guy was gorgeous. I never thought I’d actually find a decent-looking person thru that shabby site, but I was so wrong. We dated for a month, I asked him to be my boyfriend, he accepted. We didn’t last long, unfortunately. It was a really confusing time for me, never had a boyfriend before and I actually didn’t know what to do or how to act. My first kiss (regular and french), my first make-out session… they all took place almost one after the other in less than an hour. I guess it was Destiny’s way of saying “I owed you, kid, here you go! Have fun!”

Anyway, I noticed this two stories didn’t make much of a post individually as I’d previously planned so there you go, I won’t be posting this frequently (1 post per day) but I’ll try to keep a steady rhythm on the updates.

Innocence

When I was 9 years old, I changed school once again (my mum wanted the best and, apparently, every year there were better schools so I never quite had the chance of making friends), didn’t know a single kid, I was so shy. For some reason, I took an English class for kids younger than I was, and that’s where I met my first friend, my first best-friend, my first “boyfriend.” We would hang out all free-periods, beg our parents for more playtime. I don’t really remember who started it, but after a while, we started holding hands, not knowing that it was socially incorrect. It felt good, nice, warm… we didn’t want to stop doing it.

And of course, not a single minute passed when we did this at school, everyone, and I do mean everyone, threw as many nasty comments as they could. That forced us out of it, the whole friendship. What else could you expect? I was 9 and he was only 8.

Three years later, I had made some friends over the years but it wasn’t till I met Helmet-Head (amazing straight hair) that I went down that same road all over again. He was the new kid, shy as I once had been. I didn’t know why but I needed to be his friend. I introduced him to my friends, started hanging out and six months after I realized I liked him more than I liked my other friends. It didn’t take that long afterwards to finally admit it to myself, I was in love with him (or at least, that’s what I thought love was). I never told him, I didn’t need to, he knew.

The funny thing is… I never thought there was something wrong with me or with what I was feeling. My innocence would prevail, for now.

I still felt something for Helmet-Head alter summer vacations (even though he changed schools) and it was then, when I told someone for the first time I had a crush on a guy. Guess where this is going… yes. I got my first nickname “Porky the gay” (not the cleverest thing, but that’s 13-year-old bullying for you). The whole thing just… it took me a while to realize what “gay” meant and even more to understand that it was wrong to be gay. It still hurts a little when I think about it, my stupid-ass teacher convinced me to go up to the front of the classroom and tell everyone I was just playing, that I was not gay, that I was just testing their friendship.

They quickly got over it... I don't know if I ever did.

Honest and Personal

I’m not a really serious person, it’s a rare thing on me and I can actually count the number of friends who’ve had the opportunity to meet that side of me. Almost everyone should be confused by now… I just started this thing and I’m already getting ahead of myself, *sighs*, oh well.

Ever since I came out of the closet, I've been asked “Are gay people born being gay?” Born or made? I’ve heard you are not supposed to answer a question with another question but, it’s necessary, my answer is: Does that fucking matter? What matters is that they are. We are here, we are queer… get used to it.

Now, in the first couple of posts I’ll tell you about my life, bare with me because it’s a long story and I have poor editing skills.