A Censored Fag

I'm loud, noisy, if there's a chance to be out and proud, I'll take it... And yet, the first time someone actually tries to censor me is not by any of this.

It was all because of my t-shirt.

A friend of mine invited me to hear him play at a public school, he was going to play some reinassance music to a bunch of 3rd to 5th graders.

As I was in a corner of the small auditorium, just sitting and waiting for the kids to show up when my friend comes up to me and tells me I need to change my shirt.

Excuse me? 

Apparently, the director of the small consort didn't think I was wearing something appopiate for kids to see and that I needed to change shirts or cover the caption. There was no way I could cover it, flip it? Something, anything, to cover it up. Luckily my friend had changed shirts for the presentation (just to look nicer) and I could use the one he wasn't wearing.

What did it say? "Love Sucks" and it had a broken heart right next to it.

The apple really doesn't fall that far from the tree

-This happened while I went grocery shopping with my mom-
Mom: Look, see that guy over there? He's really handsome.
Fag: What?... Oh, yeah... kind of, I don't really like what he's wearing.
Mom: He has a nice way of walking, I like his attitude.
Fag: Sure, but he's not dressed really well, is he?
Mom: Who cares? Why do you even want him with clothes?

---

PS: Yes, I'll pretend the last months with no updates whatsoever didn't happen

FAGbulous Tip #36: Always Give a Good First Impression

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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.

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)

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.

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.