Debauchery, Cupcakery

On Thanksgiving, I am thankful for the Lifetime channel, which airs the Fantasia Barrino Story and Akeelah and The Bee in rapid succession. I am thankful for the water that is spilled on my laptop, a laptop which is currently being fixed by Friend G (oh the irony). I am thankful that the turkey didn't come out dry.

I spend the next two days meeting up with high school friends. On Friday I watch Australia, which turns out to be Out of Africa - Africa + Australia - Meryl Streep + Nicole Kidman - Substance + Hugh Jackman. Don't get me wrong, it was a very feel-good, picturesque movie. But at times it was too predictable. You could kind of tell that before starting the movie, the director was like, "OK guys, we're gonna make the most beautiful movie ever." They tried a little too hard.

Afterwards. at the Cheesecake Factory in White Flint, I mention my blog to Friend D. This turns out to be a major tactical mistake because now she is dedicated to finding my "secret blog." I suppose I don't have anything to worry about because her strategy so far has been to google various combinations of [my name] and [blog] and [secret]. But if she does succeed, hello. You now know more about me than any other person in the entire world.

On Saturday, it doesn't feel like any day of the week. I am so far removed from my normal schedule that I have lost all concept of time and space and proper dinnertime etiquette. So I go to Georgetown with two of my friends and we eat DESSERT FIRST at Georgetown Cupcake (aka the Cupcakery). You can spank me now.


Figure 1: I'm a rebel.

Turn That Finger Around

Friend G / Roommate / Boy who I've been hooking up with, is mad at me. He says, "Everytime I say something, you just say something negative." He doesn't want to talk to me anymore. Which sounds like something harsh to say. But it's actually kind of convenient because we're on break and it's not like we would've spoken anyway.

But I don't respond to this, really. I just tell him, "Ok." Because I don't care. But I do care, actually. I am thinking, what the hell. He dragged me into this one-sided relationship where I do everything he wants and he does nothing for me. I've never felt worse about myself in my entire life except during my preteen fat years. And even though he's not holding a gun to my head to keep me here, he's not making it easy to leave either. So you do not get to be mad at me.



And this melodrama is about all I can take. I am done with men. They are selfish and self-centered. They are vain and superficial. And they are smelly and stupid.

The Calm Before The Storm

Mommy and daddy have been strangely nice to me recently. It is a shock, really. They've been asking me things like, "Do you want to get brunch?" "Do you need some new clothes?" "Have you lost weight?" I have no idea how to respond to these random acts of kindness, which are not to be confused with the random acts of violence I am used to. Perhaps they realize the stress I am under at school. I doubt they are aware of the self-destructing gay relationship I am in. Either way, we haven't fought in a long time. But just wait until they find out I can't get married in California or Arizona or the Moon (The first two for legal reasons. The last one for logistical reasons).

But before that, I have to break it to them that I don't plan on going to med school. I want to major in architecture and make less than $50,000 a year out of college. And this will be something that they will take very badly. Because, like most Asian parents, they play the masquerade where they, "Just want me to be happy." But I know that's not true. They want to satisfy themselves. And it doesn't matter if my happiness is what's sacrificed.

If there is one thing I hate, (though clearly, I hate many things), it’s when people expect me to do things that I know are impossible. Unfortunately, my parents have mastered the art of expecting the impossible. Armed with manic-ambition and a loose grip on reality, they’ve always wanted more than I had in me. And in that sense, they’ve always set themselves up for disappointment. It’s one thing to encourage your children to do their best. But their “encouragement” has become a perverse fantasy world where I win a Nobel Prize, upend Ben Carson, claim the U.S. Open, and manage hedge funds all at once. And it’s not like any of this is in jest because my parents don’t really understand the meaning of humor. They just know that like every other dutiful Asian child, I should do everything they tell me to so that I can bring honor to the family. In retrospect, I’ve come to the realization that I have given up on a lot of things because of the pressure that came with my parents’ expectations. Rather than crashing and burning, I chose to concede defeat. Thus, I find that I have abandoned all of the things I love out of fear of disappointing my parents. And now I am completely unable to decide what I want to do with my life.

Of course this could all be misplacement of blame on my part; I could just be a lazy bastard by nature who can't succeed at anything. Even if it is their fault, I suppose I can’t blame them for acting this way. After all, many of their dreams for life were never realized. Their list of failures keeps growing, and though they hide it, I can tell that it makes them very unhappy. I’ve always felt bad that I became another one of their disappointments. But they never seem to care that they are one of mine.

Hypothetical Situation #1

I walk into my boyfriend's building only to see him talking to a guy in the lounge. This scene makes me moody and I walk away, pretending that it wasn't him I was looking for. Go away, I want to hang out with the trashy ho on the 3rd floor who likes the same music as I do.

He knows me too well so he is aware of what is going on. He pulls me into his room and asks me why I am overreacting. Mistake number one. Don't tell me I'm overreacting unless you want your face to lose its current shape.

He tells me that he only sees that guy as a friend and that I'm being ridiculous. Mistake number two.

I personally cannot understand how a gay guy can see another boy as purely a friend. When I meet guys, I immediately classify them into two categories. Those who I like, and those who I don't. The poor boys in the latter group immediately become irrelevant to me and I want nothing to do with them. The boys in the first group become my "friends." I want to hang out with them "platonically" because we get along and we have things in common and we have fun together. But all this inevitably leads to sexual attraction. How hard is it for a gay guy to find somebody that has a great personality and a penis? Very. So can you honestly say that you've ever had a great guy friend that you didn't wonder what their naked body looked like. No. And don't fucking call me ridiculous.

So I tell him that he can wonder about that guy's penis all he wants. See if I care. And he says, "Huh?" And the way he says it is so cute that I forget about how mad I am. I stand on my toes to give him a kiss on the forehead and ask him how his day was. And he is thinking to himself, "My boyfriend is fucking insane," but he tells me that his day went fine and that he met a new guy friend who wants to go see a movie with him. Mistake number three.

Read: Somebody Take Me To The Tina Turner Concert

4 days later and 0 applications later, I have extended the deadline to the end of eternity. What has this taught me?

1) Nobody wants to cuddle with me when my roommate has left the room.

2) Nobody wants to take me to Tina! Live In Concert Tour at the Verizon Center.

3) Nobody wants to surprise me with chicken parm from Maggiano's by buying it, sneaking into my dorm, and delivering it naked.

4) Everyone thinks I'm fat.

5) Nobody wants to hold my hand when it's cold outside.

And it feels so cold outside. At least for now.


On a high note, I do a ropes course today with my research group. Read: I do a ropes course with four hot guys today, (and 5 other people I don't care about). Let me just say, those harnesses make it so that I can see everything. Read: Those harnesses make it so that I spend the entire time drooling over their thick cocks and giant ball sacks. Maybe that was too graphic.

We also do this activity where we have to balance each other on a log. And the hand-holding and hugging and straddling make me think I could have a future with one of these guys. Or maybe two of them. At once. Maybe that was too graphic.

This Is Not A Joke

People tend to have a hard time separating my sarcastic comments from when I'm actually being sincere. (You know, that once in every year.) But let it be known that the following post is not sarcastic in any way, shape, or form.


On November 12 2008, I am officially accepting applications to be my boyfriend.

Please leave the following information for my consideration.

Name:
Date of Birth:
Email:
AIM (optional):
Location:
Future Aspirations:
Circumference of Bicep:
Favorite Member of the Spice Girls:
Picture:
Naked Picture (optional):

You may submit your application to dccised@gmail.com, or you can leave the preceding information in the form of a comment. (Please note that pictures cannot be submitted through comments and at least one picture is required in order for your application to be considered.)

To remain competitive, I strongly encourage you to apply as soon as possible and supply as much information that is available to you. Furthermore, submissions at this time represent single-choice action applications. If you are found to have applied to another boy, your application will be terminated.

I wish you all the best of luck.

Vote or Die

So I didn't vote. And I have my reasons! Tuesday is my heavy day! I had an orgo exam on Thursday! My voting station is far away! My internet was being weird!

But this one person freaked out when she found out I didn't vote. First, she held her mouth agape, revealing her ugly interior-mouth. Then she spoke, revealing her ugly interior-brain. "YOU DIDN'T VOTE?! What's wrong with you? It's your responsibility! You are giving up your power! You are destroying the Amazon!" And what the walking public service announcement is really saying is, "Why didn't you vote (for Obama)? Don't you want change? Don't you want to fit in? Don't you want a new puppy in the White House?"

What's with this charade? I know I should have voted, but this was an election that wasn't close. And let's get real, you voted because you wanted a free button and the moral high ground. Just because you voted doesn't mean you did what was right. Get off your high horse so I can punch the back of your head. Please don't use my apathy against me, I worked very hard to perfect it. And I refuse to take part in the freakish cult following that is American society.

I can't stand people who think they're better than me because they conformed to MTV's expectations of them. And they use their supposed superiority to make me feel bad. But they assume I care about anything other than myself. Which is incorrect.


But if Obama had just told me from the beginning that America would get a puppy if he won, I definitely would've voted.

Obamanation

Although I sincerely hoped that 100 million voters would write Hillary onto the ballot, that did not happen. Obviously. And Obama won. And I am more or less indifferent.

But everywhere around me, people were screaming and some were crying and they were all annoying. "Finally! Eight years of HELL are OVER!" First of all, most of these people don't know the first thing about Bush's policies. They pretend like their lives have been miserable under the "Bush regime" but really, they have not been impacted by his actions in any way whatsoever. Keep in mind, these are the same people that believe Facebook's layout change was the biggest catastrophe of 2008. Yes, he was a bad president. But let's not pretend that you are some kind of martyr.

And everywhere around me, people were screaming and some were crying and they were all annoying. "OBAMA!!!!!" they shouted, as the mob tore through campus, overturning trashcans and uprooting signs. And while some especially fervent Obama supporters tried to tip the shuttle bus I was on, I wondered if they thought this was some form of civil disobedience as opposed to a march of philistines. One freshman felt compelled to say to me, "I am so happy right now, It's like New Years!" Is he happy because he completely supports Obama's new economic plan or because his favorite celebrity has just became President. I can't help but feel like a lot of voters supported Obama because they like him, they admire him, they adore him. He makes us all blush. But what can we say about his political acumen. Uhm, IDK?


Other things I noticed that night:

McCain's sudden non-hating of Obama
Michelle Obama's dress, which looked like she slaughtered a chicken on her lap.
The other black woman on stage. "Is that his mom?" "No, his mom is dead. And white."
Oprah



And this is where the floodgates open and people slaughter me on their laps.

Hello? Hey Tranny! (It's Tranny)

On Halloween, it is a hot tranny mess up in here. I am a cowboy. My jeans are so tight, I can barely walk without crushing my balls. My belt buckle is so big, I can barely bend over without severing my liver. My boots are so stiff, I can barely run from the police. It's a cute tranny, hot mess, tranny, tranny, fierce, no way, no, fierce, no, hot mess. But I will do anything for a little bit of attention.

Meanwhile, my attention is focused on the boys dressed up as Adam (- Eve), or robed ancient Romans, or Tarzan, or basically anything that gives me a glimpse of their Pecs (+ Nipples). But it's almost torture considering I can't hide anything in these jeans.

And the entire spectacle is a tickety tack tranny hot mess out of control super tranny from Transylvania who is not apologizing for it. But that's what Halloween means to me.


And the next day, I get into a 21+ club with the expired ID of 28-year old California native who is 5 inches shorter than me and 25 pounds lighter. And inside the club, I divide all the men into two subgroups.

1) Those who I am better than. Because they are desperately searching for girls to dance with them, only to get rejected over and over and over. I, on the other hand, am completely uninterested in the girls. Nobody can reject me. I have immunity.

2) Those who are better than me. Because they've gotten the girls and they have proceeded to rub their crotches all over them. Freshmen boys surround them and stare in awe. They treat women like pieces of meat as I watch and yearn to be treated like a piece of meat myself. New goal in life, grind my ass against a hungry boy's crotch as he stares down at me with animal eyes and an open mouth as if he's about to bust a nut right then and there. You gotta aim for the stars people.

And during the course of the night, 3 of my friends pretend I am their boyfriend to get out of dancing with guys. "Flex your arms! Make him go away!" They cling to me the entire night and it gives me intense satisfaction knowing that a little ole' gay boy like me can get the girls that the straight boys could not. They stare at me with intense jealousy. I like that.

At the same time, 2 of my not-friends get approached by guy after guy. And each time, they get this look on their face like, "OH MY GOD, I can't believe this is happening to me! EW!" But really, they are thinking, "Oh thank god this creeper is dancing with me. At least I am attractive to somebody. I will pretend to be disgusted so people don't think I am a slut. I hope he grabs my boobs."

And the night ends at 3:00 for me. And I am out.