Copyright 2010

Apparently a quiet war is being raged against me by impostors on the internet.

On Somebody's blog, Somebody writes:

Thank you to Hugo Boss for your present as well... was very sweet of you. Oh... and Happy 17th Birthday to you. Only one more year before you are of legal age in the US... :-P
Love ya so much

I try to be cute and funny and ironic and I write:

are you two doing it. that would be illegal. right?

Somebody writes:

wait... what?
How would it be illegal for me and Donna Karan to sleep together?
Last time I checked straight sex between two consenting adults is still legal in ALL 50 states :-P

(At this point, he misunderstands who I am talking about. Things remain civil.)

Then, Impostor, posing as me, writes:

Straight sex is legal, and a boy and a girl is considered straight sex in all 50 states. It's also considered pedophilia when the girl is only 7! On my investigations Becky is not even in her teens yet. THAT'S WHY ITS ILLEGAL!

(Not really sure why Impostor had the urge to write this. I believe it should say, "a boy doing a girl," and not, "a boy and a girl." Not really sure what "on my investigations" means. Missed an apostrophe. This sounds nothing like me.)

Alas, Somebody says:

wtf?
Dude... where the hell do you get that from? Donna Karan is the same age as me... she is in college...
I cant believe I am even explaining this... I really hope you are joking around... but even so its not a cool thing to joke about.

I am stupified

Not to be pedantic, but stupefied is spelled incorrectly.

If this person wanted to pose a maniacal argument, he/she could have just written an anonymous comment. Clearly there's a personal vendetta there. I'm just not sure what's causing it. It's probably because I think Meryl Streep should have won the Oscar over Sandra Bullock. I've made a lot of enemies because of my stance on this hot button issue.

So all this makes me sound belligerent as well as retarded and a little bit insane. As if I wasn't already good at making people hate me through mean comments, this will certainly put me over the edge. The follow up post to this is called, "People Are Morons," and the comments section is devoted to discussing how weird and dumb I am. I guess the impostor got what they wanted. But just for future reference, a comment is only from me if it is bitchy AND grammatically correct. Not one or the other.

Hello Summer, Nice To Meet You

The night before my advanced accounting exam, I pace back and forth in the study lounge. I am unprepared. As I read about double entry book-keeping, I think about how much more I would prefer some double entry ass-fucking. Tears well up in my eyes and I feel like I am going to throw up. I have hit the bottom. My former roommate who I used to hook up with before we ended things on bad terms walks by outside and sees me through the window. He knocks on the glass and waves. It is 5:00 am and this is a new, unfamiliar low.

At 7:00 am, the anxiety gives way to feelings of calm resignation. I pack my things up and walk upstairs to my room where I plan to crawl under the sheets and suffocate myself on a tube sock. Failure in advanced accounting is inevitable. And then we die. And then we are reborn as impala on the African plains. It is the circle of life.

At 8:00 am, the exam begins and I don't know how to answer the first question. Instead, I daydream about the season finale of Desperate Housewives. I can't believe Paul Young is back. Angie was so smart to put the bomb IN THE DETONATOR.

At 10:00 am, I text my bf, "Yay over."

For the next four days I complain very publicly about how badly I did and how I'm going to get my first B and that my life is over. But grades came out yesterday and I got on A. Yay.

When I come home from school, I want to tell my mother the good news. It feels strange that I want to do this because she has always criticized everything I've ever done and for years I've tried to convince myself that I don't need her approval. I realize I do this because deep down I still want to make her proud and redeem myself for my consummate failure: being a gay son.

Before I can get a word out she looks at me and says, "You look too fat." This would have been fine if she hadn't said "too." Because "too" implies that I am fat in both absolute and relative terms. I lie to her about having eaten lunch already. Today I've had one cup of diet coke and two cough drops. She knows nothing about the A.

I am going to the beach tomorrow with my bf. I don't know what he's said to his parents about the trip but I am lying and telling my parents that I am going with four guys. Four guys in one hotel room with one king size bed doesn't arouse as much suspicion as two guys in the same situation. He will probably make me watch the Lost finale. Maybe after that we can sell beer to teenagers and have gay sex in the sand. We are a couple of renegade summer tourists.

I am probably too fat for the beach. I have a crippling fear of little children mistaking me for a beached whale and trying to haul me off to sea. I am probably going to sit, fully-clothed, under an umbrella and read Laura Bush's autobiography.

You Again

In my first post ever, I briefly talked about my best friend in middle school who unknowingly helped me realize I was gay when I found myself staring at his crotch with more than just competitive inquisition.

Once he started becoming the subject of my pubescent fantasies, I began to act differently around him. I would casually insult his clothes or make fun of the things he said because the only way I knew how to show love was how my parents did it, through intense and unfiltered criticism.

I never really considered telling him how I felt because I was afraid of his reaction and how news might spread among our group of friends. Eventually, I just pushed him away, using a small incident involving a relay race, a baton, and the word "penis" as a reason to end the friendship. I began telling everyone how much I disliked him because I found it much easier to channel my emotions through hatred than unreciprocated love. Deep down I had hoped that he would chase after me to try and reconcile everything, but he didn't. And even after we went on to different high schools, I wondered for a long time if he thought about me and what happened between us. Eventually I realized we would probably never see each other ever again so I just let it go.

Anyway, eight years later, turns out we are not only at the same university, we are in the same major. And wouldn't you know, he is randomly assigned to a semester-long group project with me. In cases like these, I like to ask myself, "What are the odds?" But this has nothing to do with chance. This is the work of God and his sick sense of humor.

And this is extra fun because there are only three people in this group. So when the third member invariably ditches meetings because of some stupid grandmother on life-support, I am stuck with him in quite possibly the most awkward situation on the entire planet.

Me: Can we meet at _:__ in _____ to work on the _____?
Him: You sure you don't want to just do it at my place?
Me: ...
Him: All my roommates are gone and it'll be more comfortable

...More comfortable than what.

When I get to his apartment it is indeed, empty. And he still has the careless hair and big brown eyes of the first boy I ever fell in love with. Could this be what I've waited eight years for? Am I finally going to get to see what is under his basketball shorts? He starts talking about the project, and then his girlfriend. I try to act normal. He laughs at my stupid jokes and mannerisms, which apparently he still finds funny. I consider standing up and shouting, "Why didn't you chase after me?! Couldn't you tell I was going through something?! Couldn't you tell I was drowning?!"

Maybe all this time he was blithely unaware of the teenage psychodrama that I had convinced myself ruined the relationship. Maybe he is aware but is just as happy to pick up right where we left off. Does it really matter after all this time? When I look at him now, all I can do is laugh about how strangely life unfolds. I'm not in love with him anymore. Perhaps we can finally just be friends now.

It's getting late and I tell him my head hurts. He brings me an Advil with a cup of cold water.

Pride and Prejudice

At a recent party that I attended because somebody tipped me off that there was an 18 year-old boy there that looked like Taye Diggs, I overheard a conversation between LeeLee Sobieski and a foreign exchange student from Austria.

Austria: I do not think gay people should have children.
LeeLee: What? Why not?
Austria: Parents should be man and woman. It is not natural.

He failed to notice that the real deviation from nature in the room was his hair, obviously, a European import.

Anyway, this is where I chime in and try to be cute and say, "I thought most Europeans were supposed to be more liberal than Americans. [giggle]."

Austria: No you guys are much more liberal than we are.

I found this to be shocking. I thought Americans were the champions of bigotry and discrimination. And we kind of like to breed the idea here that all of Europe is pretty much like Berlin or Paris, (run by gay people), and that Eastern Europe is a nether-land that exists only to produce great gymnasts.

But that must be an incorrect generalization. Kind of like the time I wrongly convinced myself that all black people were like my black roommate: selfish, messy, and like to cut all their friends' hair in the common room every Thursday afternoon. (But then I met Taye Diggs. Who was cuter than a little black button. [giggle].)

Europe was supposed to be the homosexual promised land that I could always run away to if I ever became dissatisfied with the unalienable freedoms being taken away from me at home. And Europeans were supposed to be fun, skinny people that were either gay or wished they were gay. But the fat, ugly Austrian proved all this wrong.

For every LeeLee that generously takes the gay agenda into her own hands, there is an Austrian steadfastly climbing the Alps to spread the word that all gay boys should be childless lest we teach the next generation to be as gay as we are. I had hoped that the only people who truly hated gays were 40+ and when they died we would be free at last. But sadly, gay haters are being born every day, everywhere. And if they are so unwilling to change their minds, I wonder how long it will take for the world to just accept us and let us have babies.


At the very least, we'll always have Paris.

Farewell, Ugly Betty

Tralala I went home for the weekend and my boyfriend won't respond my texts. He did a power hour and then went to a concert with a crazy girl who is in love with him. I'm ok with it. I'm doing homework and watching Buffy. Ok, I lied. I'm not doing homework.

I wonder if he's having sex with the crazy girl. I wonder if he's having sex with some guy he met at the concert. I wonder if he's having sex with both of them. I wonder if he ordered Chinese takeout without me. Growl.

Sometimes I tell him about my irrational fears and ask him if he would ever cheat on me. This might seem like an unusual thing to bring up in the middle of dinner but ever since my home girl Sandra took that fall, nobody can be too careful. Usually he pats me on my head and tells me I am crazy. He never says anything like, "I couldn't even imagine," or "You're the only one that I want." He just tells me I am crazy. Which I already know.

All of this is probably caused by a deep rooted suspicion that he doesn't find me attractive. And that feeling is probably caused by the fact that I don't find myself attractive. And that is probably because I didn't grow up in Asia where everyone looks worse, the same, or only slightly better than me. Instead, I grew up in America, where I am surrounded by young bucks romping shirtless around the quad with their blue eyes, effortless muscles, and curly blonde hair. And also, I am fat.

I can name a few things about him that I find very sexy. But I don't think any part of me drives him wild with desire. And I think that hurts our relationship. Though it's hard to deny that my glittering personality couldn't make somebody fall in love with me, I sometimes feel like we are together because we are just two lonely gay boys that have nobody else. Which begs the question: can a man truly fall in love with somebody he doesn't find attractive?

I can't really believe Ugly Betty was canceled. I'm going to miss it.

Mommy, I'm Gay

Daddy: I know you have a girlfriend and I know that she is Indian.
Me: What.
Daddy: You brought home leftover curry last night. An Indian girl must have made it for you.

Actually Dad, it was Thai curry. So if anything, the stupid slut is from Thailand.

Mommy: Don't come home one day and tell me your girlfriend is pregnant.
Me: That would take a miracle.
Mommy: What?
Me: Huh?
Mommy: Do I need to buy you a box of condoms?
Me: Aaaaaaaalready have some.
Mommy: What?
Me: Huh?

I don't know how many more awkward conversations I can take. Whenever I go out, they joke about me going to see my girlfriend, which annoys me to no end. How dare anybody insinuate that I like girls? Sometimes, I want to turn around and say, "Actually, I am going to suck my boyfriend's giant penis. And then we are going to watch Up In The Air." But I keep it all in. I suppose this is the price I pay for, uhm, what is the word for the opposite of estrangement?

I can't put this off forever though. True, I could hump men all day and all night without my parents figuring anything out. But when it comes time for me to settle down, get married to a beautiful, tall, white man, and adopt a Vietnamese orphan girl, I can't exactly do it with my parents in the dark. And although I previously wrote it off as a narcissistic white boy's game, there is something unsettling about never telling your parents who you really are before they die.

So I guess one day, when the political climate is right, I will have to just do it. I would definitely come out to mommy first because she is the more sympathetic of the two and she just gets it. [It being fashion.] The problem is, I have trouble gauging what her reaction will be. Sometimes I purposefully expose her to gay things and observe her behavior.

Like one time I turned on CNN and there was a story about a man who was outed in Iran and then stoned to death on the street.

Mommy said, "That is ridiculous why would they do that?"

And then one time we watched Brothers & Sisters on a plane together and the two gay guys started making out.

Mommy thought that was major lolz.

So from what I can gather, her reaction will be somewhere between not taking me seriously and bludgeoning me to death with medium-sized stones.



Coming out can wait.

So I don't know what the point of this was.

Hunted

Sometimes I log onto my old manhunt account in an effort to forge platonic relationships with members of DC's homosexual underbelly.

This morning I received three unprecedented, and might I add unwarranted, negative messages.

Since I don't feel the need to protect the identity of people who are mean to me, here they are in all their glory.


Daitru90
Age:22
Location: Pentagon

Him: Try to look at the corner honey. There they use a stick. The sickness profile I have ever seen in my life
Me: i have no idea what you are talking about.
Him: of course you don't . That wouldn't suprised me a bit
Me: you are a ridiculous if you have nothing better to do than harpoon people you don't even know on a site like this. surely you can take your arrogance elsewhere; i am not amused. i'm also not sure where all of this negativity came from (maybe syphilis is slowly eating at your brain) but if you don't have enough of a sense of humor to take my profile with a grain of salt, than that is your problem and not mine. and if you're going to pick an argument with somebody, try making at least a little bit of sense.
Him: Mr. English speaker, why don't you just summarize your lengthy essay in one word "ego problem" That would save alot of our time. Anyway, I have so much fun. Hope to see you online soon.

I really couldn't make sense of what this guy was saying. Something about corners, sticks, and surprising him in the past tense. I'm glad he could recognize that I speak English but disappointed that he didn't know how to read my masterpiece essay. Isn't there some law that says you can't have sex before you can read? Well, there should be. I'm also upset because there should be a comma before ego problem (which is, incidentally, two words). But, I mean, he looks pretty good other than his asymmetrical breasts.

A few minutes later.


Newtodc2
Age:22
Location Pentagon

Him: Reading your profile make me empty a bottle of tylenols. You sure are def. the winner of sickness person on earth. With that attitude, Why don't you just come back to wherever the hell you from.
Me: learn English.
Him: Speak for yourself

Excuse me, my grammar is impeccable. I eat dangling modifiers for breakfast. In fact, I would like to point out that in telling me to, "come back to wherever the hell i from," instead of, "go back to wherever the hell i from," he implies that he is there too.

Also, who is he to tell me off, considering his profile reads, "all men are NOT created equal!"

Now, at first I was confused about these two seemingly independent occurrences. But then I thought, how many twenty-two year olds from Pentagon could be on manhunt at the same time using the word "sickness" incorrectly? Surely, less than two.

And finally.


Summersms20
Age:22
Location: DC

Him: Pitiful !!!!!!!!!!!!!
Me: Nice hair.
Him: Thanks but sorry I cannot say the same to you. You're got the look but with that profile, you sure got alot of attention

I don't know about him, but I was being sarcastic. Seriously, his hair looks like the surface of the mega-asteroid in Armageddon. This doesn't make me any less ecstatic about hearing that I've "got the look." But I have to wonder how many twenty-two year olds could be on manhunt at the same time mistaking "alot" for one word? Surely, no more than one.

Maybe this guy thought he was making some brilliant point that manhunt users should be less like me [smart and funny and cute] and more like him [illiterate]. But sadly, none of his three manifestations could amount to anything more than confusion on my part and hopefully, amusement on yours.




This was a lot of fun.