“I Don’t Care if It’s Klingon or Na’vi”

Exhibit A
Exhibit A

Every now and again, I have a spike in visitors and views. Today is one of those days. No idea why, though. “Bailey Jay nude pics penis hard on” hasn’t even made an appearance (though after this post, I can guarantee that it will). So that just leaves a sudden interest in reading what I have to say, which, if you really want to know, is very little. Hell, most of this blog is just complaints.

Yesterday marked my first week of being a thirty-year-old. I have to say, I feel no difference from the time I spent being, say, twenty-six – mentally. Physically, I’m a wreck. The parts that I want working still function. I still have my hair and my sight. However, stamina and flexibility have gone out the door (get your head out of the gutter). However, that has little to do with age. It has more to do with my lifestyle up to this point. And age.

Gay Pride Parade 2007 NYC
Exhibit B.

And with age comes looking back to my younger self. I never beat around the bush (when asked) about my sexuality. That is to say, I claim to lack one. This isn’t admittance of being asexual (I have a child, though that doesn’t mean a think, actually). All I’m saying is, I don’t see things as gay, straight, or whatever. Why limited yourself, is all I’m stating.

I find myself attracted to several facets in a person, not just what’s between their legs or what decorates their chests. Some asshole decided to give this “non-subscription of sexual labels” a label. I’m a postmodern sexual being, or a PoMo Sexual.  Of course, I’ve discussed this before. Several times, actually. On various places.

Exhibit C.
Exhibit C.

In high school, if one were to ask me, I called myself bisexual. Now that isn’t true. While I did get the opportunity to kiss a boy I crushed on hard, it wasn’t him being a boy that turned me on to him. It was his charisma. Other men (post high school) that I found myself attracted to were philosophers in their own respect.

For me, love is one part sexual/physical attraction, one part intellectual attraction, and one part emotional attachment. If I can’t learn anything from you, it’s likely that there’s no future for us. Trust is big in any relationship, though I couple it with emotional attachment. Sexual attraction, though I’ve denied other wise, is also important. Usually, though, I attribute the animal urges to my attraction to the metaphysical. Though, as I’ve said, redheads catch my eye nine times out of ten. They’re trouble and I’m just attracted to the trouble. Moving on, though.

I’ve denied myself any relationship with someone of the same sex (that shipped sailed when I held one higher above the rest). Nor have I ever been with someone of the “third sex.” But people and their genders aren’t notches on a belt. It’s just realizations. Damn, I was young once. But that fun and fancy free bullshit wasn’t for me, anyway.

I’m sure I had a purpose to this post, but the poetry reading starts in about ten minutes. In summation, though, talk nerdy to me. Yeah. I’m sure that’s the moral of this post.

Bailey Jay at AVN Awards 2011
Exhibit D

“People that fall apart…

Monica learned something about me today–I didn’t like Fight Club. I’m not too clear-minded at the moment. Only fragments of today’s outing exist. I’ll write more about this tomorrow.

I think my depression is clearing up. There are days when I just want to end this. But those are becoming fewer. I don’t like myself, but I’m learning to love myself. I’m learning how to understand myself. And maybe, one day, I’ll learn how to accept myself. And maybe then, someone will finally do the same for me.

Am I ready to move on? No. I don’t think so. I don’t think I ever will. Some say time cures all, but a broken heart never mends. Not really.


“I Believe”

We have these books in the department, a nonfiction series entitled You Wouldn’t Want toThe titles vary from being sick or living during a certain points in history. I can’t help but to think that, somewhere along the line, the company will publish one called You Wouldn’t Want to be a Homosexual in 21st Century United States (a companion title will include being a woman in the United States). How is this still a discussion? It’s like victimizing the rapist, why, in this modern time, do we still do it?

Exhibit A
Exhibit A

Today, I showed my support for Marriage Equality by changing my Facebook profile pic (which is usually a picture of my son) to that equal sign surrounded by red (see Exhibit A). Several of my friends did the same. Now, are we, in away, delusional, that the Supreme Court will file through every Facebook account and take us into consideration? Not anymore than a football player takes into account of all the adoring fans watching from their living rooms wearing their jerseys. So why the image? Why not? It’s there. It’s not hurting anyone anymore than the girl wearing a cross necklace showing her support for Christianity. Or anymore harm than the beatnik wearing the Meat is Murder t-shirt. Nothing comes from it–necklace girl doesn’t convert people just by wearing a necklace and reading Meat is Murder on a tee doesn’t automatically make you a vegan. It just shows support. Nothing more and nothing less.

What grills me is that when I take a stance against prayer or religion as being a bunch of malarkey, I’m automatically lectured that it’s a source of comfort. Well, bitch, this is a source of comfort for me. To know that my friends (not all of them, sadly) are supporting the right for all Americans to live a happy life is comforting.

Change of Subject

Exhibit B
Exhibit B

In other news, I got a monkey (see Exhibit B). Obviously, he isn’t real. I’ve named him Pippin for now (it’s still undecided if the name will stick), and I’m working on his voice. I’m thinking lisp, but if we’re to use him for puppet shows at work, maybe I’ll give him a more endearing voice.

I might even appear with him at the poetry reading this Thursday. That’s also undecided.


“All this rejection’s got me so low…”

“So why did you want me to send you the picture [of the killer clown]?” asks the younger one. Fuck, why do people inquire so much? Now they’re all looking at me, awaiting my answer.

“I wanted to write about it,” I answer. I’ve piqued their interests. They know I write everyday musings. They know about this blog, but they don’t know this blog.

“I want to read,” says one. “Me, too,” says the other. Great. Now I have their attention and interest. What now? Because I would die if they ever found this semi-anonymous blog. In fact, the only work friend that knows about this blog is Rosie (Grace, you don’t count, sorry).

Now, I’m not some teenager who would “literally die” if his friends “find and read this blog.” We’re adults here, but it’s still something I dread. Why? Well, let me explain. I am a human. And as a human, I’m a social creature, despite my misanthropy. And as a social creature, I care how others see and think of me. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t let them define me.

For the most part, my coworkers (as in people who work in the same department) know I’m godless. That is, they know I’m agnostic. And to an extent, they know I’m outspoken about my godlessness. However, I’m not the type of person who shoots my mouth when someone “blesses” me when I sneeze. I’m actually really polite with others’ beliefs. There are times when I eye-roll, but for the most part I just smile and nod. There are only two times when my politeness fails me: 1. When I’m in a terrible mood (not often the case), and 2. When they shove their dogmatic ideology down my throat like that fruit cake we re-gift each year.

Now, sometimes, I want a button stating how proud I am to be godless. Of course, there are other people who feel the same way I do. We want it not to offend Christians. We want it not because we care what other people think of us. We want as a reminder for other people. A reminder that bluntly states that not everyone shares your dogmatic views. Would we raise an eyebrow if a Catholic wears a Catholic and proud pin? Or a Muslim praising her Islamic faith? Are they caring what others think of them? Nope. So why is it when I want a godless and proud button, I’m suddenly insecure about others’ view of me? Bitch, please. If you don’t know the reasons behind it, then you shouldn’t opine on my thoughts.

Shit. Tangent there. Why don’t want my work buddies to read my blog? Well, have you read what I write here? There’s just some parts of me that I’m not ready to share with them. Why? I care what they think of me because I work with them.


“Acid, suicide freedom of the blast”

Every now and then, I feel obligated to mention the person who gets me the most hits on this blog. Linetrap herself, Bailey Jay (a.k.a. Harley Quinn). Since the post mentioning her and Izzy Hilton, perverts looking for her naked pictures have generated my traffic. And for that, I thank you.

Am I the only one disturbed that Disney used a White Zombie song (see video above) in their trailer for Planes? Not that I’m bothered by it, it’s just the sinking realization that the generation that’s watching cartoons came from the loins of mine.

A grim realization has also set in. While I’m not writing nearly enough to improve my craft, I’m also stalling in reading. So I need to make some sort of resolution to divide my time evenly. Which means, no more TV. At least after the Walking Dead and before Breaking Bad. Oh, you know what I mean.

Hu. Funny. I thought there was more to say.



“Never pay the reaper with love only”

A romantic gesture. We’re splitting hairs here. Had a good cry the other day and broke down. Last time I did this, I took a walk. Sometimes I lose myself in a character I created. A routine that I become. For hours, I’m watching the world through the eyes of a some teenager sitting on the beach, his nose bloodied from a fight that ensued the night before, watching teenage girls jogging by while he ponders the rising sun and what this life means. And this teenager will never grow up to be me, because I was never this teenager. Maybe I wished life was a bit more like a teen romantic comedy where it all sews together in the end. Or maybe, my only hope that I am able to write one.

I survived last week with just the hairs on my knuckles. A whirl wind of emotions, a roller coaster. A tsunami of torrential tears. My thirtieth birthday, the International Book Discussion, and FESTIBA. I decided that my secret needed out of the bag. I confessed to Lee first, sometime last year. He knew the play by play. When he left work, I decided not to let my coworkers know the situation, so I bended the truth. I played cards that hid my secret without actually having to lie to them–think the pronoun game when attempting to hide the sex of the person you’re seeing. I told Grace after she was fired because I trusted her enough to keep the secret. The added bonus is that she’d never slip and discuss it in the lounge. I’ve hinted it here on the blog, if not just stating it outright. Anyway, I won’t discuss it tonight.

Friday, FESTIBA involved me donning the Clifford costume and walking around city hall court yard. I couldn’t see anything except the skyline, and Edinburg doesn’t have one. Not to mention that I lost about 15 pounds in sweat alone. Still, I saw a couple of familiar faces–including I-love-you girl, who, after checking the archives, I never mentioned here so I’ll save that story for later as not to get sidetracked.

Killer Clown
Exhibit A (as if there’s an Exhibit B)

I’m sure I never mentioned that my coworker, Angela, is deathly afraid of clowns. So not only did one of my coworkers dress up as a clown, another decided to “hire” the killer clown from the water-dunk booth to chase her after it ended. I should also mention there’s a prank war brewing in the horizon. A war that I’m a part in ever since my spicy brownie won the affection of my fellow coworker (the same guy who got the killer clown to chase Angela around). After Clifford, my night was pretty slow moving. So I joined whatever activity there was until it was time to pack up and leave. We carried our stuff to the van at the end of the night and we were led away by our fellow leader. By this time, my mind was at getting home rather than remembering the planned conspiracy. Just then, Angela bolts as that guy in the picture above starts chasing her around. My blood rushed through my head and like the monster I am, I got giddy. Of course, now I’m part of the conspiracy group and must not be a target of the revenge conspiracy. However, Saturday and figured something out. I figured, coupled with my stepping out of my comfort zone Friday, that I could bribe my way out of this as I’m already in the works of pranking the prankster that set her up for a scare.

Starbucks Solution
Will you look at that, Exhibit B

Now Angela is Catholic and, as most of you Catholics know, we’re currently tumbling through Lent. Which means, she’s not allowed meat on Fridays and must sacrifice something. She gave up her two main sources of caffeine–coffee and soda. So I’m wandering through Walmart, when happen upon the solution to my prank problems. Now, personally, Starbucks is the corporate devil which spews coffee zombies addicted to name brands. However, Starbucks is the mecca for most coffee drinkers; therefore, giving her this as an act of contrition should get me off the hook.

I suppose we shall see how it plays out Tuesday, as I won’t see her until then. Meanwhile, I’m beginning my notes on the story I mentioned in an earlier post. I’m still uncertain how much of the reality will get left behind. I just know that the direction I want to take it is YA. We’ll see.