Category: Post

A Father's Concern

6/21/2017

With both my mother and I out of the country my father is rambling around our reasonably sized suburban home with no one to fend for him. He's recently become quite concerned with our safety. He told me there was some crime in Barcelona and he wanted to know if it was a “safe city”.

Barcelona is not New York in the 1980's. I'm sure there is crime. I live in a nice residential high rise, a ten minute metro ride from the most expensive shopping district in Catalonia. I'm not sure what he thinks is going to happen. My mother and I don't PARTY or snort cocaine. We might get a sunburn, but we have sunblock so I'm not worried.

The Barcelona Cathedral

Apparently, the dog is sleeping on the bed. My bed? His bed? The mother's bed? I don't know. I'm supposing the dog is happy. My father tends to spoil him, which is great for the dog. I'm happy for him and he'll be supremely disappointed when we return and he's not allowed on the furniture anymore.

Taking Exams In Spain

6/7/2017

You would think that taking exams in Spain must be exciting. Doing anything in Spain must just be the bees knees. Well, first of all bee's don't have any knees and secondly exams are exams no matter what country your in. Their boring, time consuming, and stressful.

In between “studying” and sipping on orange juice I would go out rollerblading on the hills of Barcelona. It did not always go well, but I didn't get hit by a car (or a bus!) so I'm marking it down as a win. I did have to take one of my exams early, but that's because I'll be in Sweden. Isn't life magestic?

As I was taking this exam early I made uncomfortable conversation with the professor regarding the weather. It's 33 degrees Celsius in Barcelona and I told him “I'm not wearing any clothes and I'm still sweating.” He did not understand my American humor. My time in Barcelona is coming up and the only thing I haven't accomplished is meeting Shakira.

I Do(n't) Believe In Love

3/30/2016

What is love?

That is the question renowned lyrcist Haddaway asked in 1993. This is where I say something moody and dripping in existential crisis. I believe in love. Just not for me. Or I reveal how much of a cold bitch I am and decry the need for any human attention like a good sociopath.

I just realized recently that love is some fucked up shit. I already knew that from all the romantic comedies I watch and the erotic novels I read. But, still it hit me. I spent most of my time third wheeling and they've all been breaking up.

For someone who is not in a relationship, I've been dealing with a lot of emotional pain, and it's been stressing me the fuck out. Their problems are my problems.

There's only one couple I spend time with and their doing well. I think. They make me want to believe that love is possible and you just have to find the right person. A tall beautiful intelligent girl or a short dumb stumpy boy. Whoever she or he may be. They are out there. Just waiting for someone to write poetry about.

I went to Gilmore Girls trivia this week with my mother and I remembered how horrible all of Rory's relationships were. Dean was great until he got that bowl cut and cheated on his wife. Jess was problematic and I feel convinced he had a skinny dick. And, the only redeeming quality about Logan besides his Pillsbury dough boy face was his extremely rich pocket book.

It was wonderful.

Also my straight friend. The wonderful, the gorgeous, other half of my twinship friendship got hit on by a drunk gay guy. So, who is to say that love isn't real?

One couple I'm close to both told me their problems and they spent the better part of two weeks crying and not talking to one another. At one point they settled on being “just friends”, but they'd fucked each other one too many times to do that.

In a cute Mandy Moore is going to die at the end of A Walk To Remember way, one of them is hopelessly devoted. The other one treated him like shit. Not intentionally or on purpose, but just because. He was determined to break up with him. But, he didn't. Love is real.

They have reconciled. Despite one saying, “he's just not ready for an adult relationship.” Yes. That is because he is in high school. But, what do I know?

Their also planning on moving in together. I told them I thought that was fantastic, because I'm full of shit. I'm disenfranchised with their love. They almost ended it in December. March. And, who knows maybe they'll end up together and become happily divorced.

All I know is that as far as I'm concerned is that their love is dead. And, no matter how “mature” a high schooler may be, you should never date one if your in college. There will always be that power dynamic and it's not healthy and it's not appropriate. And, someone will abuse it even if that was never their intention.

Friends

3/16/2016

Friends are such a weird concept. They’re there for you. They come and go. Sometimes faster than the wind and they stay sometimes longer then you would ever expect. I’ve been having such a roller coaster with them lately. They know how to hurt you better than anyone and they can be closer to you then a family member that’s known you your whole life.

I’ve had such a wide array of emotions from a wide group of people. Last Friday I had a heart to heart with one. I truly thought we wouldn’t be friends any more. That might be, because I’m a dramatic cunt. But, I genuinely thought that he doesn’t care about me. He did at one point, but I didn’t know if that was true anymore. I was glad I was wrong.

One group of friends I just don’t know how I feel. I want them in my life and I don’t at the same time. I care and I don’t. I’m still low key hurt, but actually really high key. I think it’s part of me not dealing with my emotions very well.

At this point I’m not even sure if me and Sacajawea and Rosencrantz are friends. The last time I called Rosencrantz she never returned my message. But, I’ve been told that friendship is a “two way street” and that “I’m not putting in any effort.”

They’re both replacing me with a boy who’s named after a city in Texas. I shouldn’t be hurt. Friends are allowed to gain and grow close to newer and better people. I’m a petty, jealous bitch, though and that’s not how I feel.

Sacajawea said to me that she doesn’t like spending time with me, because I’m so negative. I guess that wasn’t supposed to hurt my feelings. I only have three, but it hurt all of them. If I was texting this I would have added lol.

I’m not sure if I want to be friends with her and at this point I’m not sure if she wants me to be friends with her anymore. It’s mostly my fault.

The Princes are having their troubles as couples do. It made me realize where my relationship is at with Harry. The only time he really texts me is when something is going wrong with their relationship.

And, I care, but when I heard they were having trouble I had it pegged. He’ll text me today after not replying to me for a week. We’ll hang out at some point this week. And, I was completely right. We’re hanging out tonight as I type this. I feel dull and unimportant. But, that’s okay. I’m probably over thinking it. I’ve always been worried that he thinks I’m boring and he probably does. My response to “what are you doing?” is “just took a quiz today lol”.

Black and I have been doing really well. We’ve decided to collectively change her name to “Raven”. It sounds more interesting. We’ve been spending so much time together, I’m surprised she doesn’t hate me yet.

All I really know is what Bette Midler said is true, “everyone’s got to have friends.”

Buy "Friends"

Hangers & A Sweater Later

1/6/2016

The holiday season has finally wrapped up. I for one am happy. The only good part about Christmas is having RuPaul's Christmas album on repeat. Something that I do in June anyway. People mention “hot chocolate” and “snow”. These are not specific Christmas. The only thing specific to Christmas is midnight mass and I would rather be asleep.

So, picture it. I'm having a great time playing Dirty Santa. I was a great person. I brought two gifts. One was a half eaten box of candy corn, the other was a pair of baby wedges. That my sister said her daughter was “too young for”. There is never a time you are too young to be fashionable.

My gift was well received by the masses. All were disappointed when they found they couldn't shove their foot inside them. Black was horrified when it was revealed that her gift was a box of half eaten candy corn. She forgot to bring her own and I kindly acquiesced. It was also wrapped in a trash bag.

Black also informed me that her name on the blog was “unoriginal”. Stay updated in case there is a change in name, now that an official complaint has been lodged.

You are probably asking what I won. At first it was a box of tissue and a copy of 25. Then, my favorite Prince William manipulated someone into stealing his gift, so he could rob me. I have never felt more violated in my life. It ended all right, though. I ended up a sweater and two scarf hangers richer.

Of course I switched into the sweater. Tacky Christmas sweater have their place and two hours in one was enough for me.

After our school function. Prince William invited me and Black to spend the better part of the night with his boyfriend Prince Harry. Black rode with Prince William, because I drove too slow.

It was fine, though. It gave me and Prince Harry a chance to bond and catch up with one another. Prince William and Prince Harry are my favorite couple I adore them. They are the better part of my social life, so when and if they ever break up my life will be ruined.

The night was very low key. I lost at all incarnations of Mario. Super Mario Smash Bros. Mario Kart 8. It seemed no matter what I did, I was not destined to be good at these games. And, it's fine. I personally enjoy losing every single time.

We stayed up until about 1:30 in the morning doing this and I promise I was not mad. At. All. But, honestly fuck them. I was so mad.

At this point Black and I decided we should go home. She had to be picked up from school by her father. At 2:00 in the morning. Personally that would be a strong case for me to teach my daughter to drive.

I get home. Unlock the door. The dog has a jingle bell collar on. He looks cute and my father for some reason is awake. He asks me where I got the sweater from. I look down at it. Thinking that my tacky Christmas sweater is in the car when I tell him that I got it from Prince William.

I'm Leaving

12/23/2015

Sike! Bitches.

Day 10 of the 12 Days of Bubbles continues on towards doom and mental collapse of your favorite blogger and contrary to the title of this post. I'm here to stay. Kind of.

Picture it. It's October. I'm having a really great time. I've been plotting to write this article, since then. I was going to spring it on you. My eight favorite readers that I was leaving the country. Never to return. Except not.

I applied to study abroad. Barcelona. It was horrible. I had to write an essay in Spanish explaining why I wanted to study abroad. I took French in high school. I was not prepared. My GED did not prepare me to deal with real life.

Finishing this essay was the biggest hurdle. Sure I had to get two of my professors to write me recommendations, but there are worse things. After all of this I was prepared, I was fucking ready. I was going to Barcelona in the spring.

Little did I know that somewhere in the deep bowels of the US government, my passport was not going through. Apparently my birth certificate was not “good enough”. @ the government. That sound like your problem.

They say “get a new birth certificate”. That was a mess. Me and my favorite study abroad office worker try to send a faxed document that has been certified by a notary that I indeed do want this birth certificate. However, we are millennials and are unequipped to use a fax machine. I end up at FedEx Office spending $2.19 to get it sent off.

The week after Thanksgiving, I mail off my birth certificate to the government. At some point my passport will come in. Shiny and beautiful. Ready to be used and I will be here in the United States having emotional breakdowns over macroeconomics.

It's not good enough to just get a passport. As an international student, who will be gone more then 90 days, I have to get a Visa. A Visa takes at least three weeks to process. I love cutting things to the wire as much as the next college student, but I said to myself. Maybe next year.

I'll be able to save more money. Get a better apartment in Barcelona (!), do more exciting things (!), and who knows, I might even fly first class. Live on the true wild side.

Yet, here I am. In my bathrobe. Surrounded by my wonderful family, so excited to be here one more year. This also gives me more time to learn Spanish. Truly apply myself. Will I do it? Probably not. I'd rather just stumble around a foreign country unable to speak to the locals.

In one year's time, I'll be here again. Telling you about my plans to leave the country. Or not. A lot can happen in a year.

The Environmental Conference

12/16/2015

It's rare that multiple bloggable moment happen to me over the course of a week. That's why I've saved this for day three of the 12 Days of Bubbles. The week after “It's Not My Party” (read here) takes place I was on my way to an LGBT conference. Or as my parents refer to it as “the environmental conference”.

A rainy Friday morning I was in front of my school at 9:00 am. I looked cute. A button up maroon shirt tucked into my striped shorts and red peep toes. Our fearless leader got at the school at 9:15. We drove quickly from there to shopping.

My GSA president has this bad habit of texting and driving. As well as speeding. At one point I had to borrow his phone to call his boyfriend. I told him, “This is not how I want to die. Driving to a conference. That is not glamorous. This is not a story my grandchildren will pass on to their grandchildren.”

Needless to say I think his boyfriend really likes me. We broke up our six hour drive with a layover at the most beautiful mall. They had a Michael Kors shop. This beautiful $200 red jacket longed for me. I deserved it. It deserved me. We belonged together. Tragically my recently defaulted student loans suggested otherwise.

I was a good gay. I stopped myself from spending $75 at Pac Sun. I limited myself to this tin can and candle I got at Earthbound for $2.97 plus tax. Our GSA president promptly dropped over $200. I lived vicariously through him.

That night we arrived. Blurry eyed. We were staying in the basement of this nice Presbyterian church. They had horrible water. But, there was a pool table, so that made up for it.

The next morning we went to the conference. Our fearless leader and our quiet anime porn watcher had snored through the night. I woke up showered. Looked scandalously appropriate for an LGBT conference. Grabbed a pumpkin spice latte. I was dressed straight from a catalog.

We went to three different discussions. The first was on love. Applicable to everyone accept the aromantics. There are four great ways to break up relationships. I do two of the four regularly. One is essentially passive aggressiveness and the other is called “stone walling”. Essentially, not talking to your partner. Needless to say I now know why I have no friends.

The second one was a workers panel. It was about being LGBT in the workplace. It was generally dull. Until the final question came around from the ginger in the front row. She asked the panel members how they were supposed to give varying viewpoints coming from a “cisgender Caucasian” perspective. I died.

Thanks to the god who plans on putting us in hell, we broke for lunch. It was a questionable taco salad. I stayed in my lane with a plate of tortilla chips.

After lunch we saw a talk from Janet Mock, which fed from the last group we saw on problems transgender individuals face. Janet Mock is a transrights activist. She's amazing. She's stunning and her hair is gorgeous.

She walked out a jacket slinked around her shoulders, and some good nude pumps on. Her commentary is engaging and incredibly well thought out. One of the things she said that's really stuck with me is “we wouldn't have to talk about oppression if people didn't have to live it.” If you have any interest in know more about trans issues, go watch her interview with Oprah. Read her column. Buy her book. The woman's amazing.

We filed out. Perfectly awed. Went back to our Presbyterian church basement. Ordered Domino's. Watched Pulp Fiction. And, most importantly I learned how to smoke a bowl.

One of our GSA members had brought their bubbler and they took me out with them. I learned all about THC and how to light it and that you have to inhale it to get a high. I feel like the most expert pothead who's never done pot.

In the most shocking turn of events I went to another party. Two in less then a span of week. It was intense. We were practically in San Francisco. I had on 4 and ½ inch wedges. I wasn't drinking. I put half a shot of vodka in my grape soda. That was about as lit as I was getting.

It was great. There was a make shift stripper pole. One of the boys knocked it down. The cutest one there was a reject Prince Harry. I stayed in my corner with Blondie, sipping on my grape soda. One of the girls told me “she loved my entire wardrobe.”

That's what a good cheetah print wedge can do for a wardrobe.

I told her she looked like Emma Roberts. She blushed. We bonded. I had such a great time. Especially, when they got so drunk that they tried to throw eggs onto the roof across the street. This is what college is about.

About midnight we stumbled back to the Presbyterians. Got cookies from Insomnia and smoked another bowl. Passed out asleep and didn't leave until 11:00 the next day.

It was a successful trip. I finally found out what “kush” was. Drank straight pumpkin pie from a smoothie place and learned that Concord isn't a state.

A Hodgepodge

11/24/2015

In an unsurprising turn of events nothing happened to me. I was convinced something good would come along that I could poor my heart into and update you about my life.

The worst thing that happened was my inability to send a fax. I was born in the nineties, but I was not breathing and living through the office revelation that was the fax machine. My earliest memories start with hitting a baby one more time.

Picture it. It was me and one of my favorite people on campus. She's young. 23, maybe 25. Also not old enough to experience the fax machine. And, we could not figure it out. We struggled. We punched in numbers. We gave up. I ended up going to Kinkos and spending $2.40 to send a one page document. One Page.

My same favorite person also put in her two weeks notice. That was probably the worst part of my week. I see her every day. And, now I'll have to work with someone else? What if it's a man. I've come to accept the fact that I lost the heterosexual male crowd a long time ago. But, what if he's a man. That's straight. Because, if we're being really honest the gay ones don't like me that much either. I'm just very stressed.

I also found out that one of my favorite people is FINALLY dating this girl. They made it official over fall break. It honestly bothers me that it took him multiple weeks to mention it to me. He knows how invested I am in their love. They are my Brad and Angelina. I deserved to know.

The funniest thing is that they thought this was some big surprise. Like they spend so much time together. To the point that it's clear that their not “just friends”. They're the prettiest couple I know and I cry a little inside.

I also went to the zoo. I haven't been in forever, but I went with my GSA. Our treasurer was there. I was there. We had a really good time.

I don't know zoos make me kind of sad. The animals look sad, which makes me sad. The enclosures don't seem big enough or nice enough. They just don't seem happy and that makes my cold little heart shatter.

Truly my life is so boring. I'm sitting here typing, trying to figure out what to tell you. I watched Scream Queens on Tuesday. It was actually so funny, because I was walking back from the zoo when I pass this line of cars.

I look good as I always do and this car window rolls down. It's the director of one of my programs and she's like do you want to watch this documentary with us? And, I said (still walking) “Nooooooooo”. She says “are you going to the meeting tomorrow?” and I was like “ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh”

It was very uncomfortable experience of disappointment. I also got a certificate saying how fabulous I am. Clearly. I already knew, but now I have written proof. I was also informed that I was “iconic” and that I show our campus “what liberal really means.”

I don't know what that last thing means, but I like the way it sounds.

It's Not My Party

11/11/2015

Mid terms were over. I failed all of them and honestly I have never felt a stronger desire to get really fucked up. Being the reasonable person that I am I settled on watching other people get really fucked up.

In a surprising turn of events I was invited to a party. I know the girl. She's really sweet, but I didn't know we were close enough for me to be on her guest list. I suppose if your trying to get a good group of people though that's not something you take into consideration. The last time I went to a legitimate party I was a junior in high school. I would not have gone if Joyce wasn't going

It's not really my scene. A good night for me is pulling out an Olivia Newton-John vinyl. Watching some Simple Life reruns, maybe write a popping blog article or two. I don't really party.

I've been told by many people that my school has really good parties. Jenny really liked the foam party one of the student organizations hosted. People got really fucked up and Warner went to one of the fraternity glow parties and he said it was amazing.

I may not be a party goer, but Elizabeth Taylor is my icon. Fashionably late is my aesthetic. I was out to dinner with Joyce before hand she wants to get there right at 9:00. She said what's the worst thing about early. Everything. Literally everything.

Joyce was looking really cute that night. She had this cute nun look going that she'd gotten from Urban Outfitters. Frankly, she was trolling for men. I was thinking 10:00 would be a good time to stop by. I still thought it was still too early, but it was a polite time to show up.

We get there at 9:30. It was her and her roommate and her boyfriend. The same one who doesn't have a job and tried desperately to get with Joyce on tinder. He also said to her “I thought you were taller.” He can stop.

It was about 11:00 when things really started happening. That was an hour and half too long. Joyce had her screwdriver and I was sipping on my bottle vodka. This is when a few people from school arrive. One is everyone's favorite diplomat daughter from France.

Bottled Vodka

She's so funny. I love and fear her. She's one of those people that I feel could really fuck you up if she decided she didn't like you. She used to be best friends with the president of my school's GSA and did she talk some shit.

Yes she did.

She was turned up. This is the girl who parties in Miami on the weekend for the heck of it. Lit would be an understatement. Her and this very nice boy with a nose ring hot boxed. He's so sweet and I've never really talked to him. He's very quiet. Apparently, all he needs is a few joints and a Pabst Blue Ribbon to really open up.

The list of drugs he's done is extensive. I think the really question is what drugs hasn't he done. In other news the current art project he's working on includes lots of dicks. After all who doesn't like a big dick in the morning. Am I right?

The best part of the night was meeting the current flame of Joyce. Her last one looked like a Phineas and Ferb reject. This one was so good. He was gorgeous. A hairy Indiana Jones. He had just enough buttons undone that his chest hair was exposed.

Not only is he pretty, but he's also funny and politically correct and a fiction writer. That he said was just loosely based non fiction. Considering that his mother is an FBI agent and his father is a professional skateboarder I can't imagine it's dull.

He also smokes. I love the smell of cigarettes, so other then the fact that he's low key going to die young, I think that's sexy. He asked me if I wanted a cigarette just to hold. For a moment I thought I was in The Fault In Our Stars.

The clothes were also on point. A good pea coat. One that was probably warmer then mine. Some good pleated pants. As I said. Indian Jones. He was gorgeous.

Sure getting home at 4:00 in the morning was late for me. I'm a good gay who goes to bed at midnight. It was a late night. What I learned from that night is that there are a surprising number of people on the road in the morning and that low key parties are my aesthetic.

Crowd With Me

10/14/2015

I discovered something about myself recently. I hate crowds. I hate people.

Picture it. It's a nice balmy Saturday. I am getting ready to go to this festival with Joyce. For all intensive purposes it's essentially a place to go shopping. My kind of day out. The day just did not go as planned. It was not a memorable experience for either of us.

First off. My heel breaks on the way over. Parking is horrendous and we have to walk about a mile to get there. We have to walk back to my car to get another pair of shoes. The only ones I have is my ratty work shoes. Joyce says I looked grunge. That's a nice way of putting it.

Problem number one is that there wasn't anything cute to buy. Not that I needed to buy anything, I certainly didn't. But, there was nothing that even made me say, “Let's drop fifty dollars and buy this cute tank.” There was nothing.

If I'm going boutique shopping, I expect to find cute, over priced items to purchase.

It was also a pleasant ninety six degrees. A bitch almost died. I swear the sun broke through my sunscreen. I was crowded, I was sweaty it was not good.

You know Joyce and I went to a music festival together and that went okay. This however was intense with no real benefit. Although, I did get a lot of pamphlets from the Planned Parenthood booth. I know how to have safe oral sex, anal sex, vaginal sex. I got you covered.

By the end of this event I'm sure I convinced Joyce to never take me out in public again. I was a bitch. You could go as far as to say I was a cunt. Most of the day with me was just a variation on “it's so fucking hot” and “why is the sun out”. I was a horrible friend.

It was in these moments dear to my heart that I came to understand that I never wanted to be touched ever again. I'm already weird about it. I don't like being touched, but this cemented that. I want to retire to a quiet French country village and never talk to anyone again.

Alternatively, I might move into a nice apartment in some major city and make quick excursions out into the public sphere once in a while instead. School's been a struggle. The most painful part is talking to people. Human contact has just not been going great.

Church was the worst. It was the day after the festival. I was with Sacajawea and Rosencrantz and this girl I know from school hugs me. I can hug people. I don't like doing it, but I can do it. I don't even know this girl well. I was just like we're going to have to talk.

Of course Sacajawea knows I don't like being hugged and that hasn't stopped her. She told me I would get used to it. My mother conversely has told me I would get over it. .

We shall see on that front. At the current moment I've just realized that crowds aren't for me. Which, reminds me. I'm doing Pride on Saturday. Go me.