...'round the internets:
-- Round 3 of the Gay Bloggies is up. The topic: Describe your guiltiest pleasure. My entry is here: Dan Renzi
The advertisers are starting to include some naughty adult stuff, so...y'know...click only if that doesn't bother you. And of course there's all sorts of wacked out sexy stuff in the entries. Although my entry is very PG. And it's VERY DEEP AND MEANINGFUL.
I'm also going to post the previous round's entries here, in case you can't/don't want to click over to the Gay Bloggies site. All this work I'm doing, writing writing writing, people are questioning where it's going.
-- Remember Atomic Tumor? It's been a year since the big bad day. New wife, new life, very heavy.
There was something else but I don't remember what it was. Dang.
Okay, so that's just two things to read but by internet standards that's a lot. And you can read the rest of this post if you didn't see the "Nature vs. Nurture" entry yet. I gotta go. See yous later.
Lesly: This is how you raised them?
Mrs. Pascal: People “raise” cattle. Children just happen. This one has blue eyes, and that one is insane.
--The House Of Yes
This is me.
It's a small picture because it was taken by a paparazzi, but I couldn't afford to buy the whole thing so I had to steal the thumbnail image off the internet. I’m quite sure the photographer never made any money off of it anyway, no one ever buys these paparazzi pictures if I’m in them.
I remember this picture, I was at a party. I had just straightened my hair and I felt very fancy.
When I was a kid I wasn’t attracted to women, so I thought I wasn’t attracted to anybody. I never knew there were other options. Instead, I considered becoming a priest. I thought I had the celibacy thing under control.
Never mind the fact that I held tap dancing recitals in my driveway. Why would a parent question such behavior? Granted, there was never anyone in the audience, unless you count the neighbors who would stare from a distance. No matter, the voices in my head always have always kept me company anyway. And the garage was smooth cement, perfect for the shoes to go clickety-clack.
The other boys in my neighborhood wanted to grow up and be baseball players; I wanted to be Darcel Wynne from Solid Gold.
I watched Solid Gold like it was my own little church service, showing me the way to salvation. I imagined heaven was filled with angels dressed in sequins and lamé. They'd stand around the pearly gates and spin and make jazz-hands, all punctuated with seriously pouty faces, and Darcel would be there with her fog machine, doing her signature move: she'd swing her head down in a loop, swoosh her long black hair around, and then flip it back when she stood up again. To make hair just like hers, I'd wear pajama bottoms with the elastic waistband around my head, so the legs fell down my back, and I would swoosh them around just like Darcel. I loved Darcel. I wanted to be Darcel.
On the weekends my frustrated parents would use my time away from school as an opportunity to de-nelly me, and force me into becoming a little more "normal;" part of this involved being kicked out the house and told I had to stay outside until it was dark. But with no interest in playing baseball in the middle of the street like the rest of the mouth-breathing heathens on our street, I would walk a few houses down and watch the neighbor kid mow his lawn. I’d pretend I was talking to him, but really I was watching him…just watching him, mow his lawn. He walked around his yard without wearing a shirt and I thought it was fascinating.
I proceeded to sitting in my living room and watching him through my binoculars, as he worked up a sweat. My father gave me those binoculars as a gift, they belonged to his dad; they were part of a wilderness package, also including an utterly-lethal Buck knife, and a canteen. He told my mother he thought it would toughen me up. Meanwhile, I used the knife to cut my jeans into cut-off shorts and the binoculars came in handy when spying on the shirtless boy down the street. I would have brought him my canteen filled with icy beverages to quench his thirst, but I figured that might have made him suspicious. So instead I just sat inside, watching him and resisting the temptation to run up to him and pick off all the little blades of grass that were stuck to him, one-by-one. At the time I had no idea why I spent my time doing this; I didn’t see anyone else watching him. Then again, I was hiding behind the couch, so I presumed no one could see me either.
I have always been loud. I have always been dramatic. I have always been flamboyant, even before I knew what being "gay" meant. I have tried to butch it up, but it lasts for about 15 minutes before I let something slip. This really is as socially-acceptable as I can get. And you learn, from a very early age, that just because no one is sitting in the chairs you set up it doesn’t mean you can’t open the garage door and perform your recital anyway. These are the choices we must make in life. You’re born with the homosexuality; it’s your choice what you do with it.
It's all just...there. From the beginning.
Do you have kids? Tell them they are exactly the way they're supposed to be.
Children just happen.
Thanks for reading. Hugs.