Terrible Twos

I wasn't going to blog this week at all,
and I might not blog next week.
There's been a lot of assignments due,
books to read, movies to watch,
and a play that opens next week to rehearse.

However, my teacher cancelled my last class today,
so I have some free time on my hands. :-)

So yes, today is the Wacko Monologues 2nd anniversary.
I've gotta say, February 17th has kinda become my Chinese New Year,
in that I celebrate it more whole-heartedly than January 1st.
I'm glad to see the blog come so far.
It definitely has grown and flourished,
gained a few more readers,
allowed me to mature a bit more.
All things I'm happy about.
I haven't been posting as often,
which does sadden me,
but no worries.
I have no plans to shut up shop.
I enjoy exposing myself,
I mean sharing my views, too much.

If you remember the post from the one year anniversary,
I had a list of goals and practices for the next year.
Well, 1) I haven't revised every blog before I post it, but I have become better about avoiding typos and flushing out everything I want to say instead of leaving you guys hanging or unsatisfied.
2) I asked for suggestions for about 3 months. I don't remember getting too much, so I went back to my notebooks for help. I'll try it again, though.
3) Have I taken my stuff to Youtube? Well, as some of you may have seen, I posted a Valentine's Day Poetry video this week. On that account are videos of me simply talking to the camera. I still can't edit, and I'll probably change how I go about it soon, but yeah. I talk to computer now. How cool am I? :-D

So, do I dare make any new resolutions for the Wacko Monologues?
I don't see the harm.

1) Read other blogs more often.
I have to many unread posts from my friends and fellow bloggers that I desperately want to read. Ella Thought comes to mind immediately. I want to expose myself to other's opinions more.

2) Tackle most tasks on my 101 Tasks in 1001 Days.
A few of them are time sensitive upon my graduation in May, so I definitely have to get on them. And of course, I'll continue to blog about them as I've been doing.

3) Write more stories and poems.
I've been wanting to start different segments back up, the How to and Top 10 included. So keep a look out for all of that.

This next year should promise to be anything but terrible.
Pop a bottle of champagne for the Monologues tonight, kids!
Word.

How I Learned About Sex

There seems to be a theme to this week: Over-sharing.
Oh well. I like doing it.
Below is an exercise I wrote for my Sociology of Sexuality class.
I banged it out in 30 minutes... after it was due. haha
I liked it so much I decided to let you guys read it too.
Hopefully it'll make you guys think.
Enjoy.

I can’t recall where I first learned about relationship between males and females, not even where the notion of romance and destiny came from, but I do remember my first time I experimented. I was four years old. It was a summer day camp, and there was one little girl named Jasmine that caught my fancy all summer long. I don’t even think I held a conversation with her, yet alone played a game with her. I was simply stunned by her beauty. (At least that’s what I tell myself.) Eventually, the last week of summer camp was upon me. I didn’t know if I’d ever see her again. So, I decided to be bold. One day during recess, out on the black top playground/parking lot, I saw her standing underneath the basketball hoop by herself. I went up to her, and I kissed her on the cheek. As soon as I lifted my lips, she slapped me so hard I fell to the ground and began to cry. My older sister, one of the counselors at the camp, still teases me about it to this day. It was that day I learned that I couldn’t woo a random woman by action alone.

            My next lesson in sexuality came in first grade. Our teacher would often the room while we worked on an assignment for minutes at a time. For some reason, my classmates nominated me to be their specimen. They told me to show them my penis. I refused at first, but they threatened they would tell the teacher I did if I didn’t. I guessed I believed in numbers over the truth in those days because for two weeks I obliged them. Every time the teacher stepped out, I would present my boyhood as my peers gathered around, girls and boys alike. It took two weeks before the teachers finally caught us. I was given a pink slip. That was one of the two times my father whipped me with a belt. My mother simply sat down and gave me a talk, the details of which I do not remember in the slightest. What did I learn myself? Exposing yourself is bad.

Oddly enough, I still participated in the “I’ll show you mines if you show me yours” game in middle school. I was always tricked into going first. I never saw a woman’s lady parts.

If allowed to back up, although elementary and middle school, I made a new girl my victim. Jasmine had not deterred me. There was one in first and second, another in third and fourth, yet another in sixth and seventh, and one last girl in eighth. I made all of these girls my best female friend in the class before I attempted to woo them. Most of the girls agreed to a kind of fake boyfriend-girlfriend relationship. I kissed a few of them as well. I doubt it was a real attraction, though. It was me playing a role.

Let me explain, Boy Meets World was one of my favorite TV shows as a kid. I wanted to be like Corey Matthews and find my Topanga, a girl I first met on the jungle gym and would eventually marry. I was such a little romantic. Sadly, girls move away; I change schools; and my Topanga is never found.

I finally grasp were babies come from when my other sister, twelve and a half years my senior, has a first child at the age of 20. I hold my little nephew in my skinny arms and think this feels nice, it feels right. My father has always called me his prince, his heir to the throne. His name also Charles, just like his father. When he asks what I’ll name my first son, I respond, “Charles, of course.” Oddly enough, neither of my parents ever gave me the talk. I suppose I was thankful for that awkward conversation. We never really had any in depths conversations as a kid. I got all of my information from TV.

The notion of heterosexuality was pounded constantly into my head at every turn. So it only made sense it would take me an entire year during my junior year at a private Catholic all boy high school to explore my sexuality and come to the conclusion that I was gay (or bi as I told myself, a transition of sorts.) I even had a “big-tittied fling” as my friends called it and a girlfriend the same year I was figuring this out. I guess I realized girls truly did nothing for me.

So when asked who taught me about sex, I would respond my peers first, then television. I didn’t talk about it as much, but it set in my mind the premise of male and female relationships, the different things I could try and say to a person I was attracted to. Where were the parents in all of this? Providing for me, making me laugh on occasion. Conversations didn’t really happen.

Word.

Too Honest?

During my 2.5 hour late night class last night
that I suffered and daydreamed through,
I had one of my classic conversations with myself.
I thought about my blog
and wondered if I was telling too much.
On my last post,
a friend commended me on how honest I was able to be.

With this whole age of technology,
mainly blogging and Twitter,
people have been able to express themselves.
I have definitely taken advantage of this,
and I've said things that just pop into my head on a whim,
sometimes saying things I wouldn't in person.

I finally came to this conclusion:
just because you're honest,
it doesn't mean people won't look at you different.
If anything, they'll judge you more.

Yes, you have free speech,
and you are certainly entitled to your opinion,
but it still has repercussions.
A person has reason to cry if you truthfully say they're ugly;
a person can punch you in the face if you say something they deem offensive;
a person is allowed to distance themselves for you if you admit to being mentally unstable.

Sometimes, it's best to keep information to yourself.
You have to know the right people to reveal things to.
It's simply how our society works.
We all have our secrets.
Some are just more liberal about letting them out.
Word.

Gay, Black Man or Black, Gay Man

We all get categorized;
it's hard to help it.
Often society will place labels on us,
but what do we see ourselves as?

This is a question I've been asking myself for a while.

In all honesty,
it seems like I've been focusing more on the gay aspect
of my personality than the black side.

Of course I still make black jokes.
I wouldn't be me if I didn't.
And I still occasionally talk about black issues.
But if you've noticed, besides the Hip Hop Blocks,
I haven't talked much about them on the blog in a while.
I've taken this as a sign that I've become a bit more comfortable
with the differences between blacks and whites.
After 3 and a half years at a predominately white institution,
I would hope I've learned how to feel comfortable around them.

Am I completely at home around them? No.
But I think I starting to feel more displaced because of my sexuality.

In a recent tweet I said, "Sometimes I forget how heterosexual the world actually is."
I do. I often get lost in my own mind,
thinking about boys like the horny young homo I am.
Then I get snapped back to reality when my guy friends start talking about girls,
or when one of them uses the word gay or fag,
something I hardly minded before.
I guess I've just been noticing more of the prejudice against gay people lately.

On campus, I have my black friends and my white friends,
my guy friends and my lady friends.
I don't have my straight friends and my gay friends (unless you count Theatre kids).
For some reason,
I've found it difficult to relate to other gay guys.
One of the main reasons being I find myself always attracted to them in some degree,
mostly because I know they're gay and I figure why not try.
When you crush on as many straight guys as I do, you'd probably feel the same.
So, because of this, I don't have anyone to talk to about gay things.
At times my female friends, both straight and lesbian, will listen,
but on the same accord, I still don't feel like I can completely relate to them.

I won't even get into the whole difference between black and white gays.
That's a topic for another post.

At times, it even seems like black and gay are opposites,
in which I have to ask myself where my alliance lies.
I've always known I was black; I have roots and history in it.
I only realized I was gay 5 years ago.
I don't even know where to start to look as far as gay history and struggles.
It's all so brand new to me.
That's why I've become so much more fascinated  and invested in it.
Yet, it still feels like a constant battle to determine what part of me I express more.

I often tone down my "gay side" when I'm around people
I don't think will like it or make fun of me for it.
It's like I step back in the closet a little.
I just want to be able to talk about who I like freely,
dance around and so off feminine tendencies.
I just don't know how to act around people anymore.

Sigh.

No real outlet about anything will make you think about it endlessly.
...and this, my dear friends [and associates], is why I blog.
Word