You Got No Game, Sir

In my 21 years of existence,
I've had 1 girlfriend and 1 boyfriend.
Both approached me.
Both did it via MySpace.
Yeah, that long ago. haha

All this time
I thought I was single because I had a hard time
finding other gay guys I'm actually interested in.
No, this is not true at all.
Fact is, I have no game.

You'd think with my track record,
I'd at least have some inkling as to how to pick up people.
I mean, I kissed my first girl on the cheek when I was 4;
I had a crush on a girl in 1st/2nd grade that turn to a lil something cute;
I had a crush on a girl in 3rd/4th grade that became a friendship;
I had a crush on a girl in 6th/7th grade that almost turned into something before she moved (or so I tell myself);
I had a crush on a girl in 8th grade that I think liked me back.
I had a short romance with a girl I did a play with in 11th grade.
I'll be honest, that last one was my fault.
I didn't follow up with her after the play and then someone else swooped in.

But I'm saying,
I was such a little Casanova.
Where did my ability to make someone mines go?

I'm coming to the realization that I never had it.
I just knew how to get out of the friend zone.
In fact, it's my entrance point.
I don't think I've hit on a random person yet.
Well, one person, but I was really drunk.

For the most part, even now,
I only seriously think about a relationship
with people I already know.
I think it goes back to that whole "finding my Topenga" thing I have.
And sense I don't know too many gay guys,
my dating pool is fairly limited.

But even when I do attempt to go after a guy,
after months of trying to figure out if he's gay or not
(because I always go for the ambiguous type),
my pick up line has been, "Are you gay?"
How fucking bad of a line is that?
What the fuck was I thinking?
I'm pretty sure I've related this story to you guys before,
but it never fails to amaze me still.
Even if the guy was gay,
he was most likely closeted
and think I was trying to out him, not hit on him.

Other times, I just things fizzle out.
This often happens the few times someone shows interest in me.
It would usually have something to do with distance and/or effort on my part.
I think I was lazy and just wanted someone on campus. smh.

So now,
I'm attempting to re-train myself in the art of the pick-up.
We'll see how well this goes.
Hopefully I won't have to resort to websites again.
Word.

Reverse Hate Crimes?

Damien Furtch, the 26 year old that was attacked

Just the other day, a gay man was beat in the West Village.
The West Village in New York City.
Aka the Gay Central of NYC.
How does that happen?
It blows me, truly it does, that it would
1) happen one of our "safe havens" and 2) happen in the tri-state alone.
You hear about shit like this in the south and midwest, not in one of the most diverse areas in the States.



It just kinda took me back for a minute.
In a fit of anger and rage,
I thought about retaliation.
The thought of gathering a few gay guys to roam the streets,
picking fights with any straight person we wanted to.
Give them a taste of the fear we had to live with.

What would happen then?
Would we be put under the same scrutiny for our actions?
If there was a group of black kids going around trashing white kids,
would they go to jail any faster or slower?
What if females started committing rapes and abuse?
Would the men be pitied or told to man up?

They are a lot of ifs running through my head,
like what if they was a world were discrimination was on the other foot.
Where the blacks enslaved Europeans,
where Asian immigrants worked the demeaning jobs,
where Hispanics and Latinos were joked about the most without fear
and sought the most to be accepted.

Perhaps I'm just letting my radical mind get the better of me,
but sometimes it's necessary to think about a different world
to be able to deal with the one you actually live in.
Word.

Please Don't Call Me

I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one
that can't stand talking on the phone.

For as long as I can remember,
I've hated putting that speaker to my ear
sitting there as someone blabs on and on.
There's always static too,
so it makes it harder to understand the person.
Then I get tired of holding the phone up and/or it gets hot to the touch, especially if it's a cell phone.

Speaker phone was a slight savior for me,
making talking on the phone slightly more bearable.
But there's still so much static
and people walk away from the phone as they talk
so it's still just as hard to understand them.

I also don't talk for long periods of time
because I often myself becoming tongue-tied,
so the conversation quickly becomes one-sided.

If it weren't for texts, ims, and skype
I would be the worse to get in contact with.
I just find it easier to type what I feel like saying,
probably because I can take my time and think about it first.
It just seems like a better way to communicate.
Besides, some people's voices are annoying.

I think all of my friends realize I don't like talking on the phone.
It's my family that doesn't.
Or maybe they do, but they don't care.
So instead of calling them,
I just wait for the inevitable call.
I figure it'll add up to less time on the phone,
but in reality they end up keeping me on the phone
for 30 minutes to an hour
as I roll my eyes, half-listen, and troll the internet.

Maybe someday I'll be able to tolerate conversations on the phone,
but for now just send me a text.
Much appreciated.
Word

The Funny T-Shirt Business

Anyone that's seen me these past 3 years
knows that I'm a collector of funny and ironic shirts.
Some have told me I have the best shirts.
I even wrote an essay on why I wear funny t-shirts.
I may post it after I've revised it.

So it's only natural
for me to want to get into the t-shirt business.
I've thought about this for a while now
but I never had the time to focus on it.
Well, with all this sudden free time on my hands now
I might just get to cracking on it.

My mom's designed a few t-shirts for her church
so I know a good website to go for materials.
And I'm capable of building my own webpage.
So the only thing I gotta work on is seed money.

I would tell you some of my ideas...
but I don't need some random stranger making it his own.

However, I will reveal that I once had a dream of starting my own clothing line.
This was back when I was... 13-16, I think.
I would draw designs in the back of my notebooks.
Looking back at it now,
my stuff might have been really hot right about now.
But it might be too late now.
You can take a look at a few below.

I took pride in my designs, but eventually I lost interest

because I thought I was wasting my time.

I kinda wish I had at least attempted to go through with it.

So, I'm not letting this t-shirt idea go by as easily.

If you have aspirations, that let it go unfulfilled.

Try it out. You never know how far you'll get.
Word.

What Song Were You Conceived To?

I just posted on Twitter:
"I'm taking bets.
A child is getting consummated conceived to Bow Chicka Wow Wow tonight."
Today is St. Patrick's Day.
Hookups are bound to happen.
With people as drunk as they'll be tonight,
someone bound to forgo a condom.
I'm just saying.

But this has reopened a question I often pondered,
one I wish I didn't but I do.
Now, I know not everyone has sex to a soundtrack,
but I'm sure a fair amount of us do.
And if not, I'm pretty sure our parents did.

Of course classics like
Marvin Gaye's Let's Get It On,
Barry Whites' Deeper and Deeper,
Teddy Pendergrass's Turn Off the Lights,
and Rick James & Teena Marie's Fire and Desire
instantly come to mind.
Those are classic baby-making music songs.
This make me wonder what the white equivalents are.
Afternoon Delight?
That's all that's hitting me right now.

I'm actually dying to know actual figures now.
Imagine if "conceiving song" was on your birth certificate.
Would you forever be traumatized by that song
or forever grateful to it for ushering you into the world?

Beware the music tonight, no any night.
It'd be a shame if you started getting buck in the middle of the dance floor to Get Low.
Your kid might come out shouting "Yeah!!!"

Just... keep the beer goggles off tonight, guys.
Keep in mind, some of us were accidents.
You don't want your favorite song ruined by an accident, do you?

But if any of you really do make a child to Mike Posner's song tonight, tell your child about it when the time is right.
I'm interested to see what happens.  haha
Word.

Displaced and Disgruntled in Newark

As a fair amount of you know,
I'm currently taking a leave of absence from Loyola.
No reason to keep it a secret any longer,
I've ended up revealing it to anyone who's hit me up
on Facebook messenger this week anyway.
The reason is something I'm not disclosing to just anyone,
and to those who I have told
I hope it was understood not to spread it around.
If it wasn't... well, you know now.

In any case,
doing such has forced me to move back home to Newark, NJ.
Anyone who knows me is aware I've been weary of doing such ever since I set foot on Loyola's campus.
I mean, I didn't even apply to colleges in New Jersey.
Well... one, but it was my safety.
After my first summer break back at home,
I've spent practically every other break since on campus.
Ask some of my friends.
They say I live at Loyola, and it's true.
I haven't moved my stuff back home since that first summer.
It was weird to have to do it again.

The obvious reason why I didn't want to return to Jersey
is that I enjoyed the freedom of being miles away from my family.
That first summer home, I felt trapped.
Every move I made my mother had to know about.
Which is fair, considering she housed and fed me.
But my, how annoying it was.

Reason 2?
Most of my friends from high school
have a habit of staying at their colleges during breaks as well, rather it be
because their school is too far away from home to travel back for short breaks
or because there are better work opportunities where they are
or they're like me and just enjoy the environment there better.
As for the friends that stayed in state for school,
I've fallen out of touch with them.
I've fallen out of touch with most of my high school friends.
That's my fault, I'm bad with keeping up with folks.
Even now, I feel awkward attempting to reach out to them
so I'm not bored at home every day until I find a job.
I'll snap out of it soon though.

Loyola was so easy to move around.
If I got restless, I could walk to someone else's room.
I had so many options of things to do, people to see.
Here, I have to rely on NJ Transit or my parents to get from place to place.
My reluctance to get my license is biting me in the ass so hard right now.
But even still, I've been away so long,
I don't know what there is to do around here.
I never really knew what there was to do around here.
In high school, I was a homebody.
Nobody invited me out or to a house party (...ya bastards).

I may rep Newark, but in reality
I don't know much about it besides Downtown
and the reports of crime and violence I hear about
but have been lucky enough to never witness.

I can't claim Newark anymore than I can Baltimore,
as much as I might like to.
I can only rep Loyola,
because that's the bubble I've lived in for the past four years
with a few exceptions.
I don't know anything else.
I think that's one of the biggest fears any senior has:
how do I step into the real world when college is all I know?

Hopefully internships and jobs off campus
have helped you prepare for life after graduation.
I wasn't as lucky.
Again, blast be my lack of driving knowledge.
So, my time in Newark will have to serve as an alternative.
Perhaps this may be the learning experience I so desperately needed.
I doubt it, but I'll treat it as such.
Wish me luck, my dear friends [and associates].
I'll be back to Loyola to finish up soon.
Word.

How Poetic: Explicit Love Poem

This is my explicit love poem,

the one that features penises and vaginas.

There’s even a cameo by an asshole;

his attitude’s shitty, though.

But the stars are the lips,

that dynamic duo.

They really suck sometimes

but they make up for it with kissed

and those sweet nothings called words.

Words like, “Damn, bitch, that ass is fat,”

and “I’m gonna tie you up

and never let you go.”

Because this is an explicit love poem,

the kind that’s into the kinky shit.

So anytime you want to be

one of its subjects,

find me online.

I’m on Craigslist.