Tuesday, March 06, 2007

The Trouble That Scandalized My Home Life and Environs

You may find the following entry to be in the utmost of bad taste, so I ask for forgiveness in advance. You see, I'm going to use this space to dole out the time honored tradition of the anonymous therapeutic smackdown, it is an airing of grievances that was first manifested alongside the written word but was perfected in the age of the internet.

I'm going to write about this because this morning I woke up and had an immense panic attack, or it could have been a brain leak, I haven't been diagnosed with anything but I have surrounded myself with enormously panicky and psychotic people, and they tell me I experienced a rude awakening from a deep REM sleep that could have induced extreme anxiety (thank you Fly G).

Allow me...

There exists a certain type of vile wench woman in our world, in Yiddish they are dubbed yentas, they are the perennially lonely whorish/mom figures that make your problems their problems. I've taken many a straight boy aside and told them, with the utmost honesty, "look, I know we gay people have to worry about HIV, and we have to worry about the laws against us, and we also worry about the possibility that--just maybe--two men aren't meant to naturally fall into a monogamous relationship....but buddy...one day does not pass that I do not thank the non-existent LORD that he made me gay so I could avoid these hateful backstabbing prick-eating little worry worms as my sole source of sex. Boy do I feel so sorry for you my brother."

Yes that's my straight boy rap, and it works, so respect!

These women hold what ancients called the vagina dentata which is latin for "those who would mangle your penis."

Here now is the event that has solidified my hate.

Last night my roommate who I've lived with for two years, knocked on my door. She had "concerns" that existed far beyond the realms of house-maintenance and rent payment.

Last night a boy had come to my place at around 3 am. He had rung the buzzer, I let him in, we hung out. I'm being intentionally vague so as to have this story slow-burn into your mind now.

Now I had noticed that on each occasion that I've had a boy over, and she was in the apartment, she has flown into a panic, walking in and out of the bathroom which is near my room, confronting me with innocuous questions, etc etc.

This night was no different, I heard her walk into the bathroom, be loud, leave.

I won't bore you with details as I already feel I have to PROVE my case, and that is really the basis of my anger.

The following day she confronts me, and she does it smoothly. She opens with what I think is a genuine concern, but pay attention dear reader, this quickly sinks into lunacy.

The genuine concern is; "hey I heard the buzzer ring at 3 AM."

Foolish me, I thought this was it, so I explain that away, and the following things are revealed to me that I will relay to you in bullet-point fashion so as to not waste time.

1) Are you doing anything illegal?

2) I would be ok with you having a steady boyfriend over.

3) No no I don't want or need to approve of all the boys you bring.

4) I'm concerned about strange men entering the house.

5) I heard your conversation with this boy last night and it sounded like you had just met him that night.

6) I've seen you waiting for a boy outside the apartment.

7) You have shaved off your pubic hair in the bathroom just before a boy has visited.

8) I had to ask my friends what to do, whether to confront you or not.

9) I approve of your lifestyle, but if last night was a late night bootie call, you may want to think about a different place to live.

"Oh lord" you might think, "this woman is obviously living with a crazed gay man who has orgies and goat blood-letting sessions in his room. He is obviously shooting up heroin and rampaging like a geekslut."

Meanwhile, during this whole conversation,I'm in a catatonic state at this point, "hey let's stop and rewind...can we go back to bullet point number 3....the part where you are LISTENING IN ON MY PRIVATE CONVERSATIONS!?"

Here's a tricky spot in this entry for me. As the writer of what should now be considered one of my classic unhinged rants, I will defer a rebuttal--that is a point-by-point defense of all of her concerns--and opt to show you WHY ALL of these points are unfounded with some background information.

So here goes.

I've lived here with her for two years, and during all of that time she has been in the house for 5 of my sexual encounters. Was that TMI? Make you feel uncomfortable knowing that? Because she obviously needs specifics, I mean, why confront me with this if you don't want specifics? Am I right?

She MET, that is I heartily introduced her to, two boys that liked. The first one she thought was cute, he came by during the day and left at early evening with no funny business, the second time I lured him back to my place and we had good sex (its in question whether she was aware of the second visit, but we took it to the shower so I'm giving it the benefit of the doubt). The second boy she awkwardly met once as she nervously opened the door for us, I even urged them to shake hands (she was so freaked out she almost didn't). His name was Andrew, we had HOT sex that night (that's two sex encounters with her in the house for those keeping score).

The third time she smelled cigs coming from my room, she confronted me outside the living room "are those cigs? who's smoking them? I want him out!"

Guess who was smoking them? Andrew, who I had over again, and guess what, I shooed her away and proceeded to have AMAZING sex with him. I loved it, but yes, he heard her freak out and said he was sorry to me. My point here is that she didn't see it was Andrew whom she met before so she might have thought it was someone else.

The fourth WAS a one night stand, he was British, and guess what, she MET him. Yes it was an awkward meeting, but I was in the living room with them and they were both awkwardly friendly to each other.

Two nights ago? The fifth encounter, he was a potential. I still have his shirt so that either means he fled in fear or he'll be back. Its the classic move with guys. And I am hesitant to call that an extreme sexual encounter because we didn't have full blown fucking gay anal sex. I relayed that to her during this conversation, which is something that is humiliating for me to have to tell someone, "hey roommate who is now BUTTING HER HUGE ASS into my life, I didn't have anal gay sex with the cute boy last night, we ended up sleeping with each other and it was nice..."

Do you want details? Do you want to know if he put his mouth around my cock? What is acceptable to you now MOM?

Ok my next point here; she's met my friends. Yes I know I can be enormously intriguing and mysterious, but really now, she has met Aussie Flapper girl, Amnesia Sparkles, and Fly G, and even Fly G's ex and then charmingly-retarded Canadian boyfriend. My point here is that I have not been as enigmatic as she makes me out to be. I am notoriously private (the extremely personal/rare nature of this entry should clue you in on how tough for me this is to write) but she KNOWS who I flock with, and these birds are kooky and funny, but they aren't hookers, dealers, or serial killers.

What really angers me in the bullet point gallery up there are the humiliation tactics. This is the thought process of a dry vagina, someone who rarely gets their proper kicks and gets off on MY life. First off--my fave--number 7, you shave your pubic hair after meeting a boy? How about I shave my pubic hair when I feel like it because I don't want to have an enormous bush like you do? How about, maybe you should learn something from me and make yourself hot looking, that way you can please the boys you're with and stop concerning yourself with my intimacies?

How about you stop forming military tribunals with your fucking ugly ass gal pals about MY life, how about you talk about your life to your friends as opposed to my life? How about Andrew lost his cell phone so I had to wait outside to let him in? How about saying you "approve of my lifestyle" means you really don't? The number one clue to some asshole disapproving of you is making that statement, you son of a fucking bitch, if I ever tell a black person that "I approve of their lifestyle" then you have my full permission to punch my face in until I die.

How about I offer my bullet-points on the info I've retrieved from you?

1) You've gone on awkward dinner dates with random straight boys on the internet.

2) Your relationship with your boyfriend deteriorated into casual fuck-buddy status.

3) You slept with the guy one level below us, and he "wasn't that very good."

And why do I know these things? Because I was concerned? Because I confronted you about the scary square-headed dude who showed up at the house claiming to be your "friend" one night? No, I know this because you god damn yenta vagina dentata women are all alike, you see a gay man and you think we're like Will from Will and Grace, or Rupert Everett from that retarded Madonna movie where he falls in love with her...

You think we gay guys CARE about you, so you tell us everything. I'm letting you in on a secret here, the only thing I care about is cock, not you, I don't care about your exes or your "fabulous" fashion sense, I don't care about your Sex and the City guy problems or your body-issue bullshit. I have a fag-hag/fruit fly, she's Aussie flapper girl, and I listen to her because she's FUN, you're not! I don't care about your problems, I don't want to know about them. I heard you getting vigorously fucked one time by an unknown assailant in your bedroom, and you know what? Godspeed.

Get out of my life, get out of my boys. You aren't concerned about your safety because all the boys I've brought home are twig-like pale white dudes who wouldn't know how to go about hurting a fly. People who read this blog know about them and they don't even know me, so what are you so concerned about? Are you worried we'll jump on top of you in the middle of the night and inject you with AIDS?

You fucking wish.

Epilogue Epilogue Oh My Lord Epilogue

Yeah we made up as best we could. The conversation with my roommate ended with a humorous exchange;

"Hey I don't want to sound like your mother," she said.

"Too late," I replied.

"Well at least I hope you were being safe." I responded to that by showing her a NYC certified condom. I've signed on to live one more year with her.

I've lived with her this long so I don't think she's supremely awful in the least (my other roommate with the Brazilian illegal alien was....fuck your talentless gaunt ass Josh), and yet I do maintain that she went over the line. I don't want her in my personal life and I'm glad to tell her that I'm not a hooker or a drug pusher, but the questions stop there.

Leave me be. My business is mine, yours is yours. And...shit...now I think she's reading this, why stop at just overhearing conversations? But I needed to air all of this horse shit out lest it eat me up. I did not mean my rant up above to claim all women, just some, and you know you're out there with your good intentions and dry messed up cunts. Just know that the road to hell is paved with your intentions, and there's no bigger hell like a gay guy who is denied cock, take those mixed moral messages and shove them.

I'm so glad this is anonymous, no names were given out to protect the innocent.


((cough))Arcade Fire's Neon Bible, unreleased record you should bitcomet now((cough))

Life of Brian Doc, featuring one of my gay heroes comedian supreme Graham Chapman

The book-like entry above can be ascribed to Ann Coulter, seeing as how Edwards isn't a faggot. Its as if someone called Obama the N-word and then claimed he/she wasn't pointing out his blackness. Do me a favor and read that column I linked to and try and find today's inappropriate use of the word..."bombastic." I'm a 24 year old retard and even I know the word faggot is not bombastic. Herman Melville is bombastic, you're just retarded!

My second favorite Queen song, Good Old-Fashioned Loverboy. I'd like to say one thing about Freddie Mercury, but you apparently have to be a dumb redneck blonde chick or stupid basketball player to use the word faggot

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