blog post number fifty three.

It seems like only yesterday that I was writing a post about how it was going to be 2009 and how much I hate writing the number 9, and now look—it's 2011! Isn't that fucked up? Two years have passed and now we have less than two more to go before we all die a horrifying death in the form of a mass destruction of the planet Earth, or as the ancient Mayans called it: the end of the calendar.

Zany.

If this ancient prediction comes to fruition, then I should graduate from college and die at just about the same time. But for serious, things just keeping dropping dead in Arkansas and Louisiana. Did you read about this? Like hoards of birds and fish and bugs are dropping from the sky or floating up to the top of the water. It's very end of times. So, maybe it's true. But isn't it funny how archaic that concept is? Like this idea of a vindictive, evil, smiting god, punishing us for 'saying his name wrong' or for having 'anal sex'. "And now I will kill all this shit because everyone is horrible!" And then we all throw a pig into a bonfire, rub mud on each other and chant. I have to agree with him though: People are horrible.. and pigs creep me out.

Still, not to point fingers or anything, but isn't this really all your fault, god?
God, god.

Of course, with my luck, the Apocalypse or whatever will totally come and you know I'll feel like a total schmuck if a giant white (Aryan) hand plunges down from the heavens on December 21st, or May 21st, or 1999, or whenever the hell it is now. And I'm sure all these people I know will be resting peacefully in the soft, giant, white hand looking down at me, mumbling amongst themselves, "He really shouldn't have been such an asshole."

On to something far more important: my car. I still haven't sold my car yet—7 months later. It's madness. While out running errands the other week, I drove passed a large store front window and caught a glimpse of myself gliding by. I was instantly embarrassed—embarrassed like when you fart in front of someone or like that feeling you get when you watch people sing on TV. It made me feel like a woman. Like more of a woman than when I used to wear tiny pants and makeup in the 90s. Why is that? It's just a car.

I started school again. My last quarter in community college! (noise of jubilation) In my geology class, as an "ice breaker", the professor made us all say our names, where we came from and something interesting about ourselves. I hate stuff like this. Everyone was like, "Uh, I'm from Lima, Ohio and I like dogs" or, "I'm from Grove City and I ride dirt bikes". I was trying really hard to think of something interesting about myself. Um, I like booze and food, laying around.. I don't know. Then he came to me:

"I'm Jacob, I'm from Toledo. I've been a hairstylist for the last decade and lived in San Diego and New York City... and now I'm here"

My professor: "Did you just make that up?"

..silence..

I then wished I could retract. (I like dogs, too.) Just saying the word 'hairstylist' to a bunch of hillbillies is like goosing a straight guy in a locker room. Needless to say, it caught them all off guard. I would have gotten a better reaction had I just said, "I'm Jacob, I'm from Toledo", then farted. Maybe I wouldn't have turned bright red.

Why do I honestly give a shit what people think? I'm thirty. But at that moment I felt just as gay as when I drove passed the beauty supply store window and saw my large head blinking back from the reflection of my little black car. My testicles felt like little pink jellybeans. I've never really been one to care of what others think and I've never been particularly masculine, so why now does my gayness make me uncomfortable? The older I get, the more aware I become.

The class turned away. My professor lifted his eyebrows and said: "So who's that one hairstylist in New York who charges like $1,500 a cut and flies in on a helicopter from the Hamptons?"

I was like, "No idea."

He was like, "C'mon, start throwin' out some names."

"Yeah, no idea."

I don't know who the coolest fucking hairdresser in the world is!? I don't even want to be a hairdresser! Why do you think I'm sitting in a geology class, learning about rocks, at 6pm instead of blow drying some bitchy old Jewish lady's hair? I was so embarrassed. I honestly have no reason to be, but I walked back to my tiny car after class, head hung low, squeezed in, and drove home listening to (insert gay song here), hunching at each traffic light just to see out.

Did anyone ever stop and think maybe the Mayans weren't predicting the end of times but rather just felt they had completed a sufficient amount of calendar? Like, "Let's just stop here. I'm tired and we're all totally going to be dead before we get to use this whole thing anyway." I mean, not that I'd mind if we all died at the same time. I'd actually prefer it. I think one of my biggest issues with death is that life would only be over for me and that everyone else would get to keep doing fun things, like drinking or going to the beach, and I'd just be dead. Like being grounded forever. So, if a giant meteor was plummeting toward the Earth, I wouldn't mind. "Oh, how's our luck, you guys? Looks like we're all going. Shoot." I'd actually find comfort in that. Does that make me selfish?

As the ball dropped on the year 2010, while standing in a dark gay bar wearing ass-less chaps, I clinked my plastic champagne glass (filled with $2 sparkling wine) with Jon's and I thought: "You know, Jacob. Being gay isn't so bad. I have the most amazing partner anyone could ever find, a great little life—complete with a cute little house—and my ass looks bangin' in these chaps. And that's more than most heterosexuals could say, right? So, bring it on 2011, you bitch!"

snap.

I'll get you my pretty, and little your brother, too!

When I was a wee lad all I ever wanted to be for Halloween was a witch—complete with pantyhose and an itchy black wig. I think this was my Halloween costume three years in a row, upon my own personal request, of course. In hindsight, it was actually pretty cool of my parents to let me do that year after year. I'm sure my dad loved it. Probably just about as much as when I'd put the Christmas tree skirt on like a dress and jump and twirl around our living room at Christmastime—a proud moment for any Midwestern father. Hm, isn't that interesting? Why do gay children have an innate desire for feminine things? Maybe that's a total blanket statement, but I think I'm having a revelation, people. I didn't have any sisters, and my mom wasn't particularly girly, so why the girly desires? I wasn't really exposed to it. Maybe it was an influence of all my female friends—of which I naturally gravitated to. Maybe it was the TV? I'm reading this book right now about how body pain and skin problems are the result of suppressed rage and I'm almost to the part where the reader, me, is going to uncover their, my, secret rage. Supposedly, something is to have happened in my childhood to spawn this unconscious rage—something I'm not supposed to know about yet. This is apparently some sort defense mechanism of one's subconscious in efforts to protect the conscious mind from emotional distress. What if something wacky happened in my childhood, like my mom dressing me up as a girl, taking photos and telling everyone I was a girl? You know, one of those stories: like where some guy cries every night, "Why do I sit down to pee and can only 'get off' when I sniff high-heeled shoes!? Whhhhhhy?!" And then he finds out his aunt made him wear pink panties or something... nah, if anything I traumatized them by dressing as a girl and taking photos. I didn't technically "take photos". I made videos. It was artistic, you guys, not like porn or something. This is getting off topic. And I'm sure the real story is that my mom had to explain how the little witch was really her son, shrugging her shoulders and smiling to the perturbed neighbors. Maybe she should be reading this book. Anyway, I'm sure my secret rage is a product of being a little feminine boy who grew up in Toledo, Ohio and was called 'faggot' and 'girly-girl' everyday and would come home and cry. Pretty depressing.. kinda like those gay teen suicides. Seriously, what's up with that? It's like that movie Suicide Club.. or Heathers, sort of. It seems so silly to just go and off yourself, although, with the way the world is, maybe they just saved themselves a lot of heartache. Being gay kinda sucks. Where do you go? It's not like Jon and I could just move to some cute little town and stroll down to the general store to buy bread, or have a little potluck—the villagers would greet us with torches, not casseroles. Even New York isn't safe. Every gay person I know there has been called a faggot numerous times, plus there's all those crazy beatings, and those weirdos who tortured captive gays in their Brooklyn apartment, or whatever. The world doesn't like us—even if Ricky Martin, or Cher, or whoever, makes a viral YouTube video saying it's fine. It's not fine, Cher. So, I guess I should be happy I have parents who let me wear pantyhose, only if it was once a year, and who only slightly groaned when I was nancying about in that holiday tree dressing.


Speaking of gay Halloween costumes: Jon and I are going as Batman and Robin. Yes, I'm wearing spandex this year—in public. I don't know why I thought this was a good idea. I blame Jon. My head is way too big for spandex. I think this is because I was born c-section. I imagine my head as a Mylar balloon, all long and flat, and behind it: my body, trailing behind like a curly ribbon—more of an afterthought than anything. My Halloween costume exacerbates this misfortune. It also makes my face look all squishy and bloated. I'm not sure if this is because of the contrast of head-to-toe Lycra to the small amount of visible face flesh, or possibly the fact that my face is being squeezed through a tiny stretchy hole, or maybe it's just that my face is bloated and squishy. I, unfortunately, expect the latter. Not everyone can be Val Kilmer, you guys. Someones gotta be William Shatner.

Tonight is "beggar's night", as my grandmother calls it. As a child, I found this term ridiculously funny. Growing up in a wealthy suburb, where the concept of people begging for food was so foreign and hilarious to me, I imagined "beggar's night" to consist of smelly children in tattered clothes with soot-smudged faces plodding door-to-door for tiny, garishly wrapped, sweet morsels of sustenance. Or even worse yet: smelly children with no costumes, holding dirty pillow cases slightly a gap, frowning for candy. Now that we live in Merion Village, this all makes sense. Full circle, as they say. So, hopefully no one tries to shoot us this year, tie us to the back of their red, white and blue pickup truck, only to drive us three houses down the street—where they would then fashion our arms into a gun rack. You never know, really.
Happy Halloween, you guys!

Trick or treat! Thank you. (Although, nowadays I believe they omit the last part.)

Dear Diary,

I just realized it's been awhile since I've written anything, but not because nothing exciting has happened. Exciting things happen all the time in Ohio. Someone once referred to it as being "off the chain". Ok, so maybe that's a lie.

I have never gotten the chihuahua's teeth cleaned. They are turning six this year. Eddy's teeth have gone from slightly moldly to completely corroded in a matter of six years, but that's like (6 x 7 =) forty-two in dog years and that's a ridiculously long time to ignore one's dental hygiene. This is also a lie. Jon has brushed both Eddy and Eva's teeth a few times over the last couple years — what a nice guy. I have always joked when people would ask, "Why don't you brush their teeth? Their breath smells like trash. That's disgusting.", I would chuckle and say with a shitty smile: "I'm just waiting for them to fall out. Teeth are overrated anyway." This too is a lie, well at least the shitty smile part, as my teeth are gleaming and white. Eddy's teeth, on the other hand, have begun to fall out. It has happened. This is it: the moment I have been waiting for.. and I couldn't feel more terrible. So what does one do when they let their pet's teeth rot out of their mouth? One writes a haiku:

Her teeth are now brown
They have fallen to the ground
To the Swiffer they stick
Me=dick

Ok, so maybe it was more of a limerick — and I'm pretty sure you can't use 'equals' in a haiku anyway as it is a mathematical symbol and in that form contains no syllables. How's that for a mind-fuck? The point is I feel bad and her teeth are scratching the hardwood when I'm trying to clean.

I'm reinventing myself. I know, you're all like: You are perfect, Jacob, everyone wants to be you. I know, you guys. Thank you. No, but really. I decided to sell my car and buy a truck. Well, it was Jon's idea originally, but I stole it.. the idea, not the car. I think our household would benefit from a truck and I hate my car. I feel like a total fag driving it. It's like riding around in Adam Lambert's hair — but with wheels. The problem now is selling it. No one else wants to drive Adam Lambert's hair either. I don't blame them. It would be a perfect first car for a semi-wealthy teen girl from the suburbs — most likely a hockey cheerleader. I need to market to this niche.

So, I guess I was over-exaggerating when I said 'reinventing'.

Can you believe it's August? Me neither.

Over Hung

I am so hungover. I blame this on George for buying us those ridiculously tall drinks and forcing us to drink them, what a jerk. Despite this minor setback, I have managed to muster up the brainpower and drive to write this blog while drinking my morning coffee, stomach still churning from the Taco Bell I ate at 1 am. Today I am asking myself some important questions about life. First, why am I eating Taco Bell at 1 am when I'm almost 30? It's 90% plastic and I'm not 15. Second, what am I doing with my life? Work, school and a night of something fun every third month? I have to keep in mind that I'm working toward a goal. This will all be worth it.
School is killing me. I find myself reverting back to the blasé attitude I once had in high school. This quarter I'm taking biology and statistics. Believe it or not, the biology is the worse of the evils. It's not the subject matter as much as the people in my class and the professor. Everyone in my class believes evolution is a lie because "people just want to argue"— I won't even go there today.
My professor looks like a child rapist. He's gray, his skin that is, not his hair. He doesn't have any hair, not on his head, no eyebrows, pretty sure no eyelashes either. His lips are thin and purple as he sips coffee from a pre-war thermos lid and sucks on Halls cough drops at the same time while pacing about in his JCPenney polyester navy blue suit. He wears a pair of glasses from the 70s that the lenses have yellowed to a shade of nicotine and his eyes fix on yours for just a little too long to be comfortable. Oh, and he's the most boring person in the entire world. On the first day in order to better remember us, he says, we must announce our names as he "takes our picture"— with his creepy little video camera. Everyone sort of looked at each other like, is this a joke?. The girl next to me, Juana Steal (seriously), responded with a "huh, uhhhh."
Eventually, after the torture is complete, I will graduate and become a hospitality manager and will need something to manage. Jon and I have been discussing possible locations for our bed and breakfast/inn and have come up with a few. And here they are, in random order:

A) Vermont, the least religious state in the US.

B) Puerto Vallarta, the most funniest city in MX.

C) Sonoma, where wine comes from.

D) Cape Cod, I don't know, because it sounds nice.

E) Ohio, oh my god, I'm totally joking.

F) The Adirondacks, where they make those chairs.

G) Louisiana, that place where all that water was.

What are your thoughts?

No One Wants to Sit Next to the Gay Kid

My math class is full of dudes, twenty seven to be exact, and only three girls. It's a business math class, the foundation for the school of business, accounting, etc. I am the only gay one. Well, there was another gay guy, but he dropped out, leaving the seat next to me open.

Everyday I take my seat as the rest of the class slowly files in; everyone choosing a place to sit. Eventually, it gets to the point where all the seats are taken, except the one next to me—guys choosing floating chairs and the option of doing math problems in their laps, avoiding my neighboring spot. I know I don't smell. I shower twice a day, floss and brush my teeth three times a day. I'm also not a paranoid person—unless it comes to self-diagnosed Internet health issues—so I know I'm not making this up. What the hell? Is my gayness oozing out my giant pores and wafting through the air like deer pheromones? I'm gay, but am I really that gay? I mean, I stopped wearing tiny pants and foundation at the beginning of the new millennium. I don't get it.

Sometimes I think we forget how socially unaccepted gay people still are—especially in the God-fearin' Bible Belt. People just don't like gay people. I read this gay news blog every morning, Towleroad, it's pretty crazy how many gay people are beaten, murdered or prejudiced against every day. It's sad. Everyone should be ashamed. Jesus would be rolling over in his grave, if he only knew. Oh, and did I mention the guys in my class are all fucking gross? I don't know what they're so worried about. I wouldn't touch any of them with a ten foot pole. I'm pretty sure they eat McDonald's everyday and the classroom smells like a junior high locker room. Oh, and the roly-poly-neck-roll-boy in front of me smells like ham.

My theater class smells too. The kid to the left of me has the aroma of slightly soured milk. To my right, there is a girl named Chardonnay. She smells like cigarettes and Bath and Body lotion. In the class, we read plays and analyze them. Chardonnay was terribly disappointed when she came to the realization she wasn't going to be acting. She likes acting. She also likes snapping and popping her gum continuously, that and playing with her multiple gold earrings, sliding them back and forth through their holes rubbing past the callous lumps that once housed bacterial infections. She can get you free cable. She also hates Alicia Keys because she never told anyone she was biracial, so now she feels mislead and won't listen to her music anymore. For Valentines Day, her boyfriend sent her a Valentine from the state penitentiary. She doesn't like him anyway and her other boyfriend made it up to her by giving her a rose dipped in real gold. In front of me sits a young man that looks strikingly similar to Beetlejuice from the Howard Stern Show—no joke. He likes to itch his cornrows through his do-rag. His heart was broken recently and he plans to use this raw emotion in our upcoming class project. He told me only moments after gargling his Mountain Dew.

The other day I was thinking about a world without homosexuals. I really think people wouldn't know what they had until it was gone, you know? Just think of all those cute parts of town that were made cute simply because gays were the only ones brave enough to live there, redoing all the houses, opening coffee shops, opening faggy art galleries. Gays make cute parts of town. They also design clothes and make pretty hair. In fact, most beautiful and creative things are made by gays. I know that's totally stereotypical and kind of a stretch but it's still kinda true. So, if Christian Republicans had their way and all gays were exterminated, like in Uganda (which is my prediction for the next presidential campaign), just think how depressing the world would be? You heteros would have to eat at Olive Garden or Chili's every night, wearing burlap sacks, with six inch roots and you'd have nothing to talk about except what happened on Two and a Half Men the night before (because it would be the only show left on TV). Boring, and the food at Chili's is gross. And just think of what would happen to New York City? All those girls who moved there to be Carrie Bradshaw would be wandering around crying and wondering why there is no one to make their pink martinis and to design their four-hundred dollar shoes.

The Romans and the Greeks accepted gay people, back before Christianity was made up. It was normal back then. Thousands and thousands of years ago. They invented plumbing too, you know, and where would be without plumbing? Swimming in shit, that's where. And where would we be without all the gays throughout history? Leonardo DiVinci? Plato, Socrates, Michelangelo? Sir Elton John? Sir Isaac Newton?? Do you think a heterosexual would have ever noticed gravity? And I bet Alexander the Great wouldn't have been so Great if he weren't a fag and I'm sure no one was "not sitting next to" Aristotle when he set the stage for the future of physics and mathematics.

Just think about a world where all gay people, everyone in fact, could be happy and encouraged to succeed. Maybe Virginia Woolf wouldn't have walked into that river with pockets full of rocks if she had a dyke softball team to play on. And poor Eleanor Roosevelt wouldn't have been forced to have all that sex with fuddy-old-Franklin. The world could have been an even better place, a cuter place.

I'm not pointing fingers, but Christianity is a bit like the irresponsible parent who only feeds their child spaghetti-o's and tells them one side of the story. Unfortunately, until someone tells that parent that they're unfit, this whole mess perpetuates. I know it seems like I am always picking on religion, but it really is what is keeping the gays as second class citizens. Christians need to realize that we are just as normal as straight people. Gays exist throughout the animal and insect kingdom as part of the evolutionary structure and the natural world. It is fact, just as the earth is round, not flat, and the planets revolve around the sun, and that our solar system is in a galaxy that is one of millions in the universe. See what I'm saying? This is the way it is. I don't care if you think Jesus made it this way or microorganisms grew feet, but this is the world and gay people are a natural part of it. We have always been here. I know I can't prove my gayness is innate, just as you can't prove your God is real. You're "faith" is just as good as my word. So for now, we must try to live harmoniously—or at least until I figure out a way to "misplace" the 650 billion Bibles in the world.
In the meantime, I guess I'll just enjoy the elbow room.

'Tis The Season

I finished my first year of college.. and it only took me ten years.

Speaking of school, I have been informing people of my new decision of not becoming a nurse. It's interesting. Some people haven't taken it so well, namely my clients. I'm all, "Oh, I'm not going to be a nurse anymore." And they're all like, "Oh...". And then I'm thinking, "Were they really that excited for me to be a nurse?".

Christmastime is just around the corner. You know what that means.. 'tis the season for giving.. or stealing if you live in the Merion Village area. Someone stole our Christmas wreath. Someone stole one of our pumpkins, too. The wreath though is far more personal, and expensive. I imagine it was some drunk headed home from the Red Brick Tavern down the street. Or maybe the guy two houses down who looks like he should be on Intervention. Or maybe it was the creepy extended family whose residence is directly across from ours, the ones who never smile/wave when we smile, wave or say hi to them. Either way, it is gone. Just like the baby Jesus after he was stolen from the manger.. or the rock cave. We bought a new wreath, well Jon bought the new wreath, and he also fastened it to the door with a series of tiny nails and six feet of wire. The other day we had 40 mph winds and the wreath stayed put, clinging to the door like baby cow clings to its mother before it is sent to a processing plant to be turned into hamburgers.

You know what else it 'tis the season for? Assholes. And I am one of those assholes. I have zero patience. I did all my Christmas shopping online this year. Wow, so much better. SO much better. I did have to go out for wrapping paper though.. to the Container Store. Usually they have a good selection. Not this year. And everyone there was totally creepy. Ohio is full of scary people. Plus, I had to take the highway to get there, which I never do.

I didn't ask for anything this year. I'm selfless. I did however make an Amazon wish list in case someone wanted to go out of their way and buy me something, so they might know where to find the $1,600 bed frame I wouldn't mind getting, if they felt so inclined. If they felt like GIVING this time of year when people GIVE things.

Over the past year I have learned a lot, partly because I'm enrolled in community college, partly because I live in Ohio again, but mostly because I'm fucking astute. Is anyone following world gay politics? Have you heard about this wacky shit in Uganda? Giving gay people the death penalty for being gay? Do you know whose idea this is? The Ugandan government, you say? No, 'tis Christianity. Many years ago missionaries came to Africa to spread the word of God and to tell people not to wear condoms. White Christian Americans came waddling into the bush. Preachers convinced Africans their culture was inferior and bribed them with Western luxuries like SUVs and Nintendo Wii. Now look what happened!? Seriously, what would Jesus do, you guys? Why would God make gay people? To be executed? What 'tis the point? It's like when Christians burnt "witches". Do you honestly ever think there were actually witches? Couldn't they think of something better to do with ugly women than to label them as witches? ("Dorcas Goode is a witch! She ate my baby!", "I did not!") It just goes to show the ridiculousness of the human race is never ending. Which brings me to my point. I have learned a lot this year, a lot about people, humans. I have learned all my life I have given them far more credit than they ever deserved. The human race gives itself far too much credit. 'Tis the season to give, everyone. Stop giving yourself so much credit and start giving it to me.

Jesus was a socialist. My religion professor said that and I think, yes, yes that is true. The funniest part was watching Christian/Catholic/Mormon people in my class face's wretch in disgust. It's funny, when you think about it.. Jesus totally would have been a socialist, if real bodies of government were established at the time, which there weren't. He stood for the people, equality and peace. In fact, he was a radical in his own time, hence nailing him to a cross. If he were alive today and was in line with the current social/political/economical state of the United States/world I bet every Christian would hate him. They would think he was a total radical and then they'd nail him to a cross. It's funny then that his teachings could be so wildly misconstrued to what they are today.

So, this Christmas let's follow the teachings of Jesus, not the words of Christians. Because this Christmas I think Jesus would really like some world peace, maybe some water to turn into wine, and perhaps some healthcare for everyone, but certainly not bigotry, a four-wheeler and a copy of Sarah Palin's 'Going Rogue'.

I cried when I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet. And then I laughed...really hard.

I don't want to be a nurse anymore. The other day I was cutting this revolting man's hair, who had a large stain on his shirt, and I thought to myself while choking back vomit, "Could I put a catheter in this man's penis hole? Or wipe crusted poo flakes from his hairy anus?". And much to your surprise, that answer was no.

To some, changing one's mind could be seen as a weakness. To me it's a learning process of self-discovery and awareness. That and I want to do something more funner.
Jon and I have been discussing opening a business of sorts for some time now. Our original thought was a long term goal of owning a bed and breakfast somewhere in Mexico or New England. Later, we considered starting here in Ohio with a fancy booze store. Then the idea branched to a specialty foods store or a breakfast joint. So, you see, the possibilities are endless.. as long as there's funding.. and a business plan. So, that's what I'm going to get a degree in, owning something.

I will be meeting with my well-trained, randomly selected, advisor here at the Columbus State Community College and they will point this gleaming vessel of hope, me, toward yonder thar' future.

I have no idea what I'm doing.