Ima make 'em beg for it

So the saga continues. I continue to talk to this man and it continues to go no where.
" P-p-pussy power, pay me by the hour
I need me a braveheart, can't deal with the coward
I tell 'em they fiend balling, he should hit the showers
If I pick you, you lucky baby this money ours
All yellow gold on me like I'm Trinidad
Sitting drop top wonder where the ceiling's at"
I don't why I don't walk away. I'm so good at what I do I have ex boyfriends still begging for it.
It's not all about the sex but last time I checked I'm still human and it's been a minute since I've had any.
I feel like this man, the 43 year old, is afraid to try, to see where it might go or that he might like it.
I know if I'm in my 40s and still single I'd be on my way to giving up and praying for a miracle at the same time.
But this, this right here is the only reason I've ever felt like I hate being gay.
Monogamy is like the white unicorn and you have the same odds of winning retirement at the age of 18 from a lotto scratch off as you do for finding someone who is relationship oriented.
I can't tell you how many men have asked me out and are HIV positive because they've had sex with anything that walks for half their life and the only reason their sniffing up the tree of someone like me who knows how to keep their legs closed and wants a relationship is because once you have HIV the sex tilt-a-whirl has come to a screeching halt.
I hate to say it but so many stereotypes are true about the gay "community" it isn't even funny. It's embarrassing.
I use the word community very loosely, it's more like an orgy that occasionally dabbles in politics and stops having sex and snorting coke just long enough to make their point.
I don't want that kind of life.

I never fucked Wayne I never fucked Drake

The more I talk to men the more I like my birds.
Speaking of birds I finally got to take home this conure I had been visiting every time I went to my local pet store for the past 6 months.
He's adorable. He reminds me of my first cockatiel, Tila. Ridiculously affectionate, funny, cuddly, and just wants to be around me. I named him Olaf.
I've been talking to this 43 year old man and at first it seemed promising but as the weeks go by the potential for anything happening between us gets smaller and smaller.
I'm not an agest. But if the shoe was on the other foot I'd be a little more interested in a 28 year old who isn't a 2 who wants to bark up my tree than he is.
Although he doesn't look his age he has adopted some actions and behaviors that are that of someone even older than himself.
He's extremely set in his ways. He hates talking on the phone and when I do call him I feel like he's Linda Blair from the exorcist and I'm the priest throwing holy water at her. He acts tortured and almost as though it's a presentation he has to sit through.
He has no problem texting but the way he texts almost always leaves you wondering what he meant by it or requires clarification.
He doesn't act like he wants me. He acts like I'm a side dish he could take or leave. I'm so much more than that.
Where are the men who want to stand up and fight for the one they want? Who understand what dating means and isn't afraid to take that jump, roll those dice, take that risk?
As far as I can tell, they're gone and soon so will my will to keep looking.

Sex Metal Barbie

Today was a day of many mind blowing, perspective spinning, unrealistic reality affirming moments.
It started with me looking at my timehop app. For those of you not familiar it's an app that will take you up to 5 years back in time harnessing your facebook and twitter as a means of showing you where you were and what you were doing via your posts.
I was besotted with images of me and my beloved Effie. I had gone to a reptile show and one vendor had bird items and I splurged on a whole bunch of things for her.
There were pictures of Effie and I. Her on my shoulder or finger, her looking like she was posing for pictures. A small knife was driven into my heart and luckily all the children were asleep and my coworker put out of the room when I couldn't help but cry.
Through out the day I was heavily concentrated on a manic episode I had the night before, trying to bait someone into an argument whom I would take a full magazine of bullets for.
Being bipolar isn't a focal point of my life. Rather it's like a baby taking their first steps and every step from then on becomes a laborious process requiring all their thought and physical concentration to continue the process of putting one foot in front of the other, instinctively knowing now that they've begun this mode of transportation it would be a requirement for the rest of their lives.
I don't walk around seeking sympathy from people. I just want to keep on the journey I chose to start when I sought out treatment and like that baby have begun a mental mode of transportation I will have to continue the rest of my life and to boil it down to it's simplest form I'm just trying to figure out all the mechanics.
I'm not fixed or cured because I have a therapist and psychiatrist and pills. This is the hardest part to get anyone to understand. I've been this way my whole life and it's gone unnoticed. Even by myself until not so distant events made me realize something else was going on.
Then at the end of the day I find out a girl from my graduating class died yesterday. We were by no means friends. We were enemies by the rawest definition but she still played a large roll in a good portion of my life thusly.
I don't think it's ill to speak unkindly of the dead. I think it's ill to not speak the truth about them.
At my funeral I want people to come up one by one stating both my flaws and good qualities.
We veritably hated each other. She did her best to torture me until graduation when neither one of us had power over the other one. I started a rumor about her that I don't think she lived down for a few years after high school. Sometimes the lowest underdog can strike gold.
But I would never wish death upon someone for high school childishness that I equally participated in once provoked. She was one of many cookie cutter girl bullies who once they lit the fire couldn't extinguish it and wish they had never started it once they found out their boyfriends were in a room somewhere at a kegger with me instead of them.
Her death is an eye opener. Here I am worrying everyday about if I'll die when I survived and she never saw it coming.
May she rest in peace and now have full view of my exploits from above and have more than a few good laughs.
I remember one day she grabbed my arm in the hallway and yelled at me "why don't you like me?!" after she lost yet another boyfriend to my black widow like web. She caused all my books to fall and my cd player to skid across the hallway. I looked at her and I said "because of what you do. What you do to people like me. Because you don't think I matter and I matter more than you've come to realize or ever will. People like me are survivors"
Who knew how true that would be.

Like a skyscraper

Being diagnosed with Bipolar depressive disorder has been a real eye opener.
It finally gave me the sight that so many take for granted. I lived a life of constant conflict. Conflict with people, situations, even every day tasks.
Now I'm able to look at these situations and take a step back, get a good 3 dimensional look before I react.
I won't sit here and type and say I have this mastered. If I did I'd be the first on the planet.
I also would be lying if I said it didn't feel wonderful and freeing. It also is terrifying in many aspects. I can now look back and see all the damage I created and it's been a lot of work to try and go back and mend those fences and rebuild those bridges.
Part of me wonders if people think I'm totally fixed. If they expect me to walk around with a permanent smile on my face and be lost in a haze of happiness and that if I do have a negative reaction to something or someone if it just gets chalked up to me being bipolar.
Am I suppose to be void of negativity? Am I suppose to be super human?
How long am I suppose to try to show people who are important to me that I've changed before giving up?

"was always told to be a cook in the kitchen, a lady in the parlor and a whore in the bedroom.”

Well we're finally in the new house. I love it but between having to stay late for work until 12:30 and coming to our new home with things that should've been put in my room put in my entertainment room instead and vice versa, my mattress on the floor bare and only one lamp and then discovering the new bed in a bag I bought wasn't a bed in a bag but a comforter, some pillows and a bed skirt with I don't even need sense I always have my bed directly on the floor I just cried.

Don't get me wrong. I LOVE our new home it was just awful I had no time to make my room feel like my room. 

I stayed up until 4am because I've made myself dependent on falling asleep to movies and I had to assemble the entertainment stand, plug in my new DVD/VHS player which is bliss and my new tv which is the nicest tv I've ever had but not one of those gaudy ones that takes up the entire room and requires a mortgage to own. 

I honestly can't even remember what movie I fell asleep to. I purchased both seasons of two broke girls even though I've seen them because that show rates high on my "I'm going to pee" scale. I watched that for a bit. Pretty sure I put in an actual movie, took 4 shots of vodka and passed out.

I got up early enough to set up my room in some fashion. Hung up photography and two pieces of art that were my grandmother's that I just love. Set up my desk, assembled a cabinet of sorts for my records and got to unpack them. Set up my bathroom a bit. 

Today's my last day of work for the week so hopefully I'll be able to get more accomplished. 

FINALLY got my hands on a copy of my beloved Melissa Gorga's book "Love, Italian style". I love it. It's about her marriage and although no ones put a ring on it yet I'm taking her advice. Look at the man she scored! 

After I finish Melissa Gorga's book it's on to Melissa Joan Hart's book. 

Football- America's favorite shove it down your throat pass time

Welcome to the time of the year where I avoid my Facebook and twitter like the plague or sharing my eos with someone who has visible coldsores. 

I'm not aware of when the football season actually beings but I'm pretty sure it wasn't too long ago and I'm already sick of it. It's everywhere. People feverishly typing they're thumbs off to update their Facebook when something on the same game everyone else is watching and has already seen happy and then when the game is finally over you get flooded with all proclamations that their team won or the status updates more dramatic than a drag queen when he loses his eyelash glue about how their team lost and how their team was robbed. 

Let me say I gave football a chance more than once but it's annoying. It should be called "pass the ball, drop it, smack your  "non-homosexual" teammates on the ass while some group of men stop the game to look at 20 seconds of replay for 20 minutes".

It's a complete mystery to me why so many people are glued to their TVs for hours watching grown men start and stop and start and stop and start and stop and start and stop and just when you think they might play for more than 30 seconds they stop again. 

Perhaps if I could just be blissfully unaware that it was happening at all I wouldn't want to slap everyone I see wearing a jersey or frantically updating their Facebook. But it's everywhere you turn. 

The only gem of this entire dog and pony show that really shouldn't qualify as a sport in my opinion as even an elderly man with a walker and an oxygen tank trailin behind him could keep up the pace is the half time show which sadly this year I have absolutely no interest in. They decided to not go for a big current star this year so the NFL won't even get that 12 minutes of my attention. 

In other news- back to the salt mines tomorrow. I'd love to say I've enjoyed this "vacation" but t wasn't one. I'm ready to go back to work and if I see another packing box, packing tape, or jumbo sized sharpie it will be too soon. I will miss doing shots at 11am...

This will be the last week in my childhood home. That's right. I've been living in the same house my entire life. 

I thought I'd be more emotionally affected but I'm not. Maybe I will be when we leave the house for good but I've been ready for a change for a long time. So much has happened in this house both good and bad, happy and sad but it's this town that I was done with since I was 12 years old. 

I will say I'll miss the oasis that my attict apartment has been but moving into a bigger house away from Clifton park with its mass populous of fake people spending beyond their means to keep a gaudy status and image and getting rid of so much clutter that I was drowning in it will be worth it. 

A work in progress

So target guy and I are allegedly going on a date. Do I foresee this as a long term relationship? No. I honestly don't. I'm an old 27 and he's a young 23. But stranger things have happened right?  

I'm not an ageist (I say this as I'm no longer mixing my vodka with anything but taking straight shots from the bottle with a dr.pepper chaser) but you can just tell. I'm an old 27 because of what I've been through. No I don't mean the same emotional turmoil everyone experiences.  I'm talking about my cancer and if you think I'm beating a dead horse go get that diagnosis and tell me how much is affected your entire life and everything else. 

He's a young 23 because he hasn't had to deal with anything yet. And I hope he never does. I hope he can live the samecare free existence I did until I was slapped with that cinder block of reality.

There's so much I miss about my life before my diagnosis. I miss smoking. I miss thinking I'm invincible and life is a neverending map. I miss not having my mind plagued with all the what ifs. 

But now the what ifs have turned into so what's. So what if it comes back? If it comes back I'll throw in the towel and do what I want to do. Smoke again. Smoke pot again and live life until life, the hour glass it is runs out and be happy.

My worst fear is that with target guy he won't be able to handle or understand what happened to me. As expierence has proven most can't. 

I'm also worried he won't care for SIRSY. Which will be a deal breaker. But it will be what it will be and maybe I'll have sex for the first time in 16 months. 

I'm always going to be a changing and sometimes evolving person. And some days that turns out great and some days it's a royal mess. But I'll know when I've found Prince Charming when he accepts and wants that. Cancer or not. Damage or not. Evolution or devolution or not. Perfect or imperfect. 

Just watch my wildest dreams come true, not one of them involving you

The target guy saga continues. I deleted his number and all texts so I couldn't be tempted to communicate with him and he texts me. Part of me was hoping he wouldn't and part of me was hoping he would. 

We had a short conversation this morning, he's on a bus headed to Jersey. But everytime I mention November 9th, the date of the Sirsy concert that I wanted to be out first date I don't so much as get a response. 

So today I texted him again about the 9th, 2 hours later no response. So I texted him "if you don't want to go it's totally fine but let me know so I can find another date" and deleted his number again. The ball is in his court. And until I hear an answer one way or another about the 9th I'm done. I don't enjoy the chase, playing games and if that's what he's looking for he won't get it from me. 

I mean how hard is it to say yes or no? I don't understanding making someone chase after you or keep them hanging. It doesn't set a pretty image for any future you might have with that person and it just makes them look irresponsible and careless. He's cute for sure but no Justin Timberlake and if he fell in my lap there's a good chance someone else will who won't need to be begged to go on a date. 

Cat got your tongue

My week off begins. Although my management keeps referring to it as a vacation, last time I checked a vacion involves rest, not unpaid manual labor compromised of packin boxes and throwing away things...and some things you weren't aware you owned and aren't sure if they were living at one point. 

I had a fairly decent day if you subtract the packing. I got my year supply of contacts which I am just over the moon about it. 

On the man front I'm pretty sure I'm wasting my time with Target guy. The initial attention was nice but there's really no substance. 

Sirsy, my all time favorite band is having a show ridiculously close to my house and I invited him on a date. He doesn't drive as he is from the city so I offered to pick him up and I could be the designated driver considering I don't drink in public and I can't get a straight answer out of him (pun intended). But I just can't stop texting him, baiting him, and waiting for his replies. I need to give someone my phone and have them delete his number. 

Gay Code

Well it would appear I jumped the gun and scared the aforementioned guy away. 

It all seemed like it was going so well. I finally met someone in public who I was attracted to, who I gave my number to who actually used it who I spoke to on the phone for an hour last night, exchanged sexy pictures and even texted and spoke to on the phone this morning....and BAM! Nothing. 

Perhaps the contacts gave me too much confidence to wield like Frodo with the ring (YES I did just make a lord of the rings reference whilst trying to convey that I'm sexy and worth it). 

I just don't understand men. At all. It's not like I can use myself as a frame of reference. I've never met anyone like me ever. If I don't like someone I'm upfront about it. 

I'm just a bit crestfallen. I thought maybe, just maybe my dry spell had finally let up and things were turning around. 

No- I don't have lesbian tendencies. I didn't book a uhaul or expect any kind of commitment or anything really. The texting and phone attention were enough. And may I just say taking those sexy pictures was no small task. Between taking and retaking and retaking and retouching I was exhausted. 

Bu this brings me to my first edition of girl code. 

Today's subject- the predate

Don't assume because you meet someone in public whom you find attractive and give your number to who uses it is actually intending on doing anything with you. 9 times out of 10 your conversations will taper off and amount to wasted breath and fifer taps. 

Also- don't even THINK about going to all the trouble of manscaping until the day before your date. To get all up in those nooks and cranies with an electric razor only to have someone suddenly stop talking to you throws off your whole routine. And if someone does come along after you have gone to all that trouble you can't go back and make it look all fresh again. 

And DON'T go and buy condoms. You're going to look at the value pack you thought would be a good buy at the time and cry because you are SO not having sex that many times. 

In conclusion- another one bites the dust, men suck, and I have a completely hairless nether region and 24 condoms for no reason...

Turn up the radio...and the truth will come out

As we all know (unless you don't read my blog...in which case I guess you wouldn't) after years of writing Madonna off I finally gave her a chance and her last album MDNA really blew me away. Yes, my gay tribe, I know I'm more than a year behind as far as this album is concerned and behind from birth as far as Madonna is concerned but I have my reasons. 

I stated a few before but unlike most of my musical tastes that compromise a myriad of "controversial" artists (that my mother swears I only like because they piss her off)I rejected her. I grew up around her music because my sister had her cassettes and you're an idiot if you are unaware of her completely. But my outward loathing of her (that has since been relinquished) began when the inevitable comparisons to Lady Gaga started and Madonna's outward attack on her started.  I could see the surface comparisons but if you follow Lady Gaga from the start like I accidentally did you know they're truly nothin alike. If she's [Lady Gaga] borrowed or "stole" (which is a ridiculous term to use as there isn't one single completely unique recording artist out there) from anyone it would be Cher and Annie Lenox. If you go back and watch Cher's early days a lot of Lady Gaga's looks can be seen. Same with Annie Lenox. Both of which have respect and support her. 

The main differences between Lady Gaga and Madonna is Madonna is an entertainer. Not a singer. Very limited vocal capabilities and if she sings at all it's too her own voice track. All the queens in the gayuniverse can deny this but watch her concerts, it's crystal clear. Lady Gaga is both an entertainer and a singer who will pull out a few accapella numbers. 

The other main difference between the two in my opinion is Lady Gaga doesn't do things or dress the way she does simply for shock value. There's a thought process behind it and it can only be called art (yes! Even her meat dress). Madonna does things for the mere shock value and it's a brilliant buisness move. She's made herself cotinuely relevant by doing shocking things and having absolutely no continuity. Lady Gaga does have continuity. 

But before the queens strap on their strappy spike heels and burn rainbows and crosses on my front lawn (crosses because of the like a prayer video, not for religious purposes) what changed my opinion about Madonna was for some reason I watched the MDNA concert and was blown away. 

This lead me to buy the MDNA album (fucking edited because I could only find it at walmart where you can buy a gun and bullets but not a parental advisory CD) which I can't get enough of.

But there's one song that really struck a cord with me (pun intended). Some of the lyrics are on the picture above, the ones I find most poignant. 

It just lifted my spirits and helped me look at things from the outside, something I don't excel at which my extended family can not only attest to but have substantial proof. 

It really made me take a long look at all the actions I've taken In the past few months and in doing so letting the past go which I should've done in the first place. This song "Turn up the radio" made me realize I was holding on to more than expired emotional hatred and I wasted so much energy and pushed my family away in the process and gained what? Nothing. 

Being able to look at everything I had done, felt, said, yelled, and typed while listening to this song made me realize what an ass I was and that if the other side of my family truly didn't care about me they'd have nothing to do with me at all. And I need to stop being so centered around my feelings and not only look at my actions but look at it from their perspectives. 

No, I didn't get the kind of support I thought I wanted back then but then if I look at the otherside of my family's feelings I would have found all the answers a year ago. 

Thanks to the Madonna's power of clairvoyance I looked at how I dealt with two of the most important people in my life's sickness and subsquent death.  I tried to avoid it, to hide. Not because I was selfish but because I didn't want to believe it was happening and I couldn't handle it. Maybe this is where they were coming from too. 

But there is no denying I was wrong. And I wish I had had this ability last year but perhaps without all the back and forth conflict I never would have. 

I've already changed a lot (contrary to one once family friend's opinion). I stepped up and am working hard to pay my family back because of the many times they've had to have my back. I won't lie. Working a 63 hour week is really and truly hard. But it's about time they got to have things easy and if that means staying up for 17 hours straight to go home and sleep for 3 hours to go back to work for 9 hours then so be it. I'm not sick and I'm not a drug addict anymore and there's no excuse for me not to contribute what I can or even better more than I can. 

And I also wolill say a very few number of coworkers haven't made this transition from child care and teaching to residential support counsellor easy or in some ways possible. One in particular who continues to make it more difficult for me in the most abrasive way. But it's worth it. I can show my family I care and I have their backs for a change. 

Who knew Madonna could be used as therapy and self reflection and not just as background music for a gay bar where everyone is snorting lines in the bathroom and popping mollies and e like they're going out of style while having unprotected sex with complete strangers sometimes in the bathroom but usually on the dance floor?   

There's no place like home

Today we had the inspection of the house we're about to move into. I can't decipher anything they've said is good or bad because the terminology is beyond me but I am beyond excited.
I will have the entire second floor to myself. My room, pictured above in addition to some other photos, is two room in one. There is no partician except an almost frame of crown molding. And there is no carpet which is a dream. I foresee investments in several swifter products.
In addition to my Tiffany blue room there is another room I will be utilizing as an entertainment room. It opens up to my own deck that reminds me of Juliet's balcony.
I also finally have my own half bath. A place for all my products and toiletries. After 27 years of sharing a bathroom with four people this is as close to heaven as I can imagine.
I'm excited to leave Clifton Park behind. A place where a reminder of horrible times or horrible people are just waiting around the corner. Clifton Park has never been good to me or given me any reason to take pride in living there. Clifton Park is nothing but a cluster of judgmental drones focusing solely on their never ending quest of acquiring more and more items that will scream their social status.
I was a bit worried when this whole process began that I'd lose the feeling of sanctuary I have now in my attict apartment but this house already feels like home.
Packing has been surreal. No matter how much I get rid of or pack it continues to looks as though I've accomplished nothing. I guess that's the price you pay for living in the same home your whole life.

Madonna makes me want to vomit

Last night after my shift with the guy I support I went to the walmart in Troy on a whim that the overnight staff would accidentally put Cher's new album out a few hours early. 

Sure as shit they did and I danced down the aisles clutching my copy. Yes I looked ridiculous, yes I already preordered it on iTunes on my iPhone but there will always be something about holding a physical tangible copy of an album of an artist you love. 

Perhaps it's because I am old enough to remember when CDs weren't your only option and I an well versed in lps and 45s thanks to my mom. 

I got to m car, ripped it open like Charlie ripping the wrapping from the wonka bar to reveal his golden ticket and put it into my car's CD player (where it will live for a VERY long time) and was blown away. 

The album is pure bliss. From Beijing to end. Well worth the 10 year wait, especially when we all thought she was finished. 

In all the promotional interviews I've watched with Cher leading up to the album's release one journalist said I best when he said "there would be no Madonna, no Lady Gaga, no Britney Spears without Cher" and this is complete truth. 

I can't stand how Madonna, Cher, Lady Gaga and several other artists get lumped together as gay icons. Especially when you throw Madonna's name out there. 

Madonna sickness me. Not because of her music but that anyone would ever lump her in with Cher or Lady Gaga who actually sing at their live performances. 

Any queen our there who attributes anything to Madonna other than trying to make camel toe a fashion statement are delusional. Madonna is like herpes, she goes away for a split second, sucks tracks and production from anyone any current pop performer has had success with and pushes out a subpar album filled with collaborations to masque the fact that she is all but useless. 

The main difference between Cher and Madonna is this: Cher is a legend. A legend with an illustrious career and true accolades. Madonna is someone who keeps trying to get to legendary status by changing her image and sound more times than I change I underwear. 

Cher has and always will be Cher. She's the original.

And what's more is Cher has ALWAYS stood up for her large gay audience. Madonna seems to just sweep that under rug. 

Go out and get Cher's new album. You won't be disappointed.

She continues to be incredible and actually worth it. 

We were born to die

If anyone reads my blog you'll know I've had a lot of wasted family drama going on. Most of it took place on Facebook considering it seems to be the only time I have certain people's undivided-attention. 

Well as you can imagine people who aren't in my family got involved. 

The focal point of this monstrous drama hurricane was, for me at least, my cancer and their lack of and continued lack of support. 

Well this one person who got involved beyond appropriate means (more power to ya to post responses. If I'm going to put  up anything for the whole world to see its anyone's right to respond.) and made this statement to me that until just a few moments ago I realized made absolutely no sense:

I thought after the cancer we'd see a more kind and thankful John. 

I'm baffled and bamboozled. It's as if the subtext is cancer patients and survivors got it for some reason, not just happened to have it. As if there is some sort of cancer drawing where from a collective of all the "miserable" people a few names are drawn to teach them a lesson. 

Doesn't that seem cruel and senseless?

Did I come out of it changed? How could I not. I, unlike a lot of the lucky populous, was made completely,totally, and abruptly aware of my mortality. Everyone thinks they understand this concept to a certain degree but until you're sitting in a sterile doctors office with a decree that the world's most deadliest killer is inside of your body you realize how feeble and fragile these outer shells we call bodies are. 

And I hope that no one else is this world is ever burdened with the reality of this fact, foolish as that may be. 

But cancer is not a learning lesson. It's purpose isn't to make people "better" or "kinder". It's sole purpose is to kill and if it doesn't kill you and you "survive" you wonder if its really gone at all and waste many of the days you have left worrying about all the what ifs. 

For example, I recently injured my tongue. The opposite side of the side that the cancer had grown ever so quickly on. And I thought I was past this point, had made progress, but for 5 days I was convinced the cancer had returned and I was doomed. Doomed to die, to lose even more of my tongue, to lose my entire tongue and the ability to speak and so on and so forth. 

So you tell me how cancer could improve anyone's temperament, attitude, or personality with a war constantly waging in your mind that the world is blind to because they've all decided since you seem normal on the outside that the fight is over. Or if you do mention it you're having a pity party or feeling sorry for yourself. 

I can be strong. Most days I'm capable of putting all the worries and unanswered questions about my future away for a few hours. But no, I will never be the same. And what has put me in a place to never to be the same was not intended to benefit anyone. There is no moral to be learned from cancer as it isn't a fairy tale. There are no fairies, no dragons, no talking animals or over grown beanstalks, no magical glass slippers or mermaid fins. Just a dark monster that can never be removed, surgically or otherwise. 

The moral of this blog is- don't open your mouth about something you could never comprehend and wonder what it would be like to be in my shoes- a mere miracle I survived, then survived the treatment and somehow managed to not go insane. 

How many great loves...

As the picture would imply I've been on a Sex And The City binge. I still stand by the statement I made years ago while the show was still on, "Carrie Bradshaw taught me everything I need to know" but I can't help but put Ms. Bradshaw in the same category as Mr. Disney- people who gave me false expectations of what love is, could be, and what it really is or how it actually works. 

I've always loved Sex And The City. It makes me think instead of idle like most television shows. 

And Ms. Bradshaw proposed the question "how many great loves do you get?"  

For me, like Charlotte claimed, it's been two. Two great loves that like Ms. Bradshaw and Mr. Disney left me forever damaged on the journey to find the one great love that lasts. 

When you reflect on these "great loves" you remember the perfection of it all and lose any memory of the hard work it took you to get there. So when the next opportunity for love falls in your lap you expect it to just take off from where your great love left off and when it doesn't because it can't you cast them aside. 

So thank you Ms. Bradshaw, Mr. Disney, great love number one and great love number two. 

I belong to no one

Love...what is it really? 

I'm 27 years old and I thought perhaps even know I was in love once. He was everything I could've asked for in a lover, a human being, a heart. 

We fell fast. He came from a different country and was plopped her, abandoned by the college who's foreign exchange student program he had enrolled in. 

I took care of him, probably in much the same way a wife takes care of her husband with the added task of helping him decipher American social inadequacies and idiosyncrasies. 

But it was love and it was pure. I felt safe in wrapped in his arms, content in a way I had never known or experienced sense waking up nestled in what Carrie Bradshaw would call his nook. And then it all came to a screeching halt. His parents became aware of our relationship  via a jealous female foreign exchange student from hong long who had been trolling the campus for 8 years unwilling to return to her home country who probably detested her presence as much as I did (I'll admit there were a few physical altercations, my most treasured when I ripped her hair extensions out leaving patches of bald spots and setting them ablaze in front of her face making it bluntly aware that if she reported any physical altercations to the cops she would promptly be deported). Apparently in Turkish culture it's not only an embarrassment but forbidden to be a homosexual.

Ever since then a few men have come and gone...they never lasted and I wasn't sure if it was my own doing. Some "I've had the best" complex or just my unwillingness to commit to face the same fate. 

They say love happens when you least expect it, it appears when you're least expecting it like the proverbial white stag. 

I stopped looking a long time ago. And then the possibility fell into my lap and as you can probably guess it amounted to as much as Kelly Rowland's solo career has. 

Elton John sang it best "I want love, but it's impossible". 

People try to tell me it's just as hard for straight people but they haven't taking a visit to the gay realm. A realm full of pretend realities, sheep dressed as wolves and men in search of the next drug they can shove up their nose or the next ass they can plow their wing wang in.