Blind Item

WHICH pathetic blogger walked into the dining hall this afternoon and then promptly walked out (without eating) upon seeing a boy that our blogger may have a gigantic crush on?

*major kudos to you if you get the pic. :)

Read More......

Tongue Biting

Regular readers know that I'm currently entrenched in a cold war with the Dragon Lady. (sometimes referred to as my mother) She sent me this particularly nasty email, deploring me for how unappreciative I am and how she no longer feels the need to help me (mainly financially, but in other means of support as well I suppose). I canned my initial reaction - anger - and I've been pretty good with not sending her emails along the lines of, "Hey Bitch, Drop Dead." Despite the fact that deep down I probably do miss her, overall I kinda want to punch her in the face. The past few days she's taken to calling me as if nothing has changed, and I'm like, "...the fuck?! I don't want to talk to you. For all I care, we could never talk again, I'd be OK with that. Stop talking to me." She's like, "Yeah, work blah blah blah. And your father, blah blah blah." And she expects me to be sympathetic? Like, bitch, you send me this email that basically says in your eyes my life has amounted to EPIC FAIL, and now you want to be all Lorelai Gilmore about it? Think NOT.


So this morning she called yet again, letting me know that my Godson had been born. (Yay!) And she started going off about how she has strep, and my brother stubbed his toe, and how my father won't help. Usually I'm on her side when it comes to these things, but considering that I now rely on my father for transportation to and from home, I cant' really fault the man for saying, "Fuck you." If anything, I'm jealous I don't have the balls to do the same. During our conversation, at least nine times, I had the overwhelming urge to snap at her, to tell her I didn't care, to tell her my father has the right idea, to tell her that I hate her and I want my car back. But I didn't. I bit my tongue. And I am so proud of myself.

Let's stop for a moment, because at this point, I'm sure at least one of you is appalled at how I can treat my mother with such abject hatred. But really, I learned it from her. If it's one thing my mother is the best at, it's turning so wholly on friends and family. Hell, look at the way she treats her own son. So, no, I don't feel bad about the things I say or the way I feel. Eye for an eye, and whatnot. Please save your bullshit on how an eye for eye leaves the whole world blind.

kthanks.

Read More......

See that? That's my desk. It's really clean. Like, so clean. I never clean my desk. Never. Tongiht I did, though because I will do anything (anything) not to have to study for my exam. I need to do well on it. (Ish...? Not really, I could not take it and get a C in the class) So, I've cleaned my desk, watched Grey's on some weird Japanese YouTube, and put a lot of random crap on my walls. But study? Study those three pages of spanish vocab? Nope. Can't even do it.

Read More......

14 Days

It's funny how much your life can change it fourteen days. Two little weeks. Half a month.

Two weeks ago, I couldn't have been happier. I had a boy that wanted me. I was going home, I love home! Thanksgiving was coming. Food! And with it brought Black Friday. One of my favorite days of the year.

What happened?

In fourteen days, I simultaneously rekindled and ruined my relationship with the Ex. My mom stopped talking to me. I started smoking. I slept with a man that I hate, and hurt the one person who's ever been really in love with me.

In fourteen days, I ruined everything.

Weeks ago, I called the Ex. Our communication up until that point had been non-existent since our last failed attempt and a relationship. I called him as a result of a small fight I had with the Mistress. I called him out of desperation and slowly our friendship rebuilt itself. It was nice, having him in my life again. It thrills me, how happy he is to see me. It's like not right for anyone to be that happy to see me. Me! But he always happy to see me. And our friendship again blossomed into something more. But I didn't want to commit to him. I didn't want that full-blown, hand-holding, spooning at night, no you have the last piece of pizza deal. I didn't. I don't know why. I just wanted him. Not the other stuff. In retrospect, I should have considered myself lucky that he wanted me in that way. (Me!) And so when I went home for break, and when he told me he wanted me "officially" I couldn't do it. And he got mad. Said just the right things to hurt me the most. A horrible disadvantage of letting people in: They know how to hurt you all the more.

So I ran. I left his North-Side home to the closest man I could find. the Evil One. The man that not even month ago was still painfully stringing me along. Toying with my emotions because he was bored. I knocked on his door, and though he was surprised, he was also happy to see me. (Me!) And we did what grown gay men do best.

No, we didn't open an antique store or decorate a house, ahole.

Afterwards, I felt so horrible. It was something similar to what I imagine a prostitute must feel. I couldn't even look at myself. (And I love to look at myself.) What was I doing? Sleeping with a man I hated. I left his house with the promise of having Thanksgiving dinner with him. Friday, when I saw the Ex, I had every intention of commiting and giving myself to him, the way he wanted. But when I saw him, all I could remember were the cruel words he spat at me, and the ease with which he did it. And I couldn't contain my anger. It was like burning in my throat, and I wanted to hurt him like he hurt me. So I told him, in great detail, how I'd fucked the Evil One. And how much better it was with the Evil One. (Not exactly a lie, but information he didn't need to know, nonetheless.) And I did hurt him. I saw it in his eyes. Like he had hurt me so many times before, I finally had this chance to hurt him. And even though it had been three years since he'd first cheated on me, even though it had been two years since he hid his heroin addiction from me, even though it had been a year since he cheated on me the second time, each wound still burned hot. I got to do the hurting now. Me.

But as I stood there, looking at him, looking at me like a monster. I felt like shit. It wasn't gratifying or rewarding. It made me feel worse. Yay, I hurt him. Go me. It didn't make me feel any better. About anything. So, as sat her there, trying to wrap his head around this I left. And we haven't talked since.

I had dinner with the Evil One on Thanksgiving. Lunch, really. I hated him for ... being him. I hated him for thinking this was fun. We fucked again. We haven't talked since.

On the drive home, I found a pack of cigarettes in my car, no doubt left by its true owner (the Dragon Lady's fiancee), and I just started smoking. It was fanfuckingtastic. I concentrated on that small white stick, and puffed all my problems away.

So here I am. A young adult, who's mother has all but disowned him. A gay man in love with a hetero. A man not able to commit to the one person that has ever been in love with him.

I'm going to stop, before I get all melodramatic and start babbling how I don't recognize my own face in the mirror.

I'm praying that the next fourteen days bring about as much change as the last.

Read More......

The Dragon Lady

When I was growing up, my Mom was my world. My dad wasn't around much. My brother is eight years younger than me. So for a long time, it was just me and her. My strongest memories of her, though, are the bad ones. I don't know why. You know, every birthday and Christmas, she would take me aside, just before the presents and threaten me: "I don't care if you get a present you already have or if you don't like it. You say thank you. We can return it later. So help me God, if you don't say thank you, I will take back all of your presents." And then she gave me this look that said "I am not fucking around."

My mom, the Dragon Lady* as I've called her for so many years, isn't speaking to me presently. I am not 100% sure why. Words were exchanged between her and I. "Ungrateful" was thrown around a lot. I blame Oprah. See, Oprah, in her laughable attempt at seeming human, decide to forgo her usual "Favorite Things" show (in which she rains gifts upon an unsuspecting audience) and instead blabbered on about making scrapbooks, and sharing memories. Blah blah blah. As "compensation" I guess you could say, she offered a free down loadable CD on her website. My mother, ever the Oprah zealot, was quick to down load and wanted to burn the songs to a CD. Not quite knowing how to go about that, she woke me from my (semi-drunken) sleep and asked (very nicely, but loudly) for me to help her. She had Christmas music playing in the back. As I groggily answered her questions about file names and folders, I heard that Mariah's classic" All I Want for Christmas is You" started to play. I quietly sang along, as images of the Boy popped in and out of my mind. It was quite nice; Imagining spending a holiday with him. Le sigh. But my small daydream was interrupted by my mother's question, "Do I want to make an audio CD or a data CD?"

I mean, really? I thought that was obvious. S0, I, very rudely I do admit, told her that she wanted to make an audio CD, wasn't that obvious that she wanted to make an audio CD? God. I was mad at her, mad at her for breaking my fantasy. Silly, I know. But when all you have are those fantasies, you learn to cherish them. I didn't apologize. I couldnt' swallow my pride. This was Thanksgiving morning. The tension never let up and spread through my family during dinner. She had divided us, with her talk of ungratefulness and disresepct. Her sisters, quick to agree, had tunred on us, the children. And Thanksgiving was horrible. Not one person was speaking to everyone. If that makes sense. This carried over into Friday. But finally, my Mother and I talked. I apologized. All seemed right with the world. We went to Sam's. She brought me back to school, bought me groceries.

Then, on Monday morning she sends me this horrible email about how ungrateful I am and how she won't let me ruin her life anymore. I have my suspicions about why she sent me this email, but I can't be sure. So, she told me she wasn't goimg to help me anyore. Financially, emotionally, nothing. She would provide a roof and her (small) part of my tuition. That was it. No other money, no car, no rides home from the train station (therein cutting off my ability to come home as much as I like). I was stunned. I didn't know what to say. I wanted to yell, I wanted to cry**, I wanted to hurt her, but I wanted to ask her why? I didn't understand it. The severity of her punishment, the loss I felt. Not for my possesions, not for the money, for my mom. I feel like I lost my mom. And that rejection hurts more than any man. the Boy could tell me a thousand times he hates me (God! I cringe at the thought) and it wouldn't hurt as much losing my mom this way. I lost her as my friend.

And it's all my fault.

______________________________________________
*This nickname started in true adoration and teasing. It seems all too true these days, though.
** I don't cry. At least not in real life. I'll sob for Meredith Grey, but the Bestie could die and I wouldn't shed one tear. I'm just weird.

Read More......

All Falls Down

Ice is like . . . my mortal enemy. It is the Joker to my Batman, the Voldemort to my Harry Potter, the Nancy Kerrigan to my Tonya Harding. We just don't get along, k? And as much as I adore this part of the year, the colder weather, the lack of sun, the snow! I hate the effing ice. Is it just me? Does everyone else in the entire world have traction that I don't? Because there is no slab of concrete on this campus that isn't covered in deadly ice, but people walk on like it was the middle of June. But there I am, taking my infinitesimal steps, trying not to fall.Fuck you, ice. Fuck. You.

Read More......

Going Home

When I was a freshman, my campus made a big stink about not going home before Thanksgiving. Meaning that you should cut off ties to your home before it was turkey time. Wait, what? That doesn't make any kind of sense. I hate this notion that people have that when you go to college, suddenly your life in your hometown just disappears. I never accepted that. I reject that idea. My home life is important to me; I talk to my mom regularly. the Ex still lives on the North Side, and most of my friends are still here. Why do I have to stay on campus? So I don't miss the big pep rally? Squeze in as much hot library action as possible? Bump that. I'm sick of people making me feel all guilty 'cause I like to go home. Sorry your home life sucks, hombre, but you need to put down your bottle of haterade.

Read More......

Please Don't Feed the Animals

the Boy. How do I even begin to describe the Boy? My taste in men is very . . . traditional. Yeah, traditional. Let's run with that. Slender but toned. Healthy, you could say. In high school I wanted the quarterback; talk about unoriginality for sobbing out loud.

But the Boy's different. It isn't rooted in the physical. A first for me. That makes me shallow, yes. But let's be honest, we gays have our stereotypes for a reason.

Anyway the physical isn't as important. It's there -- Lord knows it is. But it's not important this time and I don't know why. It's driving me crazy. His presence is intoxicating, one conversation with him elates me, brings my whole day up. And I have no idea why. It's maddening. Devolving into a 12 year old girl every time he walks by.

[Not to knock 12 year old girls -- My cousin is about to turn 13, and she's been in more long-term relationships than I have]

It sucks that I can't keep my composure around him. It sucks even more not knowing why. So I approach the entire situation with the following philosophy:

Don't Feed The Animals

When you go to the zoo, they have these signs that are all like, 'Hey don't feed the animals.' And they say that because they have the animals all trained and on a schedule. And you come in, with your zoo books looking-ass, all wanting to throw your gummi bears at the lions, and for all you know, lions could be allergic to gummi bears. You don't know. Overall, it's just a bad idea to feed the animals. Right?

That's the kind of thinking that runs through my mind when it comes to the Boy. I know at certain times I will I see the Boy, and I don't try to fuck with the schedule. I don't feel like I should encourage or nurture this 'crush.' I hate the word 'crush.' But I feel like forcing interaction with him would be a lot like feeding the animals. Don't try to forge something that shouldn't happen. Oh, spaz is me. Have I forgotten to mention the boy is of the hetero persuasion? Much like the quarterback in high school. But alas, I don't want to feed the animals. I don't.

He loves me not.

Read More......

Hate

Ok, I hate a lot of things. I hate a lot of things and people for no reason. Kelly Clarkson, CSI, Dancing with the Stars, Plain White T's. There isn't really a rhyme or reason. Generally, I tend to buck the trend, but I can't even say that because I effing love Grey's. But Twilight. Oh, hells no. I haven't read the (entire) book, I don't intend to, don't even want to see the movie (and I love movies). I just have this inexplicable, raging, passionate hate for Twilight. And I'm not going to lie to you, if you've read Twilight, chances are I'm making fun of you behind your back. I mean, there's already a fairly good chance that I'm making fun of you behind your back as it is, but by reading Twilight, you've upped the chances of that happening ninefold. Really.

I mean, I get it. I know people (and by people I mean sixteen year-old semi emo's and lonely cat ladies all around the world) get geeked when it comes to vampires. But really? From what painful pages I have read, I can't belive that this shit is becoming a 'national sensation.' Further evidence that this nation is barreling towards the bottom.

Ugh. Anyway, here's a fun collection of links.

Ha, Ha, The Twilight Movie Sucks [Gawker]
Twilight **1/2 [Roger Ebert]
'Twilight' Sucks . . . And Not In a Good Way [PSA]
Twilight Sucks [deviantART]

Read More......

Studying Is Dangerous

At least on my campus it is. See, everyone's tweaking over finals, apparently. All not eating and not sleeping, as it were. [Random Interjection: Remember when Mariah Carey recorded that song, "Time of Your Life" but it was only for like ringtones offered through Pepsi? God, that song is amazing, but wtf it's only like :45 long. Boo on your life, Pepsi.] Anyway, it turns out that studying and all this non-eating non-sleeping business can lead to your body getting fucked nasty. Literally. The police found a sex offender living in our undergraduate library. I mean, really? They found out this dude had been living behind the movable shelves. Oh, wait. JK. He just had a blanket which is against 'library policy.' Regardless, dude had a three inch knife and a sex offender registration form on him when the librarians called the PoPo. I wonder why he had the form on him. Was he going to be all like, "Don't worry ma'am I'm a professional!" I mean honestly.

*Yes, that's our actual library. It's underground. Pwn.

Read More......

Useless YouTube

Um...what? Oh, this was brought to my attention due to its similarity to Beyonce's new video for Single Ladies.

Read More......

Daily Doodle for November 13th

Read More......

Man Period.

The Mistress says I'm on my man period. I guess I can't fault her for accusing me. I have been on edge for the past . . . year. But it's been particularly worse these past three weeks. See, there's the Evil One. We dated for seven weeks, and since then he's made my life nothing but a bleak and dreary place of anguish. Look at me trying to be all English Major about it. Anyway, point is the Evil One has this incredible knack for calling me and ruining my life. Take Halloween weekend. He calls to tell me that he's moving in with some guy named Pedro.

Wait a minute.

Wasn't he just telling me the week before that things weren't exactly over? Or when he called just this past weekend to tell me that moving in with Perdo probably wasn't a good idea. Why am I his go to person? Why do I have to be the one that he calls for life advice.

Is that fair? He said some of the most hurtful things anyone ever has. That's why he's called the Evil One. And I hate him for it. My mom always said hate was powerful word, and to use it sparingly, but I think it applies. He's made me doubt who I am, and how I fit into the world. I get it, I fell for the Boy, my heart went elsewhere. That's fine. I accept my part in our breakup, but I think 'shameless whore' took it one level too far, don't you think?

So, yeah I guess I am on my man period.

I'm blessed that my life is populated with such wonderful characters. But damned be the Evil One.

Read More......

Daily Doodle for November 12th

Read More......

Bisexuality is NOT a Rest Stop on the Highway to Homo

In my mind, it goes without saying that I'm an GLBT Ally. I'm a boy, I like boys. How much more of an ally could I possibly be, you know? It turns out there's a lot I don't know. Yes, my heart and effort went into combating Prop 8, but I'm in Illinois, there's only so much I can do. Well, as an employee of a University that cares dearly for social justice [a term I hadn't really heard thrown around much until I got here] I have all of these wonderful opportunities to broaden my horizons, as it were. So, this past Saturday, I spent time in ally training.

I won't lie to you, I often forget aboout the BT in GLBT. Shit, I forget about the L. [Ew, lesbians.] But I spent a lot of time learning terms like "Gender Fuck" and "Ze and here." For instance. Ze doesn't like to go to WalMart because they don't carry here's favourite bread. It's about using more inclusive terms, and not assuming that a person identifies as a man or woman. And I know a part of sounds like some hippie bull-shit, and it can on times, because it's like you're making all these changes and excpetions to cater to like 0.02% of the population; But you know what? As a super-minority I feel like it's worth it. And I know what's it like to be in uncomfortable situations because people make assumptions about me.

And this whole Prop 8 business has weighed so heavily on my mind. I can't tell why. As I've told the Mistress, I don't often feel the plight of the gay community. I'll be honest. I'm just in it for the butt sex, but that one hurt. Prop 8 hurt because I felt like it was a double blow. Not only was marriage taken away from GLBT Californians, but it was taken away on a day that should have been celebratory and monumentous. Barack Obama, a black man, was elected president. 150 years ago, he would have been property. Now he's the fucking president. It's wonderful. But it's tragic, that his victory, the civil rights victory that he represents, is marred by the passage of laws in four states that oppress gay and lesbian people. It saddens me.

More than I thought it would.

Read More......

The Evil Psych Building

There it is. The Psychology building. It kind of looks like a jail doesn't it? With its ominous rows of perfectly square windows. It's evil. Swear to God. It's where hopes and dreams go to die. I entered school as a psych major; ready to pick apart the mind, and help troubled adolescents, such hopes. And you think you're going to take these classes that inundate you with the collective knowledge and wisdom of our "world-renowned" psych program. But then you get to class, and you have Pedro, a PhD candidate from Ecuador that can't speak English trying to explain Maslow. Wait a minute, didn't I learn Maslow like . . . eight years ago? Oh, that's right. I did, when it was free. Now it costs $20,000 a year.

Read More......

The Players

I recognize that a blog about solely one person probably wouldn't be all that interesting. Thankfully, my life is populated by a wide array of interesting characters. The Players, we'll call them. For instance, there's the Bestie, who, although we're hours apart, is still my best friend in the entire world. My hag, if you will. The Grace to my Will. And there's the Mistress, a new friend with whom I click ridiculously well. Her name given because the Bestie feels threatened. And there's the Boy; Who I pine for daily, yet my love goes unrequited. And there's the BossLady. Pretty self-explanatory, I think. I shroud names in semi-anonymity partly because I think it's cute, and partly because I really don't want to get Heather B. Armstronged. I really like my job(s). Anyway, you can use the links on the left for a brief bio for each of The Players.

Read More......

Mykal Bloom, Pt. II

If you've come here, chances are you were googling around for naked pictures of Brad Pitt and somehow you ended up here. Trust me, I know, I read the SiteMeter data. So, it is with a tinge of sadness that I announce I'm no longer covering the thrilling life of celebrities. I think it's better left to those with enough time on their hands. As for me, working two jobs on campus, one at home, trying to be a student, and you know . . . have somewhat of a social life, hasn't left me with enough time to properly devote to Britney, Madge and the girls.

But I'm not giving up.

Far from it.

I'm relaunching, reimagining, as Hollywood would say, the blog. While you may disagree, I've come to the conclusion that my life is far more interesting that anything Hollywood could produce. Ever. So, I'm going to write about me. And little by little, piece by piece, you'll learn more about me. My only hope is that this doesn't end up like Heather B. Armstrong. Although, things worked out well for her . . .

Anyway, welcome to Mykal Bloom, Pt. II. I hope you enjoy it.

Read More......