Lost Peace

Imagine being at total peace. There is nothing in the world that could disturb you in this very moment. You are completely, and totally, without care.

There are very few moments in life when one can feel such security, but I have always been of the impression that dreams were this time for me. So, when I woke, after dreaming of a former friend, and our troublesome friendship, I felt anything but calm.

You see, this friend and I were once very close. And through both fault of their own and mine, we fell out of touch. Though, I would have to say that the reason we aren’t speaking at the moment would be on me.

In a moment of pain, I said some pretty hurtful things to someone about them. I didn’t mean any of them, and I regret them deeply. But, there is nothing that I can do about it now.

What I can do is try and make things right.

I have a boyfriend. (You all knew that, I just like saying it because it sounds so damn nice leaving my lips.)

And my boyfriend is one of the most thoughtful people that I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. He has taught me so much about life, and I don’t think that he even realizes just how crucial to my growth that he is right now. But he is.

And one of the things that he has taught me is that when you feel that you have done something wrong, you work your damnest to fix it. You do not allow bad energy to linger in your space, because it draws more badness.

Perhaps this is a Chinese proverb… I’m not sure that I’m getting it right. I should ask him…

In any event, when I woke up after this dream, I felt a few different things.

Anger? Sure. I was pissed, that after everything that I had said to this person, the secrets that I had shared with them, and them calling me family, they would just end contact with me.

Confusion? Definitely. I couldn’t, for the life of me, fathom a reason that someone would say something so meaningful, and so deep, to a person unless they truly thought it. And If they didn’t think it, why lie about it. (Cue more anger.)

Pain? You bet. I was hurt that this person could lie to me so easily, and then just toss me aside, as if I meant nothing to them. It made me feel expendable. Like garbage.

Remorse? More than anything else, yes. Because, rather than try and figure out what was going on with this person whom I considered such a good friend, whom I knew was nothing less than an amazing person, I berated them to a relative stranger. Someone they hated.

I regret saying the things that I said. And even though it’s been months at this point, I still regret doing it just as much as the day I did it.

So I wrote this person a letter expressing as much as I felt they would be willing to read. I stuck this letter to their car door. And now I am leaving it up to them to forward this.

I do not think that we could ever be friend again. I do not think that I can trust them, and I do not think that they can tolerate me.

But I promised this person that I would always be there for them, and that is a promise that I intend to keep.

Because even if we continue to not speak from this point on, should they ever reach out to me, I will be there.

I mean that.

And even if I am not there to see them fly, I still want to know that they are in the skies.


Joy & Hating Kids

In two days, it is going to be my boyfriend’s birthday…

It still feels weird to say “my boyfriend.” Not because it’s the first time that I’ve been in a relationship or anything, but really just because this isn’t where I saw myself ending up.

Its been a rough year for my heart… there is no other way to put it.

But right now, even as I try harder and harder to find a reason to not be as happy as I am, I can feel absolutely nothing but joy.

Joy for everything that is going on in my life. Joy for having such amazing people in my life.





Chloe. (Who I literally just got off the phone with)

And of course, my boyfriend, the most amazing guy that I have ever met, Yuzhe “Andy” Yang.

I can not express to you all how amazing it feels to have you all as friends (or boyfriends lol). You literally mean the world to me, and I thank God everyday for allowing me this time with you.

I have met so many people over the years, and so many times have I felt that I would keep them with me forever. And so many times have I been let down.

You guys have never let me down, and I don’t think that you ever will.

I don’t think that you could.

But this post isn’t about my love for you guys, it’s actually just about me. And my love for me. Because, if I am to be true to myself, I should only be talking about myself. Right?

So I’m freaking happy, man.

I have let go of everything and everyone that was holding me back. Anything that has hindered my growth, and anyone that has hindered my spirit. I have tossed them all aside to make room for newer, better things.

Because I was holding on to some serious shit. And some really shitty people to.

And if you read this, and you feel like I’m talking about you, then I probably am. But then, people usually know when their shitty. So this shouldn’t be a surprise. But just in case it is…

You. Yes, you. The person getting offended. You are literally a piece of shit.

And like the dirt that I walk on, you are beneath me.

But, again, enough negativity. This is a positive post.

Stay positive, Mikey J…

So… to get back to where I was at the beginning… in two days, it will be my boyfriend’s birthday.

He’ll be 24, but I think he’s 26 in Chinese years. I run the risk of being racist by saying that, but he told me something about how traditional (old)  Chinese people count age differently.

I like that though, because it means I’m dating an older guy.

I’m dating and older guy…


I enjoy the sentiment of being the young man who seduces old people for money. Men or women, money is genderless.

And my boyfriend is a computer engineer, who is currently working for Microsoft.

You see the correlation there? I certainly do.

Foresight people. It’s called having foresight.

The only downfall is that he’s causing me to start thinking about kids.

That’s literally disgusting.

I lie. Yogurt is disgusting. Kids just kind of suck.

Fortunately, we’re in a homosexual relationship, so having a child would require a bit of fortitude, a lot of effort, and about $40k.

If I’m lucky, last part should speak to the frugality in his Chinese blood…

Because I hate amusement parks, and I don’t ever want to have to spend an entire day at one. And I wont have to.


Because I won’t have kids…

Because I’m gay…

Homosexuality: For people who hate spending $10 for lemonade, standing in line for roller coasters, and seeing people’s awful bodies in bathing suits.

You’re welcome.

Oh, how I do enjoy myself…



Mikey J

Poorly Worded Letter of Passion

Great Emporer An,

I know I’m always the first person to call something “gay,” but I warn you now. This is going to be super fucking gay…

Because this is a letter to you. It’s only for you, though I want everyone to see it. I want everyone to know how amazing you are. I want everyone to be as mesmerized by you as I am.

You are quite possibly the most amazing person that I have ever met. There is not a single flaw in your character. And I think that it is exactly that which keeps me so drawn to you.

I think that it is precisely the fact that you are a good person, that makes me want to be around you so much. And to be a better person.

You’re goals babe.

You have a level head, and yet you feel passion when necessary. You’re booksmart, but not to the extent that it prevents you from having social intelligence. You’re shy, but in the way that makes people want to get to know you.

You’re tons of things. But I think what is most important to me is that you are balanced.

To me, you are balance.

You keep me balanced.

Whenever my reaction is disproportionate to something, you are able to pull me back. I need that.

I fly off the handle pretty easily.

Everyone says that I’m acting different, but in a good way. They say I’m nicer (which fuck all of you because I’ve always been nice). They say I’m calmer. They say I seem more at peace.

And I don’t want to be that stupid movie cliché and say it’s all because of you, but you certainly helped.

So I’m feeling all of this right now, and we’re hitting the sweet spot, while you’re doing an internship in China.

For two whole months.

We will be in different time zones for two whole months. I won’t be able to hug you for two whole months.

I tried to get myself in the mindset of not being able to talk to you whenever before you left, but i wasn’t ready.

I can honestly feel the distance between us.

And it’s sucks. Because I already miss you.

A fucking lot.

And I think I’m falling in love with you.

And you’re in China.

And I have to wait.

Two whole fucking months.

Until you come back.

And I can tell you this in person.

To your face.

And watch the way your eyes light up as you smile.

I can’t wait for you to come home babe. And I mean it when I say home, because even though China is your real home, you belong here, with me.


Your doggie

Queer Struggle

This is a paper that I wrote a little over a year ago… I was going through my old documents and found it. I read it over, and while I cringed a bit at some of the grammar, and how contrived it felt as a whole, I did still like it. And it’s a great marker of my development in writing. So I thought I would share it with you guys…

Just a preface… The music video referenced is “Hurricane,” by 30 Seconds to Mars. You should totally watch it before reading, just so that you know what I’m talking about. Also, Jared Leto is in it, and he’s fucking hot. Here’s the link: https://vimeo.com/38704588

And here we go…


Queer Struggle: Hurricane (Thirty Seconds to Mars)

In 2009, the band Thirty Seconds to Mars released a self-titled short film for their song Hurricane. In it, the three men are followed by, and battle with mysterious masked men, and appear in sexual scenarios with women dressed in bondage type clothing. It is my deduction that the images depicted in this film are meant to represent the struggle and inability of the queer person to conform to the standards set forth by a heteronormative society, because of their desire to be accepted into said society.

The film is split into three chapters: birth, life, and death. I do not believe that these chapters are meant to break the film into any truly distinguishable segments, but rather to represent the mortality of the heteronormative standard in a queer space, as well as that of queerness in a hetero-space. In other words, the film is just as much about the inability of heteronormativity to penetrate the queer as the inability of the queer to penetrate heteronormativity. The two are forever at odds.

There are three main metaphors in the film. The first is the band members, who represent the queer person. I will refer to them collectively as Thirty. The second is the masked men, who represent both the struggle of the queer person, as well as heteronormative society. The third is every woman in the film. They represent the approved object of desire.

The standard set forth by a heteronormative society is that the object of desire for a male should always be female, or that the object of desire for the masculine should always be feminine. What occurs in Hurricane is a type of struggle between the queer male (or the gay male), and his inability to place his desire where society has told him that it should be. This struggle is shown through the depictions of violent fights between Thirty, and the masked men. The film’s sporadic “sex” scenes also depict this struggle, with the women being the objects that the queer person struggles, but ultimately fails to desire.

In the article Coming Out in College: The Struggle for a Queer Identity, Robert A. Rhoads analyzes fellow author Frank Browning’s take on queerness as always involving a degree of “rage.”[1] I think that this is a very good place to begin, as there is a great deal of violence depicted in Hurricane. Take, for example, the subway scene, about four minutes in. A masked man leads a woman dressed in what may be bondage gear up a stairway, and forces her to kneel in the center of a room. Thirty enters the same room, sees this woman, and begins a pseudo-science fiction style fight sequence with the masked man. As I have stated, the fight represents the struggle of the queer person, but perhaps more important than the fight itself are the individual actions taken by each character in the scene.

Upon initial entry, Thirty appears wary of the situation that he stepping into. As the masked man approaches him, he takes a step back before the two begin to fight, and the fight itself does not last very long. In fact, after a few very dramatic blows, it ends with the masked man stumbling off screen. This would appear to be a victory for the queer person. However, the reason that this is not the case is because of what happens immediately after, when Thirty walks over to the woman, who is now on her hands and knees, with her back arched, and kisses her on the lips.

He has fought with society in attempt to reject the standards that are being forced upon him, but he has ultimately given in to his desire to be accepted. This is his struggle and his failure. Thirty’s inability to reject the woman, or the appointed object of desire, is reminiscent of the queer person’s inability to reject the heteronormative standards forced upon them by a heteronormative society.

Heteronormativity is “an unseen force that dictates the boundaries of presumed normal sexuality and even normal social interactions.”[2] It is society’s way of keeping individuals in line with the way that it believes things are meant to be, and makes outcasts of those who do not fall in line. Because of this, the struggle of the queer person to fit into a heteronormative society will always result in failure. This is because queerness is the literality of difference. Thirty’s fight against the heteronormative standards being forced upon him, and also his fight to be accepted into a heteronormative society, always end in failure because he is attempting to conform, while by his very nature being different.

This paradox of trying to make conformity out of difference is shown about 7 ½ minutes in, when Thirty meets up with a woman (dressed far more modestly than any of the others) at a park bench. He approaches her with caution, sits down beside her, and the two begin to kiss very passionately. During this, the woman handcuffs Thirty to the bench, and gets up as a group of masked men approach. Thirty takes a key from around his neck, unlocked the cuffs, and fights with the men as the woman stands off to the side, observing. After the fight is over, she flees.

In Gay and Greek: The Deployment of Gender by Gay Men in Fraternity and Sorority Life, Anthony Clemons says that gay men in fraternities are able to be accepted because they adapt this sort of “white, masculine” identity, even though their being gay does not fit in with the rest of the fraternity.[3] This is similar to what occurs during the park scene in Hurricane, in the sense that Thirty is adapting a sort of hetero-identity in order to conform with the heteronormative society, however he is unable to do so because by his very nature, he is different.

His being locked to the bench represents his being locked into his queerness, and society does not accept queerness. This is why the men attack him. And even though he is able to win this small battle with society, he is still unable to conform to it and desire what it deems appropriate, and thus the approved object of desire evades him once more. Thirty may be able to act as if he conforms, however he will never truly be able to do so.

The representation of the innate inability to desire what a heteronormative society deems appropriate is present throughout the entire film, but at no point is Hurricane more effective at showing this than at the seven minute mark. At this point, Thirty is knocked unconscious and falls into a coffin wrapped in an American flag. The coffin is nailed shut, and Thirty remains here for a brief period of time.

In Sexual Orientation Conversion Therapy for Gay Men and Lesbians: A Scientific Examination, Douglass C. Haldeman writes that those who take part in conversion therapy do not become heterosexual. Instead, the therapy results in them feeling “shamed, conflicted, and fearful about their homosexual feelings.”[4] In other words, these people begin to suppress their homosexual nature in order to conform. They fall into a type of “sleep.”

When Leto is knocked unconscious by the masked man, who represents the heteronormative standard, he enters this “sleep” phase. He is not un-queered upon his capture; he is simply ignoring his queerness. This parallels with those who leave conversion therapy and ignore their homosexuality. However, just as Leto does in the film, these people must all wake up at some point. This is the struggle and failure of the queer person to conform.

It is important to note that the violence depicted in Hurricane is not reminiscent of actual physical violence, but rather the possibility of it. In Imagined Violence/Queer Violence, Judith Halberstam explains that it is this threat of violence that is able to disrupt identity.[5] In the beginning of this paper, I stated that neither heteronormativity nor the queer person could penetrate each other. With reference to Hurricane, the fight sequences are not meant to be taken as literal. What they serve as, other than representations of queer struggle, are representations of queer identity, and its struggle, being able to disrupt the order of a heteronormative society with the mere threat of violence. That is why Thirty is fighting. Conversely, they also represent the heteronormative society being angered by this disruption. That is why the masked men are fighting. The question now is: why is the heteronormative society’s resolve so strong?

According to Lee Edelman’s No Future: Queer Theory and the Death Drive, anything that goes against the societal mandates of sexual reproduction threaten the logic of futurism.[6] This is why, about ten minutes into Hurricane, Thirty sees a group of small children coloring with chalk in an alleyway. The children notice him, and run away soon after. The very next scene shows Thirty in another one of the “sex” sequences, only this time, he is between the woman’s legs.

The queer person is seen as not being for children. Children represent the future, and therefore anything not in support of children is not in support of the future. Heteronormative society’s primary goal is futurity; therefore it combats anything that stands in the way of that goal. Its resolve will forever be unwavering.

However, we mustn’t forget that the queer, Thirty, wants to be a part of this society. Thus, he gets in between the legs of the approved object of desire, the woman, in order to promote the goals of the heteronormative society, or to at least show that he is not at odds with it. However, the scenes of bondage that were present before this particular scene return.

Thirty is unable to follow protocol and promote futurity (at least by heteronormative standards) because he is queer. Therefore, his sex can only be queer. This does not mean that his sex must be homosexual, but simply that it is not with the goal of reproduction. And as reproduction is not set forth by his sex, society still does not accept him, even as he has appeared to accept the approved object of desire.

The adoption of the masculine identity recurs here, which is why the sex scenes appear to get more violent, in accordance with heteronormative standards of male dominance. The woman from the park re-appears, still running from Thirty, but he catches her this time, and they kiss again. This is more male dominance. The reason that this one last effort to be accepted into heteronormative society ends in failure comes in the last fight sequence.

Here, Thirty finally defeats the masked man once and for all. This fight is different from the other ones because this time, there are no women present during or after. Thirty, or the queer, have not conformed to the standards of heteronormative society, however there is no more desire to do so from this point on. I view the conclusion of the film as a type of resolution for the queer person. It is here that they realize that they are different, and that because they are different, they can not conform. Therefore, they no longer attempt to.

As I stated earlier, it is completely impossible for heteronormativity to penetrate the queer, or for the queer to penetrate heteronormativity. The two are by their very natures out of sync. It is often the desire of many queer people to be accepted by hetero-society, however they are unable to do so because the only way for that goal to be achieved would be for them to conform. This conformity would mean the death of their queerness, which would mean that heteronormative society hadn’t actually accepted anything different. Hurricane depicts the struggle and inability of the queer person to conform to a heteronormative society that wants to change them.


[1] 4. Rhoads, Robert A. “Coming out in College: The Struggle for a Queer Identity.” Choice Reviews Online, 32, no. 08 (1995). Available Online at https://books.google.com

[2] 2. Habarth, Janice M. Thinking Straight: Heteronormativity and Associated Outcomes Across Sexual Orientation. Michigan, 2008. https://deepblue.lib.umich.edu/bitstream/handle/2027.42/60664/jhabarth_1.pdf


[3] 6. Clemons, Anthony. “Gay and Greek: The Deployment of Gender by Gay Men in Fraternity and Sorority Life.” Honor Projects, no. 413, 2015. http://scholarworks.gvsu.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1414&context=honorsprojects


[4] 153. Haldeman, Douglas C. “Sexual Orientation Conversion Therapy for Gay Men and Lesbians: A Scientific Examination.” Homosexuality: Research Implications for Public Policy, 1991. http://drdoughaldeman.com/doc/ScientificExamination.pdf


[5] 193. Halberstam, Judith. “Imagined Violence/Queer Violence: Representation, Rage, and Resistance.” Social Text, 1993. https://www.scribd.com/doc/124309024/Judith-Halberstam-Imagined-Violence-Queer-Violence-Representation-Rage-and-Resistance

[6] 13. Edelman, Lee. No Future: Queer Theory and the Death Drive. Durham: Duke University Press, 2004.



  • Clemons, Anthony. “Gay and Greek: The Deployment of Gender by Gay Men in Fraternity and Sorority Life.” Honor Projects, no. 413, 2015: 6
  • Haldeman, Douglas. “Sexual Orientation Conversion Therapy for Gay Men and Lesbians: A Scientific Examination.” Homosexuality: Research Implications for Public Policy, 1991, 149-60. doi:10.4135/9781483325422.n10.
  • Habarth, Janice M. Thinking Straight: Heteronormativity and Associated Outcomes Across Sexual Orientation. Michigan, 2008, 2.
  • Halberstam, Judith. “Imagined Violence/Queer Violence: Representation, Rage, and Resistance.” Social Text, no. 37, 1993, 187. doi:10.2307/466268.
  • Edelman, Lee. No Future: Queer Theory and the Death Drive. Durham: Duke University Press, 2004.
  • Rhoads, Robert A. Coming out in College: The Struggle for a Queer Identity. Westport, CT: Bergin & Garvey, 1994.




Di Me Que Me Amas

At work the other day, a woman asked where I was from. When I told her that I was from here, and inquired as to why she had asked that question, her reply was…

“You have those oriental eyes.”

If you don’t see the problem with her statement, hop on over to Google and read up, friend.

I’m tired of being fetishized. I am tired of being told that I look different than most black people, because it is a fact, that most black people, look different than most black people. Its called a phenotype, and unless your name is either Tia or Tamera Mowry, I think it’s safe to assume that your genetic presentation is pretty original to you.

So, sorry, Josh, Jake, John, Jennifer, Justin, Jimmy, or Jan, we don’t all look alike. (Lol that was a joke. Don’t be offended white people. I love you, but you have a lot of J names.)

I don’t take it as a compliment when I am told that I don’t look black, as a way of telling me that I am attractive. Because when you say to me, “I don’t usually like black guys, but you’re gorgeous,” what you’re actually saying is, “Normally, I think black guys are ugly, but you don’t look like them, so you’re attractive in spite of being black.”

Well, news flash; I do look like them, Bitch. And my blackness does not detract from my attractiveness, it enhances it. And fuck you, Jeff.

But honestly, my issue isn’t just with white people and their tendency to sniff out otherness like bloodhounds on the hunt for the newest falafel spot…

… white people, you love falafel far too much to have elected this president. Now retreat to your corner of the room and eat the Complicit Casserole.


BUT MY BLACK PEOPLE! You don’t get to skirt by untouched by this matter. No, because when Miss June feels comfortable enough to look me in the eye and say that I look oriental, there’s a problem. And I’ll give it to you here, because I’m sure there’s at least one person who neglected to actually look up the issue…

A PERSON CANNOT BE ORIENTAL. A rug can be oriental. Rice can be oriental. Hell, even a wig, made from the hair of a Chinese woman herself, can be oriental. HOWEVER, a person canNOT be oriental.

They are fucking ASIANS.

And I don’t look Asian. So stop it Aunt Jackie. I look just as black as you do, if not more so.

But, it doesn’t stop there. Since we are on the topic of Asians, who tend to be the largest portion of my dating pool, and only God knows why, I have a little story.

I was seeing this Chinese guy a little while back. He was awesome, and we had a great time together. He taught me how to say a few things in Chinese, which I forgot almost immediately after he taught me, but it was a fun time.

And he was really hot. Like if any of you have ever heard of Jackson Wang, I mean on that level type of hot, dude. It was actually frustrating because I knew that he was way out of my league.

wu (This is Jackson Wang)

We were definitely getting more serious, which was why no one knew we were dating. (I tend to not talk about the people that I can see myself getting serious with, due to a superstitious fear of ruining it.) But, things kind of came to a halt when he began to tell me about his parents.

The conversation went as follows…

Slightly Less Hot Version of Jackson Wang: “M’key (because he could never say my name the right way) would you ever go to, China with me?”

Me: “Totally! I mean I’ve always been kind of interested in China, but I kind of don’t want to be killed.”

Slightly Less Hot Version of Jackson Wang: “Killed…?”

Me: “Well, I’ve always read that the Chinese don’t like black people very much.”

Slightly Less Hot Version of Jackson Wang: “Ahhhh, I see. Yeah, I would love to take you home to my parents and see the reactions on their faces. I would be bringing home a guy, and the guy is black! They would die.”

I still don’t really know what he meant by this, but it kind of hurt my feelings a little bit. It isn’t why we stopped seeing each other though, we actually just both stopped having time, or stopped making time. I would be remiss to say that this didn’t add to my lack of desire to see him again, though.

It is my experience that black is seen as bad. However, it is also seen as desirable. Therefore, if someone is black, the non black attraction must find a way to justify its attraction to this black evil. White people often try to justify their attraction to me by saying that I don’t look like most black people.

On the other hand, black people seem to want me because they also see me as other. And I guess, in othering me, they believe that I help them obtain the ability to step off of this black bus that society has relegated them to.

I don’t. I’m right there on that bus with you Tyrone. I just have a window seat.

As far as Asians go, I guess they just want to use me to give their sweet old mothers heart attacks. I’m OK with that though, as long as they are always within the relative hotness of Jackson Wang.

I guess the only people who haven’t ever done me wrong are the Latinx. So ven aqui, Papi, y di me que me amas.

Total sidebar, but has anyone ever seen a pregnant Asian woman?

Also, Native Americans totally exist. I’ve just never had much interaction with them, seeing as they were almost killed out by the colonials…

You’re fucking up, White People.


Falling In Love

Falling in love is the best thing ever. The butterflies, the stupid smiles, the endless thoughts of how amazing this person is and how lucky you are to have found them.

It’s a beautiful thing.

I don’t often fall in love, I think because I close that part of myself off from the rest of the world… because I don’t think they want it. Not from me, at least.

And it usually works pretty well. I don’t get hurt very often because I don’t allow myself to get hurt. And that saves me a lot of money on depression food. Why they have yet to  begin marketing an ice cream flavor called “he don’t want you, bitch” is beyond me.

They would have the market cornered.

But when I do open myself up, it’s like I step into this wonderful world of joy and happiness and all those other gay emoting phrases that I refuse to list out. You get where I’m going with this. It’s fucking awesome.

I’m feeling those things right now. I’m falling in love.

I never thought, after the way last year went, that I would find a person that could make me feel so good about myself. Like I’m actually worth their time. Like it isn’t a chore to be around me.


Because, you see, when you’re alone with someone, that’s when you really know. When you’re alone with someone, there are no distractions, no buffers, nothing to hide them from you, or you from them.

The both of you are forced, in that moment, to be face to face, with nothing but the other person to feed off of.

And sure, we have electronics, and music, and those awkward pauses when you can’t make conversation flow, but even so, the feeling of being with that other person is still there.

And if that isn’t something that you can handle, you will know.

And if that isn’t something that you want, you will know.

I’ve been alone with this person so many times in the last month. And each time just gets better and better.

I’m learning so many new things about them. And they’re actually really interesting.

And they’re beautiful.

I’ve known this person for years now, but it wasn’t until recently that I truly appreciated them.

And I’m not afraid to show them my true self. And because of that, I’m learning that this is real.

This is real love. And not that fake shit they talk about on the internet.

You know, relationship goals? Fuck that shit, dude.

I don’t want to waste my time with someone who dresses like me, or speaks like me, or has all of the same interests as me. I don’t want to date someone just so we can take selfies while sharing a four piece chicken nugget from Mcdonalds.

Seriously, thats how you bitches look.

You take chicken nugget selfies.

Do better.

No, I want to be with someone who is so different, who I have to take my time to learn about. I want to explore their interests, and have them reveal new things about themselves to me every day.

Of course, it’s important to have a few things in common, but whats more important is the willingness and openness to trying new things.

Take an interest in their lives. Don’t live them.

Otherwise, fuck the other person. Just go out to dinner by yourself every Friday night and jack off two to three times a week. It’s basically the same thing.

This person and I do share a lot of the same interests though. We dress alike too.

In fact, the only thing that is really different about this person and I are our personalities.

That makes sense though, seeing as this person is me.

The old me. The one who was happy, and confident, and loud, and less of an alcoholic.

This past month, I’ve been falling in love with myself, as I used to be, when I was happy. Because I actually am that person again.

And I think my friends like this person better. And I’m sure that the ones who haven’t met him yet will too. Because he’s fucking awesome, dude.

I’m fucking awesome.

And I hope that I don’t lose this version of myself ever again.