That Way

With age comes wisdom. Wisdom of oneself, wisdom of the world, wisdom of how the body works and what it likes.

Sex. Im hinting at sex.

I’m newly 22 (and I will hold onto that “newly” part for as long as possible because 22 is fucking old as fuck and it’s depressing). For the most part, I’ve known what I like and don’t like for a while now. For example, I hate being hugged from behind. That same logic can be applied to sex with me. DON’T FUCKING GET BEHIND ME.

And that is as detailed as I will get about my sexual preferences. Make of it what you will.

Being a part of the LGBT community, sex is weird. It gets weirder when you toss in that I’m not gay. I actually don’t affiliate myself with any one sexuality, but that is another topic for another time. In any event, because of that, I do find myself in scenarios with women pretty regularly.

In fact, until recently, the only scenarios that I had ever been in were with women.

Again, I’m hinting at sex, people. Catch up.

Sex with men always seemed strange to me, so it never happened. I hadn’t ever met a guy who I was interested in going there with. Until this year. I met a guy for whom I felt a level of attraction that I had never before felt for another male. It was actually a little concerning how much I wanted him. And I wanted to explore things with him, but of course these things never work out in the real world. Not when all any gay man seems to care about is hooking up.

Is that the basis of the gay male relationship?


Are we so underdeveloped and repressed throughout our lives that when we come of age, the only thing we can think about is penetrating each other? (I lump myself with gay men because it makes things easier to explain.)

Seriously, though. What ever happened to waiting? Did no one else sit with their mothers as I did and watch Tracee Ellis Ross harp on about her 30 day rule? And if you don’t get that reference, I ask that you leave now.

I can not explain to you how many times I have met a guy, gone out with him and had an amazing time, only to find out that he just wants me to invade his body. I have lost out on so many great guys because I wasn’t ready to hop into bed with them on the first date. Hell I wasn’t ready to hop into bed with the biggest headache I’ve ever had in my LIFE, and I knew him for half a year.

I mean I was ready. I just wasn’t ready ready.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have hooked up before. I still do (only once with a guy). However, I don’t hook up with a person I like because ruins my perception of them.

I know myself. And I know my intentions. However, if I meet someone and have sex with them too early, then I begin to see them as nothing more than a hook up. Not because I lose respect for them or anything like that, but because it makes me think that the only thing that they were after was sex with me.

Thus, if I like someone, I ignore every urge I have, with an almost robotic precision, until I feel like I have developed a deep enough connection and level of trust that we can go there and I know that they won’t be done with me afterwards.

And as I write this, I realize that that stems from my insecurities. I fear rejection, and I have never had to deal with it. Because of this, I suppose I reject everyone else in kind. If I don’t have sex with them, they can’t leave me, because we weren’t ever together… if that was what I wanted.

And also because men need to learn how to slow the fuck down. Learn my favorite cartoon before you proposition me.

It’s Courage the Cowardly Dog. Remember that. It could come in handy for you one day.

But I digress… to me, it appears that the only thing gay men are after is sex. They base their entire lives around sex. Their relationships are based around sex. They have several different apps meant to find sex.

TO BE GAY IN AMERICA IS TO HAVE A STEADY DIET OF- I can’t finish that because my mother may be reading.

Honestly though, I have exactly zero gay friends, but I am acquainted with several gay men. Only one of them is in what I would consider a healthy relationship.

He packed up his life and moved up to New Jersey with his boyfriend, I would assume because he got stationed up there. I’m not really sure why else anyone would move to New Jersey. But I watch the snapchats of them with their dogs, cooking together, just laying around and watching TV, and smile because it’s a beautiful thing to see.

And I hope he doesn’t get mad at me for using his name, but dammit Lambertine, I’m fucking jealous of you.

I’m jealous of you because that is exactly what I want. I’m not hunting for a random hook up right now, I just want someone to watch TV with at the end of the day. Someone to go to the gym with that with yell at me when I skimp on my squats and lunges. Someone that I can try new recipes on, that will tell me that they’re the most amazing thing that they’ve ever tasted even if they aren’t. BUT THEY ALWAYS WILL BE BECAUSE I AM BOMB AF IN THE KITCHEN.

I want someone who will want to be with me just as much before we have sex, as they do while we’re having sex. Who will then get up after we have sex, put my hoodie on, and throw my textbook at me because I’ve been procrastinating on my homework.

I want someone who’s pupils are just as dilated when they see me fully clothed, as when they see me naked. I want someone who’s desires exceed the physical. Meet me at least halfway.

I don’t think that I will ever be able to find that in the gay community that I have come to know. I’m sure it is out there somewhere, I guess I’m just not looking in the right places.

Also, just gonna throw this out there, but I am starting a date tab. I am tired of buying dinner for guys who just wanna hook up with me. I’m done. A bitch is broke. So from now on, if after one date you try and get me to fuck you, I’m swiping your debit/credit card and closing your tab. The bouncer will then escort you to the nearest exit, so you can leave. I don’t have time. In the words of my cousin/best friend, “That way.”

Which way? That way.


(P.S. Im going to text you about this in a second, but this post in no way reflects my feelings about you. We’re SOOOOOOO good, even though I think I got you sick… -.-)




One of the Libra person’s trademarks are the inability to feel completely comfortable when alone. That feeling of lonesomeness is also one that comes quite easily to the Libra, and because of this, they find themselves in constant need of company, companionship, human interaction.

I have always admired people who were able to enjoy their alone time. I’m not that kind of person. I lack the independence necessary to enjoy solitude to its fullest.

Solitude has, however, latched its claws into me and draped its long arms around my shoulders lately. I have never felt more alone in my life than I do right now.

It’s not for lack of company though. I more or less go out with someone every weekend. But that’s simply to enough for me. I miss being able to just hang out with someone and talk about random things. Or talk about serious things. Or be told that I think about things in a weird manner. I just miss… just hanging out.

I have not single friend in the city of College Park right now. Everyone has left. Well, to be fair, Taylor is here, but we never see each other because she’s always ridding a damn horse in her free time.

(Apologies, Miss Bendalin. Keep riding those horses. They’ll make you rich one day.)

Of course, I know other people, but no one that I would consider a friend. At least, not a good enough friend that I could just pop up at their door randomly. Or sleep on their couch. In their room. Even in their place. I don’t trust anyone else here that much.

So, here I am, a lonely young adult, struggling to get his education, and creeping closer to a life as a cocaine kingpin.

I could totally do it. If I tilt my face down 20 degrees, I look evil AF.

This is where Ejaz comes in. And I sure hope he doesn’t find this, because it would make for a very awkward third date.

“Hey, Mikey… so I saw you wrote about me… could you maybe not?”

“… Sure Ejaz… now just excuse me for a quick second while I kill myself in your bathtub.”

Back to it though…

Ejaz and I met a short while ago. He actually told me that he was scared to say anything to me because he thought I was too good-looking to be interested in him. Me. Has he not an eyeball in his head?

But, we’ve been hanging out from time to time, and I like him. He’s really interesting. He has opinions that make no sense to me, which makes me want to listen to him explain himself more and more. And he’s got the best hair I’ve ever seen before.

Like seriously, it makes no sense for someone to have hair as amazing as his.

And I like him, and I’ve been as honest with him as possible, but I find myself questioning something. Rather, Michelle said something to me and made me question something.

Michelle is really just my inner thoughts and uncertainties personified into the form of a sassy black woman who loves business attire.

I hope it’s not racist of me to call her a sassy black woman…

In any event, she brought up that I may just be lonely and using him to pass the time. Which could be the case. Maybe I am just using him to pass the time. But, what is dating if not just an elaborate way to pass time?

Why meet someone, spend time with them, get to know them, and do the whole song and dance, if not to pass time? Sure, you could say that it’s in order to find a prospective significant other, but at its core, all you two are doing is passing time.

It’s just in a way that’s more robust than watching Netflix.

Or Hulu, can we talk about how I haven’t seen The Mindy Project since its first season, and am now binge watching it because I am Mindy Lahiri.

Im so serious.


I think that right now I may be rambling, but that’s okay. I didn’t have much of a theme for this blog post, I just wanted to say something.

I’m tired of being alone here. I need a friend. I don’t want a relationship.

Well, scratch that.

I am in the preliminary stages of a relationship. BUT, I would love to have a friend in this city even more so. Someone who I could just open a beer, or a bottle of wine with, and play a video game or watch a shitty movie or go running with. I need a workout buddy. I need someone who’s down to just randomly go to a bar a get shit faced and then walk home trying to act sober in front of the police.

I need a fucking friend out here man. Because unless one of my friends moves back, this is going to be a very lonely year for me.

(BTW, I’m totally down for some pho right now because I saw a video on Facebook. Any takers?)

(ALSO, my cat is ok. I know everyone was worried when I said I thought she had gotten thrown away, but she was just behind my bed. Lena P was hiding from me, but she came home.)


Hiding in Reality

   So right now, I’m actually hiding in a public restroom. It’s not a stall, it’s one that’s an actual room, and I can lock the door and ignore all of the people who knock because they need to pee. 

   Sorry, my existential crisis is just a little bit more important to me than your bladder Rebecca. You can hold it…

   Anyway, I woke up today in the best mood I’ve been in in weeks. I had a really great dream last night, and it felt like real life. It was one of those dreams that you hold onto for the rest of all eternity because it just felt so real. 

   In it, I was living in my own apartment in New York. It was probably a much more lavish apartment than the one I will have when I move there in a year… but who’s keeping tabs? And in this apartment sat a friend of mine.

   This friend was lounging on my sofa, complaining about work, complaining about life, complaining about something, and I was telling them that they were being dramatic and that nothing could possibly be as bad as they were making it out to be.

   I know what you’re thinking. “This friend is the person who you’ve lost your marbles over, Mikey…” And you’d be right to say that. The friend in my dream was the friend who I’m putting through hell right now.

   But the craziest thing is, in my dream, as we talked, this random woman walked through my door. Now, I didn’t know who this woman was at first, but I also did. Does that make sense? Let me clarify things.

   In my concious mind, if that exists while you sleep, I had no idea who this woman was. But she was beautiful. And she smelled like vanilla. I kind of knew who she was when I smelled that. (Can you smell dreams? Well I did…)

  However, in my dream-self’s concious mind, I knew this woman to be my girlfriend. Which is why it would make sense that she smelled like vanilla; because I usually smell like vanilla. What could be more romantic that a couple that smells alike? 

   That is, unless the smell is unpleasant. I wouldn’t venture to refer to that as romantic? Repulsive, maybe?

   In any event, this woman made me light up with joy. I ran over and kissed her, and I felt the most content that I have ever felt in my life.

   And my friend was there, on the sofa, and he watched us. And he smiled at us. And then he threw a cat.

   I knew who that cat was. 

   He’s reading this, so he knows who that cat was too.

  And that was the gist of it. 

   I say all of this to say this. And I’m going to say it directly…

   For the past few weeks, I have put you through absolute hell. I have confused you, I have made you feel like a criminal, I have made you think that everything is your fault.

   For that, I am sorry.

   I am sorry that I put all of the blame on you for this. Because it’s not all your fault. A great deal falls on me too.

   I should have been more honest. I shouldn’t have let my fears hold me back. I should have just lived in the moment with you, just as you tried to do with me.

   I just couldn’t help but think you would be satisfied with me, for many reasons. My body, my race, my inability to conform to so many social norms. My inability to take you to fancy places. My inability to drop everything and just go to New York with you. My inability to satisfy you. (My mother sees this so I won’t specify, but you and I both know what I mean)

   This whole thing came from my fear of you. You scared me shitless. And I know that I wasn’t the type of guy that you had ever showed any interest in. And I wasn’t sure that if we got into things, that your family or friends would ever accept me either.

   Black. Outspoken. Extremely dinstinctivrlely dressed.

   But that is no excuse. 

   I am sorry for hurting you. I am sorry for making it seem like I thought you wanted to hurt me. I am sorry for ever even thinking that you wanted to hurt me. 

   You are amazing. In every way. I mean that. And you know me.

   You know that my heart is good.

   You know that the person you’ve seen these past few weeks is not me.

   Two days ago you told me that it wasn’t you who was hard to read, but me. I see that now. Even I don’t know how to read myself sometimes.

   Fear and inexperience is a horrible thing.

   But, this is my attempt at an apology. I hope you can forgive me. 

   I mean it when I say this, and I always have. I love you. And I don’t say that romantically this time

   I feel like you’re one of my best friends. And I’m treating you like you’re my enemy. 

  You’re not. You’re a great ally.

  I hope you can forgive me. Because I truly, truly am sorry, Rex.

   And since I know you read this, fucking come pick up your shoes. I spent money on these damn things and I’m not going to wear them. Idk wtf you think this is. Fucking asshole. -.-