Tag Archives: crush

the monster inside my chest.

2 Jul

the monster inside my chest.

i find myself wanting you
like a wave laps at the beach
hoping the grains will take notice
after thousands of years of longing

we could have been a whirlwind of
sea salt and skeleton bones
cracking as we’d collide
in torrid embraces
turning ourselves into dust

i imagine your kisses
taste of tree sap

but who am i kidding

you are nothing more
than a vessel for a
fabricated day dream
that i can never release
as it passes from body to body
searching for its next host

i have a crippled heart
waiting to be serenaded
but you are not my savior

but you are not my savior

Advertisements

A Confession.

21 Sep

Do you know what it is that you do to me? Do
you know what it feels like to observe you?
Do you know how hard it is to be in the same
room as you? Do you understand what it’s
like for me to want you? To want you to see
me? To want you to want me? To want you
to want me just like you want her?
Jesus.
Even in a room filled with a hundred other people –
at the least
– I can find you.
In the blink of an eye and a snap at the wrist
my eyes enshrine you.
My thoughts are drawn to you
like a smoker to cigarettes.
I am addicted,
and I can never get enough
and I will never get enough
and I won’t ever get enough
because I cannot bring myself
to stop this rush I
get when you’re around.
I do not dare.
It was only several years ago
you entered my world, only to ensnare
me with a simple “hello.”

You who found your way into
my life in a time when
I was so alone,
miles away from the only
place I had ever called
my home.
A green girl lost in summer.
I had no one.
I was completely on my own…
until there was you.
You.
So nice, so funny, so wonderful, so you.
And while you are not
beautiful, or overtly handsome in the
common known way,
and though you do not stand out in a crowd,
I would pick you out
every time,
every day.

Which has come to make me realize that
I do not want a college boy.
Some dumb teen turned adult, looking
for any whatsoever chance
where I will show some sign of weakness
so he can get into my pants.
No. With them I’m through. I no
longer want those insubordinate, intolerable, over indulgent  boys,
only you.
A goddamn man.
We barely know each other,
but I have been in love with you for years.
And you will never know,
and not because of age and not because of her,
but because this is one thing words and explanation
will always fail and falter.
So I stay respectively silent, I remain painfully quiet,
I lose my voice, my tongue, my peace of mind,
and do not speak…
this time.

————–*/*————–

I wrote this slam poem a year ago and then promptly tucked it away, figuring it was just that fleeting feeling of nostalgia we all suffer from on rare occasion. It took me a year to realize that, for me, this will always be a little more than just a passing phase, which I fear is more tragic than I can ever possibly say out loud. I’ll forever hide this poem in the pocket of my heart, knowing it will never be said to the one who needs to hear it most.

patton oswalt.

25 Jul

I have such a lady boner for Patton Oswalt.

I realize this is a rather pointless entry, as I wrote a much better, much more detailed entry that mentioned this infatuation already, but screw you.

Actually, I’ve noticed how this summer there tends to be a routine. Six out of seven entries a week are bland, boring, annoying, whiny and so one, and then one a week is pretty good. Well. Oh well.

Back to watching Patton Oswalt’s stand up!

Older Men in the Media :: A Twenty-Two Year Old’s Infatuation

19 Jul

I’ve been meaning to write this entry for a while now; for years, really. I’ve written about it in snippets from time to time, but I’ve never truly delved into the heart of the matter. You see, this is an entry about my infatuation with older men.

Wait, let me correct that statement:

Older male celebrities.

I feel it’s an important distinction to make. There are very few instances in my life where I’ve had crushes on older men that I’ve known personally, all of which were trivial infatuations throughout high school that never lasted long. Of course, I should also make myself clear that when I’m talking about older male celebrities I’m not talking about, y’know, guys in their late 20’s or early 30’s. Heavens no.

I’m talking about how I, a 22 year old girl, have many a crush on celebrities 40 years old… or older.

I’ve been dying to write this entry ever since I saw Seeking a Friend For the End of the World last month. I walked into that movie expecting to like it, which I did, but halfway through the film I started noticing how ridiculously attracted to Steve Carell I suddenly was. This immediately harkened back to when I had a crush on him when I was sixteen and saw Little Miss Sunshine. I think what hooked me first during Seeking a Friend was his arms (that man has been working out, I swear), but it escalated from there. I’m pretty sure the only reason I didn’t cry as much as I should have at the end of the film was because I was too busy drooling over him. When I got home I googled Steve Carell to find out he is, as of right now, 49 years old. This left me thinking about the cumulative of my crushes on older men in the media.

Steve Carell in argyle? My vagina approves!

I’ve always pined after older actors, even as a kid, not to mention ones that are a bit… random. I’ve never really fantasized about the Brad Pitts or Matthew McConaughey’s of the world. I mean, as an example, here are my list of July celebrity crushes:

  • Steve Carell
  • Jason Tam
  • Jonah Hill
  • James Cagney
  • Patton Oswalt

I guess the most normal crush of the group would be Jason Tam; a Broadway actor who’s only 8 years older than myself. Is that a bad thing that that’s enough for me to deem him a “suitably aged” actor to crush on?

Then there’s James Cagney who’s, y’know, dead now.

Jonah Hill’s only six years older than me, but then again, I’m the only person I know of who’s actually got a crush on Jonah Hill (don’t judge me, Zach). The funny thing is that this crush occurred while watching 21 Jump Street. What’s that? I watched a movie starring Channing Tatum and walked away with a crush on Jonah Hill? Yup. Only me.

Last night I watched Young Adult, which was what gave me that final push to write this entry, because it occurred to me that I’ve had a crush on Patton Oswalt since around 2008. Patton’s forty-three years old now, making him basically twice my age. Not only that, but how many people in this world have a crush on Patton Oswalt? I doubt many.

Yup. Both of them. I would.

I’ve always had crushes on older, more obscure actors. I mentioned it in the past, but in the second grade I had a major celebrity crush – my first celebrity crush ever, actually – on Nathan Lane. When he was 41 years old, and I was only seven. Then around the same time I had a crush on David Thomlinson, ie. the grumpy-as-fuck dad in Mary Poppins, who was 47 when they made that movie. Who the fuck crushes on the grumpy dad in Mary Poppins the 3rd grade? Me, that’s who.

Yeah. I don’t understand either.

Other obscure actors I had crushes on before I turned eleven years old are: David Hyde Pierce (Fraiser), John Lithgow (3rd Rock From the Sun), Alfonso Ribeiro (Fresh Prince of Bel Air), William Daniels (1776), Roscoe Orman (Sesame Street), Brad Garrett (Everybody Loves Raymond), and Salem (Sabrina the Teenage Witch).

Yeah. I had a crush on a cat puppet when I was nine. I don’t know what that says about me.

Maybe it was for our mutual adoration of food…?

For my birthday this year, my brother gave me a copy of John Lithgow’s autobiography, which led to me laughing loudly and yelling, “THIS IS THE BEST”. I don’t think he realized I reacted in such a way because of my random John Lithgow crush that still, to this day, exists. (Fact: this entry came dangerously close to being entitled “My Dirty Little Secret: I Would Fuck John Lithgow.”)

As I’m sure you’re all saying, “Yes, yes, Julia, we get it, you’ve had some weird crushes in your life”, let me shove even more evidence in your face. Here follows a list of every male celebrity 43+ years in age that I have: drooled over, crushed on, fantasized about, wanted to marry, and/or been the cause of the exclamation “I WANT TO HAVE HIS BABIES.”

Hugh Jackman (43), Peter Dinklage (43), Sam Rockwell (43), Patton Oswalt (43), Mark Ruffalo (44), Peter Linz (45), Robert Downey Jr. (47), Rob Lowe (48), Stephen Colbert (48), Steve Carell (49), Ralph Fiennes (49), Greg Kinnear (49), Conan O’Brien (49), Jon Stewart (49), John Slattery (49), George Clooney (51), Stanley Tucci (51), Michael Cerveris (51), Colin Firth (51), Ricky Gervais (51), Steve Whitmire (52), Dylan Baker (52), David Hyde Pierce (53), Brian Stokes Mitchell (54), Christoph Waltz (55), Alan Ruck (56), Michael Emerson (57), Dan Aykroyd (60), Geoffrey Rush (61), Bill Murray (61), Bill Nighy (62), Tom Wilkinson (64), Richard Jenkins (65), John Lithgow (66), Donald Sutherland (77).

What a list.

Of course, many of these are still deemed highly appropriate to crush on. George Clooney. Rob Lowe. Ralph Fiennes. I mean, what human isn’t in love with Colin Firth? And ever since The Avengers it seems like everyone wants in Robert Downey Jr.’s pants…  but it’s impossible to deny that there are some strange crushes on my list.

This, however, should not be one of them. Look at that face. I would lick that face.

I could go in depth analyzing my infatuation of the older male (the first person who says I have an Elektra complex will get shanked), but, quite honestly, there’s just something… nice about men. There’s an air of sophistication and maturity to them. They have family values. They know who they are. They have mature tastes and interests. They’re like good wine, aged to a perfect year. I’ve dealt with my share of boys, and they always leave me feeling like shit, so maybe there’s some inner desire to grow the fuck up and settle down. What’s strange though is that, while I spend plenty of time fantasizing about all the men I’ve just listed, I have no desire to actually be involved with any older man at my current age. I just like looking at them is all.

Do I have normal celebrity crushes? Of course. Chris Evans, Aaron Paul, Josh Hutchinson, Ryan Reynolds, Ryan Gosling, Jason Segel, Darren Criss, they’re all welcome to the party in my pants as well.

Conan, Colbert, and Stewart all have VIP access to my pants party though.

Is this a weird thing to write a blog entry about? Most definitely. But the likelihood of me actually meeting any of these men and getting in a situation where my pants party theory could actually happen is highly unlikely, so for now just let me dream. There’s a pants party and all the men mentioned above are welcome.

(Except you, Channing Tatum. Go the hell away.)

as the winter winds litter london with lonely hearts.

20 Jun

It’s hard to believe for five months straight I defined you as my reason for getting up in the morning. The reason I was at a computer 24/7; my sole reason to smile every day. It’s not that you aren’t that any longer. You still are, sort of. Not as much though. We just drifted, didn’t we? And maybe I opened my eyes and came to the realization that I know nothing about you. Nothing of major importance, at least. Knowing your favorite television programs and how we both dislike school and both adore Muppets is one thing, but when one has such powerful emotions for another I feel like they should probably know a little bit more about the other’s personal life. And maybe one day you’ll open up to me, and I to you. Maybe we’ll become close again, and then maybe one day our paths will finally cross and we’ll finally have that firework moment, but for now this is probably for the best. You’re still the boy who made me blush, though my heart no longer jumps quite as high when we talk. What a pity.

I never know what to do when I find myself crush-less. I feel awkward. Too much empty space in my mind; too much free time and not enough to think about. How am I supposed to fill the emptiness without a boy to fantasize on? Without a crush, my mind wonders towards poverty, famine, over population, war, intolerance, consumerism, and I become sad and scared. I do not like fearing a world that I crave to be in. My mind longs for the idleness and fluff of a crush to occupy the space. Is that a bad thing? That I’d rather pine after a boy who I have no chance of being with instead of focusing on real world issues? Maybe, but it’s the only way I find that I can truly cope in this life.

I know we live in a day and age where women are strong and empowered. I’m supposed to enjoy being single. I’m not supposed to need a man.

“I am woman
I am strong
I am confident
I am independent
I am omnipresent
I am self reliant.”

But Ilike having crushes. It’s what Iknow. I am always the girl with a crush. When I have no crush to hold onto it’s like I lose a bit of myself. There is almost always someone to offer my heart up to, and when there isn’t I’m left holding my swollen heart in the palm of my bitter hands, watching on as the blood pulses betwixt my fingers, and wondering what I should do with it.

So I’ll tuck my heart back inside the left pocket of my breast and move on. I suppose it’s for the best, but I already said that, didn’t I?

I do not need a man. I know this. I’ve always known this. I get along just fine on my own. I will continue to persevere, this much I know. I do not need a man. I do not need a man. I do not need a man.

But maybe I’d really like one anyway.

Roger Waters is Gay.

18 Jun

First and foremost, this has absolutely nothing to do with the lead member of Pink Floyd. Sorry to disappoint, but I know nothing about that dude. (Plus I’m fairly certain he’s not gay.)

This entry has been something I’ve wanted to write about for a while now. I’ve never really had much motivation to start it, but sometimes something in your life happens and you are given that push you’ve been looking for. Suddenly you have to write a piece or you will just die inside; the words choking at the edges of your fingertips, aching to be written. That’s one of the things I love most about writing. You can go from zero to a hundred in a matter of seconds when it comes to motivation, simply because of a single image that you see or a single sentence that was spoken to you.

I called up my dad this morning, what with it being Father’s Day and all. I can’t remember the last father’s day I spent with my old man, so every year I see it as my civic duty to make up for my lack of presence in Portland by having a nice, lengthy chat with my him over the phone. We talked about the normal things: grades, moving into my new apartment, my brother taking him out for a Father’s Day dinner, my cat, OSF, my upcoming camping trip, etc. Then, somehow, we got onto a certain topic. I’m not really sure how it came about, seeing as my memory is incredibly short-term for things of this nature. I think it started when my father began talking about someone I went to elementary/middle school with wanting to host a class reunion. I went to the same Kindergarten through 8th grade school for nine years, where my entire class consisted of thirty students. Not thirty students per class in the grade, I’m talking thirty students in the entire class. Sure, a student or two would transfer out/in almost every year, but for the most part there were always thirty students there (I was part of the core twenty students who were there for all nine years). A reunion would be easy to accomplish, seeing as there are so few of us. Then, as my father and I talked about whether or not I might be in Portland for said reunion, if it were to happen, a name popped up. The name of the guy who I was insanely in love with from second grade until I graduated from eighth grade. We’re good friends with this guy’s family, so it didn’t strike me as odd that we were talking of him. Then my dad said gravely:

“I don’t know if you’ve heard the news…”

I, of course, instantly thought he was going to tell me that this guy’s dad died in a forest fire. Or his mom was bludgeoned to death by a toaster. Or his younger sister was trampled by a rhino. Or his even younger sister was killed in midst of a freak bungee jumping accident. I’m sorry, but when someone says “I don’t know if you’ve heard the news…” in a fucking grave voice, my brain instantly jumps to death. I should know better by now with my dad, seeing as he once called me while I was in a movie theater three times and then left me a voicemail saying “Hey, we need to talk…” in the most serious voice ever, and when I returned the call I learned that he only wanted to ask how I felt about being flown up to Portland to see a national touring production of Les Miserables. I had thought he was going to tell me our house had burned down. My father. The Michael Scott of my life through and through.

Anyway, I replied with the expected, “Um, I don’t think so. What news are you talking about?” and here is what my father then revealed to me:

“I don’t know if you’ve heard… it’s fairly recent news… I’ve only known a couple of months… but Roger Waters is gay.”

First of all, no. The great love of my youth is not really named Roger Waters. Just a pseudonym. A really awesome pseudonym. (Which I’ve now just learned is the name of the main member of Pink Floyd, which was probably tucked in the back of my subconscious when I choose this name, but fuck it, I’m sticking with it.)

Second of all, I freaked the fuck out.

I was flabbergasted; shocked out of my mind. Gay? The boy I spent a third of my life mooning over was gay? What followed was a repetition of the phrases “What?!” and “You’re joking me!”, while also throwing in a couple “Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay!” phrases, to let me dad know that I wasn’t trying to be judgmental of his orientation. My dad went on to explain a bit how the news had come out and it was still a new development, which I listened to… But… Roger Waters… gay? I’ve been in contact with him for a while now and I see him at least once a year. Had the signs been in front of me all along? Had they been in front of me as a child too? I’ve always known I have ridiculously poor gaydar, but man, I’ve known Roger Waters for fifteen years now. I just really did not see it coming. At all.

This photo makes me want to jump into a TARDIS and warn the younger version of myself of this news. It also makes me want to commend my brother for being consistently more adorable than I was throughout our childhood.

You’ve got to understand what I went through with this guy. No, Roger Waters and I were never involved, although sometime in high school he once said he had a crush on me in the fifth grade (which I now somewhat call into question). I spent seven years being unconditionally in love with this kid. I wrote poetry for him in the sixth grade; beautifully awful poetry – which I still have – while I should’ve been listening to Mrs. Robinson’s final period geography lesson. I wrote up diary entries in the fourth grade that generally were along the lines of “I wish Roger Waters would be my boyfriend” or “Roger hugged me today! I’m happy!” I even made him my boyfriend in some of the (awful) fanfictions I wrote in my youth, but only for the fandoms that had no male present that I wanted my OC to be with (here’s looking at you, Star Wars). There have been many a summer spent with this kid and many vacations gone on together with our families (spring breaks in Palm Beach or Bend, summers in Mexico or Seaside, you name it). The first time I ever danced with Roger Waters at one of our many school dances was in the sixth grade to Kelly Clarkson’s ‘A Moment Like This’, which you might think is weird that I can still recall after all these years, but that’s how momentous it was for me at the time. The first sex dream I ever had? Roger Waters and me. Of course, it was the most incorrect sex dream that’s ever taken place, as my fifth grade mind didn’t fully comprehend what else happens once two people were naked and in bed together. Then for months and months, in the sixth grade, I listened to the Les Miserables 10th anniversary edition of Lea Salonga’s ‘One My Own’ and sobbed, all because Roger Waters was dating Angelica  Putcelli (fake name as well) and not me. My little sixth grade heart could not take the idea of Roger Waters holding hands and sharing Baskin Robins ice cream with some other girl after school who was not me. And maybe, even after all these years, Roger Waters would still sporadically cross my mind and I would think to myself with a smile, “Wouldn’t it be the kicks if he and I ended up together someday? After all this time?” I hope you now don’t think I’m over exaggerating when I say that this guy, from age seven to age fourteen, was my world.

All of this equals out to why, after finding out from my dad, I went to Roger Water’s Facebook page and started yelled, “WHY COULDN’T YOU HAVE JUST TOLD ME WHEN I WAS TEN?” And of course he couldn’t have told me when I was ten, because he was also only ten. It’s not fair for me to jump to conclusions about his knowledge of his own orientation at the time of elementary/middle school, but it’s just… it’s just frustrating.

And up to this point you’ve probably thinking, “Chill the fuck out, Julia! You haven’t liked this guy for eight years. What’s wrong with him being gay?” There’s nothing wrong with him being gay and while I haven’t liked him in years… well… you see, lovely readers…

This is not a first time experience.

I have fallen for many a gay male, which was something I often joked about throughout high school, but you see, in the last year it has gone from a hilarious coincidence to something that is just plain fact: I am attracted to gay men. Not all gay men, mind you, and the attraction tends to end once I learn that they are gay, but it has happened far too many times for it to be just a comical coincidence. Maybe my mistake is unsuspectingly falling for guys who are involved with theatre because, as much of a stereotype as it may be, you can’t deny that there aren’t a lot of really attractive, funny, amazing gay men who do theatre. Not counting Roger Waters, in the past I have fallen for nine gay males, all of which are involved with theatre. Roger Waters is the first crush to ever turn out to be gay that is not actively involved in theater, so I guess that’s…. new?

Roger Waters was also the first guy I was ever in love with. Legitimately. A crush that lasts for seven whole years? Even to this day the longest crush I’ve ever had has been only a couple years. Let’s just say there were a lot of deep emotions when it came to my feelings for Roger Waters, or at least as deep as an eighth grader can get. Looking back on every crush and infatuation I’ve ever had, I really think only four crushes have been actual love, and Roger Waters was clearly the first one.

The thing about that though is, the third crush I ever fell in love with? Yeah. He came out to me a little over a year ago. When he did I made it very clear that I supported him and still wanted to be his friend, but the guy had taken me out on couple dates several months back when I had asked him out initially. As happy as I was for him finally coming out of the closet, it still felt a bit like a slap in the face to have been led on in the first place.

But let’s not stop there. Know what else? My first two celebrity crushes that I ever had when I was in the second/third grade? Nathan Lane and Lance Bass. How many eight year old girls do you know of that have crushes on Nathan Lane? None, that’s how many. I’ve had an abundance of other crushes over the years on gay celebrities, from David Hyde Pierce to Neil Patrick Harris, from Alan Cumming to B.D. Wong. The best crush I ever had on a gay celebrity was John Tartaglia, who I ran around sophomore year of high school telling everyone I was going to someday marry after I discovered Avenue Q, until Maddie Standish finally had enough and wrote on my Myspace wall, “You do know that he’s gay, right?” which incoherently broke my heart, because I guess I really thought I had a chance with him… which is dumb on very many levels. Also, John Tartaglia is a very obviously gay man. Oh silly, dumb, fifteen year old Julia. You make me cry laugh.

“Screw you all! You can keep Justin Timberlake and Jack Dawson!” eight year old Julia yelled from the tire swing set on the Holy Family playground. “I’m way too busy crushing on the middle-aged gay man who was in Mousehunt and makes for one sexy meerkat!”

Needless to say, I find it a bit unsettling that I’m initially so attracted to men that, in every way, are unattainable. I will repeat, I have nothing against gay men and I’m not saying that they’re using some form of gay magic to trick me into falling for them (although…), this is really something that makes me worried about, well, me. That I am so consistently falling for men who have no desire to be with me in the way I want to be with them. It’s happened so many times that it can’t be coincidence anymore.

So, that being said, let’s examine my relationship with the homosexual male.

Looking back on my life, I’m not exactly sure when the term “homosexuality” or “gay” entered my vocabulary. I’m pretty sure slash fanfiction was my introduction to gay culture, which is sort of a terrible way to be introduced (especially since the majority of slash I read in middle school was for Newsies and involved the guys having lots of really hot sex and… yeah, okay, that was really it). Actually, y’know, I think the episode of The Simpsons – I think there was a Santa Robot in it? –  where Homer has a gay friend might’ve introduced me to the idea of same sex relationships… which actually, y’know, isn’t the worst introduction ever. Think about it. Homer freaks out when he realizes his friend is gay, but in the end comes to terms with it and is totally fine with his friend’s orientation. For all I know, Simpsons could be the very reason I’ve never been homophobic. Thanks, Matt Groening, for making me a well rounded person! (I guess my parents, who are/were the most tolerant people I’ve ever known probably had a hand in it as well… but screw it. I’m just gonna chalk it up to Matt Groening.)

What I do know is that by the time I reached high school I thought gay men were the bee’s knees. This probably came from all my hours of watching Will and Grace after school, which then led me to believe that every gay man was exactly like Will or Jack. (I actually remember my brother going on a long spiel about how I was going to grow up and live with David Hyde Pierce, which resulted in him saying “He’ll be the Will to your Grace!” a lot.)  I became obsessed with the idea of having a gay best friend someday when I was in high school, and I talked about it nonstop. Needless to say, I was a strange teenager, and when I grasped an idea I would not shut up about it, so if you knew me in high school chances are my perception of gay males was a bit… terrifying.

I mellowed out in college and, while I never did gain a gay best friend (unless there’s something you’re not telling me, Nick!), I have gained plenty of gay friends. I do not, as I would have in high school, obsess over their orientation and drag them to go shopping with me, because I understand now that they are people and I cannot mold them to fit an idea, or, rather, a stereotype. Not every gay man is a Will, and not every gay man is a Jack. I even know some gay men that I find positively unpleasant, which probably would’ve blown fourteen year old me’s mind. I also learned that one of my cousin’s was gay about two years ago, which then resulted in me being grumpy as all get out with my family for leaving me to figure it out on my own. I am, as always, the last person who knows anything in the Allegretto family.

That being said, why is it whenever a guy in a TV show is introduced as gay he becomes my favorite character? Why do I always go on about wanting a gay son someday? And why am I so attracted to gay men?

Firstly, I think the reason gay characters in TV shows tend to be my favorites are because of how they’re written. Or at least how they were written in the shows I watched throughout high school. They’re usually sassy, funny, and have interesting plot lines, and more often then not they’re made into the comedic relief of the show, which I tend to have a soft spot for. Before I had ever met, or been aware that I’d met, a gay male back in high school, I tended to think that every gay guy in life was like Marc from Ugly Betty, Jack Harkness from Doctor Who, or, again, Will or Jack.

As for wanting a gay son, well, I’ve also planned out wanting to have twin boys, a geeky daughter, and an adopted daughter. It’s more just me wanting to have a diverse, large, happy family.

And why am I so attracted to gay men? Well, I do have a type of guy that I like. I like guys that: can make me laugh, can hold intelligent conversations, are clean, have a great personality, and are more talented than myself. Every guy I’ve liked in the past, I don’t know, ten years or so has fallen into all of those categories. All other things I like in a guy (can sing, arm muscles, geeky, etc.) are perks, but not exactly something I’m specifically looking for.

I’d like to think the reason I keep falling for gay men is because of these qualifications and not because I’m subconsciously terrified of commitment, which I don’t think I am. All the gay males I’ve fallen for generally fit into these categories of what I look for in a guy (except one, who is the messiest motherfucker I’ve ever met). They just simply happen to be, in my mind, the makings for the perfect boyfriend, which sucks for me, but at least they’re going to make some other guys really happy someday.

And I just shouldn’t be angry at Roger Waters. I’m sure he spent a lot of times debating his sexuality, and it’s not like I didn’t struggle with my own throughout the second half of high school, only to get to college to realize I’m very much into guys. But those two years of high school were scary. I remember being terrified as to how people would react if they found out. Nowadays Emma Stone is the only Lady Love for me… well, drunk me would probably disagree, seeing as she tends to have a thing for making out with girls at parties.

Nothing says “good theatre” like watching two girls mack on stage.

The thing is, while I’ve fallen for many a gay male and had my dreams dashed many a time, I don’t regret any of it. Lots of great friendships have come out of these crushes. I’m good friends with over half of the gay guys I’ve liked in the past, and consider many of them very important figures in my life. The friend that came out to me a year ago, the one who I was in love with, is now one of my closest friends in the world. I’m really happy and content with how my relationships turned out with all of them, in the end, even if I was pretty miserable at the start.

And you know what? Roger Waters most likely did not know he was gay in elementary school, or even in middle school. Or maybe he did. We went to a Catholic school, where coming out probably was never an option for anyone that’s ever attended that school. But even so, holding any angry feelings towards Roger Waters is just not fair to him. And maybe being in love with Roger Waters for seven years of my life wasn’t a waste of time. Maybe just the expression of the love I had for him helped me grow as a person; helped me understand heartbreak, as well as understand what it’s like to love with your whole heart. Maybe that feeling of flying as I got to stand on the spokes of his bike and put my arms around his shoulders, which was the happiest moment of my life for the longest time, was a gift that I still cherish to this day. And maybe if thirteen year old me were present she’d want to slap the shit out of Roger Waters, but luckily twenty-one year old me (going on twenty-two in 2.5 weeks) is a little more mature than that. I’d very much like Roger Waters to be happy, for him to find love, and for him to be able to feel comfortable coming out to everyone that he knows. We shouldn’t have to live in a day and age where people still fear the repercussions of expressing who they do and do not love. Love is love. It’s the twenty-first century. We should know this by now.

So good luck, Roger Waters. You deserve every ounce of happiness in the world, and I sincerely hope you find it.

Now let’s just hope Breaking Bad‘s Aaron Paul isn’t gay and would like to marry me.

Dear Best Buy :: Fuck You

30 May

Last night I dreamt of you. Your tallness proceeds you, even in my dreams. So do your eyes. We were on a train filled with other girls my age; you were the only male. I’m sure that says something about my low self esteem when comparing myself to other females, or some dream psychology mumbo jumbo like that. Anyway. I was on my way to do some important job related thing (the job, however, escapes me now), and you were accompanying me as a mentor of sorts. The stress of the trip was really beginning to get to me and I complained to you about a nagging headache. So you placed your long, spider-like fingers on my scalp and began to massage the precise area causing me grief. The feeling was orgasmic, and I turned to face you, your fingers now tangled up in my hair.  There was a moment where our eyes met, then suddenly it was our stop and we had to get off the train (but not before I threw a smug smile at the girls who were glaring enviously at me, ie. all of them). We walked through some undetermined city together, side by side, and off in the distance I saw The Avengers showing Spider-Man the ropes of working as a team. I asked you if you thought Emma Stone was nearby. You didn’t know who Emma Stone was. We kept walking. Eventually, we stopped to eat our lunch. You perched yourself on the ledge of a planter holding a tree in front of some fancy looking office building, and I stood facing you. We ate noodles out of yellow Tupperware; it looked as if it might have been Pad Thai. As we ate we made faces at each other, our mouths stuffed with food, and it was really unbecoming of the both of us. I had just shoved another forkful of noodles into my mouth when suddenly – without any warning – you vocalized how beautiful I was to you. I was speechless, and so you leaned in to gently kiss me. And what a kiss. After this, we parted ways. I’m not really sure what happened in between our separation (I probably went on to whatever the job related thing was), but later in the dream you sent me a note asking me to come visit you in your flat. I was flustered, and I hurried over right away. I remember quivering with anticipation as I knocked on your door. My eyes gazed on the address: 221b Baker Street. You opened it, smiled, and welcomed me in. You closed the door behind me, opened your mouth, and said –

And then Best Buy woke me up to let me know that it is going to cost $700 to fix my laptop. They waited for that exact moment to call me. They dream cockblocked me.

Best Buy is the reason I will probably never, in my life, get to have dream sex with Benedict Cumberbatch.

Fuck you, Best Buy.