Easy A

Yesterday, I went to the movies and saw Easy A, it was $10.75, and more.

Lately I've been doing a lot of thinking about the word SLUT. Yes, a word defined as a woman with morals of a man (1).

I've always wanted to be some kind of whore, tramp, hussy, trollop, or slut. I've always wanted to be that wanted. I've always wanted to be so obviously wanted, just by my aesthetic and reputation. Unfortunately, I feel no need to stray away from who I am or my look. It's not in the cards for me, unlike most gay men.

I've always been allowed to express myself. I can look on an old polaroid from pre-school. I can see the day exactly. We had a discussion about bunnies, and we all went around and said something about them. I said, "Bunnies like to hop." I can only imagine how bad my lisp was before I hit puberty.

The teacher (who was ironically a whore herself, proven by the fact that when I was in 4th grade, she was fired for sleeping with the new, married, Principal) posted these quotes with polaroid pictures of us all standing on a step-stool. In the photo I'm grinning huge. I have my hands folded on one knee, which was raised. I was wearing a white undershirt, that fit a little too snug, as a regular shirt. I had on baby blue shorts that went half-way down the thigh, and knee-high socks with a purple and green stripe on the top, and Barney on the side.

Looking back, I think: I've always been gay.

I've always been obsessed with fashion, and I was always encouraged to be if I so wanted. I loved 3LW and Kelly Clarkson. I would practice singing. All of my friends in the neighborhood were girls. I played with Bratz dolls. C'MON.

Everyone always knew I was, I just didn't give official confirmation until I was in 6th grade, when I was introduced to public school and learned about sex. I told my friends I was sexually interested in men. It was like history. I think the only reason gay men go through a "slut-stage" is because they need to suppress their sexual desires for the least bit of time. Seeing as how I never had to do that, I've completely avoided this stereotype.

As bad as I want to be a whore, I'm glad that I come off as a stuck-up, cold-hearted, disinterested bitch, and completely unapproachable.

I'm a five-star fag, would you expect anything less?

$$$

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade...

When life takes your money, make more of it...

Just my luck that I have to be born into a place where I have to struggle with my own finances at 17. What happened to the day when mommy and daddy took care of everything, and you just knew everything would be alright. Since the age of 14, I've had to work to get anything I've wanted. Sure, it has taught me a ton, but it hasn't allowed me to enjoy my teen-hood.

Making $150+ a week at my age seems impressive, I know, and I should be more grateful. But when you know you're going to have to put your car on the road yourself, insurance and all, You start to panic. When you have to pay $300 for your senior page, that everyone else's parents pay for, it makes you stressed, and upset. I have to pay $100 for my own senior trip, and i have to get my own prom tickets.

I've been dreaming of a prom outfit for months, and it kills me inside that I know I'm going to have to go to S&K like everyone else in the United States to get my tux, because I'm so broke. I bust my ass to stretch my money, and make things easier for other people by paying for myself.

I bought all of my own school clothes this year, to make things easier for Aneta.

I feel like she isn't even grateful.

And if my cunt of a manager knew that I deserved hours more than people like Bovan who lie and cheat, I'd be thrilled. It's true though, good guys finish last.

I promise myself that when I run my own life, I'll always be able to live comfortably.

Money makes the world go round. That doesn't sound quite right? Does it?

I Am Caesar Smithe

Late last night I decided that I really am Caesar Smithe, all of my qualities lately have owned up, quite fully, to the more outspoken qualities I possess.

Last night, I told off Alejandro, who hasn't quite reached the point of dead, like she who must not be named. I have been a very good friend to Alejandro, and his complete lack of effort in our friendship has been pissing me off for a little while now. He can be such a sweetheart, but such a whore.

Alejandro isn't the only one who's been getting on my nerves lately. One of my co-workers, Nigel. Nigel is a know-it-all. He is a men's specialist, and feels overly-entitled as such. He does great work, don't get me wrong, but he thinks he's such hot shit. He's just your typical, black faggot, who think's he's fashionable and has snaggle teeth. His boyfriend is ugly. I've also been informed by other mall employees that he's known as "The Slut of Gay.com" here in the area. You must be proud. Just remember Nigel, I've been Employee of the Month before, and you haven't... I'm better than you.

He told me in confidence, how many people he has slept with, so I will not expose that truth, even in anger. But let's just say it's more than 10 people (I'm choking laughing).

The third person to fill me with rage lately is my Mother.

A few days ago, my half-sister added me on Facebook. I haven't seen her since I turned 10. I haven't seen my Mother since then either. I would love to see the both of them. But why should I after they allowed Potter (the douche my mother is engaged to), to dictate who they spoke to. I guess I was a little too VIP for the list. Why now? Am I finally good enough? Was it my mother's idea, or my fat, half-sister's? Regardless, I'm still hurt, and I'm not pleased.

And with that said, I don't just feel, I act. I really people think that I'm an ass who curses too much. I'm honest, and I don't lose any sleep.

And I'm going to get what I want... as Caesar Smithe.

Summer Ends

In two days I go back to receiving my formal education. Ya, fucking, hoo.

This summer, I got my act together. I got my license and in about a week, I will be putting my very own car on the road. I will be independent and not worrying about anything, and doing what I want, on my time, with my money.

I bought all of my own clothes for school, and I took on fully my portion of the phone bill. Unlike Charles, I can handle bills, and take care of a checkbook. I act my age when necessary, and I've never been in a hurry to be older than I really am.

In about a year I will be heading off to school, I won't be home, and I'll actually be able to call all of the shots in my life. I can't wait.

It seems that a recent affair has led me to be baffled between my dream, and a romance. Love awaits me in Atlanta, where if I go to school there, I'll have to choose a completely different career path. My dream awaits me in Manhattan, the center of commerce where I'll have to open myself to a whole new network of people, and go to the school that I've dreamed of going to for the past year.

At times I feel that if I choose my dream job, I'll be so in love with my job that I'll end up being alone in my house with my millions, and a hairless cat. And now that a lover is making me question my dream, I feel he may be worth it. Maybe he's the new dream.

Through growing up, I'm still faced with some of my teenage issues and childish desires. I don't think I'll ever stop being so unrealistic.

Diane Dies

Today is one, of two days, that I got off from work this week. I decided to sleep in really late then go out with Diane later on. And I did just that.

Diane had come over sooner than expected. So instead of doing my hair, I just threw it back in a hat, and it looked fine. I took my time getting ready... doing my make up and getting dressed, since Diane had told me that she didn't mind how long I took.

When I was done getting ready we left quickly. We were on our way to her house. We were about 1/4 of the way there when Diane said, "I would have waited for you to do your hair, you didn't have to wear that hat that doesn't match."

I replied, "I wasn't in the mood to do it. And who are you to tell me what matches, you think your stupid heather grey cardigan matches everything."

She made a remark about me saying I was going to put some gel in my hair. And I explained, and I don't use gel, I only use hair spray. Diane began to raise her voice, and told me that I did say I use gel.

I got loud back at her and said, "Listen CUNT, you're wrong! I don't use gel, I don't even own fucking gel. You're FUCKING WRONG!" The car came to a screeching halt. She told me go get out. I did, and on the way out I said, "See you next Tuesday, BITCH," and slammed the door as hard as I could.

As I got out I noticed skid marks.

I only had a 30 minute walk home. It was beautiful outside. I enjoyed it more than anything I had done with Diane in the past few months.

No one has heard from Diane, since I saw her. Maybe I should be worried. Not being able to admit your wrong does have a price tag. Death.

Her cold sausage fingers texted me to try and win me over. I just kept sending her "Goodbye" in different languages. She left me a voice mail and claimed that I raised my voice first and I was being immature. She's just thick-headed. She always has to get her way. She should know by now, that in our friendship, I have always gotten my way before she ever has.

This bitch is dead to me.

Mr. Hilton

Mr. Hilton, you must be worth a trillion bucks...

A few days ago, a random guy added me on Facebook. Turns out he goes to a local high school, so I decided to keep him in my friends list, since he was obviously gay, and decent looking. He seemed really typical, nothing special. But let me tell you, I'm guessing his pictures are outdated...

On Wednesday, August 4th, he came into GAP Outlet, to come visit me. He had never been to the mall which my store is located, which was surprising since he didn't live that far away. Mr. Hilton looked much, much, more stylish and attractive than his photographs made him seem. He swiftly came up the side of the dominant column of the second "I wall" (a word used to describe the front display on a wall separating men's and women's), where I was working on separating newly marked down graphic tees from the ones that were still full price.

The night before he had told me he didn't like my hair (my hair). He told me it was too high and wasn't interesting. He told me it was boring, basically. I got over it, or so I thought. For some reason, Mr. Hilton's critique stuck. I haven't had hairspray in my hair in a few days. I've been wearing it forward (my hair).

This kid may seem like a prick, but you ain't seen nothing yet, bitches!

While the operator was clearly peacocking, he up-down-ed me. I thought nothing of it, people do it all the time. If only you knew how good my ass looked in these jeans, or so I thought. Before I could finish soaking up the looks in my mind he spoke, "Your jeans don't fit." I was like, mother fucking bitch say what?! Then he looked down on the 1.5" heel on my tan boots. He wasn't winning any points.

That night he IM-ed me and apologized profusely. He claimed, "I was really nervous." Who the fuck in their right mind insults the hottest piece of ass they've ever laid eyes on?! But whatever... after lots of guilt and conversation, we made plans for him to come over, today, at noon.

Aneta and Madame Dupont decided to go to the beach, leaving me alone with Mr. Hilton. We were talking the whole time except the last 30 minutes of his stay. At one point he said to me, "I"m definitely bigger." I laughed, climbed off of him, made myself visible (as did he), and I said, "Think again." His eyes lit up, and he bit his lip. He climbed on top of me, and kissed me...

Mr. Hilton, I like the way you push and glide.

Alejandro

Alejandro is a beautiful man, with a wide jaw, and an even wider heart. I could gaze into his green eyes until I go blind. He drives me mad, and there's a terrible delight in my heart when he's around...

Yes, I am aware that disappointment lives around the corner from perfection.

When I first met Alejandro, I expected him to be just another work of art I could be best friends with for a night, but as the days progressed, we just clicked. We share everything, like real best friends do. He thinks I'm beautiful, and I think he is as well, but we both know we aren't compatible, so the lust is enough for the two of us.

Alejandro was dating Xavier, who hardly deserves a name as far as I'm concerned, up until three days ago. Alejandro has just moved into a large city in the South-Eastern United States, and feels like at age 20, he's too perfect and freshly out of the closet to be tied down at this time in his life. That was his reason for leaving Xavier, who thought the sun rose and set on Alejandro, and was then deceived. Xavier wasn't very interesting anyway, in my personal opinion.

Alejandro told me he was going through a hard time, and didn't think he'd get back in the ring soon. In such a context, soon, means less than 48 hours. My stupidity is showing, I know.

Not.

So two nights ago, he decided he was going to invite Alejandro's Man 1, over. They drank wine and "watched a movie." In gay language that means, make out and fondle one another. I can tell he's having a real HARD time.

The next night, last night, he invites Alejandro's Man 2, over. He's a hairdresser, who met up with him an hour late, and made him walk up a hill to meet him because he's a mother fucking pansy. Anyways, Alejandro let him stay the night too. Alejandro had to go to work this morning with hickeys up and down his neck. And it showed all day. Wear them like the trashy, rebound badges they are.

What makes me so upset is that someone who came out of the closet only a few months ago knows more gays than me, and has more gays who want to be with him. I guess us gays who can't help but look like gays will never be victorious.

I struggle more, and have it ten times harder than the "straight-looking" gays and yet they always seem to be less proud. And they seem to receive more affection.

Don't wanna kiss, don't wanna touch.

Just smoke my cigarette and hush.