How Bad Do You Want the Cheese?

I am a mouse in the middle of the gigantic labyrinth. I smell the cheese—I think it’s cheddar—but the stronger the aroma, the more dead ends I encounter. I am getting really frustrated with all the obstacles I need to cross in order to win my prize. I have been in this labyrinth for far too long damnit! I think to myself as I turn around the dead end and try another undiscovered path. I wonder if my other fellow mice feel the same way as I do.

Honestly, at this point, I am starting to enter into panic mode. The fibers that are barely holding me together are becoming unhinged one thread by one. Does God hate me? What did I do wrong?

I know I have the strength to keep on plugging through this maze. But losing sleep, getting sick, and constantly stressing about every minute of my day is not going to help me reach my goal. I cannot fail now. Not when I have come this far and endured so much.

I hate to always sound overly dramatic in always writing about my situations I encounter, but this is how I decompress the pressure I seem to be under. Like I have mentioned in the previous blogs: The pen(or in this case, the laptop) is the writer's scalpel. The only problem with this situation, a mouse in a maze, is I have another added variable to make the obstacle that much harder: I have a companion following me in this cheddar quest. I have a roommate.

I have known her since our first week at Biola University. She has helped me through a lot of once-difficult trials while attending the school. She, and our other mutual friends we met while attending the school, has grown very near and dear to me. However, upon my moving in, things seem to be falling apart at a more frequent rate; and the hardest part to my breakdown is that I am bringing someone down with me. And I am doing everything I can to keep her afloat, even if I have to submerge myself underwater to keep my dear friend from drowning.

Yesterday, I failed my Life and Health Exam. I studied my tail off for this exam, and when it came time for Judgement Day…I missed the mark. I did not shed any tears, but it put me in a weird contemplative state to where I am now contemplating almost every move I have made in my life within this past year. Is this what encountering a breakdown is like? If so, why isn’t God here to deliver me, or at least show me direction in my next step?

I thought I did good enough for the test, but obviously it’s going to take a more fervent effort to pass this major obstacle. With this job, I am promised an amount that will assist in making things in my life right again. It will be a path that will reward me a small sample of what success tastes like when I eventually make my way into the TV industry.

The one thing that rests in the back of my head in midst of all this: How bad do you want the cheese? It tempts me like a mirage in the middle of the Sahara desert. I can smell it’s pungent aroma, it has the strong scent that has enough power to make even my whiskers salivate with an indescribable longing. I thought I wanted this, but one of the new lessons I am learning in this City of Angels: I am going to have to want this more than anyone else if I am going to get by and survive while doing everything I can to make my life, as well as my living situation, right again. Maybe that will be the key to solving this labyrinth.

Plastic Surgery (Part Two)

“When are you actually going to get a REAL job???” My mother bit at me. “Something that has value? When are you going to actually be an adult and stop acting like a kid?”

Dark Pablo could not stand it any longer. The bitch is back, carrying more ammunition than Rambo.

“Fuck you mom.” I hissed while flipping her off. My mother’s face dropped in absolute shock. I tried to be nice. I thought to myself. Now it’s time to show you why you shouldn’t piss me off.

“You know damn well why I can’t get a job. Or are you too ignorant to see that too? I am doing everything humanly possible to get a job.”

“Sleeping in until ten in the morning, writing your stupid stories and blogs until late into the night, and spending time with your friends down in San Diego is not what you call job hunting.”

I think my mother forgot the whole fact that I am moving by the end of summer.

“You know, I can’t wait for you to leave, because hopefully you will grow up and stop acting like a kid.”

“I am counting down the days myself. I can’t wait to leave your stupid house, where there has never been an encouraging word uttered from your mouth since I graduated. You have been nothing but a grievance on me since I was a kid. You treat me like a kid and you don’t treat me like an adult.”

“Because you are immature.”

“Why do you insist on always degrading me. You do it in front of my friends as if it’s the next great American past time. That’s why I beg people to not come up to visit me, because all you do is treat me like shit.”

Want to know why my mom is bitter? She hates the fact that I am gay. So she will treat me like shit because that is what her church teaches her to do when faced with someone that has differing beliefs: treat them like shit until they change. Just watch “Saved.” My mom is an adult version of Hillary Faye.

“Oh we have to make it all about you? Because that’s how you win people over to you? You pity them with your pain until they sympathize?”

The conversation then segues to a very sensitive subject. I am just going to cut to the chase.

“You are going to do nothing but fail, because that is all you have done ever since you went online to meet that complete stranger and do that stuff with him?” (My mother is talking about the time I made out with a thirty-one year old guy when I was a senior in high school and had a freak-out. That happened, but there was something else that happened before that.)

Tears were coming down my face, I could not believe my mother had the nerve to bring back. So I had to tell her what really happened, because she wasn’t going to shut up. “Mom.” I declared very sternly. “Do you REALLY want to know what happened that night?”

“No I do not.”

“well too bad mom. I am not going to give you grace, because you choose to not give me grace. I was raped.”

“That’s what you get for not being where you were supposed to be.”

“This happened outside church after a seminar for the Billy Graham Crusade. A man followed me to my car, pulled a knife on me and told me to drive.”

My mom was silent. The only time she was silent. I was hurt. But I wasn’t going to give up, my mom is not going to win this fight.

“Where does this stupid mechanic of yours work?” She asked.

“I am not going to see him until I am calm. You really hurt me.”

“Well you brought it upon yourself. If you were responsible enough to save your money, act like a normal adult, and take care of your vehicles, you wouldn’t be in this mess. You either tell me where this guy works, or we are not going to get your car.”

The reason why my mom is being so persistent is because she needs to write another check. My parents filed my taxes so I can get a tax refund, and my mom has the tax refund in her bag and was not going to give it up until she visits my mechanic. The price tag to get my freedom back: holding my check ransom while using the liberty to attack me.

“You are just like dad when he beat the shit out of me when I was in junior high school and he dropped me off at church for youth group and told me to go make an ass of myself.” I fired back. “Don’t give me an ultimatum.”

My dad snapped one time while I was in junior-high school. He lurched at me and punched me several times in the stomach while hitting me in the face with a paddle that he would use to discipline me growing up. I had a black eye and several bruises on my body. When he did drop me off at church for the junior-high event. Everyone began to make fun of me, I only told one person of what really happened. Since that day, my dad was warned by the authorities that he was no longer allowed to touch me in his anger.

My mother was finally silent. Thankfully, the tears were starting to dry up by the time we arrived at my mechanic. I put on a fake smile and refused to look at my mother for the entire rest of the day. Once I got my car, I drove off without saying goodbye and made my way to the gym.

I called up one of my older gay friends, someone that a better insight in life. He gave me the most encouraging advice and allowed me to open myself to the idea that although what I endured was painful—and in some morbid way—this pain was actually a blessing.

“It will give you the ability to know, what are you really gonna do about it?” He counseled as I was listening attentively. “Are you gonna lick your wounds? Or are you going to stand up and make a plan of what you are going to do to make the best out of this?

“Family, as much as we may agree/disagree with them, they are stuck with us for the rest of our life. They may get in our hair, we may want to disown them, but no matter what you do, they are still family. However, friends are the family that we choose to be with for the rest of our life; because you are not going to want to associate yourself with someone that is going to say that to you right?”

The pain and the shit that I deal with on a regular basis is like plastic surgery. It is a bitch to deal with, it makes your body sore and swollen to the point where you barely recognize who you once were. However, it is when you begin to heal do you finally notice the results in yourself and see just how the clichéd phrase is truly dead-on: pain does equal beauty.

Plastic surgery is not permanent; if I go in and ask for it, you can bet your ass I am going to get another dose of the scapel, because pain is beauty. When living in such a vain society, sometimes beauty is all a girl needs to feel accepted in this world.

I may not like what is done to my body at times. My parents and the attacks that I receive from people in my life, they are the incisions that are made to my body. They create and inflict the pain in me. But what am I gonna do? Am I going to wail, bitch, and moan about how the scapel is hurting and beg for more morphine/anaestesia/vicodin? No.

The swelling that I receive post-op, that is the physical results of the pain as I spend time trying to recover…or figure out a plan to fight back and get better than what I was pre-op. I may look as ugly as hell, but I know that once the bandages come off, I am going to be looking delicious with my new boob job.

Plastic Surgery (Part One)

Friends are the family that we choose to be with for the rest of our life.

Chris Ramey

You can’t choose your family. They are with you for life, whether you like it or not.

Malcolm (Fox “Malcolm in the Middle”)

To people who enjoy pain, they are considered to be “masochists.” But of course finding joy in self-inflicted physical pain is not only weird, but it is considered to be nearing the verge of losing touch with reality. Then again, masochists can also be associated with sexual bondage, which can be erotic if with the right person. I am getting sidetracked, allow me to refocus the topic.

After spending two months in solitude in the city of Escondido, today was the day that I finally had my car returned to me. When I finally inserted the key in the ignition and brought it to life, I felt a sense of accomplishment, knowing that I had successfully saved the money that I needed to achieving a goal. For me, that is an accomplishment worth celebrating, because I am normally not very frugal with my money. But I knew that the longer I was going to take in saving my money, the longer it was going to be before I was going to move up to Long Beach and begin to start my new life. However, like all rewards and pleasures in life, there is always a price tag that is attached. How badly do you want this reward? It said to me as I pushed forward in obtaining something that belonged to me.

I woke up this morning with the idea that, by the end of the day, my car was going to be back in my possession. Just the fact of knowing that my freedom was hours away was so near I could almost smell the interior of my Honda Civic welcoming back into the driver’s seat.

I had the entire day planned: it was going to be a Mommy&Me day. We were going to begin our time together by visiting the library’s book store. I was going to be in search of yet another series of hardcover novels written by my new favorite author: Stephen King while my mother was going to be in search for the next classic first-edition to add to her dust-infested collection. When we did go to the library, I found two hardcovers and purchased them for 1.50. My mother received a call and was kicked out of the library for being on her phone in a place that was designated for being a place of concentration and almost-absolute silence. Once I made my purchases and thanked the cashier, I made my way towards the exit to reunite with my ever-rebellious mother so we could go to our next destination: to our car insurance office.

The main objective of our stop at the insurance office was so I could renew my membership as well as ask for a temporary renewal on my registration. On the way there, my mom informed me that my dad had called her while I was busy buying my books to notify me that since I had recently turned twenty-four, I was no longer able to stay under parents’ insurance plan and that I must get my own insurance. I groaned under my breath, knowing that this news was just more dollar bills that would leave my pocket upon payday. So I requested that we get a quote while we were there.

The insurance agent reached out and shook my hand as I followed him into his cubicle, my mother trailing behind me. We went through the routine amount of questions that was required of me to get a successful quote. My mom was playing with the cap of her pen, indicating that she was somehow nervous. I just ruled it out that she was insistent on annoying the hell out of me—which was successful. When he finally gives me a quote, I was going to take into consideration; but my mother, instead of wanting to leave, pulls out the checkbook to pay for it. I flashed her a quizzical look as I had now understood why she was nervous before the agent revealed the quote, my mother knew that she was going to pay for this. Then this is when I started to realize that before I was to get my car, I was to know the real payment that needed to be paid in order to receive my freedom.

He then gives me the bad news, my car was not registered for this year. I had already known that. Before my car broke down two months ago, I took my car into get smogged because I wanted to register my car. When my car failed smog, the mechanic told me that he could fix it, but I had already known what the problem was in order to pass the test: it needed a new engine. The very next day, my car breaks down while on my way to work. When I had explained my situation to him, he left to go to the DMV department on the opposite side of the agency.

Ten minutes later, he returns with a DMV agent, she begins to inform me of what I needed to do. I had already registered my car, but I needed to get smogged and registered. Since my car was late in getting registered, I was starting to rank up penalty charges. My mother then turns to me, in front of both the insurance and DMV agent, and says: “Why didn’t you get this car smogged before like a responsible person?”

Being twenty-four years old, I have grown to tolerate some rather unpleasant things in life, but being yelled at in front of complete strangers as well as being talked to in a condescending tone is something that I WILL NOT tolerate. Once my mother said thtat to me, the good side of the Gemini fled in terror and the Dark Side had checked herself in.

I looked at my mother in absolute disbelief that she had made that declaration in front of two people I don’t even know. I began to defend myself, but held myself back, because I knew I was not going to stoop down to her level. From that point, everything the two agents had told me had been a complete blur, because I was so angry at my mother. I was concentrating on holding in my Rage.

I know why I had neglected to get smogged: my car has given me nothing but hell since I had first purchased it in September. Once I had received the news that I was going to have to get my car smogged, my car began to break down. From November all the way until today, I have been from one mechanic to another. I could list all the drama that car has given me, but I will remain on topic.

The insurance agent concludes our time by telling me that he cannot give me the insurance unless I pay my debts to the DMV. My mom glares at me as she reaches for her pen and bites at me. “You owe us so much Pablo.” The only thought that is going on in my head was how much my mom is trying to make herself, as well as my dad, into being the victims when I have become the prey of their ridicule.

The agent directs us over to the DMV. As we are en route, My mom begins to write another check for the DMV while continuing on her roaring rampage of bitterness. At this point, I was starting to become fed up with my mom at this point. I tried to remain calm and requested that we table this conversation when we are in a more private environment and when I calm down. But she continues to go on, barrading me with reminding me of how irresponsible I am to neglect these responsibilities and instead buying stuff that won’t last. I interrupted her rambling by noticing a woman coming to help us out. “Oh, look, someone that is going to help us. Let’s act normal shall we?”

After my mother hands the check to the lady that had the patience to deal with my fake-smile as my mother’s rude manners, she hands me back the receipt to give to the agent so I can receive my insurance. Once having done both tasks, my mother and I made our way to our final destination: to retrieve my car.

As we were making our way to the car, my mother continued to bitch and remind me how stupid I am. How I am irresponsible and that I am due for a rude awakening when I am finally out on my own. Then she began to attack on a harsher level. And my Dark Rage could remain hidden anymore. It had to come out to play. When it did, all Hell broke loose.

Alternate Ending to the World

So the end of the world was prevented by one phone call. A series of ten digits that identify a person and their connections to the outside world. Who knew that these ten digits would bring about a series of events that would lead to a breach in trust.

When catastrophe is about to strike, our bodies switch to a “survival of the fittest” mechanism. This defense mechanism can, at times, lead to betraying people that we once held dear in order to keep ourselves still alive. It can also help surface the people in which we should trust or leave behind. As the day nears to where the series finale to my life in San Diego approaches, I discover the people to keep in my life, and those to discard.

Over the course of the past couple of months, one person has been constantly proving that he is no longer able to keep up in the race to be needed in my life. He has proven that he is nothing but a weak individual that can barely keep himself together. Now that I am angry at Jeff, I can finally see his true colors: I can finally see just how much of a self-centered asshole he really is. And what do I do with people that fail to meet my expectations? I kick them to the curb, like he did to me all these years.

Even while we were dating, he made everything about him. If he didn’t like a certain song while dancing at a club, he would want to go into the next room, taking me by the hand with him. Then he disappeared to Vegas, without me, because he felt pressured and needed to get away. This only proved that he was not strong enough to tackle his demons and that he was always a sucker for pressure. Days after he admitted that he disappeared, he returned to break up with me. His excuse: I am not ready to commit.

Key word in that simple sentence: I.

In order to keep me next to him, he would muster up the sweetest phrases. “You are a catch.” He said this to me while I was driving us home after a night at the clubs. “I am afraid of that day when someone will see just how much of a catch you really are. They will take you away from me and I will be all alone.”

He was right, and many other men I have dated since then have agreed: You’re goddamn right I am a catch. Every day that I am not hanging out with Jeff, his greatest fear is starting to come true. And one day, he will be all alone. Just like he predicted.

When my car broke down, I tried to call him up one day, crying and starting to lose my mind because of all the crazy things that I was experiencing at the time. But he didn’t pick up his phone. His phone was out of minutes. If it hadn’t have been for Sam to come to my rescue, I would have committed suicide on the side of the freeway.

A month and a half passes by…without one single word. Not even a text message asking me how I was doing. Then he texts me to tell me if I want to hang out with him, that he has Monday and Tuesday off.

Then he breaks up with his boyfriend, Joel. I never liked boyfriend, I only felt sorry for his beau because he is HIV-positive. I only befriended him because Jeff was close to him. When Jeff and Joel broke up, he brought back his stupid behavior; this time however, it is taken to the extreme.

Since Joel and Jeff live together, they had to post a 30-day notice with their landlord. In the meantime, Jeff and Joel were still living together, in midst of their recently-established relationship status. While hanging out with Jeff one day, he tells me that he has a date with a guy and that he really likes him. The weird part about this guy: he is just like me, except he has a condo and nice clothes.

I may not like Joel, but after Jeff explained to me how excited he was for this date, I was realizing how wrong and intolerably cruel he is for dating a guy, when he is currently living with his ex. It was just a repeat of what Jeff did to me while he was dating Joel, except we weren’t in a relationship.

While we were hanging out, my interest with hanging out with Jeff was falling faster than the prophecised meteor (predicted in the Bible) that is supposed to hit Earth and pollute the water.

Now where am I in my life? Moving on. Something I should have done when the bastard broke up with me in the first place. I choose to not make any contact with him anymore, until he apologizes for everything that he put me through these past couple of months. I have it planned out that when he sees me at a club, that I will do everything humanly possible to ignore him and give him hell if he approaches me. Hopefully, I will have my entourage with me to back me up should this scenario should ever take place.

Whenever I begin to make progress in my life, Jeff is always the person to bring me back to Square One: back to the day where I met him at my work and being hopelessly in love with him. Just like Mister Big did to Carrie in Sex and the City. I have gone too far in my life to allow one man to bring me back down that road of depression, suicide, and dangerous infatuation to the point where I almost lost my life. I am not going to let it happen again. IWhich thus leads me to my conclusion: I am going to do what Carrie Bradshaw should have done: I am going to stop making any form of contact with Jeff Raymond Contine.

It’s funny how religion always make prophetic claims to the world ending. There is massive tyranny and everything can seem to be taken out of hand and people scream in unadulterated fear; yet at the same time, when the rains have subsided and the fires have ceased to become uncontrollable, we are promised a brighter future.

Since I have stopped hanging out with Jeff, I have been able to have more fun with my life. Riddick, the man I had once had feelings for those months ago, has now become one of my closest friends. I never have to worry what to say, how to act, or where I should be with him. He and I have established that we are going to be friends and I could really use that right now. He has helped fill the void in my life that Jeff could only imagine to fill. Riddick has helped me get the courage to laugh again. I am not saying that I am in love with him, but I can admit that Riddick is one of my dearest friends down in San Diego and is part of the reason why leaving this town will become very difficult in a couple of weeks.

Then there is my girl Sam. I have known her for seven years; but in the past year, she has been there for me when I needed her, and I have done the exact same for her in her rough times as well. When my car broke down those multiple times in the past year, she has been there to drive me down to Hillcrest so we can party together and enjoy the night. While teasing the many lookers with our amazing dance moves and sense of humor. I think out of all the women I have met in San Diego, she will be the one person I will miss the most. Because without her, I would not have been able to talk about some of the things I was afraid to discuss with Jeff…and also, I would be sober.

But though the world involving Jeff is ending, I know I am promised a greater future by having such close and dear friends in my life. I once thought that the world was going to end and life, as I knew it, was going to stop. But the end of the world doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. It’s like removing a piece of tape from my arm. Painless.

Maybe even one day, I can have that husband I dream of. But with these new friends that I meet in my life and grow close to, I know that I am getting closer to finding that nirvana-like happiness that will make my years more worth living. Living in this new world that I have grown to enjoy, more so than I did while knowing Jeff.

...when the world ends... (part three)

I finally answered the phone. Not even acknowledging him with a “Hey, what’s up.” Or a “Hey stranger.” Just a simple “Hello” seemed to suffice. I was still angry with him. He’s not getting any special treatment, not after the rollercoaster of emotions I endured today.

The duration of the onversation was short, confused whether I should be a bitch right now or at another time when it’s in person. After apologizing for missing my call, he asked me if I was hungry.

My depression was slowly disappearing as I got more comfortable in my chair. I began to forgive him. First sign of the sudden heart failure: you still really care for him.

My heart began to get strong enough to beat on its own. “I was hoping you were asking for food, because I’m starving.”

“Cool. Well, I want Tammy (his old roommate before he moved in with Señor…nevermind….) to come because I’m sure she is hungry as well.”

In the background, I hear her distant voice saying “No, I’m not. I’m fine, you two go.”

Honestly, I didn’t want Tammy to come along, because there was a lot that I still needed to discuss with Jeff regarding his month-and-a-half intermission from my life. But something was telling me to table that argument for a time when we could be together, sipping tea and sharing a bagel like we used to.

I was certainly not going to arrive sober to this event. Lord knows what might happen if I didn’t come prepared. So I made myself look pretty, kicked back a shot, and walked into the restaurant.
I really didn’t know what to expect. But one thing that I knew that Jeff was going to do was pretend that he did nothing wrong. He is going to pretend that he is my Savior, but I with the passing of each day, I am starting to believe that he may be the Antichrist in my life.

I arrive inside the restaurant to see both Jeff and his roommate sitting in a hidden corner. I could feel my buzz kicking in, my confidence was increasing with each heartbeat, and I knew that as I was walking in, I looked good. I smiled warmly as I embraced Tammy, his roommate. Then finally, I had to embrace the Angel of Deception: Jeff.

He smiled at me the way that would always make my heart melt. But this time, I was onto him. After all this waiting, spending an entire day on a roller coaster of emotions, I had finally come face-to-face with the man that had abandoned me for a month and a half. I was angry; yet at the same time, my heart was leaping twice as fast as it normally would.

“It’s great to see you again.” He greeted me as we were holding onto each other. “You look good.”

Just feeling his warmth, I decided to let my anger take a smoking break while I allowed myself to enjoy the company of two people I had grown very close to.

Passing and breaking bread, a sign that interprets to let “bygones be by-gones.” No one wants to break bread with enemies, especially when one of them was paying the bill. Jeff was not going to get off the hook that easily, he was still going to have to explain why he disappeared. But I knew in the back of my mind, as much as I still do not like how he may act at times, I still love him. And that is why the world could end at any point. Because my love is so strong, and —yet— so fragile with him, that just the slightest disappointment in this man would send the world into a massive imbalance.

...when the world ends...(part two)

I couldn’t sleep. I heard someone was moving around in the kitchen downstairs. Being tired of laying in bed checking the news and my e-mail, I donned on some shorts and ran downstairs.

My mom was awake and sitting in the den, petting our cat, Mz. Bojangles’ fur. My mother was dressed up to go to the gym. My mom has this ridiculous ritual to go to the gym at four in the morning and function through the day. Sometimes, I have to remind my mother that although she is not superwoman by depriving herself of sleep and working herself to the bone. I am already proud of her.

My mom questions why I’m up so early in the morning. I was frustrated that I couldn’t sleep. I tried to eat some foods that would calm my body down. Maybe it was the caffeine I ingested when I closed last night. I thought to myself as I ate a yogurt.

I tried to go back to sleep. But my body only teased me by keeping my in and out of consciousness.

10 A.M. I woke up nervous. The beginning of my roller-coaster of emotions had finally arrived. I rolled over to look at my phone. No missed calls nor text messages. Allowing myself to welcome the First Horseman of Apocalypse: the reminder of absence and the side of Jeff I didn’t like: the “I’m too independent to remain in contact with someone because I have to save minutes on my phone” side.

I waited until noon to finally get myself ready for the day. I took a shower. I had made a list of things I had to get done for the day. Go to the gym, pay my student loans, pay my cell phone bill, and send out some mail. I had finished my errands and was feeling pretty accomplished. But there was one errand I still had to accomplish before my day was complete: the gym.

I had avoided the gym for a specific reason: Jeff might be there right now. I don’t plan on running into Jeff at the gym. That is not what I had planned in my head. But I was going to suck it down and improvise. I quickly slammed down a Rockstar and stormed into the gym.

For some reason, my emotions are ignited into anger. I was no longer nervous but just frustrated that it is two-thirty in the afternoon and he has made no contact at all today. Maybe he got cold feet and he knows that I might yell at him. Like a dog that knows that he should not have peed on that dress that was laying out to dry. Then comes the Second Horseman of the Apocalypse: what he did when we were dating. His disappearance.

He disappeared with friends days before our five month anniversary. We were supposed to go to San Diego and go to the Foam Party. I called off work just so I can spend time with him. No one had heard from him, he wasn’t at his work, I was panicking. Days later, he returned and broke up with me; all of this was done right before finals, the most stressing part of the year.

I am not saying he is disappearing for that reason. But his problem is he never follows through with things. He would rather be spontaneous, because it gives him control. Realizing this made me angry, I amped the treadmill to a faster speed as I cranked the volume to a song with enraged-embedded lyrics.

Then suddenly, came the arrival of yet another emotion. As I was sprinting while listening to some Orgy. A hot guy from the basketball court passed behind me and threw his towel over his shoulder. The towel hit my shin which made me turn to look at the person passing behind me.

Time had suddenly slowed down as my gaze panned from watching the hot guy showering near the pool, to the guy behind me. For around two milli-seconds, the guy looked like Jeff. He smiled at me just like he used to. Reasons why I liked him number 6,394: his ever-welcoming gaze.

Time sped up again to reveal it wasn’t Jeff but someone else. Someone not nearly as attractive and had a tattoo of Jesus, Mary, and his baby’s mama on his right shoulder. My heart dropped. Images of his smiling face still flooded my mind, smiling not in deception, but with kindness. I try to shake my head away from it all, I even cranked up the music volume so that the lyrics would avert my attention to the lyrics instead of my wild imagination. As I am running, I decide to give him a deadline: If he doesn’t call by nine o’clock p.m., then I am going to never speak to him again.

I couldn’t believe that sentence came out of my head. I am making a deadline for someone. How sad is that? And yet arrives the Third Horseman: the War. A time for war is now underway. But will there be a time for peace? I sincerely hope so.

Four o’clock. Each minute that passes, my heart grows more heavy with despair. Is he going to call me? Or are we going to be parting ways once and for all? A part of me did not care either way, but that small shard part of me still held onto what solace I had left.

It was when the clock struck five that I was starting to feel the heavy effects of the Final Horseman: Death. Death was looming near and I had no way to stop nor a way to prevent it. Death comes for us all. Even in relationships. And this finally introduced me into my second to final emotion: sadness.

I sat in my car. Preparing myself for the end of my friendship with the man that had changed my entire outlook on things. So this is how the world (as I knew it) ends. I thought to myself. The man that had introduced me to a world where even ugly ducklings like myself can become swans too. Since coming out of the closet, I have a stronger sense of who I am and feel very comfortable with myself.

I stared at my phone, praying for a text message, phone call, anything to get the assurance that I needed to keep holding onto whatever solace I might have left for Jeff..

I decided to leave the gym and go to Starbucks to get some writing done. But I stared at the screen and nothing else came to mind but him. It has never occurred to me just how much I truly still care about this guy, even after all the adversities we have experienced and put on each other these three years that I have known him. Enduring through them have brought us so close to each other, I thought I had nothing to worry about.

I went to Barnes and Noble because my sister was studying and wanted someone to keep her company. By this time I was feeling like I was calling it in early. I had finally just leave it be and just let it die. My heart was slowly decelerating it’s pace. Soon it will stop beating and I can just move on. I mean, if Tin Man can live without a heart, then certainly I would be able to as well.

I sat down reading. My legs sitting crosslegged on a chair that barely has enough for my ass let alone my legs. I was hunched over a copy of The Hours, a book that Riddick had let me borrow that has recently become my obsession. Since reading this book, I have noticed a completely different writing style that absolutely intruiges me.

Virginia Woolf, as morbid as this sounds, had a very poetic suicide. She felt like she was starting to become out of reach and was starting to lose touch with reality. I feel like if I was going to wait on Jeff like I do every single time, that I might do the same. Why invest time on someone when they don’t have time to…

The phone rings.

My heart jumps like it was just jumped with an automatic external defibulator (AED). I came back to life. I looked down to see the same area code. I look up to my sister. She and I exchange glances.

“It’s him.”

I wanted to answer the phone, but while it was ringing, a small part of me had already given into the hoax of an Apocalyptic event. I continued staring at the screen, listening to the cute xylophone ringtone resound in my ears, as well as nearby students studying tfor their AP World History exam. It’s the noise I wanted to wake me up in the morning, but I waited nearly sixteen hours for this phone call. And now I am not even sure I know what to do.

...when the world ends...(part one)

I sit in the car outside of the gym, understanding that the end of my life and the world as I knew it was drawing ever closer. I prepared myself for it all. What would be the most memorable way to call a time of death? Should it be memorable like Virginia Woolf in The Hours? Will there be an afterlife? Will I go to Heaven or Hell?

My heartrate keeps dropping as I watch with a haunting gaze at the clock. It is five o’clock in the evening. Four more hours and it all ends…my heart will finally stop annoying me with its incessant beating. I have done everything to prevent the end of the world, but it’s out of my hands. I may wait in hope that there will arrive a cure; but with the arrival of yet another minute—five-oh-one—my heart gives up.

Forty-eight hours earlier…

Jesus once said that the world will know the signs of the End Times by “Labor Pains.” Tragedies that will occur that will only remind us that the end of the world is near. I got my first labor pain of the End on Friday, April 24th 2009.

DING! DING! My iPhone chimes as I am about to leave the break room and back to work. Text Message! Curious, I return to my phone to check out the text message I had received. I hit the home button and my phone came to life to reveal a number that I had not expected to read.

Jeff had texted me. I may have deleted his phone number, but it has been forever engraved into my head.

My heart dropped. I couldn’t believe the fucker had the nerve to write me on such a bad day to want to talk to me. I was already having a bad day with not only being called into work on my day off, but also to be dealing with complete idiots and their ridiculous drink orders. The fact that Jeff had the nerve to write me just drove me out of my mind with anger.

“I’m back!” the message heralded in all caps. So annoying. “I just added minutes on my phone! I have Monday and Tuesday off this week if you want to hang out.”

I simply did not have any time to deal with this at this time. I groaned as I angrily bit back. “Wow. You exist.” As I threw my phone back into my locker and back to work.

For the entire rest of the day, I was already fighting several emotions. I did not want nor expect to hear from Jeff again. Over the past month or two, he has abandoned me and left me to fight my own battles. Granted, it was something that I might have needed, but to have my best friend betray my trust, miss his birthday, and leave me in the dark was downright mean. And unfortunately, I got over his immaturity of not wanting to talk to me and simply tried everything I could to move on.

Later that day, I texted him and told him that I was going to be off Monday. He told me that he was going to be hanging out with his former roommate in my town for the day and wanted to meet up with me then. I agreed.

Once I agreed to meet up with Jeff, I was overcome with anxiety. I had no idea what to expect, how I was going to react, or how to even approach him. I couldn’t really trust my body and my emotions at the moment. To be honest? I want to lunge at Jeff and sock him for abandoning me and going back on his promise he made to me. But at the same time, I wanted to have a decent conversation and try to let it slide.

Saturday and Sunday moved like sands escaping the broken hourglass that crashed on the floor. I became very reserved as I asked close friends and gay men for honest advice that can either relate or have talked to Jeff. Usually, I am the one person giving advice, but this time, I had to seek people wiser or more perceptive than I into resolving this situation. After much conversing with my friend. I had come up with a plan when Jeff calls to meet the next day.

Three A.M. I woke up. The sound of my snoring brother in the opposite corner of the room echoes into my ears. I shuffle around in bed praying for a quick arrival of another REM cycle. Then I felt my heart and realized what was going on. It was Monday morning and my heart was pounding like a bass speaker at a hip-hop club. My body is nervous. Although I didn’t feel nervous in my emotions, my body was reminding me that my instincts were not ready. After trying to distract my mind with fantasies of hot men or stories I am creating for my screenplays, my emotions were shook up too. Today is the arrival of Judgement Day in my Showdown with Jeff.

Still Understanding

I miss Jeff. There is nothing else to write about involving him. It sucks that I lose my best friend because he was the closest thing that I had to trusting someone. Now I lost him and I feel like I am falling apart. I am trying so hard to stay strong, but at the same time, I feel like I should just give up. This is the last chapter to the Jeff story: the pain in letting someone I still love go his separate way.

Jeff gave me encouragement. He was always there to lend an ear to time when all I wanted to do was bitch about the problems in my life. I felt like I didn’t have to do anything to impress him, because he was already in awe of my drive and personality. He would tell me this whenever I had an emotional breakdown….kinda what I am doing right now.

The sucky part is that I don’t have that gay male best friend to help me through it this time. I have to face it alone. I am determined that I am going to make it, but I just really wish that he was here to help me through this hard time right now.

None of this is my fault. It is all Joel…at least I think it is. He sees me as a threat and wants to do whatever it takes to keep his man by his side and to stop siding on me (even though, I am right). I really have no idea what I did to lose my best friend; nor do I know what I did to anger Joel to the point that he would forbid Jeff from hanging out with me. But in any case, the fucker has stopped contacting me.

I am a very analytical person. I observe all the possible flaws in my environment and try to fix it. When I feel like something is my fault, my mind goes back to the scene of the crime and try to decipher whatever I did to make the situation difficult.

My mind keeps going back to that day at the bar. What I said to Joel; what I did to Jeff; what happened that night that ruined it all….

March 8th. I got a ride with my girl Sam to watch the series finale to our favorite show, The L Word. While I was at the bar, I was drinking and enjoying myself when I see Jeff and Joel walk into the bar.

“Jeff!” I yelled amidst the loud drunk lesbians around me as I fight my way to welcome Jeff and Joel with a hug.

I hug Jeff, my heart jumping at the sight of seeing my best friend and his boyfriend. Once I let go of Jeff, I hug Joel and smile warmly.

It is very funny how I have gone from hating the bitch, into adopting him into my Family. Joel is a great guy and he is very cool to talk to. After tonight though, he will stop being nice to me.

I ask Joel how everything was going with him. He smirks and assures me everything’s okay. Jeff grabs Joel’s hand and they make their way into the courtyard. Sam and I follow them while all four of us were still talking.

Sam decides to hang out with her friends. I join them while standing around older lesbians that were sneering at me because of the fact that I have a penis and more testosterone than they could inject into their menopausal bodies. I was feeling uncomfortable, but I was not going to let a couple pairs of sagging boobs scare me. My eyes began to wander, doing a scan of potential hotties in the courtyard. As I am looking around my environment. I see Jeff and Joel sitting in the distance, his body resting against Jeff slouching pose.

Granted, I haven’t talked to Jeff in two weeks, so I missed talking to him and wanted to make sure the two of them were doing all right. I walk away from the angry old lesbians that were sitting next to Sam and migrate over to where Jeff and Joel are sitting.

I began to make small talk with them as the show had started to play on multiple screens decorated around the bar. Joel and Jeff make room for me as I sit next to the couple. While there was a slow point in the show, I decided I should ask to see how Joel was doing. I reach across Jeff to Joel. Joel turns to make eye contact with me.

“So Joel,” I asked genuinely while touching his shoulder with concern, “how is everything going with you healthwise?”

He gave me a very quizzical look. “Everything is fine. I’m not dying anytime soon. Why do you ask?”

Time out. What is this guy’s problem? I am simply asking a question. Why is it that he is getting defensive with me? Retract claws, Catwoman. I am asking you a fucking simple question. The kind that is asked from one friend to another.

Obviously this guy has issues. And obviously something is going on that I don’t know about, but I was not going to let his short-temper get to me. I faked some laughter and smiled at Mister Mid-Life Crisis. “I’m just asking.” I jested but changed into sounding serious. “Jeff told me that you were HIV positive and I just want to make sure everything is going all right with you and if there is any way I can help.”

“I’m fine.” He bit back.

What a bitch. Why do I even fucking care about his fuck up?

He then decided to ask me a question in return. “So how are things going with you and Riddick? You guys still dating?”

I had forgotten about the time I told Joel that I was dating someone. But I simply replied back laughing. “Fuck Riddick. We were just fooling around.”

No response. He simply returned to watching the screen.

Towards the end of the episode, I turn to Jeff and ask him how everything was going at his new job. At this point Joel and Jeff had broken their little embrace and were sitting apart from each other—for once. He was telling me how he is doing what he can to settle in but assured me that everything was going all right. Then I asked him about how things were going on overall. This included life, relationship, money and his health. He was telling me how things are going so-so.

One of the things that reigns true within a deep relationship like the one we have—or should I say…had, the more you spend time with people, the more perceptive to understanding their emotions. When Jeff and I were talking, he started to give off an expression like he needed to talk to me.

“What’s going on honey?” I ask him, giving him my undivided attention.

“I can’t talk about it. Because of…” His voice trailed off as he was directing my eyes to Joel with his gaze.

Joel had his back turned. Possibly pissed off at the both of us talking.

“We’ll talk some other time.” I promised as we both looked up to the screen to see one of our favorite characters appear on the screen.

“Oh My GOD!” I exclaim as I am tapping Jeff’s knee with excitement. He sits up and presses his back against my chest. Um, why don’t you get close to Joel instead of me? Something truly is going on. I became suddenly very uncomfortable with it all, but I was not going to turn him away.

As the episode ends, I hug Jeff and tell him to call me. I hug Joel. He gives me a brief hug, obviously giving me the impression that I really pissed him off.

It has been a month and six days, and there has been no form of contact…at all. I was not able to call him and wish him happy birthday. I was not able to tell him that I got my car back and things are getting better for me. I have never missed anyone this much in my life. I didn’t deserve to lose Jeff. But someone else considered me as a threat in their relationship. And that dumb fuck’s name is Joel.

Joel may have won this war, but I was not really going to fight someone that my best friend is dating. If my best friend thinks that Joel is a great guy, I am going to do whatever I can to be Joel’s friend and fully support his decision. But Joel decided to ruin my friendship with him by disconnecting me. And I couldn’t be more angrier to want to get in a girlfight with the bitch.

He is like the doctor that finds a cure to a disease by murdering the patient and hiding the body. Eventually, someone is going to find out of this crime. And soon eventually, the doctor is going to feel the weight of justice on his shoulders by having a big fat sentence as well as losing his license. He may have killed off my friendship and connection to Jeff, but karma is going to bite him in the ass one day. He is going to crash and burn as he loses Jeff…again….

I am not entirely certain that Joel is the person responsible for ruining my friendship with Jeff, but he is the only suspect. I have done nothing wrong and I have definitely not done anything but be what I promised what I would be if we ever broke up: Jeff’s friend.

Not having Jeff in my life hurts. It hurts like someone ripped out my heart and I am forced to live on blood transfusions and bypasses. I know eventually, I am going to evolve into a person that is not dependent on Jeff. Eventually, we all find a way to quit the drugs that give us a sense of security. I just want him back so I can have a gay man in my life that has a brain that is easy to talk to. Someone that I trust.

I’m afraid I will never know what I did that night to ruin my relationship with Joel and possibly Jeff. But in either case, we are not talking. And that is a pain that I am still understanding. Understanding that people will disappoint you and hurt you. I know I gotta brush myself off and quit getting down about this, but it's hard to do, especially when I really cared about him.

Bed of Spikes. Level One: Goomba

WARNING: YOU ARE ABOUT TO SEE WHAT IT’S LIKE INSIDE MY HEAD.

When I was a kid, I was crazy about video games. It got so bad that my parents took it away and ruined my fourth year on earth. I would always run up to my parents when they would get home. Instead of telling them that I ate two clods of Play-Doh, I would explain just how far I would get in Super Mario Bros..

In this game, there is two things that you must remember to go far in the game: bed of spikes and lava always equal death. Who cares if you run into a koopa or a goomba, you will shrink but you can always get big again by eating shrooms. I am still clueless as to what compelled the creators to create such a double-entendre.

Like life, we all must avoid falling into the bed of spikes in our lives. Sure, a goomba can be tossed at us and it can have the capability of making us small, but we just gotta shroom up and keep on going.

It is 65 days into the new year, and all the events that have occurred in this year have led up to this: the point in my life when I finally snapped and became very close to having my fat ass land in the bed of spikes. And for the first time, I became very scared that my life was in danger. But it was the discovery of what was going on internally that I was finally able to get the courage to fight back.

I was given three levels. It was when I reached the Final Boss to this nerd-resounding blog, that I finally snapped and almost had a major “Game Over.”

LEVEL ONE: GOOMBA

I start off the new level…I mean year…with dating Riddick. When he told me that he was only looking for friends, I began to experience the pain of another heartbreak; except this time, I knew what I needed to do to move on.

In that time with Riddick, he and I got tested for HIV. I volunteered to put myself through the syphilis test to get that checked as well. The next week, my life changes forever when I get a phone call from the San Diego Center for Disease Control gives me a call with some rather “unsettling news.” I was crossing the street when Tom, the doctor, informs me that I have tested “positive…

Time stops. The wind dies down. The people move in extreme slow motion. I am not breathing. My scarf dances in the wind as it comes falling down to my sides. My environment like The Cell when the helicopter is landing and everything is being shot at 1000 frames per second.

…for syphilis.”

Normal time returns and I stop in midst of a busy intersection, allowing myself to integrate the news. I began to cry. To this day, I cannot tell you if they were tears of joy or if they were tears of sadness; even though I knew for a fact that my disease inside me is treatable.

I continue crying as I go into the entrance of an abandoned building. The doctor gives me time to let it out. He was assuring me that it’s treatable but needs to see me as soon as I can.

So I arrange an appointment with him later that day. I went in and gave Riddick’s number. When Riddick and I went out for the first time, we fucked on the floor of his apartment. One of the things that we did that I now regret is not using a condom because I was a stupid idiot. While sitting and getting talked to about this disease I have, I slowly began to realize how much self-worth I had: none. How God spared me from having HIV but gave me syphilis instead to help me learn a lesson in being safe and to realize my self-worth.

In real life, I am a happy go-lucky gay guy that likes to crack some sarcasm and maybe a joke or two. Deep down, I am feeling self-hatred and beat myself up constantly. Because since my dad can’t do it anymore, I am only left with myself. Since the breakup with Jeff, I have never really let myself experience rest with realizing how pathetic I am. As the needles were being inserted into me, the nurse felt compelled to say this that only attacked my spirit and self-worth all the more.

“So are you going to let guys fuck you without a condom again?” Interrogated the nurse from hell.

“No!” I was yelling back as I was fighting back the pain. The pain of my own mistakes were almost emotionally killing me and the pain of a big needle being inserted into my supposedly hot ass.

When the nurse from hell inserted the next needle into my ass was when I broke down to nothing. This one hurt more than the other because she totally sucks at giving it right.

This is when you can tell that this straight bitch has never had anal. I thought to myself while trying not to focus on the pain. You are supposed to go slow and not get so rough on me unless I give you permission. It was when she pushed it in deeper that every bad feeling, memory, or emotion ever felt had risen up and overwhelmed me to the point of tears. I began to groan loudly as it turned to a yell, which turned into me sobbing uncontrollably. The nurse from hell patted my back while cooing me with her Spanish accent. “Es okay Pa’lo.” She cooed while rubbing my back. “It’s over.”

But I was still crying. So she whipped out another one of her infamous one liners. “Oh com’ on. You’re a man. Es okay! We’re done.” She tried to end those last two sentences with enough enthusiasm to make me stop, but she might not realize I am gay. I am a man, but I am not afraid to show my emotions.

Okay if I cry at the end of the movie Mask, then I can cry in public too damnit.

Being in that room was like being in a nightmare. Fighting off two nurses while being jabbed with muthafuckin’ needles, having a doctor stab me with other things. I think the one emotion that was true throughout was realizing how close I was to contracting HIV. I was almost like Joel. How would Jeff be able to handle when both his lover as well as his best friend both have HIV at the same time?

I was starting to wonder what was wrong with me before I tested positive. I exhibitied the signs of having syphilis a month before Every single day, I would wake up with a massive headache. I thought it was a bunch of things, but they all tested negative. Once I was given the shots, I didn’t spend another day in pain from the headaches. The syphilis had spread to my organs and it had infected my brain. It was getting to the danger point because I was starting to have massive headaches everyday, as well as forgetting things. The day before I had tested positive, I asked a lady four times if she wanted whip cream on her drink. I was forgetting almost everything. If I didn’t treat it in time, the doctors told me that I would have died.

Then I had to meet the boss of this level. Understanding that I had brought someone into my nightmare due to my foolishness. It was at this time that I stopped talking to Riddick because I was still mad at him. The next day, he called me to tell me that he got tested positive for syphilis. He began to accuse me and point fingers. I mean he was right, but I was not going to admit it to someone I don’t really care about anymore. So I lied to him. Inside, I was being injured because I began to fear that he will have to face the needles like I did. Riddick is terrified of needles and faints. Now I just involved someone, someone innocent, in a nightmare that was my fault. I made up another lie to cover the other lie and said that the doctor did a rapid test and I tested positive. I told him to fuck off and stopped contact with him once again. This boss was too hard. I think I used a cheat code to get past him. But I either case, I passed the first level.

Confessionals and Sanctuaries

Confessionals. Those places where you could say your dirty little deeds in the prescence between the Big Man Upstairs and his other right-hand man: the Priest. It is a really easy process, being able to vent about your day and your transgressions, then close the door behind you, say some Hail Mary’s, and carry about your day. I am not sure if it is the relief that you get with releasing those deeds off your chest, or if you have made yourself better by talking to the mortal mediator on the other side of the confessional. But either way, you feel the compelling relief of emotions and have the ability to put it all behind you as you start it all over again.

Instead of trekking my way to the nearest Catholic Church to making myself feel better, why not make my peace in the best way that I know how: writing.

I want to confess something, because I have spent a major part of my life being angry because no one can follow through with things and keep promises like I can. I hate saying that, bragging about the one thing that I am good at, but I always expect certain people to meet me halfway, and it is in times when they fail do I realize this harsh truth: to err is human.

Previously on EVOLutions:
I told Riddick I never wanted to talk to him again because he only wanted to be friends when I wanted something more.

It’s funny how God will allow me to be angry for a while then tell me to calm the fuck down and get over it, because within the past 24 hours, I have been experiencing signs. I was given three signals to get over my horrible end with Riddick. To finally right my wrongs and stop being bitter just because I fell for my own trap.

The first sign took place as I was leaving the car the night before. Perhaps it was the mixture between coffee smell, my sweat, and the grapefruits and avocadoes I left in my car while I was working out; but in any case, I got a familiar smell. The smell that took me back to Riddick’s apartment. Sitting on his amazingly comfortable couch and watching a two-hour marathon of Family Guy while ridiculing each other about our musical mishaps; eating Chipotle while sitting on his cat-fur-laden carpet and talking about our day; and accidentally getting cum on his couch. It was that smell that brought me back to times when I could finally give a genuine smile after all the heartbreak that I had endured. I was finally able to forget about the incredibly bad day at work and just go to my Happy Place. But only when the smell went away did those flood of memories escape me.

It was on my way to work when I witnessed my second sign. I was driving in the early morning. My exhalations emitting a morning-breath condensation as I was driving in the cold. It was two seconds after I glanced at my clock, noticing I was going to be three minutes late to work, that I encountered it. I was driving behind an elderly couple going twenty-five miles on a forty-five mile zone—I still have yet to find out why they drive so damn slow. Moments before realizing that driving behind them at fifty miles an hour was not a good idea, I noticed they had Ohio license plates. This ejected me from my current state of mind into becoming pensive about the times I had with Riddick once again. The time that he would annihilate me at pool while drunk; then to the time when he introduced me to a So Co with lime and gin tonics, then to texting him at the club and leaving to go to his place only minutes after paying full cover and waiting fifteen minutes in line to get in at my favorite club. I sped past this elderly couple as I noticed they had a McCain sticker on their bumper.

I was talking to my friend Sam about my day I was having so far. Discussing the signs I was seeing around me and wondering if I should text Riddick when that final sign came, almost prompting my cue to text him at that moment. A BMW pulled out of its parking spot to reveal a Mazda Miata staring me back at me. Chris drove a Miata. I wonder how he’s doing. I thought to myself.

It was at this moment that I felt like God had bitch-slapped the anger that I was holding inside me to realize that I was indeed hurt, but that should be no excuse to be a bitch and classify our friendship as being second-place.

Yes, I can admit that realizing a man’s feelings for me were not as much as I had anticipated. But then I had an epiphany: why should I always turn into a bitter black woman when someone does not meet my expectations? Looking back at the blogs that I would write after I broke it off with Riddick, I felt like I was starting to give up on everything. Because I really want my life to move forward like everyone else.

Jeff has his boyfriend Joel. Sam is developing a relationship with a girl that lives miles away. My graduating class is making three times the amount that I do. Watching everyone’s life progress forward while I am still stuck in the Molasses Swamp is painful to endure; but every person I have conversed with on this matter has given me this exact same form of encouragement. I am a young guy that is still growing up and learning how, as my friend David put so adamantly: “[to] walk on my own two feet. Whether it be emotional or psychological.”

So after sitting outside of my gym and slamming down an energy drink, did I finally go through the contents of my old phone and find Riddick’s number. My palms got all sweaty as my fat thumbs typed in the letters: “Hey Riddick. It’s Pablo. How have you been?” I felt like it was taking five minutes just to write a couple sentences. But only when I sent the text message did I wonder if he was going to write back or not. I tabled that thought as I entered the gym, put on some Madonna, ran four and a half miles, lifted some weights, and checked out some hot straight guys.

Although I have never been inside a confessional, I am positive that they do amazing things. They give you a place of solitude to truly express yourself, a place to be able to take off the mask you are showing everyone to reveal the true battle scars of life. In a way, I feel like writing on a blank page is my own sanctuary. It gives me the opportunity to write something new on a blank piece of white. To make a wrong a right and to give penance where penance is due.

Sure, we have to pay penance for some of the deeds that we have done; in a way, we all say our Hail Mary’s at some point. Whether it be in a church, or to someone that we have wronged. But once we feel like we have gained their trust back—which I am skeptical I can do at this point with Riddick—do we understand that we can finally repair the damaged that we have caused.

It was not until after I got back home did I receive a reply. Just the simple: “Great! How are you?” gave me chance to put away my rosary, and continue my day. Because quite honestly? God was right. I did need to fucking get over it.

Evolution's a Bitch

We can never be fully accustomed to our bodies as we age. We begin this life not understanding that the pain going on inside of our mouth is teething as an infant. Then later on in life, just when we get used to our youth do we begin to experience the dropping of our voice, or the sudden growth of those D cups you always dreamed of in your adolescent years. Then we have a mid-life crisis. Bringing us to understand that our penis doesn’t get as hard as it used to, or that we aren’t getting any younger and think to ourselves: why not do that secretary? Or in the woman’s case: am I really ever going to be attractive to find the One?

The same can be said to our emotions. As our sex hormones kick in the moment we get into Junior High (a.k.a. The Dark Ages), we begin to understand the Laws of Attraction, then we begin to realize that someone can actually like us and that we can find a way to commit ourselves to someone. We can never become fully comfortable with ourselves until it’s too late.

I feel like I date guys that are emotionally retarded. They really don’t know what they want in life but will fuck something until that opportunity arrives. Let’s look at example Riddick, the last month-long trick. Using those excuses like: “I am only looking for friends”; however, he will fuck my ass and my emotions anytime.

Then we have Mike, a guy that was definetly not a boyfriend because was too emotionally unstable to be around. It was like he made every opportunity to cry so he could feel better about himself. I will admit, I do have my emotionally weak moments, but I pick myself up and am strong again. This guy had the tearing-up stability of a waterfall. The tears were almost always flowing. He would spread it to me and started to hurt me and would often try to break down my emotional wall by saying really sensitive things, but I just deflected them and moved on.

Finally, let’s take a gander at Jeff, my best, my first, my favorite, and my always-question relationship. It seemed like I was so immersed in my own love for this guy, I did not see that he really didn’t love me as much in return. He was not really knowing what he wanted in life, but fucked me and told me sweet-nothings to keep me beside him.

But then again, maybe I can maybe just be in a really bad mood at the moment?

I don’t know, but I am not liking the guys around my age. They are still trying to understand who they are as they are fucking away brain cells. They really aren’t used to adulthood but enjoy exploring this new territory. Granted, I am not innocent either, but at least I know who I am, I have that advantage. I feel like I can never relate to people around my age, because I got used to talking to adults when I was homeschooled. One of the very few advantages to homeschooling. Now that I am surrounded by people my age, I feel like I can never be fully understood because some of them haven’t dealt with the shit I deal with on a regular basis.

Growing up, there always seemed to be some major drama going on in the spiritual and emotional challenges in my life. It was hard, but God would always grant me wisdom and the strength to kep going. It is obvious that God has a major plan for me, I just really wished He would hurry up and start making me amazing or into a superhero. Because I could really use a my force field ability right about now….

But seriously, I am not enjoying this evolution of my emotions. They are sometimes really painful and can slow everything else down. I am still hurt by the events in this past month. Realizing that I am making stupid mistakes and beating myself up over them. Sure, they are going to make me stronger, but can I at least have a break like everyone else?

Not the Way I Wanted

Endings. Everyone loves a great ending. The kind that grips you at the heart and will not let go until you squeeze out a couple of tears of heartbreak as you see your favorite character die in the arms of someone they loved. Or the endings that allows the audience to witness the end of tyranny of an evil antagonist. Whatever the ending may be, watching something draw to a close can sometimes be a relief.

I thought I was going to be fine after I broke it off with Riddick. Cutting him off from being able to toy with my emotions was supposed to be a good thing and quite a relief to watch him be the one that was being played. However, in the process, watching him go and talking to him was the hardest thing I had to do.

I park my car next to his apartment complex. I arrive promptly at nine o'clock and make my way into his apartment, up the stairs, and into his apartment. Now at this time, I had already had it prepared. I was going to get a couple of drinks into my system enough to give myself the self-esteem needed to talk to him about not only my feelings, but uncovering the mystery behind our relationship. As he came out of his bedroom to greet me, he began to ask me how my day was. He has no idea what is going to hit him when I get the courage to talk to him. I thought to myself as I returned his greeting with a smile.

We made our way to Bourbon Street and began to sit down and talk while we ordered our drinks. He began to propose that we watch a TV show together. I told him I would be down with watching something on a regular basis with him. Giving him the false hope he needed to keep the conversation going.

We began to play pool in midst of our buzzed stupor, watching bad eighties music videos that were playing on the TV screens set up throughout the bar. We played two games. He began to flirt with me by complimenting my nose as well as smacking my ass occasionally when I was bent over the table setting up a shot.

After I won the second game, he was telling me how he had to be up early and that we might need to go so he can get some sleep. We drove back to his apartment and as we were saying our goodbyes, I decided to let it out.

“I need to ask you something.”

“What?” He asked with a concerned look on his face.

“What are you looking for?” I interrogated.

“I am looking for friends.” He replied with subtlety.

“Cool. Thanks. That’s all I needed to know.”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I am looking for something more than just a friend.” I replied with a hint of disappointment in my voice. “I can’t be friends with someone that I care about.”

“Isn’t that what friends do?” He asked. “Don’t they care about each other? I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”

Well, you are. “You’re right. Friends do care about each other. But I can guarantee that you will meet someone else, and I will be left still caring about you. I have been down that road where I care about the person more than they care about me, and it’s not fun.”

He remained silent as he listened to me.

“I just got tired of the mind games you would play with me. At first, I was a ‘cutie’ then you would call me ‘buddy.’ I am sorry, I call my six-year-olds at camp ‘buddy.’ For me, being a friend when I care about you is like making second place in a race when I know for a fact I deserve first. I deserve the best in life, and right now. Being your friend is not apart of it.”

“Well, I am disappointed that you feel that way. Because I am going to miss having you in my life. But if you ever feel like you can be friends, please let me know.”

We hugged one more time as we parted ways. With every step he made away from me, a heartstring was breaking inside me. Please don’t leave me at square one. I pleaded inside my head. I wanted him to stay and admit that he has the same feelings for me. But none of that happened. I was left….once again…alone.

It sucked leaving. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do. But I knew that if I stayed silent, I would burst at an inappropriate time and I would regret it. If I was just honest, maybe things could change. They changed, but not in the way that I wanted.

I drove home alone. Texting anyone awake. Feeling like I will always make second-place in everyone’s life. I know someone better will come along, but I want to feel like I have chance to move on. Like I can migrate my feelings I have towards Jeff and move it towards someone else. Hanging out with Chris, I felt like I actually had a chance. I felt renewed. But he failed me. You can never depend on humanity to help you with your problems. Because they are just as faulted and fucked up like everyone else.

Am I always going to be everyone’s friend? Am I ever going to be good enough for anyone?

Duct Tape Fun

I can already tell how my past is trying to bleed into 2009. I am not going to have it. It's better to let the past die or get rid of it than to bring it into the new year. It's like having a piece of duct tape on your arm. Sure, it will be a be a bitch to feel your arm hair go with it, but the motherfuckin' tape will be off your arm. Holla.

This year, according to almost every American, the year that change is going to take place in the United States as well as the rest of the world. It's amazing to see what President Obama has for us in his four year (hopefully eight) stay in the White House . But today also marks the day that I am fighting back. Sick and tired of this bullshit trying to rule over me. I am doing this by ending my Riddick storyline.

Sure, it was a fun game to call me buddy and pal, but after having a conversation with him today, I just got fed up with it. Two nights ago, he had a bad night and wanted to talk to me about it. Being the guy that crushing on him, I told him to give me a call and tell me about it. After the end of his venting, he asked me if I wanted to go out with him tomorrow to help him pick out a new car. I accepted.

It was fun seeing the new cars everywhere, and seeing each salesperson's different methods to making a sale. Eventually, Riddick found a car and began to fill out the paperwork. Leaving my ass to texting people or sitting there like a good housewife. Then he realized something while filling out paperwork: I forgot my checkbook. This was a dilemma because he had to pay a down payment and he wasn't expecting to buy a car today. Also, since the saleswoman was desperate, she put me on the spot and asked me if I could drive down to his San Diego apartment to get it. I agreed to because I am a nice guy and because maybe this dumbass could finally appreciate me as something for more than just some fucking friend. As I was driving down to his apartment, the women at this dealership were talking to him about how nice of a guy I am to Riddick (any more hints to the dumbass to date me?)

I met up with him in Escondido at 11am, I didn't leave him until 6 out of his new car. I felt like I was going somewhere with this guy, then he concluded the evening with a "thanks for being so patient buddy." And immediately, everything that I did just seemed like it was done in vain.

It wasn't until today that I realized this, and his endless obsession with playing mindgames with me. Once I realized this did I finally just emotionally and romantically give up on him emotionally.

We were joking around about how he is into himself and he said something that just gave me proof to stop wasting my time with him. "It's not like you were going to have any part of it." He remarked to me.

"What the hell does that mean?" I write back.

"What do you want it to mean?" He wrote back.

I know! Let's play a game. It's called Pablo Doesn't Give a Fuck Anymore because You Fucking Suck. He continued in his game and concluded it with a: "I like fucking with people."

It sucks knowing that he is playing me, because I was starting to like this guy's company. At the same time, I don't have the time nor the patience to deal with this guy's mind games. If you want me, hurry up and tell me. Don't leave me in the dark, wondering if we are on a date, or if we are just two friends that fool around.

All that I know right now is that on Wednesday, Riddick is going to meet Dark Pablo. It's not going to be pretty, but who ever said emotional breakups are?

Do I sound mean? I am going to be on Wednesday. I don't want yet another man to bring me down again, because I really don't deserve it. Do I sound sad? Sad I liked the guy yes. But I am not as sad as I was last time, because I could see the signs before any more emotional damage could be made, and because I have a date with another guy tonight. There are more guys out there. Guys that truly do deserve me.

The Equation and the Missing Variable

January 20th
The Equation and the Missing Variable

Fed up. I can tell I am getting fed up because it makes me short-fused to everything else. I almost walked out of my job because they were treating me unfairly and my manager made me stay late. Then I fail at solving the Riddick Riddles because he is so.... Wanna know the sucky part of this equation? I am starting to sense more and more that he just wants a friend. Plus this variable: know I cannot give that advantage to another person again. After the last fiasco had me licking my wounds for a while, I told myself that I will not allow myself to settle for second-best when I know now that I deserve that gold medal (preferably platinum, because gold doesn't look good on me.).

Riddick and I got HIV-tested together today-- okay, not really together, we got seperated, leaving me without a chance in uncovering his sex life. It was supposed to be my breaking-point whether I should solve this equation or not. However, I have come to the possibility that Riddick might not be the variable I need to solve this equation. I mean, I could say: "This equation is not a function because it is in violation of its y-intercepts." Deciphering my nerdiness: Just settling into being his friend as he finds the guy he likes and move on.

Captain Pablo is not going to put up with that bullshit. I thought to myself rather heroically. Fuck that bitch! Time to move on.

I opened up my phone and sent a text to a guy that I met while canvassing at San Diego State University back when I worked for the Human Rights Campaign. I ran into him again while he was in his drunk stupor on Wednesday at a local gas station. I have a date with him on Friday after work. I don't know what to make any of this right now, but I am not going to wait for someone anymore. Stop playing pathetic desperate Pablo and fucking go for it.

I am feeling more like the critical constant to balancing this equation. I am realizing that I can be the protagonist to my own story and save myself instead of relying on angels, family, or friends in my life. That is what I need to do to be strong.

I don't have time to waste on someone that is not going to meet me halfway in balancing my equation. I would rather go out and continue searching. Maybe something would improve if I actually go look for it, pushing guys that waste my time or are too easy, out of my way.

Do I sound bitchy? I hope not. I just feel the need to save myself right now.

The Chronicles of Riddick

"Tell me what you don't like about yourself?" Interrogate the two doctors at the beginning of each episode of my favorite show nip/tuck. Then there comes the responce of someone that wants yet another facelift, for another lipo to fit into that LBD, and for increasing their boob size to go up so they could feel almost as confident as the next bimbo next to her getting all the hot guys. It's what we do to make ourselves feel like we can be appreciated while living in such a beauty-obsessed society as Earth to think otherwise. We try to change the outer hoping that we can fix the inner in the process. But it sometimes returns with a crease of wrinkles in your skin, noticing your fat has increased double, and for gravity, being the bitch that it is, allows the return of saggy boobs.

This is how I feel with where I am at right now. Frustrated that things are getting harder with my "hang outs" with Riddick, that I am noticing my own wrinkles appearing on my skin: I need another upgrade. I am getting fed up with his mind games and calling me "buddy" all the time while at the same time wanting to fuck me. He is so enigmatic that it makes my head spin. I am left in a bind of wondering if I should even pursue this, risking the possibility of being hurt again; while at the same time getting sick of his bullshit and resorting back into being the Hillcrest ho until I get the money to bust outta here.

So today, it was supposed to be a great day. Wake up, wash the cars, go hang with Riddick possibly before we go to the party, introducing him to Jeff and Joel and finally feel like I can move on with my life, watch the season premiere of the L word and really enjoy that Riddick enjoying it with me. But no, he decides to pull the "I'm sick" card and change it all up. Instead of enjoying Jeff's expression when Riddick walks into the room, I am left feeling awkward watching Joel and Jeff make out in front of me. I swear, if I vomited every single time they kissed, the whole bar would have been filled up.

Don't get me wrong, I was glad to have met Joel, he is a really nice guy. He is a really funny guy to talk to. But it all took a turn when Jeff would get all cute with him and they would both make out, now making him enjoy the emotions I was emitting tonight. He always has a way of surprising me and cutting to the chase before I can even get my shoes on.

I was mad at the fact that Riddick was sick and I was left playing third wheel the rest of the night. I mean, my friend Sam was there and she was great to have around in this time, but I still wanted Riddick to be there so I could feel like such a reject in a lesbian-infested bar.

Sidenote: I am so kidding with the term "lesbian-infested" bar. I love lesbians, just when some of them get older, they switch to butch all of a sudden. Same with gay men, they become men infatuated with Celine Dion and thinks Barbara Streisand should have won more Oscars.

I could handle talking to Jeff and Joel while waiting for the premiere, they are both really funny to talk to; but once they both started drinking, they got more touchy. Granted, I am okay with that-- fine, I am not okay with it. But I am goddamn well trying hard enough--; but seriously, don't make it super mushy that I feel like I am watching yet another episode of "Noah's Arc." It just made me jealous that people are still moving forward, watching something I can never have, and feeling very much in solitude while it's a new year and nothing is happening yet.

I arrive at Riddick's house after leaving as soon as the credits rolled for the L word premiere, and he was in a crabby mood because he truly was sick.

I don't know how to act around him. I am always at a loss for words when I am talking to him, because I want to sound like actually earned my degree due to my intelligence. I always feel like I am wording things wrong and sound like a complete idiot. Then he always tell me that I give him judgemental and condescending expressions Not even allowing two hours to pass by without him confusing me with inviting me to cuddle with him, or kissing me goodnight.

Thus continues the ever-stale part of my experience with Riddick: confusion, risking my emotions for a guy that might not like me in return, and wondering when this caged bird is going to fly.

Because I want to fly...fly away from here. Being able to grow up instead of wishing for it to happen so people can finally take me seriously. I mean, who wants to listen to a writer bitch about his life in almost every blog while still living at home at (soon-to-be) 24. I know I am beating myself up over it all too much, but I am just getting fed up with the bullshit I deal with day in, and day out.

But ultimately, I want that boob job, lipo, and facelift. Because I truly do want to attain the confidence in getting out of here and not feeling like I am some slut with a heart.

90-day Free Trial!

You get those in the mail all the time. A little square envelope with a CD inside, tempting you to
try it out by screaming "Free". It is a genius way for promoting their product really. You ponder as you sit in front of your laptop/computer whether it will be less space on the hard drive, but you do it anyway. Probably even knowing you might get addicted to using it or get set up with another way to spend money, but you enjoy the trial while it lasts. This is how I feel right know with Riddick.

So we have hung out a couple times; and in those times that we are around each other, they just feel awkward for me. Should I be more affectionate? Or should I not make myself look so desperate and pitiful. Should I just have fun and see where this goes? Or should I try to put some effort to show him that I am interest (even though it is oh-so-obvious)? After recieving enough of his confusing mixed signals, I decided to ask advice from someone I never go to: Jeff.

I would never ask him for advice, but that was when I was still in my "boy-with-a-crush" phase; since I have surpassed that, I decided to get some advice from the smartest person I know. As we were driving, I turned to him and asked him subtlely: "Can I ask you for some advice? I need help."

"Sure baby. What's going on?"

I began to explain my Riddick concerns. I am definitely interested in him, but I am just confused
about our relationship. He cuddles with me, he wants to hang out, we go out drinking and spend time together. Sometimes, I feel like he is showing interest in me, then he says the word: Buddy.
According to a poll of seven people, that's a friend word. When he says that, my little giddy smile
goes away and wakes up to the idea: this might be just a fling. I concluded by saying: "I want to know if I should still pursue this and to know what he wants. Because if he is looking for a friend, then we can stop the sex."

Jeff knew it was time for him to respond. "Stop being impatient and just enjoy it for what it's worth." He counseled. "If he enjoys the time that he spends with you, which I believe he does, then it will happen on its own. But give yourself a goal of how long you want to continue this. Don't tell me a month either, because that's too early to tell."

I decided that I would like to go with the AOL free-trial way: Give him a 90-day free trial. After
the trial is over, he either dates me, or he leaves me. I don't have time to put up with this bullshit and get hurt in the process.

This whole dating scene is just like those free trial packets you get in the mail. You recieve one product to try for free. If you like it, you buy it; if you don't, it goes in the trash, with the rest of the failed trial. This free-trial packet named Riddick is confusing. It's got a nice smell, does wonders for my personality; yet, at the same time, I don't know if I should invest my time and money into this product unless it is showing some serious positive results. Should I use up this trial packet? or should I just move onto a new product?

Stars

When I was dating Jeff, I used to hate what the astrology would say about our relationship: Gemini-Aries. According to astrology, the Gemini-Aries romantic relationship would be short lived, but have the capabilities of developing into a long-term friendship.

I will be honest, it was not easy to get where Jeff and I are at now. But with the arrival of this new year, brought a new me; a "me" that decided to let things from the past go. And to start looking forward into the future. I am dating someone else (he's a Gemini and so far, we're compatable) and I am taking it slow, having fun and enjoying myself with this new guy. I am not putting a name to it yet; according to Jeff, we ARE dating...and I like this guy.

Jeff arrived at our coffeeshop that we normally meet at, the Urban Grind. He also arrived late, another thing I am trying to get used to. I pretend to not notice him walking into the shop, because it makes it seem like I am actually working. I shared some of my tea with him and was catching up on what he has been going on with him since I last seen him. He didn't sound too happy and I could sense something was wrong. Sure, he did tell me his quest for employment is not working too well. But I could sense that he looked more shook up about something else than a consisten paycheck. I asked him to dish what was really going on, and that is where I noticed the change: He told me that he thinks that his boyfriend might be HIV positive.

It's funny how a normal conversation packed with my sarcasm and mockery of everyone in my life can turn serious in just one sentence. I dropped my tea cup back onto the table, placed my hand on his leg, and began to give him my undivided attention. He began to explain why he and his boyfriend think that he might be positive: he is exhibiting all the symptoms related to this virus. He has open sores, night sweats, and other related signs. Jeff told me how worried he was for Joel, his boyfriend. He couldn't sleep at all last night. "I really hope I am wrong this time, but I have seen this before in my brother, and some of the guys I have previously dated." He told me.

I really hope he is wrong too.

It was funny, watching myself change over the four hours with him, change, from last year's story of a boy with a crush on his best friend, to turning into the best friend that I agreed to be two years ago upon our breakup. Then, I decided to challenge him as well: I decided to talk to him about the new guy in my life. And immediately, we both became closer.

As I was talking about this new guy, calling him Riddick for now, his eyes lit up. As if he was proud of how far I have progressed in moving on.

"My other relationships that I have had with other guys have never really stuck like this guy. Except you of course." I explained to Jeff as we were sharing sushi at Ichiban's. "He is the only guy to get me out of a club to cuddle with him while watching 'The Hours.'"

He was smiling and enjoying my company, then he suggested. "We should double date."

I almost accepted the offer. But I still need to check my progress with this guy. So far on the scoreboard, I am earning extra credit for taking care of his cats while he is in Santa Barbara (and this morning, I just cleaned cat vomit from the floor and rug.). Though I am hoping for something with potential with this guy, I am still trying to help integrate into my system: just have fun and don't plan on it. Because that is where I get fucked up.

As I was walking Jeff to his car, I had a sudden epiphany: I was feeling like Joel is family now. Before, I was feeling like I had to fight this guy to get some time with Jeff. But with this HIV scare, I realized that I can't fight someone that is really worried about his life. I beganto ponder how I would react if I were in his shoes. Having my entire life become a battle to stay alive. How close to home this is hitting for me. I couldn't show negative feelings over someone I barely know. Thus giving me the sudden realization that Joel is family too.

Recalling back to the day when Jeff and I read our love horoscope and feeling like my love life was fated in the stars, it did helped me realize one thing. It helped me realize that I had a goal to attain. They are written vaguely for a reason. But as for this relationship I have with my best friend, he has become someone that can always make my day (besides the boyfriend-to-be of course). I cannot ask for anything more right now,but I can hope that things turn out better for his boyfriend. But one can only hope....

Delta

Delta. A Greek symbol that has several different meanings. For everyone that passed kindergarten, it is a triangle (depends on how you draw it, it is an equilateral triangle. But then again, you could be sloppy and make it an isosceles.) In geographical terms, it represents a piece of land that splits a river in two. In aeronautics, Delta represents the airline that charges extra money to be more comfortable in their already uncomfortable planes. However, in Chemistry, it has a special significance: it represents change. It can also represent entropy, but we are SO not getting into that right now.

The drag queen screams her head off as she screams "Happy New Year" in the club. The ballons fall down, the champagne glasses tilt up, everyone's already drunken stupor becomes more distant from their sobriety, couple's lips connect to welcome the new year with a kiss. In the middle of all of that stands Pablo, watching it all with a smile.

I chose to be alone. Sure, I was invited to several parties, but I did not want to go. Yes, it may seem sad that I would want to experience the dawn of a new year by myself; but to be honest, I wanted to bring in the new year in celebration of making it through the three hundred and sixty five days of extreme tribulation.

As soon as the black and white ballons fell down, the frown I had inside me lifted up. A new year. A chance to start over. For the past two years, I brought in the New Year with Jeff, bringing our problems into the New Year like a baby with a loaded diaper. I needed to change. I needed to get out of living a dream that will never happen and start to live my own dream: getting a career and starting over.

My New Years Resolution: To not put up with people's bullshit. 2. To be more honest with people. 3. To stop living in fantasy and live my dream.

I don't look back on that year with regret. To be honest, I am glad I experienced it. I am not going to look back on the bad times that I faced; I am going to look at that year at the lessons learned and how much I have matured in that year.
So I am welcoming the delta's in my life. Welcoming the changes that are bound to happen in my life. Sure, times will get tough at times, but I know that things are changing this year. I feel better knowing that it's 2009.