Despite all of my hestitation, I decided to start my own blog. Why? You my fellow bloggers and wanderers through life might ask. Because in this drunk state of mind I am I cannot bare to think that my high thoughts would go to waste next morning, when my head will be clear and free of any guilt, even though it will be pounding with pain for the first few hours of wakefulness. I had been really reluctant to this process, specially because whoever reads this might think "Oh this is so good, and so LIKE me, I'm gonna steal it and try to publish it like it's my own", well, guess what? I figured out a way to make that kind o threat be like no threat at all. I'm only gonna write the kind of things that would never make it to the prints, but still cannot help to write. This whole paragraph is a witness to my statement. You see? this whole pragraph is shit for a press, but not for this online haven that copes with all of our diarrhoea of words. And, if you wonder how the hell I know what will make it to the press and what won't, well, the answer is very simple, and if you're a bit like my you know it already. And if you're not like me you're SOOO gonna stay wondering forever cause like HELL i'm telling you. You don't deserve to know the answer until you've lived and read enough to figure it out on your own.
Well, the purpose of this account is to talk about my experiences, as little or big as they may be. And since I've always believed that a literary piece needs to be in context, I'll give you a little bit of it. I'm a Doctor (or physician, for those international readers that might get a bit confused) who lives in a third world country, but doesn't live a third world live. I'm handsome, not mind-blowingly though, and I'm gay, in case you hadn't figured it out by now. I have a keen sense of fashion and I LOVE contemporary literature.
I always thought I'd be a writer, specially through high school, but then I realized I had a bit of a talent for science, so I thought "well, I can always be a writer, so long as I have enough language and experiences to tell, but you can only be a doctor once". So I went on and became one. It took me eight years. Beautiful years. Painful but rewarding. Made me feel how good it is to grow up and experience life, with all of those different nuances it brings year after year. Yet I kept triyng to quit every year. It's awful to feel you're becoming a part of the system. But enough with the context. Whatever else is necessary to know so you can comprehend the story I'll tell you when you need to know it. I'm not gonna bore you with the sob stories of my life. We all have them you know? The secret is in coping with them as discreetly as possible. I don't know about you but i hate a cry baby whose key words in life are: Why meeeeee?..... Boo Hooo. Like I care!. Woow, I just realized I said I have a keen sense of Fashion. I guess for the third world that might be true.
Today was awful. After two year of wandering throughout the country because of my career, I find myself stuck in my parent's house again. A little part of me was thrilled. My hometown has changed a lot since I left and it has turned out to be a moderately entertaining place. Besides the men in this city are HOT and with not that much mindshit to cope with. They're open and they'll put out as soon as they're drunk. Nice Huh? I bet you're DYING with envy over there. Still, it is my parents house. Same old dynamics that go a bit like this: Number one: upitght, self-appointed perfect stepford-wife mother trying to convince former junkie-communist-stud, who is now less-than-a shadow-of-a-human-being father to take care of himself. Number two: Really dissapointed, heart-broken mother pissed at the world trying to take it out on her two gorgeous succesful boys (hey, I'm not self-deluded ok?) through various tasks. And three: being cross-examined by both of them whenever you arrive later than 2 am, with your hair all messed up and smelling of sex. They get all crazy!! Thank god they already know I'm gay and they spare me all of the questions about the girl. Of course they don't wan't to know about the guy! Duh! They're catholic for christ sake!
So. Today. I was incredibly hungover and mother urged me as soon as I got up (11 am) to rearrange my room. All of the stuff I dragged with me for two years was cluttered in the living room and she, as stepford as she is, could not bare to look at it anymore. She asked kindly, so I agreed to please her and started cleaning up my arrival mess even though my head was pounding and I could barely stand up. I was forced to sort through all sorts of rubbish from the last ten years of my life. And all through this wake nightmare I kept receiving phone calls from my friend Sally. She was asking me for directions to get to some government offices. She's from another town, could be pretty if she wasn't so fat and she's very dumb. But we're friends because she helped me out through some shitty times. I'm not an ungrateful bastard you know? Still, I'm NOT making fat friends again. But that's a whole different story. Sally kept calling me through lunch, letting me only have two bites in between calls, and said we would go out tonight, cause she just couldn't leave my town if I hadn't shown her the hot spots. Since she's so gay friendly (it seems she has a magnet for us, she looks like bozo the clown with BIG boobs) I decided we'd go to a straight pub first and then we'd go to a gay one. Turns out the straight pub was a lot more fun than the gay one. We wen't to Saint John's Pub, right in downtown. A place with echoes of my town's ancient mining history and splendor, that used to be a haven for hookers and regular alcoholics but now is the trendiest bar in town. Has anything like that ever happened in your town? Anyway, we arrived an the place was packed. So we had to share table with some fellas. As soon as we sat down, a nasty drunk started to hit on Sally, he hadn't reached the deep end of drunkness yet but he was one pint away. Paul was his name, and he reminded me of everything that's wrong with straight folks. But he was a funny pub story and I allowed that nasty flirting. Sally didn't give in much, and the little giving stopped when Paul smacked her bum. I laughed my ass off when Sally told me, I didn't see it because it happened when they were picking songs in the jukebox. I was way too busy flirting with the seemingly-sraight friend of Paul. Herbert. He couldn't have been older than me (like hell I'm telling ya) and looked like the porn-fantasy plumber who comes and fixes your pipes: tall, butch, hairy, with a really old-fashioned hair and dressed in tank top and jeans. At first I thought it wasn't happening, but when Sally was telling me all about the groping business with Paul, Herbert stared at me intensely, so I couldn't help to turn around, and he kept staring and smiled. All of my fellow gay readers know what that means, specially when you're talking to someone you think is straight. YOU'RE IN!!! Still, he's so blue collar I didn't make a move. He has to do them all or else I wouldn't be satisfied. When Paul realized his drunk flirting moves would never succeed with Sally even if he was hot, he forced his friends to leave, including Herbert. God he was hot!! But I'm sure I'll see him again and he'll beg me to have sex. We'll See. Sally and I hung out a bit longer at Saint John's. Until I couldn't bare the straight world no more and took her to Puss, a former heavy metal-oriented bar turned into lesbian pub. I figured Sally might meet the love of her life. I always thought she had a bit of a lesbian thing going and I'd still believe it if it wasn't because tonight she told me the cock tastes like olives. That is just something a lesbian wouldn't know. And she doesn't have the guts to be bisexual (yeah, it's the sexual orientation that takes most guts). At Puss I saw my latest crush. His name is Lance, he's only 3 years older than me and already owns his house, his BMW, he dresses incredibly well, he's tall and buff, has a gorgeous hairy chest and a really closed beard... ok i'm drifting, you get the picture. I saw him there and I was stunned because I hooked up with him about 3 months ago and we had sex. But... I can't even say it... It was all so fuckin' well until the unspeakable happened. Does the word crowning means anything to anyone? I hope it doesn't but if it does, my most sincere sympathies. Obviously, he never returned my phone calls. I wouldn't have done it either. But it really hurted!! He had "the one" potential!! And just seeing him here at Puss, checking me out while some stupid classless twat is rubbing himself against him is driving me nuts!!!.... Yet, as Doris once said it: Lo que sera, Sera, whatever will be, will be. Well, that was the highlights for today. Whenever I get laid I'll give you a full brief, but if you're carrying around a fat chick that just doesn't happen. See ya!
