Summer 2013: Life as a Nomadic Homosexual

Here's the truth: I was going to write an entire post dedicated to the ridiculousness of MTV's Video Music Awards. I was going to discuss Justin Timberlake, *NSYNC, Robin, and of course Miley, but I struggled with it for most of the day.

There were a lot of things to make fun of, and there were a lot of funny things that were swirling in my mind. Anyone who follows me on Twitter saw my reactions first-hand, and I was shocked most of the way through.

However, talking about all of that, for me, would minimize the performance that I think should have been the "bring the house down" moment — "Same Love," performed by Macklemore, Ryan Lewis, Jennifer Hudson, and the perfectly imperfect Mary Lambert. Marriage equality won another battle and that's as far as I want to delve into the VMAs.

(Umm... yeah.)

Reader (that's you): Excuse me? Did you just get all weird and emotional on us?

Me: OMG! NO! Stop twisting my words! I just, sometimes, well, I HAVE ALL OF THE FEELS!

Reader: Way to make this awkward. 

Me: Well, the jokes on you, madam or sir, I have always made things awkward. So, you know, you really had that one coming.

Reader: Touche, Mr. Lost, Touche. Do we still get a post?

Me: Of course! I'm not an ANIMAL. I just wanted to address the giant elephant (or teddy bear, if you're Miley) in the room. Can I tell you some ridiculousness from my summer?

Reader: We have all been wondering why the hell you haven't posted all summer. We thought you gave up on us or life... or both. Did you?

Me: NOPE! Let's talk about the highs and lows together... READY?

Reader: We are never, ever completely ready... but let's go?

Summer 2013: Life as a Nomadic Homosexual, Pt. 1

This past summer was ridiculous, wonderful, exhausting, expensive, and fairly homosexual. I already divulged the details of Pride Month, but now it's time to discuss the aftermath of the booziest month of my life.

(Maybe not huge...)

Ooh Ooh Baby

Not only is that the name of a spectacular Britney song, it's also something that I have been saying in a far more innocent way all summer. You know you all have that one friend who got their life together WAY before you ever did? Graduated from college, got a job, fell in love, and got married in a beautiful ceremony? You're left standing there, asking yourself if it's time for you to buckle down and get serious about finding love or continue going to the same bars every weekend. That's when the DJ drops your favorite tune and a Britney song was on. 

(Hey, I never said I wouldn't sprinkle this post with Miley references.)

Well, those friends with their lives together are now having babies... and I am ramotional about it. Girl Next Door used to live across the street from me growing up and is my oldest friend in ze world. She was even crazy enough to have me as her Man of Honor in her wedding. (I know what you're thinking: She trusted me to give a speech? That she did friends, that she did.) Girl Next Door became pregnant late last year and gave birth to the most beautiful baby boy in mid-June. I have learned three things about pregnancy and birth from GND. 

1. Pregnancy is kinda hard because of getting larger, but mostly because you are forced into sobriety. I made the mistake of handing GND a big ol' bottle of wine the night she told me she was pregnant. 

(We have, since, had wine.)

2. Babies make a crap ton of weird noises and there is a constant flow of bodily fluids. They also have ZERO manners. This little Nugget of mine (Yes, I am calling him mine and he shall be known as Nugget. Shove it.) just let's one rip during the quietest of moments, THEN he expects you to clean it up. Reasons I know I am not ready for a child — dirty diapers and smelly babies aren't "cute" to me yet. 

(Ok, Nugget, you don't smell as bad as Courtney Love. You win this round.)

3. People give you a LOT of crap for having a baby. GND is the first of my friends back home to have a kid, so every time I turned around one of us was handing over some sort of something that we found and JUST had to let Nugget have. I am hoping because I am the only gay one in many of my groups of friends, that when I have a kid everyone will just hand me things because of the novelty of a homosexual having a kid. I just have to figure out how to monopolize on this before every gay man starts having a kid...

(Maniacal laughter ensues)

Campfire Nightmares

Guys... guys... GUYS! A couple weeks ago, I went to British Cowgirl's lake house in the boonies of PA. It was actually really fantastic to get out of the hustle and bustle of... D.C.? (I felt terrible and cliche for typing that. Who says that? Us big city folks need to unwind and go somewhere quiet and quaint! Ugh.)

This town has a population around 340 and is literally up in the mountains. Every year, for British Cowgirl's birthday, we head up to the house and party like its 1999. That was all fine and good... except this year the "group" decided to go on a hike. I agreed to go because of my love for British Cowgirl, not because I find the outdoors exhilarating. (I take my father's philosophy on the sightseeing — "They are nice to drive, boat or fly by.") Five minutes into our hike, my best friends decided to go OFF THE TRAIL. 

("Death comes to those who off-trail hike." It's in the Bible or something.)

I want you to understand how ill-prepared I am for hiking in general, let alone "off roading" it. Everyone was ecstatic this year because I remembered to bring sneakers, instead of flip-flops, for hiking. While everyone else was getting into their spandex, tank tops, and other sporty gear, I put on gay-ish cut-off shorts and a plaid button-down. (Plaid = lumberjack = appropriate hiking wear. Do the math.) I basically looked like I was heading to Bear Happy Hour. (Yes, that is a real thing). I knew my casually cute outfit would be lost on the nature creatures that were most certainly going to eat me, but I trudged on like a trooper to appease the masses. 

Slowly, our little group started to realize that, even for the most experienced hikers, this was a little bit much. We were literally hanging on to rocks to keep from falling into the water. I had been quietly afraid of poison ivy and attempted to avoid touching any plants. Then, it got to a point where I was either going to submerse my body into the plants or tumble down the side of the mountain into the river.  Suddenly, it was decided that the best way to get back to our cars would be to CROSS THE RIVER and see if the other side would be easier. 

(I'm probably just going to use J. Law to explain my emotions from here on out.)

I had two options in this sick version of Hunger Games my friends had thrown me in. (See, I am even using her movies. #obsessed) I could either venture across the mildly raging river with them and hope for an easier path home, OR forge my own way back up the mountain and hope that I could do it without assistance this time. Since I had no Louis to my Clark, I decided to trek with my friends.

(This is calm compared to what I crossed. OK, OK... maybe, JUST maybe, I am exaggerating.)

My first of many mistakes was taking off my shoes to cross. As soon as I stepped out onto my first rock, I started to lose my balance. I watched my friends cross one way, and I decided to try and cross just half a foot over from their path. Fail. The first step I took on my own path led me into water that was up to my upper thighs. (Remember, I am wearing cute cut-off shorts, not hiking shorts.) Laughter ensues from my friends, and I contemplate all the ways I am going to murder them. 

I hobble back to the regulated path they had sort of created and tried to very slowly follow my other friend, who is as close to Pocahontas as I am to Bear Grylls. I watch her stumble and submerge her shoes in the water. The laughter switches over to her from me for a few minutes, and I quietly thank baby jebus that my shoes are still dry.

The rocks feel like they are getting more unstable with every step, and I am losing my confidence in my poor coordination skills. What upsets me the most about what happens next is that I decided to stand, completely still, and figure out what my next moves were when my center of balance decided to shift and my legs buckled. What it looked like to all of my friends was that I randomly decided to SIT in the water up to my shoulders.

(Fear not, I was not as graceful as this.)

I sat in the water for a moment, contemplated just laying completely down and letting the river do what it wanted with my body. Instead, I got up and trudged through the rest of the river with a bit more confidence, because I had nothing left to give nature — my dignity had floated away already. The rest of the hike wasn't terrible, even though I was soaked.

I took a total of five showers in a 48-hour period, because I don't do dirty. For all of my complaining, the weekend is usually a lot of fun and it's my chance to be "outdoorsy" like my dating profiles say I am! 

Four Days Later

I woke up last Wednesday with red bumps all over my wrist. I panicked and immediately sent Mama and Papa Fab an email, asking them if I had bed bugs and giving them a brief overview of my will. I spent an hour and a half at work, on and off, looking up bed bugs and trying to decide if all this work to get rid of bed bugs was worth it, or if I should just move. (Thank. God. I. Am. Not. Dra.ma.tic. *gay claps*)

I worked myself up into such a panic that I left work early to go to the doctor and have her tell me when my expiration date was. Much to my shock, awe, pleasure and dismay, she told me I was being ridiculous and that this was obviously poison ivy. 

(My second worst fear, behind bed bugs, of course.)

The doctor sent me along my way with steroid cream, a renewed outlook on life, and a reason to email all of my friends and talk about myself. 

Miley: Oh, dear.

Readers: Apparently, you are very judgey in my mind. I don't appreciate it, so stop. 

Babies: Small aliens...

Hiking: Dangerous and could lead to getting your arm chopped off, "127 Hours"-style. 

Fabulously Lost: Diseased and on the verge of death. Or, I might be cured in five days.