A confession

I swear, even after I write this sentence, I will still try and maintain my status as a gay blogger. I don't think that writing this sentence will make any profound change, but I still feel the need to preface this, lest the gay blogging fairy (HAHAHA) comes down with his magic wand (no, it's not what you're thinking) and poof! (heh heh) I become a boring journal of food and angst.

It's not so much a norm against which I'm rebelling, but a more. (Brush up on your sociology terms here.) Not every gay blogger in the sidebar has expressed this sentiment, but enough so that I feel a need to establish my break away from the crowds, in case people think that I too feel that way.

I don't find Michael Phelps attractive.

There. I've said it. It feels good to get that off my chest.

I suppose, if pressured by the gay blogging mafia, I could use one of Sissy's terms. He's a prawn: I'd rip off the head and eat the body. But only under extreme duress would I make such a statement. My heart still belongs to Jake, even if he doesn't go shirtless nearly as often as he should.