October 11, 2004

Confession (or, An Anonyboy Moment)

I suppose I should mention that this weekend's outburst of testosterone has less to do with my mongoose-like reflexes and more to a deer or elephant's ritualistic bursts of aggression to prove his virility and to attract a mate.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen (I mean, who am I kidding?), there was a cute straight boy in the room whom I needed to impress, and needed to convince that I am most definitely not some wussy pansy queen worried that I might break a nail or mess my hair (both of which stayed impeccable during the tussle, by the way). He knows I'm a fan of the Greek love; although my dorm is the size of a closet, I'm not heading back into that anytime soon (especially on National Coming Out Day).

As for looks, he resembles a young John Kerry, save for the dyed black hair, 6 earrings, nose-ring and dress-shirt-cum-punk attire. As for his laugh, it's more a a loud "Ha" sort of snortle. As for his type, it's just like mine: tall, pale, and not exactly handsome but not scaring small children either. As for gaydar, I can't really tell. And as for a pseudonym, I have none at the moment.

All jokes aside, he knew two very direct ways into my heart.

1. He likes Jake Gyllenhaal, or in his words, "Even though I don't, you know, have sex with guys, I would still have sex with him." (Referring to my desktop photo of Jake in a (homo)erotic pose)

2. He adores Kathleen Hanna, otherwise known as my favorite recording artist of all time. In fact, he even started carrying around a picture of her in his billfold when his parents started asking why they haven't seen him with any girls.

I mean, come on. With idols such as these, how could I not want to jump his bones? It's been eleven months or so, and who knows--if I'm successful, then this blog could get a lot more interesting real quick.
Here lies a most ridiculous raw youth, indulging himself in the literary graces that he once vowed to eschew. Now he just rocks out.