In search for the gay Jean

I was in the mood to blog, but I had no idea what I wanted to blog about. Most of the time, when I feel like that, something normally pops into my mind while I am on a walk with Dunkyn, or something flies down my shirt, or something sparks the tears and loneliness. I had decided that I was not going to blog today, but I still had to get out of the house. So, I came down to my favorite coffee shop, Diedrich, so that I could kill an hour before class starts. I have done homework all morning, so nice break is in order. Of course, after I get my drink and biscotti, I discover that the internet connection is down here, as per normal. What to do, what to do. . .
Well, I read some of the voting recommendations from OutFront and decided that I should probably leave and try to accomplish something. That is when I saw it. Inspiration. Muse. Juxtaposition. Today is October 23rd. It snowed last week. I had to turn up the heat in my home today because I was shaking as I was working on my group project. I have had to get out the heated water bowls for the bunnies, as they were trying to lick ice cubes for a day or two before I noticed—I am such a bad dad. I am planning on putting my Christmas tree up this coming Sunday (No, it is not too soon. Keep your opinions to yourself—who asked you?). Oh, yes, inspiration, sorry got distracted. Anyhoo, I looked out the window of Diedrich and saw a skinny, yet muscular, boy at one of the out door tables with his shirt off, displaying his body for those at his table. I almost burst out laughing. It is nearly November, time for sweaters, scarves, woolen jackets—not time to be dressing like we are laying out by the pool.
Now, to be fair, it is warm right here. Somehow much warmer here than at my house, only a few short miles away. The sun is bright and cheerful, pleasantly warm. Still, who else would be shirtless, outside of some gay twinktified man-cub? No wonder people laugh at ‘the gays’ and call us shallow. Just because you have no fat on your body does not mean you have to show it off at the beginning of winter. In fact, it would make more sense to go shirtless if you had fat on your body—more insulation. Disgraceful!
Who am I kidding? We all know I am just jealous!
Speak of jealousy. . . I attended JS’s housewarming brunch party yesterday. Ok, let’s sit with that for a bit: HOUSEWARMING BRUNCH PARTY. Really, could we be any gayer? I love it!!! As I was saying before you interrupted with your stereotying of my Sunday recreational activities. . . JS’s home is beautiful, perfect for him. A perfect blending of the modern, industrial, cutting-edge chic, and downplayed elaborate. Speaking of downplayed elaborate: have you seen my friends lately? I really do forget how gorgeous they are until they are all crowded into one small space. Each body perfectly quaffed, each stomach washboard flat, each bicep containing enough muscle to make a Cornish hen jealous, each hair laborishly windblown, each eye brow perfectly arched and shaped. Every pair of designer jeans snug and appropriately distressed looking. Every shirt with just enough tightness to cut off circulation at the bicep and to show the faintest hint of constantly aroused nipples. Each person perfection in their individual outfits designed to look as if they had just rolled out of bed and thrown something on. The interesting thing is that if you do actually roll out of bed and throw something on, as I did, it does not give the sexy mussed up look (that takes hours to create) and simply looks unkempt. I had one of my moments (lasting two hours) of extreme insecurity, where it is nearly impossible for me to converse with those around me. Instead, I focused on the food (yeah, that helps the situation) and then became consumed by cleaning up and drying the dishes. You see, the dishes don’t give a shit if you look like a male model or if your triceps flex and tremble as you pass the dish towel over their surface.
Gay boys. How shallow. All they care about is how they look. Lost in the self-absorption that is their existence. If they saw a baby drowning in a mud puddle, they would screech in abject horror at the audacity of the baby to get its clothes dirty and step over the pathetic thing for fear of getting their new loafers scuffed, but not before scooping up some of the wet earth. Why waste an opportunity to be there recipient of a luxury mud mask?
I am so thankful that I, the gay anomaly, am immune to such ridiculous endeavors and focus more upon the development of my mind and morality.
Speaking of morality, the count down is on. Five days to get my body in as good of shape as possible to dress in my whorish satyr costume. I bought enough canned tuna and yogurt to feed a small Somalian village. If that doesn’t make the fat pour off, I don’t know what will. Now only the largest of pressing questions remains? Do I trim the chest hair for the costume or not? Satyrs are hairy, but smooth is sexy. My life is so hard! Why must I be faced with such dilemma and confliction? I could just weep!

Side note: One of the most wonderful blessings of my life is that my extremely gorgeous friends are even more beautiful on the inside than they are on the outside. It is such a inspiring situation to be surrounded by men and women who push each other to be better human beings, put each other before themselves, and are full of integrity and passion.