Wednesday, August 10, 2011

Gay Realness

I had a realization today after walking into the disgusting Ace Hardware on the South Side. This creepy south-end-gay sales associate greeted me with a, "Can I help you find anything?" To which I replied,


This hillbilly, who I might add, I could smell from a mere eight feet away, glared at me. I felt dumb. I just told some gross gay creep I was in the market for caulk AND I was wearing running shorts in public — which already makes me feel totally uncomfortable.

My realization? I am a self-loathing gay. I mean, this is clearly nothing groundbreaking. If you've read anything I've written in the last three years, or talked to me more than fifteen minutes, it is fairly obvious. I blame Ohio, not just being back here, but being born here. I guess its better that Iran. Sorry, Perry.

So, I decided I need to get over it. I need to own my gayness. I need to "werk it out". I don't mean like waxing my eyebrows or lip gloss werk, I mean just get over myself. Get over my self-loathing-ness of my sexuality. This is going to be hard.

I went to my freshman orientation for The Ohio State University. I felt elderly. Everyone there was eighteen and had both parents with them — which was totally weird. I mean, whose parents are still married?? The whole thing was so wholesome. I was hungover, of course, which I felt brought a real "grittiness" to the situation, which was much needed.

The orientation included speeches about parking, and dorms, and activities, and groups we could join — including a Quidditch club. It was queer. And to top it off, each PowerPoint presentation was sprinkled with "O-H" slides which we were required to cheer back "I-O". I think this was for the parents — something to get them jazzed about giving away half of their paychecks for the next four years. We were also given a buckeye. Which is a nut — for those of you who live in California — and the mascot of my new college, which is dumb, but not as dumb as my junior high mascot which was a specific type of plaid. Later that night, when I was drunk again, I saw the nut on the kitchen counter and for a very brief moment felt sentimental. I was pretty drunk.

I've been drinking too much this summer. It's been great. I'm really owning my drinking. I'm werkin' it, hard. That, after all, was my plan — have fun, enjoy life, etc. I've also been doing a little home remodeling. I decided to tile a few walls in the upstairs bathroom. Sounds simple enough, right?

What a fucking pain in the ass. I will never tile anything ever again. Ever. If I ever need anything tiled, I will hired a professional — or hire the Mexicans loitering around the Lowes. So, I don't know if any of you have tiled, but the process is something like: stick the tiles on the wall, grout, caulk, voila. Let me just say, after days of rage and a hole in the dining room ceiling, the job is done. Yes, somehow I managed to burst a pipe in the floor which leaked into the ceiling below which now needs replaced. This reminds me of when I tried to work for my dad one summer — well, he made me. I was paying off a debit I accrued on a credit card I stole from him. I was a good kid. Anyway, one summer I "worked" for him. Mostly I hid behind packing material and slept on forklifts, that and chain smoked, but technically I was an "employee". One day I was driving the forklift back into the warehouse at full speed, chain smoking, forks up — unknown by me — and blew through the side of the warehouse taking with me a large eight by ten piece of warehouse wall. In my defense, I was probably still sleepy from the nap I had just woken up from. Later that day my dad asked me if I was gay at a Coney Island.

So, here I am. Step one of owning my gayness. I'm not really cut out for manual labor, so why do it? Maybe my dad was right. From here on out I'm totally gonna own/werk my inability to do manual labor.

So, South Side gay sales associate, that is the last time I will come for your shitty caulk. Werk!

Oh, but on a side note: I did decide not go to women's events anymore (ie. bachelorette parties, baby showers, etc.) because I am still a man. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I need to be all acting like a woman and be pretending to give a shit about your baby. That is your mistake and I am certainly not going to celebrate that. Maybe if you ladies start having abortion parties I'll change my mind.


Jon said...

I avoid eye contact with that creepy Ace sales associate like the plague. Every time I go in there he is cutting keys for someone and staring at me. Then I leave and see he has the same "equal rights" sticker on his truck as I do on my Yaris and I realize I need to be less self loathing too.

Let's spend tonight listening to Lady Gaga and drinking martinis!

jacobwissman said...

Best idea everrrrr.

Virgon said...

"Abortion" "Gay" "Realness" "School"

Love, Michael

Patrick said...

I'd bitch about the Iran comment, but my borrowing and then losing your caulk probably is what caused you to end up there in the first place.

Honestly, though, I think that gayness isn't on people's minds in Iran the way it is here. I could go to some similarly masculine space and ask for something similarly masculine and if people thought anything, they'd be afraid to even let the idea get too far in their thinking. You'd probably have to REALLY lay it on thick; it's the sort of country where guys hold each others hand or wrestle for fun, if you get the idea.

Anyway, I also have to use the NAPA auto parts store near Cody's house when I'm working on my car and I get similar odd glares and short sentences. I feel like Rosa Parks, only hairier.

Nick Kusner said...

I think you should continue being rude to the gross guy at Ace Hardware. He smells bad from 8 feet away. I don't care if he's gay. He smells. And he has a job and very likely a home and a shower. So... why does he smell?