Ordinary Madness

I’m sitting at GFC, finishing my two hour shift. I’m listening to fantastic music and am being provided free entertainment along with coffee. I just can’t help but thank that in half an hour, I’ll be young, wild, and free. 

This day has been a day of self discovery and self acceptance. I have never felt more liberated and free in my entire life. It’s the most amazing feeling. Let’s be honest, I’ve come out once before. I came out in high school, and I thought that was the final step in my journey of sexuality. I would have never believed that my journey would continue as I went to college.

I’ve let being “gay” define every aspect of my life. The stigma was given to me when I was in kindergarden, and after coming out, I totally rocked it. I let being gay define my actions, my thoughts, and my reality. When I went to Rider University, I was no longer the only gay kid. I didn’t have a defining feature. I didn’t feel like I was special. I talked to a professor, who helped me to realize that I’m limiting myself by allowing a stereotype define me. And then the gears started to turn. 

I came to Allegheny college as a means to get away from situations, people, professors, stigmas, and the problems that followed me to Rider. I’m a drifter. I think that I will always be this way, but I also think that, for the time being, Allegheny is the place that I’m going to prosper. This is a community filled with support, trust, and a fantastic education. 

Needless to say, since being at this school, I’ve tried to dismiss and make my label irrelevant. I’ve tried to follow the advice given to me by that professor, who I consider a friend. Only recently I have succeeded. 

At a party recently, after having a little too much to drink, I proceeded to tell everyone in my vicinity that I was “a homosexual.” It’s not that I was flaunting my sexuality, I was trying to make myself more comfortable in a new environment. Keep in mind that I’ve only been at my new school for about three weeks; however, after the party, I started to reflect on my actions and was mortified. What does it matter if I’m gay, straight, bisexual, or transgendered? That’s my business. Everyone and their mother doesn’t have the right to know that about me, nor should it be a factor in becoming my friend. And so the wheels turned even more. 

Recently my room mate made a few comments that he could never date a girl simply because she wasn’t “his type.” Well, to be honest, I was confused by this comment. I think that certain women are beautiful, not because of their bodies, but because of their inner souls and their personalities. And so the wheels turning in my head began to take motion, and my thoughts started driving me to a place I had never been before.

Currently I sit in the Q&A house. Typing this blog post after coming out again. I’ve realized. after many tears, and much internalization, that I am pansexual; however, this label does’t do me justice either. I am attracted to inner beauty. That beauty might be found in a male, or a female. I am interested in people’s stories. I am interested in the human experience. I think that it is a shame that I allowed myself to be defined as gay for so long. 

Life is so much more than sexuality. Life is about living. Life is about experience. Life is beautiful. 

I feel as though I have only just begun to find myself. I think this step in my life will be one that liberates me in my future. I want to live. And I want to experience. I want to believe in humanism. I want to live in a world where definitions and labels no longer exist. It’s highly idealistic, I recognize, but wishful thinking never killed anyone. 

If you are reading this, and you are struggling with your sexuality, I want to tell you that it really does get better. I want to tell you not to define yourself. I want to tell you to live. I want to tell you that life is worth it. I want to tell you that you are loved by so many people. I want to tell you that you have support. I want to tell you you are strong. I want to tell you so many things. I want to make you brave like Lady Gaga made me brave.

I never believed it would truly get better until a few hours ago. I didn’t think that I would ever feel comfortable in my skin. Maybe with this realization I will go on to find the self-confidence and respect that I’ve been missing for so many years. I want to start living in a reality that I create. I want meaning and truth. I want equality.

I feel so brave. I feel empowered. I want you to know, that life is worth living. Keep calm and carry on. Everything will define itself in time.

I awoke this morning in a haze that I will be forced to combat all day. My thoughts are slurred, my words are irrelevant. The fog that surrounds me impedes on my ability to see the world for what it is. My perceptions blocked. I feel far from beautiful. I can feel myself comparing myself to anyone and everyone. At these times, there is not a hope I can cling to or a light I can see, but I’ll wear my mask and carry on.

Anonymous asked: Where have you been?

I’ve been all over. Since my first semester of college was so emotionally draining on me, I decided to transfer schools. So, I picked up the life I made for myself in NJ and came back to PA. Needless to say, in the process of reorganizing my life, trying to find my niche at my new school, and balancing social interaction with the copious amounts of homework I have been receiving, I haven’t had much time to blog. But as you can see tonight was the night to release all my pent up emotion, lay my fingers to the keys, and type my heart out. I hope you enjoy the new additions. I know I had a blast writing and experiencing them!

I transfered to a new school. At my previous school, I had plenty of friends, and the social situations were fine, but the academics and professors just weren’t for me. Not to mention the food made me sick everyday, and I had to “release all inhibitions in the guest bathroom” regularly. Although this is an embarrassing fact, and not essential to the story by any means, I thought that some might find higher meaning in my eloquent language used to describe my bowel movements. 

Needless to say, the transfer has turned out to be one of the best decisions that I could have ever made for myself. Please don’t mistake my new happiness for a replacement of the friends I came to love and cherish. I miss them immensely. I think about them constantly, and I find myself calling my big everyday simply because I’m sitting alone in the dining hall or smoking a cigarette by myself. But even with all of that considered, I have found so much more inner peace at my new school, and so much inner joy, that it’s hard to believe how miserable I was for the last few months. I’ve cut back a lot on my smoking habits. I’ve been smiling a lot more, and above all, I can be academic and still have an absolute blast. 

This brings me to my actual story.

It was my first weekend on campus. I assumed that I would attend a few parties, meet some new people, swap numbers, and grab lunch with some new friends within the following week. Although that happened on Friday night, I was surprised to find out that my Saturday took a different course of events.

A friend who I met on one of the first days at my new school invited me to see Rocky Horror with her and a few friends. Naturally, I’ve seen the movie. In the comfort of my own home. And naturally, I’m somewhat familiar with the Rocky counter culture, as my favorite book is The Perks of Being A Wallflower; however, I never expected to be thrown into an actual Rocky event. I figured I missed that crazy train. I thought, “Gosh, I’ll just have to live there the words on these pages.”  I couldn’t have been more wrong. 

To prepare for the occasion, my friend insisted that I dress appropriately. And by appropriately, I mean as provocatively as possible. She put me in heels, fishnets, just my underwear, and a tight-black tank top. I did my own makeup, and allow me to personally say, it looked fantastic. Lots of eyeliner (which I am still washing off), gold and silver eyeshadow, and the brightest red lipstick I could muster. I looked like a sweet transvestite. Thank god it was the look I was going for. 

We arrived at the theater. When we walked inside, we all ran to the bathroom to change. Outside of the comfort of my friends doom, the self-conscious self that I am accustomed to set in. We stood in the theater lobby, where I received a tremendous amount of compliments on my legs. Finally, the usher started to allow entrance into the theater. The usher, mind you, was adorable. 

As we walked into the theater, a giant letter “V” was put on my forehead to symbolize that I was a Rocky virgin. I walked further, where a member of the cast started rubbing my chest. I figured, “When in Rome…” So I did a little shake, and went on my way. 

After much anticipation, the “de-virginizing” ceremony began. All the virgins lined up at the front of the theater in front of the movie screen. The hostess pulled out a giant, vibrating, purple dildo. We were told to pass it along the line without using our hands. Simple enough, I passed with flying colors, but believe I might have accidentally turned off the vibrating pleasure device. Needless to say, all the virgins, after the process was compete, passed with flying colors. We sat back down, and the movie began.

The actors started recreating the movie below the screen, while the audience members screamed profanities at the giant red lips on the screen. I was amazed. This truly was a counterculture. The anthropologist in me sat in amazement, and the slut in me stated screaming. It was all invigorating. 

Now my friends had promised me a truly original experience. They did not fail. When it came time, the had me volunteer to be part of the players on stage. Now, being a thespian, I have no problem being in front of people; however, when my shirt was ripped from my back, I couldn’t help but blush. There I was, standing nearly naked in front of at least 50 people. I thought about being embarrassed, but then thought again, “When in Rome…”

I stood there. Hardly dressed and proud. My friends were screaming encouraging words, when all of the sudden I was told to get on all fours, pushed down, and ridden by members of the cast. I became the “Hobby Horse.” A truly miraculous honor. A once in a lifetime experience. And in that moment, not only was my Rocky virginity forever vanquished, but my Rocky cherry was permanently popped. 

I stood up, with precision in heels, to looks of both horror and awe from the audience. Some of the regulars wished they had been in my place, while other virgins could not believe the event that just took place in front of them. I was grinning ear to ear. This was just liked I read it, but better. 

The rest of the movie played on. We laughed. We talked through the movie. We reveled in the sheer promiscuity of the entire atmosphere. It was absolutely perfect. But the night was not yet complete. You see, if you payed one dollar, you had the guaranteed right to make out with any member of the cast you chose. Did I pay a dollar? I ask you this. Does a walrus have a tusk? Does an elephant want a peanut? Is Casper the Friendly Ghost dead? The answer, my friends, was yes. A resounding yes. 

When I kissed the usher, sparks flew, and the shrieks from my friends filled the air. Grandma Dave, who played Rocky, looked on with approval. Other members of the cast looked in sheer joy. When I stepped back, I nearly fell over. It was the best kiss I have ever had. And for only a dollar? You better believe I payed again. 

And with that kiss, my friends and I went to leave the theater. We said goodbye to the cast and crew, and I stole a free kiss (a peck) as we strolled out the door. In that night, my greatest dreams came true. I went to a live showing of Rocky, I dressed in drag without fear of judgment, I kissed a boy, and made an absolute fool of myself while doing all of it. Perfection in a nutshell.