There will be no "self-summary." There will only be my thoughts. That way, you can come to your own conclusion. There's too much emphasis on selling oneself like a slice of processed cheese. I much prefer to be the cow.
I'm not going to describe myself as a "laid-back person" because that's how all people describe themselves. I'm simply not that calm, because I have a human circulatory system.
I'm not an "open book" either. A little mystery goes a long way in keeping someone's interest. It's once there's nothing left to discover that people really become boring. Sure, it's a natural part of being human, but why speed up the process? I like keeping things to myself for a while. If you see the good aspects of someone first, it makes the bad aspects easier to digest.
There also seems to be this misconception among gay men that having flooded the internet with nudes of oneself and having "done porn" are positive attributes that a sane human being actively looks for in another person. Quite the opposite in most cases. Once again, mystery is a funny thing.
Why do people think that no one Googles them before the fist date? Who lives in the dark like that? "I'm going to go meet this stranger. If I get murdered, make sure my gravestone says YOLO."
I may be a millennial, but millennial slang makes me want to set things on fire.
My generation seems to have mistaken being ripped and well traveled with being interesting and worth knowing. MY ABS BRING ALL THE BOYS TO THE EIFFEL TOWER BITCHES.
Behold, the field in which I grow my fucks. See that it is barren. Hard pass.
Since everyone is all big on the Myers-Briggs test (which is apparently the new zodiac), I am an ENFP. Zodiac signs are out. I wonder if I ought to list my quiz results for what Disney princess I am. #relevant
I hate hashtags. Hashtags make me want to punch babies.
I avoid going to Pride because there's nothing there for me. I don't consider lower management at Macy's to be the ultimate job. I don't live my life according to the gospel of Gaga. I don't dance my life away and hope that tomorrow is better. I am actively trying to learn who I am, and while Macy's is pretty and Gaga is catchy and dancing is fun (when I'm alone; dancing in public is a real, recurring nightmare that I have), there is much more to life than simply being a gay stereotype.
I'm naturally blonde. Don't tell anyone. I'll have to kill you. A dolphin ate my soul, so I don't have the capacity to regret doing it. Just kidding. Or am I?
You might ask where I'm from. I'd like to say Mars or the bottom of the ocean or somewhere exotic like that, but in fact there is a terrible little town in northern Indiana called Portland. We had a Walmart and a Burger King. I fled it years ago. I've hardly been back since.
Walmart is a crazy place. Too many people get some kind of fap-grade joy out of walking around in SpongeBob pajama pants and t-shirts with some sassy Jerry Springer saying paired with a looney toons character. Classy shit. It's the one place where Portland is never far away. I like to frolic amongst the open bags of grapes and stolen shopping cards and think of turning the whole place into a parking lot.
Speaking of retail and parking lots, I hate watching people leave the cart by their car and drive away. The cart goes back in the cart return, three feet from your car, you lazy moron. Don't worry, I'll take it there for you, so your kids can see through the windshield that at least one of us has sense enough to keep the way clear for other cars, even if it's me rather than you. You are welcome.
I don't do transitions very well, so I'll just dive right into my next topic.
Don't talk politics to me. That shit's ugly. I only talk politics if I know we agree, because politics and religion are the two topics that turn everyone into red-faced, yelling douche monsters. I remember when it was rude to talk about party affiliation, and I really wish that was still a thing.
I wish I had a megaphone rigged up to my car that would let me say things like "the speed limit does not mean plus or minus 20mph" as I'm passing or being passed. The freeway is a scary place, causing most cars to shake themselves apart at some point. Let's all cooperate and try not to cause a pileup that will shorten the lives of innocent cars.
I am also an atheist, as my profile states, but I'm not an asshole atheist. I don't go around disproving the religious beliefs of others for fun. I merely have my own beliefs, and they may differ from yours. We don't have to discuss anything about it, you and I. Life is too short to hold one's religious convictions or lack thereof against them.
I know atheism is scary from the outside, but we don't eat babies. At least I don't. Babies are really too chewy for my taste. I prefer the cows and chickens and soybeans that everyone else eats.
A note about my photos on here: The reason I chose grainy, awful arty photos of myself rather than the face-and-abs combos known to sites like this is simply because I feel that as an artist, it's my duty to represent myself in a truer light than others might represent themselves. I'm supposed to be more aware, after all. Right?
So one day, when I was ill with what I can only assume was the plague, I decided to liven up my photos and make myself look a bit more like a relevant dead guy.
I recite poetry on city buses. You may ask me why, and that's a good question. I bet my therapist would know the answer to that one.
I love everyone who has a picture of them visiting some awesome expensive destination. You aren't better than me, poopmouth! I just spend my money on making sure my car runs and my rent gets paid.
Oreo cookies denied. You don't get any.
I'm here for friends. I said it. Relationships are nonsense. How do relationships happen for my generation? Quickly, like a car crash, and just as traumatic when it's over. People move four states away and abandon careers for strangers, only to return spat out like a wad of gum.
Who needs a career either when you have love? You'll be with this guy forever, and by forever you really mean a month. Cut some parts off yourself to fit inside their life.
It's always a surprise when you're stuck trying to glue yourself back together later. After a while you realize you've known forever so many times you must be immortal.
All the people who remain teenagers and are terrified to be alone make me sad. The people who go from meeting to dating in 24 hours. The ones who just can't be bothered to know the person before proposing marriage.
Those are the ones who suffer. It's like drug addiction. You either stop because you die.
In the mean time, you learn to live life as a frantic game of spin the bottle. You create whole new people in your mind to paint over the strangers you find and date. When the paint chips away, reality is uglier for it, and reality becomes a deal breaker.
Also, if you came here because I rated you on here... well, I don't take it too seriously. It's like a very terrible game where I can rate strangers. If you know me in real life... I am sorry. I promise I am not trying to be creepy and rub myself all over your walls and invade your underwear drawer. I was just feeling judgmental and you were judged highly! I have no genitals anymore, after all. I lost them in the wars. All the wars. Mostly the war of 1812. That shit was brutal.
Luckily, the world is suddenly filled to spillover with saxophones!
Saxophones: suddenly popular again thanks to dirty, bearded, skanky hipsters with cartoon network ninja hair buns. I want to be happy for Saxophones, but I can't help feeling like they're the Carrie of instruments in pop music. Hipsters playing them to be ironic, with the other instruments like "they're all gonna laugh at you!"
Side note: the best modern playing of a saxophone is in M83's Midnight City. That song makes me believe that not everyone plays them to be "ironic" and "edgy" Up yours, bearded skankasaurs!
Who watches Grace Helbig?
Water was invented by Paula Deen in 1997.
I made Grace's funfetti brownies and had to be rolled end over end around my apartment for days and all the doorways lubricated with cooking oil. I ate ALL OF THE DAMN BROWNIES. SAVE YOURSELF. DON'T MAKE FOOD!