Tuesday, 10 February 2009
12:01:48 AM (GMT)
They say that you shouldn’t keep things bottled up inside.
When I say “they” I am of course referring to Vogue magazine. I read one time
that hiding things can lead to facial blemishes, split ends, and weight gain. The
thing is though, even if I’ve hidden this big secret, this huge secret, this
enormously important secret my whole life, I’m still the skinniest boy in my class.
My friends say it’s because I burn too many calories skipping. My Dad saying it’s
because I don’t have muscles.
Now that’s a bit unfair if you ask me. He is, in fact, partially to blame for my
lack of athletic involvement. If he would have signed me up for dance classes then I
would have much stronger legs. And People magazine says that dancing is a fun way to
stay fit and be fabulous. And anyway, muscles just look imposing. Not that I don’t
like muscles. In fact earlier today I saw this guy walk by, and he was totally buff,
and it was so hot. My best friend Heather said it was gross, and I told her he was
totally gorgeous, and she said I must be confusing sweat for an attractive glow, and
I said ‘oh no you di’nnnnnt!’.
My Dad, like, totally hates it when I do that. You, the whole ‘she said, then I
said, then she said’ thing. He says real men don’t do that. Pfft! I don’t know
what’s with him. Ever since I turned thirteen he’s been going on about what real
men do. You’d think I was a girl or something the way he acts. Mom too for that
matter. You should have seen how they freaked out when I asked if I could go to her
aerobics class with her, all like ‘aerobics are for girls! Stay home, and your
father will teach you how to barbeque!’ and honestly I thought I would puke,
because I hate barbeque, and in fact meat in general is kinda gross. But if that’s
what they wanted me to do, I think it’s my duty as their son to meet them half way,
so I said I would learn to fry up something that’d really wow them.
The next morning I woke up extra early and made pancakes and eggs sunny side up and
brought it up to their room to show them how tastey a vegetarian meal could be. I
spent a long time working to get it right before I thought it was good enough to
bring them, but I can tell you this for free, it looked fantastic. I’d even gone as
far as running a mile down the road (and it’s cold at six AM!) to the corner deli
to get the spray whip cream that I always begged them for to put on the pancakes, and
I even got a plastic fruit tray so I could take the strawberries out and stick them
in the whip cream on the pancakes… It was great. In fact, it was more than great,
it was perfect. It was a traditional homemade breakfast, and on top of that, making
it meant I was awake on Sunday. It always ticks them off when they have to wake me up
for church, ‘cause they want me to be as devoted as they are. Maybe that’s why
they like traditional stuff so much.
So there I was, with this tray of breakfast, it looks great, I open their door. No,
in fact I throw open their door, dramatically in fact, and I shout ‘good morning
mom and dad! I made you breakfast in bed!’ And they wake, and start glaring at me!
Can you believe it? They said that barbequing and frying eggs weren’t the same, and
to go get dressed for Church.
Somehow, when they say church, you can just hear the capital letter. You know what
else you can hear? Thunder. You hear thunder, and it gets all dark outside, and forks
of lightning flash in the distance, and you hear horror music blaring, like, Dun Dun
The reason? Reverend Maddon, or as I like to call him “Raving Mad-Man”.
Seriously, the guy is insane. He hates me and always has. And you can tell because,
even though he stands by the door on Sunday and greets me like he always greets
everyone else, he says it differently. Instead of saying ‘welcome to Gods House,
and blessed be your soul.’ He looks at me out the corner of his eye and goes ‘it
is a pllleeasure to see you here Dominick.’ It’s like he spends tons of time
saying the word pleasure so that he can make absolutely sure I know that he means
‘surprise’, as if I haven’t come every Sunday my whole life. Also, it’s not
just that he’s always surprised to see me, he feels I’m not worthy of going to
church. Well you know what, he is not worthy of my awesomeness. Hasn’t anyone ever
told him that black is not the new black?
I know what’s cool. Right now, it’s dark blue. Not that I wear nothing but dark
blue, because it does not fit my skin tone. Dark blue is for people with light olive
skin, or at the very least they should have dirty blonde hair with hazel eyes. I have
medium peach skin, with sandy brown hair and a slender build. So I should where
skinny jeans to accentuate my slim form as well as beiges, tans, golden yellows, and
perhaps some violet blues, or maybe, maybe marine. So you see, I know that wearing
what’s cool is only half of being stylish. You need to personalize as well. And of
course, being stylish is just half of being interesting.
Being interesting is important to me, because in my school it’s very hard to get
noticed. Of course I’ve never had much of a –problem with it, but IU am a very
dramatic person, and you never know what I might do to make me lose my likeability.
As it is I’ve never had a girl ask me out. The closest I ever came was when Heather
first moved here.
So there I was, sitting next to the windows in our ninth grade Spanish room staring
off into space, not moving or speaking at all, and Heather couldn’t even see my
entire face, and yet I still ‘nearly broke her gaydar!’
Although it was true that I’d realized it within my own mind (at
age three I think), her coming up and asking for directions to Alliance was the first
time I realized I was so obviously gay. But it never been a problem so far. How could
it be? Dad and Mom are such uptight Christians that dating is prohibited until I turn