Lazy 'merican & Human Beings

I can't be the only person that Googles stupid emo things.  The other day, I was feeling dramatically depressed, and I typed something like, "Why am I so fucking lazy?"  (Well, that cat's out of the bag.  I guess I'm using the f-word for realz up in here.)  One of the first pages I looked at was someone who had asked about the same question on a forum.  People mostly made fun, some offered mildly helpful comments, and one person completely bashed his brain in for being a lazy fucking American "just like the rest."  This sent me reeling a bit.  For some reason I always feel the need to be an apologist for the way Americans appear to folks from other nations.  It was a bitter pill though, because that person was totally right in the case of that lazy American, and myself.  (Certainly the generalization to "the rest" was utterly ridiculous and false.)  But I found out that I shouldn't Google stupid emo things.  I might find out that I'm a disgrace to my country.  And there I thought I would just prove to myself that I'm not alone in being a sad depressed loser who hates working.  It also came back to mind this morning as I drove in my car (that I own outright) to buy some nice tasty depression donuts and I was whining to myself as I sat at a stop light.  I was going through it, "Ugh, I hate my life.  I'm such a loser. Why don't I ever want to do anything?  Why do I hate work so much?!  I'm so sad.  Things suck so bad because I'm an awful awful face head," and then I looked over and could just make out the bottoms of a pair of boots.  They were on a little bridge in a lovely little park... and they were attached to a homeless man that was asleep there... huddled against the side of the bridge.  "Oh yeah... my life is so amazing compared to that guy's."  "I suck for whining."  "I AM a lazy fucking American!"  Sorry gang!  I'm making us look really shitty.

Ok, I'll deal with it.  I'm not really gay.  Not completely anyway.  This is what I've decided after about two years of being heavily depressed, confused, and conflicted about all of it: I'm mostly emotionally and romantically attracted to women, and I'm mostly physically attracted to men.  Two points straight, one strong point gay= bi?  Whatever.  The other thing is that I can't quite shake my religious roots.  Much as I've tried at times.  So, I always resort back to thinking that I'll just find a particular girl that I'm emotionally and romantically attracted to, and hope that when I see her naked she won't have a female body that doesn't do it for me.  Some do, but not all.  Frankly, it's a pretty sucky situation.  I wish I could just be a normal man who is insane about boobs and vaginas, but I'm not.  I appreciate how attractive they can be, but for some stupid reason, the male body (which I have the feeling is artistically hideous in comparison in most instances) is far more frequently attractive to me.  That said, I don't want to touch men.  The thought of kissing a man legitimately grosses me out.

So... this is why I'm a weirdo man in his later twenties who has never kissed a woman (or a man, but that should have been obvious, you dummies.)  This is a particularly shameful thing when you're a member of a religion that has no problem with people (including teenagers) kissing but goes bonkers when they have anything else close to sex, or sex.  It's weird for people that I have never kissed a girl.  They either assume I'm gay, that I am a GIANT chicken (just got a craving for fried chicken...), or that something else is wrong with me that has made no girl ever want to touch me.  Little do they know, I think I was totally asexual until I was 25.  I honestly just didn't think about sex.  Touching the girls I liked wasn't ever a big objective or anything.  Sure, it crossed my mind, but almost always only because I felt a societal pressure to follow the norms to hold hands and kiss my girlfriends.  (Yes, I've held hands, and even cuddled a few times (cue clip of daytime television talk show audience going "ooooooooooohh!"))  But I just didn't want to do anything more without being really sure that I loved a girl.  And I've never truly loved a girl/woman.  (Because none has ever truly loved me.)

This is feeling pretty vomitty (new word?), but I don't really care.  I'll just fill you all in as this blog keeps spilling from my brain.

So yeah, I'm kind of asexual.  It makes me feel a bit like the mascot from Greendale Community College.  (Oooh, television reference!  He likes Community!)

It's pretty devastating when I think back to the kid that could barely look over the bathroom sink and see himself in the bathroom mirror.  He was always wondering, "What will I be like when I'm an adult?"  The answer, young Graham, is FUCKED UP.  (Just like everybody else, but probably to a stronger degree than many.)

Torn Up Dog Toys & Dirty Gym Shorts

Yes.  That's right.  It's another blog.  The author just pondered whether utilizing the F-word in the first three sentences of this, the initial post, would make this blog any more successful.  What's a successful blog?  One that isn't wasting space?  Probably.  But it's the Internet.  Isn't it pretty much an infinite span?  Oh wait, but there's still good and bad real estate.  Sorry, future Nobel Laureate who was going to entitle your world-changing blog, "The most honest I have ever been."  Truly, I am sorry for taking up this prime Internet real estate.  (Fake estate?)

I just got up from the floor (more accurately, from the ten dollar Wal-Mart rug on my floor that is covered in chewed-up-dog toy debris, my head having been resting on a pair of dirty gym shorts), grabbed my laptop with a bit of motivation, waded past pictures on Facebook of someone's beautiful children doing something stupidly adorable, dealt with not being able to remember the password to this email account that I created for my fake gay persona, and started a new blog.  Oh, did I mention that I was laying there in my underwear?

Then I just reread what I've written and wondered why the hell I just did all of that.  Honestly.  After all, this is the most honest I've ever been.  Well, not really.  I'm calling myself Graham Lawrence.  That's not my name.  Just the pseudonym I used for a Match.com account that never went anywhere because I wasn't willing to post a picture of myself.  And probably even still wouldn't have gone anywhere (I'm a looker, ladies.)  Oh right, you don't understand what about that last parenthetical was funny.  It was a gay Match.com account, and I'm a man.  Oh, right... it wasn't funny.

For some stupid reason I can't get a thought out of my head that keeps creeping up, as if it were important.  Just to prove my brain wrong on that point, I'm going to expound it to you now... as I was laying on the floor/debris/shorts (florbrisorts), I was staring up at the terrible ceiling of this dark basement bedroom I'm holed up in.  It has a huge area that was clearly finished long after the rest of the ceiling... so it makes me wonder if at some point the floor caved in on a poor tenant of the past, that was laying on his florbrisorts.  See... there, dumb brain.  They agree with me.  It was a totally pointless anecdote, with no real purpose or entertainment value.  A tangent not worth exploring.

So why am I moving my fingers around (expending more energy than I have the rest of the day)?  I think I thought something I was thinking would be worth something.  Now that I'm reading this shit, that seems utterly impossible.  I think I thought this would be my Internet hideout.  Ya know, I'm a kind of gay man who grew up very religious.  So I need my cliche blog to expound my cliche thoughts about how I might be gay, but I feel repressed by my religious guilt.  All that shit.

I'm wondering if I should keep swearing.  I don't do that too often in real life.  Usually only if some idiot cuts me off on the road.  It's kind of stupid that I'm doing it now.  It's as though I'm creating a character for you, even though I meant this blog to be... (wait for it)...

the most honest I have ever been.