I’m Officially Whipped

Friends, lovers, loyal readers, and/or cult-followers,

In my week-long hiatus, boy and I have kissed, made up, and officially moved-in together online style. We’re now sharing a blog (for real this time, before I could edit anything he wrote. Seriously). I’m giving him more freedom AKA loosening the leash, and he’s giving me his amazing love. Win-win!

Follow the link below:

http://queerassfolk.wordpress.com

…and I will try to copy all my entries back onto *mhal31*, since it’s difficult to decipher who-wrote-what on *QueerAssFolk*. If you know my writing style, you’ll be able to tell the difference. Regardless. I’m doing all of this for you, Cosmo, in case you’re actually reading <3.

i know you’re just edging to know what happened

i know its hard, but just take your hands off your KEYBOARD for a second, darlings

[whoever finds the most sexual euphemisms in the above wins a prize ]

I just got back from working out, so the endorphines are flowing through my heads. im proud of myself…i bought a gym membership. it was expensive, so im forced to use it. maybe now i’ll be able to get some ass. a charming personality (trust me, i have one) only gets you so far in the new york scene. but im new here so im sure ill learn the hard way.

ok. count those, too, for a bigger prize.

apparently m.hal has a fan club. im jealous. so im writing this little follow up  instead of him. its ok because as the man in the relationship i get to make the decisions. except for when im being the woman, which is sometimes nice.

so as the legend of le boy and pretty pretty princess goes…

both of our protagonists had parted ways…and sure as a suicide bomber, they had to let it all out. The only way to do this, naturally, was to turn to their blogpowers in hopes of experiencing some sort of catharsis. jerking off just wasnt an option i guess

They they thought and they thought. Tangoing with their inner bitch, wrestling with their respective egos, and finally figuring, “hey. what the hell”

after each was able to read and react to the others digital diary, lo and behold, a miracle doth come! In the form of text messaging, the little gay messiah sparkled from the 248 to the… well 248. via the 212. but anyway. Sans awkwardness and suspense, txtmsging cnt’d. There was no anger or triteness or sarcasm. In fact, it was slightly annoying since i enjoyed a day of peace. :sigh:

And as with any good fairy tale (get it?) it wasnt long before apologies were proffered and the whole situation was thrown by the wayside. It was out of our heads like perez is out of the closet. I believe the cause for this amazing phenomenon–throwing by the wayside, not being out–is a rare characteristic, indeed found amongst very few who find themselves in similar scenarios. That phenomenon is called maturity. or, sometimes, good ol fashioned rationale. By golly, these people can deal with shit. i know right, i dont get it either. someone call the networks, we’ve got a show to pitch (please. call them.)
So, after prince charming kissed snow white, rapunzle spun her hair (idk how that one ended…) and ariel became a human (ok, bad decision number 1), Barbie’s happy, el Chico’s feliz, and Walt Disney isn’t turning in his grave.

The world hath continued to revolve and text messeges hath not ceased to flow-ith. It’s understandably a difficult time for those who thrive off other people’s difficult situations (if you could call the situation difficult), so if you’re in need of some consoling I’d recommend just posting a comment or something. and if you realllyy need something else to do, count all the sexual references in this post. or tell me how much more you love “the other’s” writing. either way, i hope you all are maybe a little more towards the edge…of your seat.

that was so lame.

Inside the Mind of a Straight Male

I decided to call Brendan today – the straight, metro, mini-Ryan Seacrest of a big bro from my recently divorced fraternity – to, er, let him know that I’m alive, I’m kicking and I, like, …deactivated four months ago.

M.Hal picks up phone and proceeds to dial 1-845-TOOL-BOX.

[…4 rings later…]

BGB: ‘ay LITTLE! LITTLE LITTLE LITTLE! I was not expecting a call from you. What up, man? How’s summa?

M.Hal: :Winces: Hi Brendan…

[Okay, so I told him I’m no longer a member of the house, he was pissed and moaning about how our lineage is at a dead-end (please my parents said the SAME thing), I pretended I was listening…blah blah blah. Not important]

BGB: No hard feelings.

M.Hal: I’m glad to finally tell you.

BGB: I bet. Off topic a bit, but I heard you had a boyfriend, ex-little.

M.Hal: Whaaaaa? Oh yeah…about that…

BGB: As long as it isn’t Drew, I’m cool with it.

M.Hal: That was SO Jan/Feb, honey. Where have you been?

BGB: Obviously I’m not up-to-date with your life.

M.Hal: Whose fault would that be?

BGB: Mine. I’ll admit it.

M.Hal: Now you’re all graduated and going into your BIG, filthy-rich iBanking career.

BGB: Don’t remind me. So, does he mean a lot to you?

M.Hal: Does who mean a lot to me? Oh! The boyfriend? Yes. The world.

BGB: See, I don’t understand people who say that.

M.Hal: Why not?

BGB: Well, no one should really mean that much to anyone. Or, at least they should proceed with caution until they know for sure.

M.Hal: How is that possible? How can you know for sure if someone means that much to you?

BGB: It’s hard to explain. I guess I’ll tell you what I do. I like a girl. She crosses my mind a lot. I replay conversations over and over. I think about calling or texting her. When I’m actually in the process of picking up the cell phone, I immediately put it down and jack-off. If I still want to call or text after releasing the *BB Juice*, then she means so much more to me than 99% of the other girls.

M.Hal: Oh. My. God. Brendan. I just swallowed…my Orbit gum.

BGB: Swallowed? …and yeah, dude. It works.

M.Hal: I’m. Speechless.

BGB: For once. I have to go, bra.

MHal: Don’t “bra” me.

BGB: Okay. I have to go SWEETHEART.

M.Hal: Much better.

BGB: You’ll always be my little, frat or no frat

M.Hal: I kind of love you, big.

the response

Well this one should certainly be interesting…and long. but thats how i like them. [joke it up.]

I’m not in the mood to write…I suppose I should have written when i was in the mood, this morning. But I had to go to work. C’est La Vie.

I *thought* maybe i could escape a bit of drama this summer…i mean, this is New York City. Okay, I’m naive, but still…can’t i lose myself here? (don’t take that sexually).
This is supposed to be a time for change, exploration, breaking barriers, busting boundaries, and doing everything i’ve been holding myself back from doing. (Take that sexually, if you want.)
Clearly, when they say new york has everything, that means everything, including the drama.

Well it’s partly my fault. There will always be drama†. its part of being human. people are people and they react to things. You can’t change people [i learned this the hard way. yeah, the hard way.] But you CAN change your reaction to them. [no, it's really not easy, i don't care what you say.]
Alas, I have stopped dealing with bullshit/unnecessary and/or misplaced bitching/stupid drama/etc.
at the expense of friendship? shouldn’t be. did i react a little to extreme? probably.

So let’s talk a bit of specifics, since the drama’s in the details. and im all about communication when it comes to problems. did we communicate? hardly. should we? uh huh.
and that logic right there, my friends, may be the extent of my maturity. but i’ll be damned if it doesn’t place me higher than most of the people in this world. I talk when i have problems. i don’t walk away. [no. that wasnt an allusion to anything.] there’s more i can say on that philosophy but it’s not necessary here.

***
†drama. what an annoying, ugly word. Overused, generalized, and so devoid of any significant meaning (unless you’re talking about a theatrical work, etc.) it bothers me to rely on it so much here. But it is what it is.
***

ok back on track.

I’m a heartbreaker. What can i say? I know this. But I’ve had my fragile little organ [okay, i know you're giggling at that] {i was referring to my heart} played with [i just cant help myself] in all the wrong ways too many times. I’ve been affected by life. It takes time to figure shit out, put things in their place, apply the lessons you’ve learned the right way, the best way–and no, thats not something you can do without time, without conscious effort, and without screwing up a few times.
I’m slower than most people…i can’t jump right in and be the person i should be, or that you want me to be. patience may be an issue here. but perspective is definitely the issue.
And like i said before, I’m immature. Well, I’m mature…but only to an extent. I think i told someone that. and im one of those double-standard holding people. Do what i say, not what i do. my advice is sound, my actions, not so much. but im working on it. who said at 21 you had to be god’s gift to human morality? I’m working on it though, i swear I am.

this all my sound very broad and general, and it is. but thats my brain for you. so im going to try to take this train towards the specifics, like i told you i would.

to begin, a math lesson:
friend A>>> friend B >> M.Hal
is not true. bad equalities. ti-84 says wha?

let’s try another (who ever thought id use what i hate to do what i love?)

[(alcohol + strong emotions + conclusion jumping + [jealousy/jealousy]) + 2immaturity + (me)] = this weekend with emphasis on saturday night.

Why’d it happen? Let’s just start from the beginning. I know, im all over the place here. but that’s my style, yo.

The first thing ill say is that i dont believe that people can help what they feel. you don’t have control over your emotions. sometimes you dont have control over how you react to those emotions. some people are stronger than others, and can change their reactions faster and easier. I’m pretttyyy far from those people. Time takes care of it though. time, and time again. its like you’re falling down the Graph of Life. Its kinda like gravity…if it goes up, it must come down, and if it bounces, itll never get as high as the first bounce (thats..inertia?). thank you joosh barclay physics. ew

anywho, as i digress more and more…
you can’t help what you feel. so you feel it and it just FUCKS with you. all day and all night. and that, for better or for worse, is how it is. maybe, when i know certain things, say, how certain people are feeling, i should not let my feelings go unspoken. again, no one likes to be in that situation, no one likes exercising the balls/maturity that those conversations require. I’ve been on both ends. and neither one is fun. its the part of the graph where you’re falling for awhile, hoping you stop before you hit the x-axis. bad math joke? that wasn’t even a joke, was it? sorry.

ok here’s a list of things. totally out of context, but totally in context.

1. someone should have said “no i dont want to go.” preferably BEFORE the 1 am subway ride to the wrong side of town. my directional-bad, though, i think.

1a. im going on record here, and this will come back to haunt me, i know, but really, it wasnt that bad. i’d go back. :gasp: it could be a good time. ur not looking for your “Person B”, and if you are, you’re too young. it’s a party, but not half as bad as some stuff that does go on other places. it can be fun.

2. the ditching was mutual. i dont do bullshit. you made bullshit about something (see 1a, 3, and 4).

3. jealous? please. with a lil’ logic, numero uno above would have been the one-stop-shop for all your problem solving needs. and maybe some pre-planning. but mostly, some communicative lackings needed to be not lacked.

4. two aforementioned characters (A and B) could have been removed from the equation (i think thats the jealousy/jealousy) with a simple “no.”
4a. one of the above persons, yes, i did really want to see. im sorry, but im allowed.
4b. the other–honey you couldnt be more wrong in your assumptions if you assumed them in swahili.

5. I’m sorry about your deeply unfortunate, scary, and awful encounter. I should have been a better friend there. yeah, that was way wrong of me. But that’s why you shouldnt volunteer at homeless shelters, though.
5a. last sentence = joke.

6. try and talk? if you’re referring to that night, well i was pissed too. if you’re talking about the morning, i believe it was you who initiated the silence. like i said, ive learned to ignore bullshit. ill perfect that quality soon enough/never.

7. yeah, ive got priorities. not that what you said we’re mine, necessarily, but still, mine are different than yours. wanna fight about it? kayz.

8. it takes two, darling, two to live, two to love, and two to fight, among other things. its not all what “I” did so much as its what “you” did, as well. and sometimes i even think I’m being weak when i concede, but i suppose maybe that’s just a little more maturity than i thought i had.

9. congratulations on the subterranean confidence boost. Although, personally, i think meeting people on the subway is gross. i prefer the internet </sarcasm>? hmmm.

so that’s that. now on to a bit of personal reflection.

its funny how i find myself on the opposite end of things. that was so not meant to be sexual.
relationship-wise: you’re the pursuer, and the pursuee is just, playing along. its a mind fuck, even if they tell you its not. even if they think its not. even if you think its not. some shit just don’t work out, and that is the universal tautology in the philosophy of life. Why? Because. Acceptance is key…fighting is key, too, but time will eventually teach you to gauge the two. drill that into your godforsaken brains, people.

now, turn the tables. you’re the pursued. what do you do with the pursuer if you yourself dont know your own feelings. whats right to do, whats wrong to do, lets take the easy way out and do nothing. so often thats the case…or just lie. lead the person on. those last two are often, and understandably, seen as one and the same. although they are different if you ask each party in the situation.

but because you’re dealing with two different people, you’re not going to often have one-and-the-same. you’re going to have similar, related, relative, cooperative, supportive, and lots of other good -ive’s, etc. so, the key is understanding yourself. you have to do that first and foremost. the general problem with this, though, is that most people, at whatever age, don’t really understand themselves. again, life is for living. you’re lucky if you figure more than half of it out before time’s up. if you’d like to get into a “whats the meaning(s) of life” discussion, id appreciate if you’d spare me since its relatively frivolous (we’re living, deal with it), but more than likely i’d entertain the idea of such a conversation.
or, maybe its just a maturity issue. or a character issue. or how good you are at pretending? honestly i have know idea. again, Just Because. we know nothing. that probably has a negative connotation but i dont mean it as such. boggle your mind for a bit, bolster the intelligence of the human race, you will be thanked greatly.

so what is this all about? understanding.and perspective. that with a side of typical bullshit. naiveté. maturation. living. dealing. being. working. god i feel like this is straight out of a Rent song or something.

anyway, the point is…what’s the point? C’est La Vie.

i dont know. after reading through that, it doesnt seem like a fitting end. maybe thats just because its not the end? of some things at least. of others, maybe.

–

This piece is COPYRIGHTED. (C) 2008. It is owned in its entirety by the author and it is posted here with permission. Ask permission if you want to do something with it. Don’t steal it. Don’t post it elsewhere. WordPress does not own this piece. I have more connections than you do to IP attorneys.

“You Must Be Somebody’s Baby”

I’m so confused. So hurt. So sad. So broken.

I haven’t felt this awfully sentimental since last summer, and that situation absolutely paled in comparison. Tear ducts? They’re working overtime, baby! Facial muscles? They have the next week off, as I haven’t managed to form a smile in a solid 24 hours. Think I’m teasing you? Try me.

My heart is in a thousand pieces scattered in and around Manhattan, Queens, the George Washington Bridge, and Route 17.

Friends, lovers, loyal readers, fans, cult followers: M.Hal’s <3 is fractured beyond orthopedic repair (sorry Callie O’Malley) and will never be(at) the same. I know I reek of senseless sentimental cliché; you’re thinking “OMG, another gooey entry?! I thought Proud of Commitment would be the last of that shiznat!” Yes, Jenna B. I’m sappy and cliché; all 4 billion peeps WORLDWIDE have uttered the phrase “my heart is, like, broken” at least once every 10 minutes. So what makes my experience any different? Well, I’m special, in case you haven’t figured that out already…

…and it’s my blog, bitch.

Onto the story / comedy that is my life; ever had one person/event/city single-handedly light a fuse that all-too-quickly travels to the wooden, dynamite-saturated barrel containing the words “My Glamorous Life” painted in tantalizing turquoise? All of a sudden, the barrier we have to protect our soft underbellies is quickly and unmercifully wrestled from our hot little hands (sort of like Jamie Lynn’s fame, but faster).

“My und-uh-bell-ay? That’s such an “eh” word! Me? Vulnerable? Bitch, please – I am NOT vulnerable!” (quoted from Your- Average- New- Yorker- Who- Has- an- IQ- of- 72)

Mr.(&Mrs.) IQ-of-72, you ARE vulnerable. You might live in a concrete jungle where people are devoid of feelings, compassion, and trust – but seriously, get over yo’selves. Your underbelly is no different than someone from Friendship, NY.

I don’t know why I was in New York City this past weekend. There was little to no incentive for such a fruitless trip when I have 9,827 pages of MCAT prep to read (still on the agenda). Let’s analyze.

Clubbing? No fake I.D. and the only ones worth the outrageous cover (Marquee, Bungalow 8, Pink Elephant) are 21+.

Cornell friends? Love them to pieces, but I speak to those who matter at least weekly, if not more. (SHOUT OUTS TO Jules (my everything), Aviva (l-o-v-e), Danielle (in awe of her and her fam), Rachel (you are my life, MiniMe), Sarah (you hate my family, but I ADORE you), Alex (you iz mah #1!), JBart ($$$$$ is a powerful incentive to like you), half of TKE (I needed a place to sleep like whoa)).

Shopping? SoHo is SoHoverpriced.

Pride Weekend? Every day is Pride Day in NYC, so allocating an entire weekend for middle-aged queens to come out (ha) wearing tight clothes they shouldn’t and actively perpetuating the stereotypical nature of homosexuality is as tasteless as it is disgusting. I don’t want 50-year-old well past his prime staring at my ass. He licks his lips while I vomit Bocce. What’s worse is gay teens/tweens. I don’t want to see or hear wanna-be M.Hals complaining about their weight (spare tire! OMG!), their skin (pimple … pop that shit!), their nails (mani/pedi, yes?), or their sex life (manhunt, tehehe).

NOTE TO GAYS WHO EXCESSIVELY CARE ABOUT THEIR APPEARANCE: Pierre-Fitch-style physical attractiveness is only appealing to muscular tops who, ironically, won’t even be looking AT you during the *discreet fun* (giggle giggle). They’ll be busy thrusting and checking out their pecks in the mirror. Therefore – bottoms, go ahead and order the side of fries @ Katz’s. You’ll still get ass. Don’t be discouraged tops – go ahead and order the chocolate chip cookies @ Max Brenner. The gay community is HEAVILY bottom-dominated. You’re in demand, so you’ll still get ass.

Gawd. I can’t stand gay men…

…but maybe that’s for the best. No guy’s worth the time and effort.

M.Hal is now asexual. I’ll be straight by tomorrow.

Back to the point: The brawny beef behind the boisterous trip was, pre-dick-tably and pre-asexual, about a boy. A boy that I kinda-sorta knew way back in ’06 when I was friend-less, closeted, awkward, and enjoyed popcorn with extra butter (I saved THE worst for last!).

He was cute, but I never actively pursued it and was 95% sure that I wouldn’t pursue anything now (me not pursuing something? I know…). Anyways, I messaged him this past Spring, 1.5 years later, with the intention of setting him up with a past-mistake. Why the sudden generosity? No idea. They both went to the same college and maybe sparks would fly and the cu…I mean conversation would be flowing? Little did I know I was about to embark on a 4-month text-message love affair with someone that could not only understand my humor, but match it with some of his own.

I’ve never laughed harder in my life from pixels on a cell-phone screen. He was fast (5 minute return time), reliable (always got a response), and damn good. Kay? Kay!

You know the rest… M.Hal did what the 95% of his intuition noted he shouldn’t. Boy messed up. M.Hal messed up bigger. M.Hal got his heart broken AGAIN. Why is this new? It isn’t, but this is:

M.Hal’s ranking of la boy’s tastes and preferences (Naughty Line #50):

Just-turned-18 twinky twink the boy met on MySpace >>> fugz fag who snaps his fingers to get a cab in NYC >> M.Hal

I don’t get jealous … ever. But seriously? Seriously?!

I devised this innovative ranking system and why he pushed meeting the two Twinkies to come clubbing with such haste and fake excitement. I mean, I was in the city for two days, and these bitches were in the city for the summer; was it that I wasn’t hot enough and/or wasn’t funny enough and/or I simply didn’t rub him the right way? (Naughty Line #523). Did he want to show off prospective guys to raise the marginal benefit of pursuing him? Leaving Microeconomics out of it, could he really NOT give up one Saturday night for lil ol moi? There was a party @ NYU I was dying to have a date for…

Boy and I parted ways last night after exchanging words in mid-town (I was pro-NYU party, he was pro-trashy-club-gang-bang). It didn’t take long for me to realize that I said harsh (though facebook worthy) lines, so I crossed from 7^th to 6^th Avenue via a dark corner street in hopes of finding the boy and apologizing for being a complete asshole. A homeless man came out of NOWHERE and eerily walked next to me for a few seconds, emulating my stride. I could feel the hairs on my body suddenly begin to rise. I was on an empty, dim-lit street, and alone save for a man in a ripped trenchcoat that was slightly taller than me. I turned to him, and he pulled out an object that resembled a knife (maybe? I didn’t ask questions) and demanded $20, then $30, then $50.

I lived. He didn’t say anything else; instead, he just ran off with $50 and not my life.

Unbelievable. The whole scene was surreal. My life flashed before my eyes.

I left without saying goodbye to boy – completely fitting for a cheesy Hollywood flick. He would still have to grovel and apologize and we’d reconcile in a public place (Naughty Line #51).

Was he a good fit? Everyone seemed to think it and I started to believe it. Who knows? Am I a good fit for anyone?! People can be disheartening. He was dead-set on going to a club, even after I was mugged by Mr. $50-None-the-Richer. What bothered me is that the boy didn’t care enough to try and talk to me after the fact. All that seemed to matter to him was tapping one or both of the Twinkies “ranked” higher than me on the most FABULOUS weekend of all (P-R-I-D-E OMGZ LIKE NO WAY!). Clearly, his priorities rested outside of the realm of friendship and, clearly, he hasn’t realized (quite yet) that he did anything wrong.

On the subway this morning to Penn Station (6 to 42^nd then 7 to Times Square then 2 (or 1 or 3) to 34^th; I remembered that trick), I ‘chatted it up’ (Naughty Line #52) with this tall professional-looking guy, donning a pleated button-down and a fresh pair of khakis (obviously not a native New Yorker). Indeed. He hailed from SoFla, graduated from Wharton in May (undergraduate) and moved to NYC last week to work for Goldman Sachs. He wrote his number on my hand, which must mean that (a) we’re both in grade school and (b) I’m some-what appealing (M.Hal still has it goin’ on). When he noticed that I didn’t seem too enthused, he not-so-nonchalantly mentioned that he knew I “must be somebody’s baby.”

I heard that song (“Somebody’s Baby” by Jackson Browne) on the GW and the tears started flowing and haven’t ceased since – Mr. Wharton, we WILL meet again. Today is the day to let all the emotions hang out and dry. Tomorrow can be about MCAT and picking up the thousands of heart-pieces that were so violently displaced over the course of 24 hours. For the next thirty minutes that I’m awake, however, I get to bask in the greatness that is…sadness.

…So I Let the Funky Music Do the Talking.

Current status: </3, :’-(

I’ve been inactive as of late (in OH so many ways). Not to worry: the most gutsy entry of my life will be coming very shortly. Viva la Vida, cierto? I want to finish the writing tonight, because tomorrow morning the ideas might seem silly (ever get overly emotional at night only to wake up and discover that you were just being crazy crazy? To all my aspiring blogging wonders: those thoughts should never go to waste! They fuel some of my best work. Yeah, I’m like that). Check back soon.

(I wrote an entry to tell you about a future entry. YAY free blogs!)

In the meantime, enjoy the lyrics of a song that’s played during one of the best cinematic sequences seen in the history of M.Hal. (Hint: 1999). You speak to my soul, Miss Sydney Forest.

the room is empty
the lights are dim
and my heart wonders
if i’ll ever see you again

my tears are hungry
for an open door
when your arms held me
i never felt that way before

i’ll be waiting
i’ll be watching
under a blue moon
the taste of heaven
only happens
once in a blue moon

once in a blue moon

do you remember
when the wind blew free
and we fit together
so naturally

if the wind closes a door
it will open another

The Things I Do for the Hamptons

JBartJD**: I’ve been reading your blog

Marc: oh, fuck

Marc: i’m not ready for whatever you have to say, jayjay

JBartJD**: This “Mr. Right” shit you so eloquently described

Marc: did you hear me when i told you i wasn’t ready?

JBartJD**: I did, I merely chose not to listen

Marc: …i can feel a stubborn, pig-headed & blunt Jeremy diagnosis coming…

JBartJD**: I think Mr. Right’s right in front of you and either you don’t realize it or you’re not doing anything about it

Marc: wait, what?

JBartJD**: Don’t make me spell it out for you, bitch

Marc: i have no idea what you’re talking about

JBartJD**: You have every idea what I’m talking about

JBartJD**: I’m not letting you come to the Hamptons until you can finally open your eyes

Marc: seriously. i think you’re crazy…

JBartJD**: Please don’t play coy with me, you’re awful at it

Marc: pulling out the big words today, hon. daddy would be proud

JBartJD**: You know my policy with ‘hon,’ and fine. No Hamptons

Marc: okay Jeremy, you want to talk? let’s talk

[…one hour later…]

JBartJD**: Wow. Glad to get that all out?

Marc: more than you know

JBartJD**: You should tell him, you know

Marc: no, i shouldn’t

Marc: i SHOULD tell you not try to pry into my life

JBartJD**: As your adopted big brother, you know that’s my job

JBartJD**: I can’t wait to see you!

Marc: i wish i never knew you!

Kiss Me (with Tongue)

This will be my last summer in Ithaca.

Seriously. I’m going crazy & need the city, any city, A CITY.

With my fake I.D. residing somewhere in the California sewage system – R.I.P. baby, you did me good – the list of *things-to-do* in this hick-town went from little to littler-than-***A* **A** (if you really want to know, loyal readers, then we can totally play hangman). Dinos? Dunbars?! The Palms?!? Level B?!?! Not a chance. I’ve been shunned southward to Common Ground and all the freakish, hippie, hungry-for-arse townies that come with it. I bet half of them don’t shave (any part of their body) and 99% of them haven’t worked out since Freddie Prinze, Jr. movies were considered “in.”

Do you know what I did last night? Karaoke-d the shizzle out of NKOTB’s “Summertime” with a few tri-Delts while dancing soberly on bar tables and pretending I was worthy of being a Coyote. I wasn’t crying vodka; I was crying lysozymes.

Go ahead, take away my man-card. You want it.

Do you know what I did tonight? I neglected a raucous few hours of sake-bombing @ Miyake with Domonique and a handful of gorgeous Kappa Alpha Thetas because I didn’t know how to chug and I most certainly didn’t want to embarrassingly get carded in front of froshies who all have managed to keep their fakes intact. TEARS. So instead, I decided kick back with my chill, straight, Florida-frat-boy of an MCAT instructor and have a whiskey sour at the SAE annex (I have to celebrate my 31T somehow, right?).

Bless the Greek system – free whiskey sours; guys in ripped jeans, popped collars, choker necklaces, and reversed baseball caps (love SAE). The best part is that I don’t have to clean up after myself, and the girly drinks keep on a-comin’. Amaretto sour? Thank you, Skyler. …and do make me that frozen watermelon drink and throw on a few pink umbrellas. Gimme, gimme more.

Okay, you don’t have to take away my man-card. I’ll give it to you.

While it seems like the days melt away and the nights are cold and dry, I’m still managing to keep way busy. I do dinner with a different girl every night – as an aside: seriously straight boys, at least pretend to be gay. You’ll actually go places with girls who have BOOBS that vary in sizes but all come fairly close to George W’s GPA @ Yale (in letters, obviously). I promise. Don’t believe me?

Maria – Wednesday night.

Christine – Sunday night.

Sophia – Monday night.

Erica – tonight

Shawna – Wednesday night

Julia & Aviva & Danielle – Thursday night (in NYC)

Have you EVER met a guy with more ga(y)me? Straight guys are jealous of *it*. Girls want *it*. Fellow gays wonder how I *do it*.

Lovelies, you can teach a-this ::triple point snap & lip smack::

My apartment-mates are sexy. I live with three girls and one lonely and unfortunate straight boy who will never come out (of his room, that is). There’s Kelly and Laura, two vivacious blonde vixens who both have boyfriends and sporadically make deformed yet ridiculously delicious chocolate chip cookies. Erica, the forth and final roommate, is your typical Long Island Alpha Chi Omega, not to mention my new nutritionist AND my for- now- girly- shit- savant. I’ve never seen anyone so bothered with the fact that I only eat 2 meals a day, 1 of which always consists of froyo (yes, Brett, F-R-O-Y-O) from Jason’s Deli. According to Dr. Phil (& Erica), I’m going to die early because I don’t drink 3 glasses of milk a day. Babies, that’s, like, over 300 calories! Totes not acceptable! In addition, we read Seventeen and talk about boys, families, and estrogen tablets.

Research is consuming such a large part of my life, but it’s a good consumption. I love the applicability, the reality, the aesthetically pleasing laboratory, the formerly female grad student (don’t worry sweetie, I love you and respect you and, let’s face it, you are more of a man than I am), the other flaming grad students, and the power I have as a lowly undergraduate. The more I’m exposed to the delicious, muscular, tempting work/interviewees, the more I realize how perfect Dr. SW’s projects are for me. What are his “projects,” you might wonder? Definitely not your stereotypical cookie-cutter “hand me a test tube and let’s mix some (bodily) enzymes … and … fluids!”

[I was pure before Cornell. I swear.]

FIRST: studies that involve the psychology of casual sex. Why do people have casual sex? Is there such a thing as casual sex? How do people who have casual sex influence society and human development? Where can the 90% of Cornellians who need sex sign up for casual sex? (dial 917-……, no I’m not that cruel). I found that there’s a secret society for those “addicted to casual sex.” It’s similar in format to AA. Fabulous!

SECOND: studies that involve how gay teenagers use the internet to portray who they are as individuals and how they use the www to cope with their identity. I don’t mean a guy with a hot pink MySpace page that’s pimped out with dancing Hello Kitty icons (maybe that was just me in high school); I’m talking about sites like ManHunt, LiveJournal, and WordPress. The former scares me; I went on ManHunt for the first time yesterday to finish a follow-up report on an 18-year-old interviewee. That’s asking for rape. Way to live up to stereotypes, Mr. “Top/Vers, Average, Green Eyes, Right Here & Now!” I’m ashamed of my fellow gay men. I need to wax.

THIRD (my research): How adolescent males develop into their identities; mapping sexual development in teenagers – including a two year follow-up study with graduating high school seniors in Ithaca, Oswego, and New York City. I’m completely devising a new scale to quantify homosexuality that’s more thorough than those today (don’t worry Dr. Kinsey, you’re still my homeboy).

Yes, mother. Little M.Hal is all grown-up.

Method to my madness? Interviews. TONS and TONS of interviews with helpless college boys who are lured into MVR by a promise of $20 if they can make it through an hour with me. The process is quite therapeutic. Comfy couches, a cold soda or two (“pop” is no longer in my vocabulary), and my smiling face – all-in-all a much better combination than being bent over a laboratory desk checking PCRs 6 hours a day like last summer (as if I’m not in that position enough as it is…). Anyways, following the grilling comes the follow-up 3-5 page synopsis (per interview, AH), comparing what they bubbled in about themselves versus what they told me, and endless filing, margin-noting, and thank-you e-mails.

THE BEST PART: The professor has discovered, through these pages-long interview analyses, that I can actually write. Thus, if I’m still here in a year (which I will be unless I decide to seriously pursue go-go dancing in Tijuana), I will have my own chapter in his next book. MY OWN CHAPTER IN A (POSSIBLE) NEW YORK TIMES BEST-SELLER. OMG!

M.Hal will be famous. I’m amazing. I need a boy to kiss and share the love.

To complete this novel, I need to delve into a new discovery. That of…

*How to Successfully End a College Romance*

[AIM conversation circa May 2008]

Superman: So

Marc: So

Superman: This is it?

Superman: Where to now?

Marc: I don’t know

Superman: Are we going to hang out this summer or just consider this it and move on with our lives?

Marc: I’d be fine with either, to be perfectly honest

Marc: Our relationship has left me satisfied

Superman: Glad to hear it

Superman: So let’s just say that this is it for now and if either of us is overly bored this summer and/or I crave your wit, I’ll give you a call

Marc: That’s all I was to you… a last-resort source of entertainment?

Superman: I never said that

Marc: Whatever it was, I know you didn’t have a problem with it

Superman: Is that anything new?

Marc: I feel like us not having problems IS something new

Superman: For what it’s worth, you’ve never been a last resort

Marc: I’m melting

Dearest Superman,

You are the cat, and I am the mouse. I surrender.

Love,

M.Hal, K-Salz, and ALL of Judaism

I’ve accepted the fact that I’ll never see him again. I’m surprised that conversation actually took place. We were at that point where we both knew that the other was online, sans idle status, sans away message, but we still wouldn’t IM each other. That’s as awkward as standing in a tiny elevator with the other person standing up against you and all-the-while you’re trying not to look him in the face. Why didn’t he IM me for a month? Whatever. I was semi-crushed, but he’s not the first – well, the first that actually showed significant promise in the field of actually understanding me. My fifteen do. Kyle does. Maybe Brett does too?

Mr. Superman’s out-of-sight, out-of-mind, and I’m living in the moment.

I sound like an American Eagle commercial.

Live your life. Be a tool.

<3 M.Hal

Love is in the Air, Girl on the Roof

This will be a quickie. Well, two quickies (aren’t you just the lucky reader today).

Quickie #1. …No, move that leg right there, oh-oookay… but seriously. Does anyone find it odd that my best- straight- guy- friend’s girlfriend is jealous of the *connection* that we share? Not only that, but she’s “worried about our friendship.” Whatever, bia! Keep yo’ distance! He plays one of the lead roles in my life and I’d like to think that goes both ways? Oh the puns. I know, we’re unhealthy. We’re so close that I can’t consciously date a guy without his approval. In short, I love him. With our schedules, we only get to do lunch twice a week, and now she wants to join us? Honey, he’s MY BF. <- that’s best friend, NOT boyfriend, NOT buttf*ck, and NOT Bible Foundation.

Quickie #2. …Go slow, yeah… but seriously. Does anyone else find it odd that I’m listening to a song entitled “Girl on the Roof”?

Two questions to which I desperately need answers.

Back to research. Wasn’t that a nice break from your work-day?

P.S. I love my hubby <3

stalk stories

This is a funny conversation that I was privy to vicariously. It happened via text message. X= them. M = guess who:

X: hi. im in ithaca. let’s meet.

M: hi. im in ithaca. let’s not!

X: but this is your every desire

M: honey. my every desire includes Tom Brady, a football helmet, and those cute knee-high socks. if you match the description, then fine. otherwise, bitch please <–that took 2 texts

X: like i’d tap you anyways. you’re an ugly fat troll

M: awww. i mean. sure. i might be fat and ugly and trollish, but it seems to work for me. xoxo

X: you look like you’re cold. want my jacket?

Choose your own ending. It’ll be more fun that way.

kbye.