What I Made in Design Class

The Bonfire of the Cranberries

Currently sitting in the WYPR office hoping against hope that Little, Brown Publishing gets back to me about booking an interview with Tom Wolfe. I don't think they'll get back to me and even if they do it's highly unlikely that one of the greatest American writers of all time will deign me worthy of an interview, but, a boy can dream.

Besides my radio shenanigans I'm up to my knees in shitty part time job work and end of the semester bullshit. I cannot wait for 2013 when I'll have a real job and can actually do things that I want to do.

Saw Sam and his boyfriend at Wegmans. Don't really have anything to say about it. They looked happy. I of course hid in the produce section because what would I even say at this point? Sam is happy, Matt's in Philadelphia, Evan is a pirate (seriously he works as a pirate in the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney World) and I'm...what exactly?

Amphetamine Logic

I used to love doing drugs. I mean really love them. When I was going to school in New Orleans I started doing Ritalin pretty regularly. I would stay up all night and write nonsensical things that I was convinced were the beginnings of the great American novel. As it turns out they were really the scrawlings of a delusional drug addict posing as a literary ingenue. I ended up failing out of school, due in no small part to my obsession with amphetamines. I loved doing them but there was always a point where things got a little crazy. The first hour or 2 is phenomenal. You feel great, you're energetic, and for some reasons cigarettes taste fucking amazing. But then if you keep going down the rabbit hole everything gets fucked up. It's gradual too; it sneaks up on you. I would say around 1 am is when it becomes hell. It stops being fun but you can't just turn it off. I remember being up all night and praying to fall asleep. Lying in the dark, hearing the traffic outside and almost crying from delirium because you just want it to stop. It's like a fucked up carnival ride that keeps spinning long after you've thrown up. I remember rejoicing when the sun would come up. That meant that the long, nightmarish night was finally over. I could shower, go to class, and try and act like a normal human being. Days were easy but I wouldn't wish those nights on anyone. The worst part was that when you finally came down you were so exhausted from being up for days at a time that you would crash. I would slip into a coma masquerading as sleep and stay that way for 14 hours. I missed so many classes. I tried to count once but I couldn't keep the days straight. When I moved back to Baltimore I started taking Ritalin again. It was bad at first but eventually I evened out. I even stopped taking it and started selling it to my retarded co-worker Dawn. Oh Dawn, life hasn't, nor will it ever be, kind to you. I guess the point of this post is to say that some drugs are bad. Not all of them but some. So, be careful I guess. Or don't, I'm not going to tell you what to do.

Failing Upwards

So It's Come to This

tedium - boredom - weariness - bore - dullness

Well I've done it again. Regardless of how often history has proven me wrong I've once again waited until the last minute to finish some work. I have a group presentation tomorrow and I have to have my script and notes in for Monday's show. The radio show takes precedent obviously. I'm pretty much done my script and I'd say I'm 2/3's of the way through my notes. These are both very good things. And thank God T'Keyah called me and told me that she hasn't even started her part of the presentation yet. I admitted that I too wasn't as far along as perhaps she had thought. We're meeting before class tomorrow to combine everything. This means, however, that I will be up all night working. Which is fine! Totally fine! This week is a complete cluster fuck though. I have those 2 things plus school plus the radio station plus my job. I'm busy up until noon Saturday. Then I'm free!

I can't wait for Saturday actually, now that you've brought it up. I'm driving up to Philly to see Matthew and go to the Kreayshawn show...don't judge. Rye Rye is opening and it'll be a super happy kawaii fun night. Besides any excuse to see Matthew is a good thing. I don't write about him too often, probably because he's the only person I've ever been romantic with and not pushed away. He doesn't even like Kreayshawn (honestly I can't blame him) and he's going with me; I'm assuming that speaks volumes.

School is winding down blah. Internship is winding down blah. Creeping on your facebook page is killing me blah. You know, the usual. I can't help but wonder though. Perhaps my current feelings of ennui have to do with my impending graduation. For once I have no fucking idea what I'm doing next. I can only assume that my apathetic attitude has something to do with my the inevitable liminal phase that I'll be entering. I hate transitional phases. I really fucking hate them. It all stems from my deep rooted fear regarding change and not being in control.

To you, I hope you're happy.

To me, I hope you're happy too.

Ennui

I'm writing this because I haven't written since last week. So I voted this morning...it was a giant pain in the ass. I had to wait in line for 30 minutes with someone I went to high school with and haven't seen since graduation. I was sandwiched between that guy and one of my neighbors who I don't really know. It was awkward to say the least. Then I had to haul ass to school for an international student luncheon. Ughhhhhh. This Saturday my play "Gathering Doom" will premiere at the Maryland State Irish Festival, so you should check it out, or don't, I really don't care. However, if you do check it out I will be there for a post show Q&A (I've done more Q&A's this year than I ever thought I'd do in my entire life) so you could ask some really embarrassing questions. Also boys are stupid. Also I met Shiny Toy Guns. Also I met MNDR and she was fucking amazing!!!!!

Come On Sweet Catastrophe

So Hurricane Sandy (aka Frankenstorm) is on its way. I've got water, gas, and a generator so bring it Frankenstorm! Oh and a case of Mello Yello which is the best soda of all time ever, don't even try and argue against it. The last time I spent any amount of time thinking about a hurricane it was a little over 7 years ago in New Orleans and we all know how that turned out.

Also I've given up on boys forever. I'm just going to date Sophie. We make such a cute couple.

I started my new job, so far it's pretty good. It pays way more and the hours are better and everyone is nice which is a change of pace. Quitting Petsmart felt so fucking good I wish I could do it again and again and again. Also since it is the spookiest season of the year I've been listening to a lot of this:

Hope the storm treats everyone well, I'll be writing and working my way through it.

Radio Silence

Post Glacial

So there's been a lot of discussion this week about writer Michelle Lapidos and her blog Before and Afro. To sum it up Lapidos is a white, Jewish woman living in New York City. She has worked as an intern for Vogue and as a writer/correspondent for Spa Week (whatever that is). At first glance she seems to be a typical young woman living in NYC, definitely kookier than your average urbanite, but there is certainly nothing incendiary about her or her work. Recently, however, Lapidos went to a Studio 54 themed party. As part of her costume she bought a huge afro wig. So far not so bad; not something I would have done but to each their own. This is where it gets weird. Apparently she had some kind of transcendental revelation by wearing the afro. Instead of putting it in her attic or under her bed to be forgotten until next Halloween she decided to keep wearing it. I'll let that sink in for a moment. She's been wearing this wig out and about all over the town. She documents all of her excursions on her blog, very public excursions. It get's even weirder when she writes about going to a fried chicken festival, which naturally required her to wear the wig. That in and of itself is offensive, even to someone as sheltered as me. On a side note, she refers to her gay male friends as "the gays" which is a completely different beast that I won't get into here.

She posts copious pictures of her in the wig, her in the wig with black people, and sometimes just black people that happen to be near her. The whole thing has an air of...I don't even know what. Maybe idolatry but definitely ignorance. I'm not going to lecture anyone on how to live their lives, because generally I don't care. But this is such an obviously stupid thing to do that it baffles me. Not to mention the fact that she looks completely ridiculous. Lapidos claims several times on her blog that she understands and is aware of the social implications and ramifications of appropriating black culture the way that she has. However, she continues to do it on a regular basis. In one glorious picture of her at a block party in Brooklyn Lapidos is grinding up on a bemused black man, oblivious to the side eye that a young black woman is giving her. On her blog she pontificates about how she felt liberated, strong, and maybe just a little bit cooler. The fact that she would need some kind of exaggerated, external affect to feel this way is troubling, not to mention the plethora of other problems attached to it. Lapidos also writes of how the whole thing is a kind of social experiment to better the universe, "My ultimate goal here is to help people all over the world look deeper within themselves so they can master their consciousness and fall madly in love with every detail of their lives." There is so much delusional crazy in that sentence that I can't begin to understand where she is coming from. I get being misunderstood. I get searching for an identity. I've been through several before I finally settled on one that feels right (news flash Michelle, the identity I chose is just being myself). I'm all for self expression and experimenting with your image, but Lapidos is toeing a dangerous line here. Perhaps the worst part is her general attitude regarding the criticism she's received. Instead of just listening to what people have to say about it and learning from it, she basically dismisses the criticism and blindly chalks it up to a difference in opinion. She even invites her detractors to lunch where they can have an open and honest dialogue about it. She just doesn't get it.

Recently I've heard the term "post-racial" used to describe our society. I don't know how to feel about that quite yet, but I do know that openly flaunting something so intrinsic to a specific race and acting like it's perfectly normal isn't right. Many people use the term "white privilege" to describe Lapidos and her antics. That's a concept I've had a hard time grappling with over the past few years. I'd like to think that something like that doesn't exist and in many ways I think it has more to do with class privilege or socio-economic privilege than race. However, I can't deny that it is a valid point. In response to the increasing amount of flack that she has gotten this week Lapidos posted a response blog to her critics. In it she talks about hearing every and all complaint and about understanding where people are coming from. Her solution was to discontinue wearing the wig immediately and to educate herself on the history of race relations in this country and the diverse and varied cultures we citizens have...just kidding! She bought a blond afro wig instead because that will make everything better.

I don't know what the future holds for Lapiods, wether or not she will eventually learn that what she's doing isn't right (and that she looks completely crazy doing it). I don't know if she'll blindly continue down this path until it reaches its inevitable conclusion. Hell, maybe I'm wrong and Lapidos is actually more evolved than all of us. Maybe she's just post-everything, but I don't think so. To be honest, I feel weird condemning someone for doing something that even I don't completely understand. I'm white so I'll never know what exactly that hair means to the race that it belongs to. I wouldn't expect someone else to understand me or my journey through life. However, I once heard someone say something about race and privilege that was so profound I've never forgotten it and I wish that someone would say it to Lapidos, "Privilege is invisible to those who have it."

A Face for Radio

Well everyone, today's the day. The first show I've ever produced/written will go live at 1PM on WYPR, 88.1FM. Listen in if you want, the podcast of it will be on the website later this week so you can hear it there as well. I'm more than a little nervous, I really just want to fast forward to 2PM and get it over with. Dan Rodricks (the host) texted me last night about some script revisions which of course sent me into a panic, but, I was able to pull it together and I think it's going to be a really fun hour. Of course everyone I know knows about it and I just ran into my department head who said that she can't wait to hear it either. It may seem like I'm making a bid deal out of this, and if I am, it's because it's a big deal to me. Something that I wrote and conceptualized is going to be read/performed/whatever live on the air today and I feel like there is electricity running through my body right now. To think that my producers do this every day is terrifying. I guess it becomes second nature after a while but, as they say, you always remember your first time. Wish me luck internet.

What a Week

Once again I’m sitting in the WYPR office on a Friday waiting to get out of here. My show airs on Monday and I’m finally, FINALLY, done everything that needs to be done. My script and notes have been turned in and all guest have been confirmed (for the third time). At this point all I can do is wait for 1PM Monday and hope that everything goes smoothly. I’ll admit, I’m slightly worried that Bill Stevenson from the Baltimore Tattoo Museum is going to flip when he finds out that there is also a laser tattoo removal specialist on the show. Bill has been stressing to be this entire time that he’s doing the show because it’s pro-tattoo and it may have slipped my mind to let him know who the third guest is. Oops.

Besides the station it’s been a pretty stressful week. I got the job at Wegmans and it pays so much more than my current part time job. I really just need something to get me through graduation. I’m so behind in my schoolwork so I’ll be spending this weekend catching up on all of that noise. Oh and Virgin Fest was amazing. Skrillex blew my fucking mind. I danced and danced and danced and nary a fuck was given. On a side note, after years of foregoing hats because of my giant fucking head, apparently I look amazing in them. Who fucking knew?

FESTIVAL OF VIRGINS

I Love Honey Boo Boo and You Should Too! or Revenge of the Kardashians

I have a confession to make. I love Here Comes Honey Boo Boo. I am an unabashed, unapologetic, and avid fan of the show. I think that a lot of the time TLC’s programming delves into sideshow territory and exploitation. I do not, however, think that Honey Boo Boo (Alana) and the whole Thompson-Shannons clan is being exploited. Or rather, I don’t think that they are being exploited anymore than say the Kardashians. Both are families with reality TV shows who are making money off of being themselves and putting it all out there. Both are large families run by a slightly ridiculous matriarch. Both are families that probably live very different lives than you and me. Regardless of the similiaries there is a very large difference between the two families.

The Thompson-Shannons are a wholesome, lovable, albeit uncouth family. The Kardashians are the fame/money/attention hungry spawn of E!. Don’t get me wrong, I love the Kardashians. I’ve been keeping up with them since their television debut years ago. I’ve taken Miami with them and New York City. I even kept up with Khloe and Lamar and I was there for Kendall’s sweet 16. During Kim's fairytale wedding, when other people scoffed at the pageantry and emotional fabrication, I kept watching, unswayed by the public outrage. I’ve grown up with the Kardashians and I respect them for being the shrewd business people that they are. The Kardashians have been phenomenally successful and rightfully so. They’ve been able to brand themselves in a way that most people can only dream of. The funny thing is, they are pretty despicable. Family head Kris Jenner controls her family with an iron fist. When Kim walks into her office you can practically see the dollar signs in her eyes. They’ve struck while the iron is hot and that is nothing if not commendable.

As much as I enjoy the Kardashians and their televised familial shenanigans I really don’t like them. I’ll gladly sit in front of the TV and watch them for hours at a time, eyes glazed and slack jawed, ready to buy whatever it is that they are selling. That being said, I don’t think that I’d ever want to meet them. I just get the sense that if they can’t use you then they don’t need you. Sure, they’ll smile and pose for a picture with you. They’ll even tell you how great you look in your Kardashian Kollection jumpsuit. But I also think that as soon as you walked away they would start talking shit about you.

This brings me back to Honey Boo Boo. I genuinely like them. The whole family is so self-aware; they’re in on the joke, which is a refreshing change of pace. Also, they like themselves. Unlike the Kardashians they aren’t constantly working out or dieting or getting ridiculous plastic surgery (I’m looking at you Kris...and Bruce). They are who they are, they don’t try to hide or change for the public, you either accept them or you don’t. Many people think that they epitomize white trash while even more think that they are likable and relatable in a way that celebrities never are. The Thompson-Shannons know that you have some opinion about them and they’re 100% fine with that.

I think we could and probably should all learn a lesson from Alana and her family. Sometimes in life it’s better to just be yourself and let the truth speak for itself. No matter what you do in life you can’t control what people think about you. Instead of getting eyelash extensions and bleaching our assholes, maybe we should just be content with what we have. Worrying about how the world perceives you takes a lot of time and energy. Sometimes it’s better to just put it all out there, and if people like it then great, and if they don’t? Well, that’s fine too. And sometimes if you just be yourself you’ll get a reality show out of it, and really, at the end of the day, isn’t that all any of us can ask for?

National Public Retard

So right now I'm sitting in the WYPR office and I'm bored. Vanessa just left for the day so it's probably going to be very quiet around here. Right now it's just me and Nikki in a very cramped office. The dulcet sounds of traffic are wafting in through the windows. It's almost kind of pleasant. I should be working on my show but I'm blogging instead which seems like a better use of my time right now.

The show went well last night. Lindsay came which was really nice of her. I would've felt stupid (more stupid) being there by myself. Thankfully, and I really mean that, my play "Gathering Doom" got a really great reaction from the audience. I got a ton of laughs and it felt great that people understood it and thought that it was funny. So the show went off without a hitch, however, post show I had to go up on stage and do a Q&A session. However, proving that some people never change, Teri (and to a lesser extent Kimberley) did a lot of talking. I answered one question about my writing process (which also got a laugh) and that was about it. There were a few questions from the audience about the cultural differences and how our perceptions of Northern Ireland changed and....borrrrrring. I was really hoping that someone would jump up and yell "Sean I heard you suck a lot of dick! Is that true?!?!" or "Mr. McDonough, could you comment on the rumors that you set houses on fire so you can save people and look like a hero?!?" But alas, nothing like that happened.

After the show today I have Project Management II which means I'm probably going to have to present tonight. I really don't want to present. I hate presenting. I've always hated presented. In fact I recently blogged about how much I wasn't looking forward to this presentation. I'm hoping against hope that he asks everyone if we think it's necessary to present tonight or if we can just move on to the next project.

Speaking of projects, I finally successfully made something in Adobe indesign that I'm proud of. We had to make a poster promoting a fake concert (the Throwing Bows tour, coming to a venue near you!). It was a giant pain in the ass because I had to do it in the computer lab as opposed to doing it at home. Also printing a poster takes almost 30 min and cost about $10. Once I had the finished product I then had to haul ass to Michael's to buy foam core and spray mount. Then I mounted the poster while simultaneously coating my hands and forearms with spray mount. Once my poster was securely attached to the foam core I had to cut it to size. As you can probably tell this whole thing took up a lot of my very, very important time. Seriously, I'm really fucking busy. But, all in all, I'm very happy with the outcome and my professor Jessica Moore seemed to like it as well. Now I just have to create a magazine. I think I'm gonna call it "Frivolity & Idle Amusement" or if that doesn't work "Shit for Gay Retards".

Q&gAy

So tonight my play is being performed for the first time ever in America. I'm very excited to see the audiences reaction butttttttt I also have to stand on stage for a post show Q&A...color me not excited. Feel free to come ask me difficult personal questions not at all related to the play.

Set Standards to Low Pt. 1

I'm exhausted. I've got the day off today so I'm cleaning, working, and still getting over the weekend. Basically I had work Saturday morning at 3AM as per usual. However, Saturday was also Nicole's birthday. Now normally I would just sleep when I got off of work at 10AM, no harm no foul. However, this Saturday was a little different. Remember that time I went to Ireland for a month to write a play? Well tomorrow we are performing the plays for the school and also have a post show Q&A session. Because of this we had a 3 hour rehearsal on Saturday which threw a big fucking Donkey Kong sized monkey wrench right into my tightly coordinated plans.

After work I was really tired due to a combination of having to be at work at 3AM also because I got zero sleep the night before. After work I drove home and slept for a few hours. I really only meant to sleep for about 1 hour, get up, take a shower, and drive to school. As it turns out, I ended up sleeping until noon, which was when rehearsal start. I almost skipped the whole thing actually. I'm not in the performance, I was too busy and missed the first 2 rehearsals so I told Kimberly that I didn't have the time to participate. No big deal, she said it was fine and my play is still being performed. She did ask that I attend the final, tech rehearsal which I acquiesced to. Anyway, I starting getting texts from Rachel asking if I was coming. I assured her that I was. I dragged my ass out of bed, took a shower, threw on my finest bum clothes and drove to school. All told I was about 90 minutes late...oh well.

When I got to school I was promptly thrust on stage and basically told that I was still in the performance. I had to sit through an entire dress rehearsal and it sucked. I had enjoyed a small, green, leafy, salad earlier and wasn't prepared for the spotlight to literally be on me.

After the show I talked to Kimberley and better explained the situation. She understood so now I just have to do the Q&A after the show. Unfortunately for me, my day was just beginning.

Following rehearsal I hauled ass home to change clothes and then immediately leave to meet Jack, Nicole, and Lindsay at a corn maze. Of course while we were in the very middle of the maze it began to torrentially rain...yeah, so that happened.

My First Kiss

His name was Ted. That was basically all I knew about the boy who I would share my first kiss with. Let’s rewind a few years, back to the spring of 2006. I was merely a freshman, naïve to the ways of the world. For the first time in my incredibly sheltered life I was living on my own. Well, on my own in the sense that I had a roomy dorm room and parents who would begrudgingly pay my credit card bill each month.

Regardless of the circumstances I was finally free of my overbearing parents. For the first time ever I could do exactly what I wanted to when I wanted to and if that included kissing strange boys so be it.

I had noticed Ted around campus a few weeks prior. The first thing that caught my attention was his mouth. No it wasn’t because he had a sexy pout and a pair of DS lips. Rather it was his under bite. Ted had (and probably still does for all I know) the most ridiculous under bite I had ever seen. It pushed his bottom jaw out and gave him slight resemblance to Popeye. To be honest though that exaggerated defect just made him cuter in my opinion.

I’ve never gone after the pretty boys. Well, I did once but that's neither here nor there. I generally go for guys with average looks and above average personality. If I wanted to fuck a guy with a perfect body but without a brain in his head I’d just buy a blow up sex doll. I’d rather be able to hold a conversation with someone than have to reapply oil to his glistening abs all night. Besides, dating average looking guys made it easier to like myself.

Ted was a sophomore and though only one year separated us it might as well have been ten for all I cared. Ted seemed mature and sophisticated, totally comfortable in his own skin. I was shy and insecure, desperately seeking a group that would accept me as one of their own. I some how easily blended into a small group of hardcore, scene, goth, and club kids. I spent my nights traipsing through the French Quarter and drinking as much as my meager savings would allow.

The best part about living in New Orleans was that there was never a dull moment. We went out almost every night because there was something to do almost every night. The craziest and most out of control nights were always Tuesday. Tuesday night was Dyke night at the Pub on Bourbon Street. Around 10 we would all meet up on campus, dressed in our finest post adolescent, quasi-rebellious attire. I was pretty tame compared to others in my group. Several of the more experienced kids favored platforms boots, PVC corsets, and ridiculous eye makeup which only served to emphasize their numerous and fashionable facial piercings. Skinny jeans procured from Wal-Mart and borrowed eyeliner was as far as I was willing to go at that point.

It was a Tuesday night like many before it in early March when I would stumble into my very first kiss. I had actually kissed multiple people before this night but they had all been girls. I had a pretty good idea that I favored the company of gentleman but I wasn’t ready to announce it to the world yet. Instead I clung to my facade of youthful experimentation that belied my inner fear of revealing my sexuality. But I digress. That night we all met in front of Beaver Hall, which was the freshman dorm on campus. As we all stood out front smoking cigarettes and doing our best to look moody and stylish my friend Shep took me aside. She told me that this guy was coming out with us tonight for the first time, his name was Ted and I should try and get to know him.

Now back then I stridently refused to accept or admit that I was a textbook homosexual. I told Shep that I would be more than happy to make a new friend but that was it. As the final stragglers arrived I finally laid my eyes on him. I’m not sure why exactly but I knew that something was going to happen that night. I could feel it in the air as if there was a shift in the atmosphere.

We piled into two cars and made our way downtown towards the French Quarter. I remember having a giddy feeling of anticipation in my stomach the entire ride, which could only be partly attributed to the vodka and Red Bull in my water bottle. We arrived in the Quarter and proceeded to park on Esplanade as per usual. Our motley gang fell out of Shep’s SUV and started walking towards Decatur Street.

If you’ve never been to New Orleans you really should find some time to. The Quarter alone is worth a visit. The French Quarter can be divided into four main streets: Decatur, Chartres, Royal, and Bourbon. At opposite ends of the spectrum were Decatur and Bourbon. Decatur is dark, and a little dangerous (in a completely safe kind of way, the danger is more of an aesthetic) where as Bourbon was loud and garish, lit up 24 hours a day.

We first stepped into the Whirling Dervish, a favorite hangout spot on Decatur Street. I distinctly remember being upset because instead of a vodka and cranberry I was served a vodka and grape fruit juice. I detest grape fruit. I loathe grape fruit with every fiber of my body. We got our drinks to go and I spent the entire walk over to Bourbon complaining about my drink. Honestly though why would anyone want grape fruit juice? It’s somehow both salty and sour in the worst way possible.

We made our way towards the Pub, showed our underage ID’s at the door and were granted admission. The first time I ever went to the Pub I really thought that it was a glamorous place. However, upon repeated visits the sleaziness of the place came to the surface. The velvet coaches with velvet curtains that I had initially thought were so cool quickly revealed themselves to be disgusting cesspools of what I’m sure you don’t even want to know.

For some reason that particular night I had a surplus of cash with me and there was no way that I was going to leave with any of it. I know that I spent a good chunk of the night ingesting multiple watermelon drops which is a sickly sweet and viscous shot. I lost count after the 5th one. I was also nursing Absolut Peach and sours all night as well. Luckily I only got a hangover and not diabetes.

I’d like to sugarcoat this next part; I mean honestly whose going to correct me if I lie? However honesty is the best policy so here goes nothing. The rest of the night is a bit of a blur but several key events stand out. I remember dancing to some forgettable house music. My version of dancing at the time mostly consisted of me swaying back and forth while alternately flipping my bangs and halfheartedly dropping it as if it were hot. Let me tell you something, there is nothing more unattractive than a full grown, incredibly intoxicated man dropping his ass to the ground and then back up again. Fellows, it doesn’t look cute so don’t do it.

As I was breaking it down on the dance floor, it being the remaining shred of my dignity, Ted approached me. Lo and behold he was just as bad, if not worse, of a dancer than me. He was also just as drunk as me…we were not on our A game that night. Anyway, Ted dances up to me and gets close, really close. His hand immediately went to my crotch and began to grope me through my jeans. He leaned in to kiss me and for some reason, even though he was practically jerking me off on the dance floor, I couldn’t commit to a kiss. No means no.

“I don’t kiss boys,” I told him, proud of my ability to stick to my morals and self-loathing. What followed immediately after this interaction is a murky haze. The next thing I remember is sitting on one of those disgusting DNA encrusted coaches next to Ted. I don’t know if we were talking or just speaking in tongues to each other. The next thing I know I’m taking part in the most passionate kiss I’ve ever had up until that point. This may have something to do with the fact this was my first real kiss, with a boy, ever.

What can I say, it was pretty fucking good. I remember feeling electricity passing through us, which was a first. Unfortunately my only memory following that monumental kiss was throwing up on this beautiful black girls shoe. Her name was Foxy and I knew her from school so she wasn’t too upset. I think I bought her a flower on the street to make up for it.

Suffice to say things between Ted and myself didn’t work out. We eventually spent a real night together and I, in an example of tragic foreshadowing, became completely obsessed with him. That, however, is a story for another day. I’ll say this though, you only get one first kiss and at the very least my first kiss got rid of any lingering doubts that I was straight. So thanks for that Ted, you weren’t a gentleman but you gave me the push I needed to embrace a fundamental part of my life and for that I will forever be grateful. Also a little pissed off because you never called me back but I'm sure I'll get over that eventually.