It should come as no big surprise that my favorite “F” word is fuck. I especially like this word when it’s dressed up with motherfucker or go fuck yourself. My fascination with the “F” word began at a pretty young age. I have a distinct memory of me running around the house, four or five years old, telling anyone in my line of vision: “Don’t fuck with the babysitter.” I guess I also had a fascination with Elizabeth Shue’s character in Adventures in Babysitting. Yes, I was a handful as a child. And, as most people in my life can attest, still am a handful. However, today, we’re going . . .
I feel like my last few blog articles have been heavy. No, I’m not going to make a fat joke here. Surprise, bitch! Yet, it’s obvious, and I think note-worthy, that I’ve gone kind of deep lately. Well, deeper than normal for me. No, I’m not going to make a sex joke here. Surprise, bitch—again! Also, get your mind out of the gutter. Actually, to be fair, in order to enjoy this particular article, you might want to keep your mind in the gutter. That’s your warning to skip this particular piece of content, Mom, Dad, teachers from the past . . . anyone and everyone who may not be overly excited . . .
I have a problem. Insert joke, right? Because, as we all know (those who stay up to date with my blog and column, anyway), I have more than just a problem. However, the problem I have today, the problem I’m facing this Sunday morning, is—go figure—the gay community. Last fall, I wrote an article on how disappointed I am in the gay community. Well, plot twist, the gay community is still disappointing and disheartening. Or, to be blunt, the gay community is STILL fucked. Let's have an open chat because I'm genuinely curious about something: What is the appeal of posting pictures of . . .
Recently, a friend told me that I was the gay, male version of Taylor Swift. I agreed, we laughed, and then both promptly ordered another round of mimosas. Okay, that’s not entirely true. This bitch is currently off the sauce—six months and counting. We’ll see how long sobriety lasts, because in these dark and trying times (yes, I’m referring to all of the excess holiday weight I’ve gained), nothing quite comforts me like eighteen dirty martinis. Anyway, I’m not exactly sure what my friend and I ordered another round of, but it’s a safe bet that it was something deep-fried. Me likes my . . .
Recently, I looked back at it . . . I mean, I looked back at my website and took inventory of my latest blog articles. From titles alone, I seem like a bitter, angry, scorned, shrill (enter your favorite adjective) bitch. And, despite what you may think you know about me, I don’t want to be any of those things. Further, I don’t ever want to be thought of as cynical or negative. If 2020 has taught us anything, it’s that life is precious. Not always easy, not always fun, but it beats the alternative. Therefore, we need to enjoy as much of it as we can. Instead of complaining about every foul . . .