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You are here: Home / Lessons / Déjà Fuck

Déjà Fuck

February 26, 2021 By Cutter Slagle Leave a Comment

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 to read about my past party days. This is your chance to make an exit.

For the few of you choosing to stay and brave learning about those party days and, to be frank, my prior sexcapades, you’re welcome for the show. My Venmo account can be found under . . . Kidding! Well, maybe.

Anyway, we all know what déjà vu is, right? A hit song by Beyoncé, featuring Jay-Z. We’re all up to speed! Of course, you may also be thinking about the Denzel Washington movie.

All joking aside, most of us have experienced déjà vu at some point in our lives. What is the underlining meaning of déjà vu? How the hell should I know? There are no letters behind my name indicating some sort of special knowledge, skillset, or talent. I’m sure some people like the sensation déjà vu brings, while others despise it, leaving the rest somewhere in the middle.

A simple, juvenile explanation, sure, but what the hell do you want from me? I done already told you that this article isn’t going to go too deep.

I will say this, though: It’s easy to read into déjà vu encounters just like it’s easy to read into anything else. In laymen’s terms, people see whatever they want to see.

Moving on, who knows what a déjà fuck is? And, more importantly, who has ever experienced it? In case you’re wondering, yes, a déjà fuck is exactly what you think it is.

The first time I ever heard this expression was on an episode of Sex and the City. Funny, I know that without a doubt I am now a Carrie (hello, the Male Carrie Bradshaw!), and I can even admit that sometimes I am a Miranda (aren’t we all?), yet there was a time in my past when I was unabashedly a Samantha . . . And being a Samantha was a freakin’ blast!

But, as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end—and for good reason, too! I’m happy I’ve evolved because, quite honestly, a Samantha lifestyle wasn’t realistic. Or, it wasn’t realistic for me, for my wants and needs. I wanted and needed more—and I’m lucky enough to have found it.

However, before I found it, let’s just say I went on a bit of a scavenger hunt. I was like Indiana Jones . . . Fine! I was like Laura Croft, you know, searching tombs and shit. The tombs, of course, were every single bar in Hillcrest (the ones I hadn’t been banned from, anyway). And the shit I was searching for? Well, I’m not exactly sure what I was searching for. But trust and believe, I searched high and low. Sometimes very, very low. And, more times than not, I usually found some sort of shit.

One notable weekend, San Diego Pride weekend, to be exact, I was out and about doing things that weren’t necessarily prideful. Sure, I looked good, smelled good, and had taken the time to lace up my dancing shoes, but I had spent most of the celebratory weekend bee boppin’ around town like I was Miley Cyrus, the “Wrecking Ball” era.

That’s when it happened: my déjà fuck.

To paint you a picture, I was at a dive bar that liked to keep its interior extremely dark. Maybe the electric bill was never paid, or perhaps the owners just didn’t want anyone to see what they might step in. One of life’s great mysteries that will never be solved.

Anyway, cut to me feeling the rhythm of the night, the night, oh, yeah, as I did the gay lap/loop around the cave-esque establishment—you guessed it—searching. This particular search had led me outside to the enclosed patio section, where I promptly ordered a cheeseburger (yes, two cheeseburgers) and a bag of potato chips.

In my defense, I was trying to keep up my stamina and knew damn well that the calories wouldn’t count because I’d be burning them off later that night . . . Burning them off on the dance floor, in case your mind still happens to be in that gutter.

I’d just accepted my drinks from the bartender—a Coors Light for each hand—when I turned and saw a hot guy staring at me from the corner. Well, I thought he was hot at least or hoped he was hot. Remember, this bar kept it dark. Then again, I knew that the alcohol I’d been double-fisting all day and well into the evening would help encourage me to talk to Corner Guy, even if he did resemble Shrek up close and in the dim light.

Turns out, he was attractive. Maybe a hint of a unibrow, but I was willing to roll with it. And roll with it, I did.

So, after a few drinks, a couple of spins around the dance floor, and a round or two of Standing Twister (you know the game: right hand, left cheek; left leg, right shoulder; etc.), I suddenly realized that I had already met this Corner Guy, Non-Shrek, Hint of Unibrow fella.

I pulled back from him, squinted, and said, “I know you. We’ve . . . met before.”

He answered with, “Yeah, we . . . met a few years ago. Back in Carlsbad.”

It was then that I was hit with a rushing sensation of déjà vu. Or, you know, the feeling of déjà fuck. As it turned out, I had previously played Twister with Corner Guy, Non-Shrek, Hint of Unibrow when I lived in Carlsbad, roughly a year and a half prior to this encounter, which took place in Hillcrest, some forty miles away.

Blame my forgetfulness on the dark bar, the copious amounts of alcohol, or my love for the game of Twister, but before you judge, just know that as soon as our first connection back in Carlsbad was established (okay, several minutes after it was established), I quickly turned into Celine Dion.

Why? Because . . . (Singing off-key) It’s all coming back, it’s all coming back to me now.

Or, it all came back to me as soon as the fog cleared from my brain and I mentally scrolled through my Rolodicks—er, my Rolodex. What can I say? It’s a small world, boys and girls. Take that literally or figurative, whichever you deem fit.

Did I take my déjà fuck home again that night? A gentleman never kisses and tells, so let me tell you that, yes, I did take him home that night. It was Pride weekend after all, and I was feeling . . . proud. Or something like that.

If you thought the story ended there, I have just one thing to say to you: Surprise, bitch—times thrice!

I ran into my déjà fuck less than six months later at the same bar. He remembered me; we exchanged pleasantries. However, when I texted him well into the night to, you know, make sure he got home safely, the motherfucker left me on read. I guess he found a fresh component to play Twister with.

I dodged a bullet, though: He’d put on some weight and his unibrow had gotten much thicker. Think Frida Kahlo.

However, don’t cry for me; I didn’t exactly go home alone. I eventually ended the night with someone very special. Someone sweet, rich, and cream-filled. Someone I actually took home on a regular basis, who never—not once—disappointed me: Little Debbie. Little Debbie Swiss Rolls, to be exact.

And she is the absolute best déjà fuck I have ever experienced. Period.

Filed Under: Lessons Tagged With: Beyoncé, déjà vu, Denzel Washington, Gay Lifestyle, Jay-Z, LGBTQ blog, LGBTQ writer, LGBTQ writing, Life lessons, Pride, Pride month, The Male Carrie Bradshaw, Writing Community

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Feb 1

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Don't miss my February column in @ragemonthly — Out now! 
https://bit.ly/3l3MLBt

#TheMaleCarrieBradshaw 👨🏼‍💻

"Hope is essential, but it’s not enough. To just simply hope will almost always end in disappointment, and probably pretty quickly. In order for hope to work—truly work—we’ve got to work, and the work isn’t always easy. On the contrary, it can be fucking hard. Hope can only take us so far, then it’s up to us and the work we’ve done to finish the job."

sincerelycutter

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“If I’m not back in five minutes … just wait longer.” #AceVentura #AceVenturaPetDetective

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#NewBlogAlert🔥 — #LinkInBio or cutterslagle.com #TheMaleCarrieBradshaw 
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For the past year and a half, I’ve told myself and others that I’m on a journey of self-reflection, with the sole goal of becoming the absolute best version of myself. Yet, when I look back at my previous blog articles and Rage (how fitting is that name?) columns, I’m not so sure this is the case. Instead, I fear that I may be trying to project my feelings, beliefs, and hell, possibly even my insecurities onto anyone who bothers to read the sentences I string together.

The result? A sad, jaded, angry, and yes, bitter perspective of life.

sincerelycutter

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My #October column in @ragemonthly is out now! 👨🏼‍💻 https://bit.ly/3dV59tn 
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“After all, times are tough! Charles Dickens had it right when he wrote, ‘It was the worst of times.’ He, too, must have been searching for gay love. (As for the other half of that quote, the one that addresses the ‘best of times,’ well, I don’t know her.)”
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harlancoben Harlan Coben @harlancoben ·
February 1, 2023

Milestone: Don’t want to brag but today while writing I spelled the word “occasion” correctly for the first time.

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sincerelycutter Cutter Slagle @sincerelycutter ·
January 15, 2023

... I can take myself dancing, and I can hold my own hand.

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sincerelycutter Cutter Slagle @sincerelycutter ·
January 5, 2023

… it was maroon. ♥️

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October 26, 2022

#NewBlogAlert
https://cutterslagle.com/bye-bitter-bitch/

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sincerelycutter Cutter Slagle @sincerelycutter ·
October 24, 2022

Take the moment and taste it
You've got no reason to be afraid
You're on your own, kid
Yeah, you can face this

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Writer: Cutter Slagle

3 days ago

Writer: Cutter Slagle
Don't miss my February column in The Rage Monthly Magazine — Out now! #TheMaleCarrieBradshaw "Hope is essential, but it’s not enough. To just simply hope will almost always end in disappointment, and probably pretty quickly. In order for hope to work—truly work—we’ve got to work, and the work isn’t always easy. On the contrary, it can be fucking hard. Hope can only take us so far, then it’s up to us and the work we’ve done to finish the job." ... See MoreSee Less

RAGE MONTHLY MAGAZINE

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Valentine's Day Queer-ish Gift Guide, Mean Girls the Musical, Gay Romantic OF AN AGE, Jeremy McQueen Black Iris Project
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“… sometimes you find your way to the place that wants you most.” ... See MoreSee Less

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3 months ago

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But I was realizing that everyone does go on. You get up. You have breakfast. You go to work. You do your job. You come home, have some dinner, go to bed. Just like everybody else. But it's always there. You go on, but you don't go on. Because there's this weight, and you can feel it all the time, like you've got a cinder block sitting on each shoulder, pushing you down, wearing you out, making you wonder whether you'll be able to get up the next day. And son of a bitch, you do get up. That day, and the day after, and the day after that. With those blocks on your shoulders. Always there. ... See MoreSee Less

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Bye, Bitter Bitch

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Oftentimes, it can be difficult to shake feelings of bitterness and anger. During these times, it's important to focus on what we can control and change.
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Take the moment and taste itYou've got no reason to be afraid You're on your own, kid Yeah, you can face this🎶🎶🎶 ... See MoreSee Less
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