Every now and then I need to just wallow in the stereotype that is my gayness… I love fluffy and sparkly things (if someone ever finds a way to meld diamonds and cats my head will cave in from happiness). My favorite flavor is red, regardless of whether that is cherry, strawberry, or cinnamon. Pink should be required garb on Wednesdays, and P!nk should be the soundtrack those days, too. While we’re on that subject: Female singers are, by default, better and more interesting than male singers (except MJ, Prince, George Michael, and David Bowie, but they’re practically women sometimes, so that isn’t a fair comparison). Chocolate fixes everything (and what it won’t fix, masturbation will). My favorite commercial of all time is the one from 1971 where the young people from all around the world are singing about a muthafuckin’ Coca Cola – it is EVERYTHING!
Katy Perry’s “Roar” is inspirational, but so is Natasha Bedingfield’s “Unwritten” (and “Party in the USA” and “Call Me Maybe” give me life). Yes, I am a 12-year-old girl in a 37-year-old man’s body, and I will rip your lips off if you have the balls to call me a fag to my face. Bitch, please… I fall in love about six times every time I walk into my gym. I panic when I start to run low on my specialty mouth wash. The accomplishment I’m most proud of lately is doing multiple sets of weighted pull ups (3 sets of 5 reps with a 45-pound plate! BAM!!!), and my car is an important extension of my personality. I think unicorns are real. I hope they are, anyway. I still forget the characters in the Jim Henson classics “Labyrinth” and “The Dark Crystal” are puppets (but that doesn’t mean they’re not alive).
And I still want to be Janet Jackson when I grow up.