Bonafide Lovin'

So as you all probably know, I was in a pretty terrible car accident on July 28th. While the situation was terrifying (hearing numerous EMTs, police officers, and bystanders telling me how lucky I was to be alive DID NOT help me to feel better, by the way...) it also opened my eyes to just how many aspects of life I have never experienced.

I have never been a bike rider. I've always walked everywhere, and I also thoroughly enjoy running. Well...after the accident I no longer had a car, so I decided to go out and purchase a bike. My dad and I went to the store to got me a beautiful new two-wheeler. In true fashion, my dad did not secure the bike properly in the car, so as we were driving home the bike started to fall out of the back of the car. Nothing beats having to lay across the car holding my bike in place while terribly bruised from a car accident. The bike made it home safly, and I basically had to re-learn how to ride the thing. As my proud father watched on, I rode around my cul-de-sac and waved as I triumphantly learned something a six year old is competant at doing. Now I ride my bike all over the place, and really like it!

I have also never eaten a cheeseburger. Or any burger, for that matter. They simply gross me out. My friends have always teased me about this, and with my new lease on life I decided "oh what the hell? I'll give it a shot." I wanted a really thin burger (thick ones REALLY freak me out) and I've always thought McDonalds burgers looked tasty, so I decided to purchase my first cheeseburger from the golden arches. I entered the facility (along with a large number of my friends) and I ordered the dreaded sandwich. I was terrified. My stomach was feeling the same way that it does when I am in line for Raging Bull at Six Flags (a ride in which I always say I will go on, but I actually just wait in line, cry, and then cross right through the ride's seats to the exit, where I make my escape at the last minute). I sat down, and my friends started cheering me on. I then reminded them that we were in a fucking McDonalds and that they needed to shut the hell up. I took a bite. My friends took pictures. I took another bite. The novelty seemed to wear off. I finished the sandwich with ease, and realized that cheeseburgers are not something to be feared anymore. Andy: 1. Cheeseburger: 0.

Lastly, I was not blessed with tan skin. I go outside, put on SPF 50 sunblock, and still am so burnt the next day that I can't sit down. For a few months now my friends have been urging me to get a mystic tan. I finally took the plunge a week ago. I went to LA Tan because the place has $10 mystic tans on Mondays. When I entered, the girls behind the desk looked at me, puzzled, almost certainly thinking that I had walked into the wrong building. Either that, or they were temporarily blinded by my intense, luminescent white skin. I told them my situation (that I was only doing the tan as a joke and that my friends were paying) and they both giggled at what I was about to do. My friends and I then learned that for only $5 dollars more I could get a level 3 mystic tan (the $10 tan was only a level 2) to which the girl behind the counter replied, "I've never even had a level 3!" My friends wholeheartedly agreed to pay the extra $5 dollars and I was on my way. I walked into the room where the tan was to take place. I had to get completely naked, and place a clear covering over my hair. I then got into a box that I am assuming is from space, and had to press a button, thus releasing the tanning spray. It hit my naked body, and damn...it was kinda cold. I had to then turn around and make sure my ass was as tan as could be. I left the box, and dried off. I was done. Within a few hours I was completely orange and looking rather ridiculous. Although not as ridiculous as I had hoped. I actually was told that I looked good. I was not happy. I plan on getting a few more mystic tans becasue I want to look fucking nuts.

All in all, getting in a car accident opened up my eyes to trying new things: riding a bike, eating a cheeseburger, and getting a mystic tan. Not the most courageous of new things to try, but I'm happy I have finally experienced what everyone around me had been buzzing about.

School in a week. I'm pumped.

Mamma Mia!

While jogging today, I came to a startling realization. I was listening to ABBA's Gold, and just as "Gimme Gimme Gimme (A Man After Midnight)" came on, I thought to myself, "I really like this song, but people can't know, because I would seem gay." I instantly regretted the thought, and realized that the gays in my life are without a doubt some of the greatest people I have ever known. Seeming gay is not to be feared.

Who cares if I appear to be gay? I used to, but not anymore. When my name came up on JuicyCampus, for example, the most negative thing said about me was that I was a closet homosexual, and while the comments initially upset me, I now view them as a compliment. If seeming gay is the most negative thing people can say about me, then I think I've done something right with my life. Discriminating against someone and viewing them negatively because of their sexual orientation is utterly abhorrent in my eyes, and it is a direct result of stupidity and ignorance. I've been called a "fag" when I have been out before, usually when surrounded by my gay friends, and I would much rather be with them (as they are accepting, funny, smart, and oh-so-snappily dressed) than be with the ignorant pieces of shit doing the name calling.

My closest male friend at U of I is gay. I lived with him for a year. It was one of the most fun years of my life. We constantly were able to make each other laugh, and I related to him so much. The fact that he was gay never even really ran throught my head. All I saw was a great human being and an awesome friend. I've had people ask me, "Well don't you think other people will think you are gay because you are such good friends with a gay guy?" to which I respond, "Hell yes. And let them think it." Also, one of my best friends from home is gay. I go to lunch with him. We go to the movies together (we even went on a date to see Prime). We are extremely close, and I always have a blast when I am around him. He is also one of the most amazing people I have ever known, and his being gay is something that doesn't affect our friendship one bit.

Why is it that I seem so homosexual? I think it's a combination of factors. One, I grew up in a neighborhood of mostly girls. I spent my afternoons selling lemonade, playing Pretty Pretty Princess, and baking shit. I'm not going to even lie, I wanted to be the prettiest princess, yet I also longed for some boys to play with. While I had my gal pals, I always became the closest with boys, having many many more girl friends, yet having the closest friendships with boys.

I've also done musical theater my whole life. It seems like I have been programmed this way. I played soccer and baseball when I was younger, yet it seemed to end disastrously. My mom would be taping my games, screaming from the sidelines, "GET IN THERE, ANDY!" as I stood to the side, admiring the clouds or picking grass, as absent from the game as humanly possible. I was also in karate...for one day...before I started crying and had to have my parents called to come pick me up. I never returned. I started being in plays when I was eight, and have loved it ever since. While I don't want to pursue a career in musical theater, I feel like it really is a niche of mine, and I love doing it when I have spare time. Growing up with girls and flamboyant theater boys, I no doubt developed some of the characteristics of said individuals.

Also, my voice is not the most masculine. The secretary at my dad's work never ceases to reply, "No problem, ma'm" after I ask her to get my father on the line. Also, it's really awesome to answer the phone and hear, "Hello? Mrs. Herren?" or "Hi Jan!" to which I have to reply, "This isn't her....it's her 21 year-old son, I'll go get her."

So I've decided to embrace my faux homosexuality. I may not be gay, but dammit, I love being around those who are, and am never going to not be myself out of fear of being labeled gay ever again. I want to see Mamma Mia! just as much as I want to see The Dark Knight. There. I said it. And I don't regret it.

Quoting Dr. Seuss, "A person's a person. No matter how gay."

It's Friday, I'm in Love

Isn't "Friday I'm in Love" by The Cure fantastic? On a completely unrelated note, I guess I'm (aren't you proud of me, Sean!) now a blogger. Blame it one being home alone on a Saturday night while my parents get wasted at a graduation party, but whatever the reason...here we go...

Summer 2008 has been completely uneventful, which is both a good and a bad thing. I REALLY worked my ass off a school all semester (12 whole credit hours!); now we have summer...and I don't even have a real job. I don't need one. I started a pet sitting business in 8th grade that now brings my family an extra $30,000 dollars a year. I've taken over the family biz for the summer, and I get to walk around outside with dogs and then come inside and play with them some more (I can't stay outside too long because of my freakishly pale complexion. I got terribly burnt one afternoon at the pool even with SPF 50 sunblock on...I know, I know...anything after 45 supposedly doesn't work...blah blah blah). This job is quite fantastic. There are the occasional blips on a blissfully clear radar, such as a dog throwing up on my bed, me having to chase a dog into my neighbors' backyard in nothing but boxers and a white t-shirt, and the way in which my face swells up five times its normal size whenever I am around cats. While most of my friends work grueling hours at jobs they don't care about, I get to play and be a kid with a group of friends who find it completely normal to lick my face or stick their nose in my crotch. In short...pet sitting is amazing...fuck jobs/internships.

On the other hand...I'm beginning to get a bit stir crazy. Being in and around my neighborhood for a good majority of the day is starting to irk me. I can only take my mom screaming, "DID YOU PUT YOUR DAMN SUNSCREEN ON!?!" as I head out the door to walk dogs so many times before I want to rip her head off and shove it up her ass, screaming back, "SEE ANY DAMN SUNSCREEN IN THERE!?!?!" But this feeling is a rare one, and if it is the only problem I have with my job, then I need to quit bitching. Plus, I should love to be outside in my neighborhood; it's actually very pretty.

Last summer I workd at SciTech, an interactive children's museum in downtown Aurora (aka my hometown). I was fired, and it was one of the best days of my life. I worked numerous hours as an "explainer" of the exhibits. The only problem was that the exhibits needed no explaining, as there were instructions on every single one of them. I usually filled up my days hiding in the basement, stealing my boss' food out of the fridge and eating it alone in unoccupied rooms, sitting in the elevator with friends and chatting, standing up and looking important whenever the elevator was called (which was rarely), or making up excuses as to why I had to leave early (I once told my supervisor that I had to leave because my cousin was in, and this cousin had a brain tumor, and we were taking said cousin to Chicago because we didn't know how much time we had left. Yeah, I was that desperate...). When I chipped my tooth at the bottom of a swimming pool (I was drunk on expensive brandy!) and needed emergency dental surgery, I was fired for requesting to get off of work. Long story short, I could have it worse this summer. Much worse.

I love my friends. Seeing them every damn day proves to keep me sane, and it truly makes me love being home.

That being said, I really fucking want to visit U of I, too.

This whole blog has been contradictory, but I don't care.

Good night. I'm going swimming.