This story is
fictional blog of a contemporary American teenage boy and the fictional
of a teenager from the nineteen-seventies. This is not real and the
with the exception of any historical or public figures mentioned, are
and any similarity to real individuals is purely coincidental. This
story is a
gay romance and mystery and though sex will be mentioned, there will be
explicit or gratuitous descriptions of sexual activity. This is not a
pornographic story. However, if you still feel you will be offended by
content, please read no further. I am not a lawyer and I do not play
one on TV,
(nor have I ever stayed at a Holiday Inn Select- apologies to
LOL), but I seriously doubt that reading this story will violate any
laws. I cannot comment on anything legal outside the
You may assume that any spelling, grammatical, or factual errors are deliberate, as these are supposed to be the works of two adolescent males. Yeah, that's it. That's the ticket. They're deliberate! Yeah. And, Heather Locklear told me so. Yeah!
would like to read any comments you might have about the story and
appreciate your sending them to: firstname.lastname@example.org.
I would also invite you to check out my real blog: Christopher Macintosh.
Excellent Blog- Saturday, July 9, 2005
Listening to: Hanson/ Penny and Me
Then, there was the comment from Zipperboi who wants to meet on a chat server and talk. Yeah, well. I might be new to blogging, but I'm not totally stupid. I really don't want to talk dirty with some guy whose probably really forty and pretending to be sixteen.
But, the best comment was from Anonymous who says I'm going to Hell and he hopes I get AIDS and that I'm a “butt-munching fudge-packer.” Well, I have to admit that I was pretty freaked out when I first read this. But, then I realized that there's no way “Anonymous” can find me and, to be honest, “butt-munching fudge-packer” was really one of the more creative insults I've gotten over the last few years. When I was in middle school it was usually just “dork” or “dickhead” or “queer.” Last year, when I was a freshman at Central, the worst I got was “fat-ass cocksucker.” At least this guy had some creativity.
I was messing around with Blogio's preferences and found that I can moderate the comments that people leave. I'll start doing that, though if there's something as entertaining as “butt-munching fudge-packer” again, I might leave that for everyone's entertainment!
There are lot's of kewl things about Blogio. One of my favorites is that it asks you what mood you're in and what you're listening to when you're writing. I think that can tell someone a lot about a person. For instance, you know that I like Ben Jelen, Matthew Sweet, The Calling, and Hanson. You're probably grossing out over Hanson, but if you listen to them, they're really good now. I like guitars and lyrics and good singing and cute guys. I don't believe I wrote that! This is so kewl to be free and to be able to write stuff like- Ben Jelen is HOT! I love his hair! It's black and long and hangs over his face and his eyes are so beautiful and I love the picture of him in his jeans with that tee-shirt and New York behind him. He was SO sexy in that picture. And, I love Taylor Hanson!!!! He is so HOT, too. He has the dreamiest eyes and I love the way his hair like flows around his head and I love that weird, not weird, different kind of singing style he has. He gives me one every time I hear him. OK. He gives me a woody.
WOO HOO! I'm free! I can write about being gay! I'm gay! I want to make out with Jesse McCartney! I want to get it on bad with Ashton Kutcher, even if he is dumb as dirt. I want to get nasty with Chris Pratt! And, I want Tom Welling to hold me and kiss me and love me and lay in bed with me all night!
This is so weird to write all this. I mean, I've never been able to say anything like this to anyone at all! I mean, no one! Nobody knows that I think about how cute Zac Hanson is when I'm, laying in bed at night. OK, so nobody likes Hanson anymore except fat chicks, (well, I'm called fat all the time, so I can say it- that's what people think anyway). But, they are good and the people in the business think they're good, even if Clear Channel, which owns half the stations in the country, won't play any of their music. Anyway… There are so many guys out there that are just gorgeous, just totally awesome and I can say it here that I think they're hot!
Maybe you all think I'm a crazy sex maniac and maybe I am. But, I've had to hide my feelings for so long and make sure no one sees my eyes looking in the wrong direction, and put my hands in my pockets sometimes to keep from totally humiliating myself so often that, now that I have the chance to say it, I feel like going crazy!
How's that for a butt-munching fudge-packer!
Excellent Blog- Monday, July 11, 2005
Listening to: some snotty bitch popping and smacking her chewing gum
OK. I was in this totally awesome mood looking forward to coming to the library and writing my next entry in my blog when Mom tells me I have to weed the flower beds. Tomorrow night, some investors are coming over and Mom wants to impress them. Fuehrer is part owner, (a small part), of a restaurant here. He manages it and Mom sometimes goes in to help. In fact, that's how Mom and Dad met. They were both waiting tables there in 1988 and became friends and moved in together in 89 and then Mom got pregnant with me. And, then Fuerher, who was also a waiter, got promoted. But, him and Dad never got along and Dad quit and went to work at this airline in their reservation center taking reservations over the phone. And, then Fuehrer became a part owner.
Anyway, so I had to sit out in the yard until after lunch weeding the flower beds. So, I take a shower and change clothes and ride my bike to the library and then the only computer available is next to this weird Goth chick with acne and purple hair who smells like cigarettes and had black finger nails and is popping her gum so loud that people at the next table over are looking over. It's driving me crazy! And, now the stupid bitch is reading what I'm writing! As I'm typing, she's reading that she is a stupid bitch.
Well, that was weird. She said something in German, I think, and then squeezed my crotch before getting up and leaving. That was totally weird. Well, actually, the really sick thing, is even though she's a female and gross as shit, she actually gave me a chub when she grabbed me. How sick is that? Maybe I need to see a shrink. Maybe I'm just a perv.
Oh, well. I got some more good comments. I guess there are a lot of people out there who don't care if you're gay. A lot of them are girls. The only positive comments I get, except for the old guys who want to have cyber-sex with me, are from girls. I wouldn't think that girls would like gay guys, but I guess they do. I wonder why?
When I wrote about Hanson, it reminded me Saturday night of a cool memory. Dad moved out of the apartment when I was six and got his own place. And, then a year later, Mom married Fuehrer, Anyway, I was maybe seven or eight and I was spending the weekend over at Dad's apartment and it was cool. It had a balcony that looked out over Riverside and it was a nice evening and he had some friends over. They were all drinking beer, except Dad, who quit drinking when he moved out. Anyway, they had the stereo on and Q102 played “mmmBop” by Hanson. That was my favorite song when I was a kid. I mean, Dad always played classical and jazz when I was around. I loved Peter and the Wolf and Pier Gynt and The Nutcracker. And, I really liked Dave Brubeck and Vince Guaraldi and Dad had this righteous old-fashioned turntable with records and he used to play the Charlie Brown song from when the kids were dancing at play practice on the Christmas special. I loved that, too. But, my favorite song when I was eight that wasn't classical or jazz was “mmmBop.” I loved that song and when it came on, I started dancing to it on the balcony. Well, Dad turned it up and his two friends started cheering me on and I had so much fun. I loved it. It was great to dance and hear them laughing and cheering and telling me how good I was. No one ever says stuff like that to me now. No one ever compliments be about anything.
I think Dad's friends were gay because later, one of them got real huggy and cuddly with me and whispered to me how cute and sweet I was. Dad got really mad, though he kept it in. I never saw then over at Dad's ever again. In fact, I don't remember ever seeing any of Dad's friends ever again when I went over.
That memory makes me want to cry. But, it also made me think. I think I've been gay my whole life. I think I was born gay. I always liked looking at boys and I always liked being around men, even though a lot of men scared me when I was young. I can remember getting stiff when Dad's friend was cuddling with me and I really liked it. Actually, I was really liking it and I think I got him in trouble because I was really leading him on. I never told Dad because I was afraid and embarrassed. But, to be honest, I think I've always been gay.
BTW, I saw that guy at church yesterday, the one I think sees through all the crap the way I do. I was surprised because there are thousands in the auditorium. But, him and his family were not too far away. He was wearing his shirt unbuttoned over a light blue tee. He's actually kind of cute. His hair is dark and not really cut in any real style, like he just doesn't give a damn. That's cool. And, I saw him yawning a lot. I don't know if it was because he was bored or stayed up too late Saturday night. Either one would be kewl with me. I was trying not to be obvious about looking, but he never looked over at me and when we all got up, I lost him.
Oh, well. He's probably straight, but it might be nice to have a friend who shares something with me, like contempt for the hypocrisy.
Excellent Blog- Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Listening to: Joshua Bell/ Brahms' "Violin Concerto in D Major"
Actually, I was eleven when Dad left and Mom said he left all his books and music for me. OK. This is probably confusing. Mom and Dad lived together until I was six and then Dad moved out and I got to spend every other weekend with him or go with him on holidays or special occasions like concerts and stuff. Anyway, when I was eleven, he just up and disappeared. Nobody knows what happened or where he went or anything. One weekend, he was real depressed and told me how much he loved me and how much he wanted me to be happy and to have the best and then, the next week, he was gone. He just up and left. He never told Mom where he was going and never even said good-bye to me. He just left. He just left me. Alone.
Well, the point behind this is that he left all his books and music for me. He told Mom in a letter to give it all to me, which was really something, because next to me, the things he loved the most in life were his books and his music. He had some really special books, too. He had his grandmother's Encyclopedia Britannicas from the 1920's and her Harvard Great Books from the '20's, too, and all sorts of valuable stuff. That's where I get most of my reading material. I read my Dad's library. Since Fuehrer doesn't want me polluting the minds of The Vermin, my bedroom is this old storeroom in the back of the house. When I was twelve, I built a bunch of shelves using cinder blocks and lumber from when they expanded Fuehrer's restaurant. So my room is basically a bed, a desk, and bookshelves everywhere! I love it. When I look around, I see all my Dad's books and it makes me feel like he's really here with me.
Next to my bed are four CD stands with all his music. He had a lot of great stuff from the 80's and 90's and some collections of 60's and 70's stuff copied onto CD's. And, an incredible collection of classical music. I don't have his stereo, though, or his records. I guess he kept those when he left. That's OK.
The only thing I can play his CD's on, though, is the old Diskman he gave me for my ninth birthday. It still works and I take it in my backpack everywhere I go. When I go to the library or to the garden behind the Museum, I take it out and listen to my, his, our music. I buy CD's and add to the collection. I think he'd like the music I buy.
Anyway, I kind of got off the point of this blog entry. I'm disgusted. Mom and Fuehrer had their investors over for dinner tonight. Me and the Vermin ate before in the kitchen and then I was ordered to leave. I went out back and sat at the picnic table reading Eragon until it got dark and then I came in. I was in the kitchen and I could hear them all talking in the living room. Fuehrer was talking about how hard it is to get good kitchen help. He said he can't get any blacks to work and has to hire nothing but Mexicans. But, none of them speak English and he has to watch them all the time because he says they're lazy. Then later, they were talking about the house behind us that just sold and that he's pissed off because the lady that's buying it is some famous local artist, which would be good for property values except she's Jewish.
What the FUCK is the matter with this idiot? He really is a fucking Nazi. He hates blacks, Mexicans, and Jews. And, what really gets me is that he's part Indian. He's part Cherokee. How can you be part Indian and know how the white man stole your land and broke all his treaties and you still be a bigot?
only thing that's good tonight as I'm writing this is that the artist
moving in behind us has a son, Mom says. So, maybe, if his mom's an
might be kewl and we can be friends. Of course, with my luck, he's
either too young or too old.
Also, I go to Faithbuilders tomorrow night. Maybe The Rebel will be there.
I hoped you liked Chapter Two of Then and Now. I would like to read any comments you might have about the story and would appreciate your sending email to email@example.com. I would also invite you to check out my real blog: Christopher Macintosh. Thank you.