If there were such a thing as Blog Jail, I would be sentenced to it on a charge of neglect. I apologize to my ten readers for the absence. As it turned out, recovering from an amazing two-month sojourn to Europe is, like, super stressful and emotionally taxing. My only hope for recovery was an abundance of California sunshine, eating copious amounts of Girl Scout Cookies and flirting with Peter Pan Syndrome by spending a lot of time on swingsets instead of this blog or my apartment  in New York City. While swimming in my sea of denial in Los Angeles, I’ve realized that although reality does in fact sometimes bite, it’s best to cancel the reservation I had for my pity party and get back to doing what I do best: writing about insane WASPs and sometimes lo-fi music and sometimes boys and sometimes drugs and always Bravo reality television shows.

Speaking of WASPs with issues, my friend Wyatt is a sometime contributor for the hilarious Twitter, White Girl Problems, or as I like to call it, Problems That Are Uncomfortably Similar To My Own And I Feel Bad About It.

Prior to reading White Girl Problems, I used Twitter solely to read Lindsay Lohan’s often-mispelled but always hilarious updates about her ongoing dyke drama with Samantha Ronson and being hard at work on a movie set…somewhere…somehow. And before she denounced and deleted her Twitter, I also loved to read Miley Cyrus’ which included frequent thought-provoking religious statements that were inevitably followed by Rob Thomas song lyrics. You give a famous 16 year-old a Twitter account, shit’s gonna get real embarrassing.

But White Girl Problems changed my perception of Twitter as only being a website for oversharing narcissists. And with that, I present to you my work-in-progess, Being Gay Is Gay, in which I poke fun at the idiocy of mainstream gay culture. At least that’s what I think I’m doing. I’m actually not sure. Whatever. Just look at the amazing profile picture!  

It’s the gayest picture hat I could find of myself. If memory serves, it was taken when I was 19 at a friends going away party. I’m pretty sure this night ended with me trying to kiss a bisexual boy that faked having cancer and Lyme disease. We didn’t end up kissing because he kept groaning in pain saying, “It hurts! It hurts!” while pointing to nowhere in particular on his body. You know what hurts worse than fake Lyme disease/cancer? Getting denied by someone who’s faking said ailments. Uh-oh, there goes that RSVP to my pity party again!