I could "Pass for Gay"

I am male. I have one X and one Y chromosome, and I have the physical characteristics generally associated with males. I do not ever have to worry about cramps, PMS and, later on, hot flashes. I was raised as a male—my father taught me to always open the door for women, stuff like that.

I’m attracted to women. But, many people think that I am gay. I admit, I have several of the “signs”: most of my friends are female, I’m fairly “sensitive” (for a “guy”), I’ve been seen in a dress at a public event…

Sarah even has you singing karaoke in a dress on video.
Bah. Pardon the interruption.

…and I spend more time than I’d like to admit on my hair. It doesn’t really bother me that they think I’m gay (which they see as more evidence), but being constantly reminded by my friends and family that “it would be okay if you are… you could tell me, you know that, right?” gets a little annoying. I’ve been called a “gaydar-jammer,” whatever that means.

This brings me to a recent event in the history of Brendan. Not long ago, a friend (I’ll call him “Bagel”) sent me a message on Facebook:

“There's a rather important question I must ask you. It's very important that you not get offended, as I find that many people do when asked this question. I ask that you understand my predicament in even having to ask the shit (it's really not something you can "pop up" in a conversation.)

Well, I suppose I should just come out and say it, as it's a matter I'm a bit interested in...

Erm. You're not gay, are you?

I only ask as you seem like a person I would buy dinner for, and maybe take to a movie. However, the manner in which I buy dinner/movies is somewhat defined by the answer to that question. It's a very difficult thing to ask and (I'm sure) a crappy query to be on the receiving end of.

I know your profile says you aren't, but a little voice in my head has wondered.

Perhaps I've overstepped my bounds as a random classmate here, and I apologize. I hope this doesn't affect our after-class walks to the parking lot. Be honest, if it does. I don't wish to offend. Either way, you're a groovy dude, and one I'd still like to converse with.”

Upon reading this message, I thought to myself, maybe I am gay. Everybody seemed to think so, perhaps I was in denial. At the very least I was flattered by his message. I wouldn’t say I find men attractive, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t had the occasional “man crush.” What I used to describe what I had felt with Bagel was that I found him “intellectually stimulating,” though I still am not sure what I meant by that.

After assuring my friend that I was not at all offended by his message, I agreed to go to a late dinner with him after class. I talked to him quite a bit about how I was feeling, and how I had been questioning my sexuality a little bit lately. I asked Bagel not to get his hopes up, but told him I was in some way interested in him and said I would like to keep talking with him. I still wasn’t sure whether I was attracted to him, but I was at least giving myself the chance to be open to it. He assures me that I could at least “pass for gay,” just because of my personality and how I present myself. In the end, after a lot of thinking I decided that I am straight, but I still wanted to keep talking to him about it.

Maybe I’m a little bit bisexual? I don’t know. I still haven’t figured it out. I know I am significantly more attracted to women than I am to men, but the occasional guy comes along and catches me off guard. In talking to him about it, I was able to assure myself that I’m not simply in denial, so I didn’t really think I was applying to the first stage of coming out, “admitting to oneself that one has a homosexual or bisexual orientation” (King, 2005). And I do not think it’s a fear of coming out at all; I don’t have any close family or friends who would be upset, and most people know of the date I went on with a guy—I certainly don’t hide the fact that I had done some questioning, but I’m “mostly straight.”




This is an excerpt from a paper I wrote for my psychology of human sexuality class. Take it how you want it. I changed the dude's name to "Bagel" for obvious reasons.

Run Away!

Two shorties; one theme; one post.

SuperBrendan!

If, given the title, you believe Brendan is being compared to a super hero—you are wrong. “SuperBrendan” is, in fact, associating him with a characteristic of a superball: bouncy.

“We were playing hide-and-seek one day when suddenly I tripped and fell,” said Brendan “I was running from Emily, trying to get to base, and I just fell. Then, I don’t even know what exactly happened… I just... bounced, and I was back on my feet and running again!”

“Bounced!?” Dana chimed in. She couldn’t stop laughing at the image of chubby little Brendan bouncing up and down on the floor, like a bouncy ball.

That’s it? That’s the whole story?
I told you it was short… so I’ll throw in a second short one.

Face, Meet Door.

What’s not to like about pre-Christmas festivities? Candy, no school, and… ginger bread houses! For an elementary school aged Brendan, this was incredible.

Lindsay, A woman at our church invited several of us to her home to make gingerbread houses. This was, of course, a mistake. She got stuck with a house full of hyperactive kids, plus sugar.

Foolish woman…

Yeah, I know. She should have known better.
So, back to the story.

There were possibly five or so of the little tykes, if memory serves correctly. All running around; all chasing one-another. There was no particular reason for the running, aside from candy and hyperactivity.

At some point, Emily decided it would be a good idea to chase Brendan around the house.

Hm… Emily chasing Brendan? No way!

Now this was a frightening experience for Brendan. Emily has cooties! He couldn’t let her catch him! So, he ran, and he ran. He looked over his shoulder to see how close she was, and he ran. And then he stopped. BAM! He slammed into a glass door.

Ever seen one of those cartoons where something runs into a wall, gets flattened and just slides down like putty? That was Brendan. Splatted on a glass door, sliding down onto the floor.

Fool, should have watched where he was going!

Hey, he was a kid and there was a girl chasing him!

When will boys learn not to run from girls?

This was when Lindsay decided it would be a good idea to get these kids out of her house. “Let’s go to the park!” She said.

After checking to see if Brendan was okay, right?

Nah, it was too funny for him to have actually been hurt!

Okay. Good point. Seriously, hilarious.

Okay, now that we’re done professing our lack of caring of the wellbeing of Brendan, let’s continue with the story!

There was a park close to Lindsay’s house. It was your basic, small park. Swings, monkey bars, and, of course, a spinning mary-go-round… Genius! Especially after all that candy.

So, gummy bears and Skittles, plus spinning, ain’t pretty. Well, maybe pretty… but it isn’t as fun. The plethora of color spewing from Richie was quite pretty though.

Eww! That’s so gross!

The end.

A night in the life of Brendan

A night in the life of Brendan, post-college.


This is the part of the story where I must warn you that it is not appropriate for all ages, or those with any sort of a heart condition, et-cetera… If you do not want to read it, or if stuff like this bores you, you may want to skip to the bold part of the next page.
Now, let us make our way past the “do not disturb sign” to take a look at what the two lovers are up to…

“Jesus that’s big!” she exclaimed, almost shouting. It’s okay though… there’s nobody around to hear… she can be as loud as she wants.

In her excitement, all she could think to say was “top.”

“Of course…” He played around a little bit, teasing her… making her wonder what he’s going to do… when is he going to make his move?

“Condom…” he whispered.

She was practically screaming at this point from all of the exhilaration… it had been months since she had seen him, and she could hardly even think straight. Not that it really mattered at this point, because he was doing so well.

After a good two hours, and a hell of a lot of fun, she said “Oh my God… that was amazing.”
“I’ve been practicing,” he answered.

“Really? With whom?” She asked.

“Braxton.” He replied, as if she might have known.

“Your roommate freshman year?”

“Yeah. He’s really good.”

“C-o-n-d-o-m… that’s, six points… and it’s on a 4X square so twenty-four!”

“Seriously, how did you get so good at Scrabble?”

Hey! I thought they were having sex! What a letdown!

Jeeze, get your mind out of the gutter. You know Scrabble is what all lovers love doing! It’s a fact of life.

Brendan always sleeps really well after a good game of Scrabble. It’s actually recommended that a man play at least twice a week to stay healthy. Look it up, I’m sure it’s mentioned somewhere. If not, consider this a reference.

"Life's Tough. Get a Cup"

It wasn't fully understood to Brendan at the time, but testes are important. He may not have comprehended how crucial they are, but he was aware that being kicked in the scrotum hurts. A lot.

And now, the story:

'Twas a dark and stormy night, several years ago. Brendan was minding his own business, as usual...
"GAAAAAHHHH!" His piercing scream echoed through the chuch courtyard.
Piercing?
Well, he was a few years shy of puberty.
Poor kid.
Brendan and his friend Pedro had to be on constant lookout for Emily, for she found great pleasure in the smashing of male genetalia.
She would chase them around the church, bringin' on the pain as much as she could.

All of the adults, of course, thought it was cute and funny. They didn't do anything about it.
Brendan decided it was time to take matters into his own hands.
The next time Emily made a pass for his jewels, he went straight for a kick to the boobs.
Note to self: it's okay for a girl to kick a guy in the balls, but kicking a girl in the breasts afterwards gets said boy in trouble.
Bullshit
Bullshit!
I know. Bull. Oh well, nobody said life was fair. In the immortal, slightly skewed words of Eric Matthews: "Life's tough. Get a cup."





Seriously, writing this made my balls hurt.

And so it begins...

This one is on my MySpace blog. Figured I'd give y'all a little teaser until I actually start writing.

What have I done so far? Well, here's an update on The Life of Brendan: Spring Break 2007

Before we begin, I must inform you that this is a story without a moral. A story with no plot. There is no goal I wish to achieve in writing this. This story is simply an attempt to rip a hole in the infinite boredom that is Champaign, Illinois. It will be, when finished, a collection of the random gibberish produced in the mind of a teenager who is friggin bored. No more, no less. Well, probably significantly less--but, certainly no more.

If you believe you see a moral, or any sense of a plot line, you are mistaken. Ignore it. Morals do not exist. Morals are a figment of the imagination, designed to inspire or uninspire, depending on the desired target and effect. The design of this story is simple--to eradicate, or at least temporarily subdue, boredom.

And now, may I present to you, the beginning:

'Twas a dark and stormy night... the 24 of September, 1988. Curtis Clower was pacing back-and-forth in the waiting room, when all of a sudden..."Fast Forward, you numskull."

Right. Thanks, Mr. Narrator. This is Spring Break 2007, not The Life of Brendan: Preamble.

The dawn was yet to break on his first day off, when his mother came in and jolted him into consciousness.
"Brendan, we're leaving in 30 minutes, are you going to want to shower first?"
"Uhh..."
What happened before he got on the plane? It's all a blur... the world may never know...

"Waaa! Waaa! Waaaaaaaaa!" (No, that wasn't Brendan; it was the ultimate showdown of ultimate baby destiny on his flight.)
At least he got to sit next to a blue-eyed blond. Oh, wait, that was Matt.

Time try to to gain back those lost hours of sleep which was disrupted in the wee hours of the morning.

"Ah... we've landed..."
"Wow, I forgot how cold it gets here" says a former resident of Illinois.
"Cold? This is perfect." Brendan, always enjoying the cold, made his way off the plane in his shorts, flip-flops and t-shirt.
"You do realize it's been snowing, right?"
"Yup."
"Oh, Brendan, he dresses like that skiing.."
O.o

Papa Dell's makes the best pizza. At all. Ever. Enough said.
It alone almost makes Illinois worthwhile.
Almost.

Sweet... nowhere to be before noon...
You know what that means... sleeping in!
Oh, wait, Brendan fails at sleeping. Oh well. That's why God made Gameboy.

Noon? Already? To Jerry's house!
Brendan's uncle, Jerry Clower, makes Cinnamon rolls that almost compare to Carter's. Almost.
They're pretty damned good. On a good day, Brendan can go through nine or ten. Sunday was a good day.
Jerry's roast beef and glazed ham are pretty delicious, too.

Now the Clowers get to take Jerry's truck to the hardware store. Nine packages of roofing shingles? Fun. Why? Because grandparents' roof leaks and, well, that's not a good thing.
Well, it's a good thing for companies that replace roofs--they get money. Whatever--not a good thing for grandparents. Well, if the grandparents own the companies that replace roofs...

"Stop talking, Brendan."

Hey, Mr. Narrator... that was a rude interruption. May I continue with my story now?

Guess what's on! WHEEL! OF! FORTUNE!
Did you know that some people are actually capable of watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy, back-to-back, for eight hours straight?
Again, thank God for Gameboy.

What's for dinner? PAPA DELL'S PIZZA!

Brendan thinks going to the other side of the house to get online is safe. Boy was he mistaken.

"Brendan, would you mind teaching me how to use that?"

"What?"

"MyPage. How do I get one?"

"Maybe later. I'm busy." AAAHHHH!!!!

"Oh. Ok. I just want to know how to keep up with you, like Christy." Christy is Brendan's cousin. Not his grandmother. Of course he doesn't mind Christy on his MySpace... but grandma?

Parents want to go to bed. The computer is in their room.

"YOU'VE BEEN USURPED!"

Ok, Mr. Narrator, you're really getting on my nerves.

"Oh yeah? What are you gonna do about it?"

I'll stop talking to myself! Then where would you be, huh? HUH!?

"How do you know I'm not the real one, and when I stop talking to myself, you'll disappear?"

Stop talking, Mr. Narrator.

I guess he wins. Damn logic.

Damn right I win.

>.<

Ok, I digress. Back to the epic story of epic-ness.

Where was I? Oh, yes--bed time. Brendan goes to sleep.

ZZZzzzZZZzzZZzzZZzZZz

ZZzZZzzZZZzzZZZzzzzzZZ

ZZZZZZZZzzzzzZZZZZZZZzz.

"D00d! It be snowing!"
OMG SNOW!
Wow. Snow. Special... NOT.
Snow is great and all, but who wants to be on a roof, slippery with ice and snow, pounding on shingles? Not Brendan. Oh well, it needs to get done. I exaggerate, anyway; it's not like it was a friggin blizzard out there or anything.

Anyway, the roofing has been completed, and grandma paid Brendan, so it was all worthwhile.

More Wheel of Fortune? I think yes!

Dinner? Need I say it?

PAPA DELL'S PIZZA!

Strange dreams. Some blow them off as insanity escaping in the night. Others say it's sorting out and attempting to make sense of memories. Brendan, well, he considers them inspiration.

Whoops. On his way down from the top bunk, Brendan knocked over a bedside table. Oh no! He woke Matt up before noon! Travesty!

Cinnamon rolls. Day three. Still delicious.

Aah! Cold!

Brendan enjoys the cold, but this is a stretch. Someone turned on the dishwasher while Bren was in the shower. Bye-bye hot water!

Can you say shrinkage?

Thanks for the mental image, asshole.

Anytime. Author for the win!

You may have won the battle, but you will not win the war!

Oh, I'm shaking with fear. Or is it the cold?

"Haha we're in sf without u!" At least write out "you..." please...

"Ha ha I'm sitting on the couch without you!"

"Oh no way! Im soo jealous!" Need I say it? APOSTROPHE.

Dude, it was a text message, chill out.

Good point.

I win.

What? Playing on my weakness for grammar? Jerk.

Yup.

"You know sf ain't got nothin' on Mr. Food's television show. Be jealous-be very jealous."

"I'm so jealous now but I get to be in a three story Forever 21 and we saw someone being tackled and arrested."

"You have to admit soap operas are so much more exciting than that."

Oh, Brendan. Do you wish you were not in Illinois?

Well, not necessarily the three-story Forever 21 part... but no, I don't envy the people who have places to go. Bored, much?

What the Hell Brendan, this entire thing is supposed to be in third-person. What was that?

Hey, I can talk however the heck I want. This is MY story.

Ok. Yo quiero hablar español.

...Whatever...

Dinner?

OMFWTFBBQ!

Not Papa Dell's??!?

BBQ. It was good, too.

Tomorrow, Brendan gets to go to the Amish county. Can you say spiff-tastic?

Spiff-tastic isn't a real word, therefore no, I can't say it.

But you just did!

Shit!

And what happened to speaking Spanish?

¡Mierda!

Two points for the author!

"Rain, rain, go away... come again another day... if you don't, I don't care, I'll pull down your underware."

That makes absolutely no sense. Rain doesn't have underware. Clouds don't even have underware.

So? Those two song thingys sound like they go together, don't they?

No.

Oh, well, it sounds good to me.

It's raining, and Amish country is closed to tourism until the 28th or something like that. Therefore, Brendan is probably going to be stuck at his grandparents' house another day. Well, there's always the Lincoln Presidential Library. It should be more exciting than the Clinton Library, anyway.

So, for now, Brendan is sitting at the computer with that abnoxious combination of two lymrics stuck in his head.

"Rain, rain, go away, come again another day... if you don't, I don't care, I'll pull down your underware..."

Please stop that.

Why?

Because it's annoying.

Why?

Because I don't want the tune stuck in my head, too.

Why?

Because it's annoying.

Why?

Shut up.

"How you liking the cold?"

"Loving it. It hailed today. It was great."

"You[']re crazy :]"

"I won't deny that."

"Haha. So how[']s ill-annoys?" Got syntax?

"Boring. How's being ill-in-livermore?"

"How'd you know I'm sick?" Dude, Brendan, you're a friggin' stalker, that's what you are."

Stalking? No, that's your job, you're his bad side.

How else could he know she's sick?

Stop interrupting and maybe we'll get to that.

"Crazyness comes with the ability to read minds..." Told you he's a creep." "Unfortunately, it only works with things you already know... in other words: Becca [told me]." Not a stalker. Told you so. I win.

"I should have known.. Crazy does = Becca, afterall."

Shit. "So... if I=crazy and Becca=crazy... that doesn't mean I=Becca, does it?"

NOOOO!!! THE HORROR!!!

HOLY SH*T! NOOOO!!!

You know, people don't often ask to be included in one of my blogs, but because of how she was rejected for the part, she earned a spot. Brendan, you suck.

"Is this conversation worthy of your memoir?"

"Would you like it to be?"

"Very much so!"

"It's not everyday someone requests to be in a blog in which I make fun me people."

"I make fun me people. Oh@ Irony. check your t-9 next time. Hehe." It's ItapEnglish, thankyouverymuch!

Yeah, t-9 is for lame phones!

"Grr. Point for Beth."

"One of you in your memoir will enjoy that."

"If I know bold Brendan, and I think I do, he'll have a field day with that."

Damn right I will! You suck!

First off, that's yourself you're accusing of suckiness. Secondly, it's not his fault his phone can't read minds as well as he does.

Shut up. It's still his mistake.

Good point. Brendan, I have to admit, you suck.

Oh, you guys are so nice to us.

Papa Dell's Pizza must have cocaine in it or something. As soon as you step off the plane, the first thing you think about is Papa Dell's.

No, it wasn't the first thing I thought of!

Well, we've already established that you're Brendan's bad side. Of course you were thinking of... something else.

Who's idea of "good" and who's idea of "bad?"

Oh no, we are not having another one of those arguments.

Tonight was the... fourth time Brendan had Papa Dell's in five days.

He'll be having Papa Dell's for lunch tomorrow, too. On his way to the airport.

Home? Already!?

Yeah, thank goodness.

NOOO!!!

Why "No?"

That means Brendan will no longer have to talk to himself for entertainment, and I will cease to exist!

So... you concede that it will be you that vanishes?

What? I mean... no... No!

HA! I win!

NOOOOOOOOOOOO

And that brings me to now, the present, where Brendan is sitting at the computer, wondering how everybody in Livermore is doing, drinking his usual overly-caffeinated beverage, and typing up a brief memoir of his week.
He intends to update this account as time passes, and, prehaps, pass some time on it attempting to be less... blasé.

Brief family history: Brendan has figured out where his obsession with grammar came from! Apparently, his grandfather, Curtis senior, used to correct Curtis junior's letters home from college and mail them back. Sounds like something Brendan would do, don't ya think?