The One that Got Away

     A year doesn't go by without some shitty "Rom-Com" being released that features the same classic, somewhat cliche key point. A wise voice of reason tells one of the two lovers their story about "the one that got away." This story, that has received little to no revisions since the fucking Elizabethan era, serves as a window into the wise one's soul. They take a moment to ignore their cancer or bullet wound or whatever makes them a tragic character to impart some serious plot-changing wisdom.

"Yur n0t gettin away. Lolz."

      As hard as it is for us idiot moviegoers to believe (according to the film industry), these now "ugly" (old), "clueless" (old) and "lifeless" (dying due to old age) characters once had a moment in which they met their soul mate. Unfortunately for their sorry, old asses, something along the lines of war, segregation or being beaten by another contender got in the way of true love. This, for some reason, gives these characters the right to pass along the lesson (which they fucked up themselves) to one of the movie's star-lovers; don't let them get away!

     We've all seen these movies, and we all know that he/she doesn't get away. They're caught, and before the buzz-killing, real stuff can kick-in, the movie cuts-out. That's probably why our generation sees love in the way that we do; once obtained, nothing in life is ever, ever difficult again. Most of us are inspired to keep our eyes open and our traps set; we can't let our soul mate get away. I, however, look at it in a different way than most.

      A bitter taste can settle in my mouth when I think about high school. The predominant reason for that is my pathetic love life. As a gay man, who has been out since eighth grade, I didn't have as many options. I graduated with not one sexual experience, or even kiss under my belt. Rather than take the high road and consider what I could have done differently, I took advice from all-star fag-hag Grace Adler and blamed those around me.

God.

     Despite the fact that I look back on high school with a little sadness, I won't look at it with regret...well, about my love life at least. The point is, I'm not going to re-think every thing I could have done just to get myself laid. What I will do instead is think of myself as someone else's "one that got away." I'm going to tell myself that I turned heads and that I was the last thing various boys thought of before they fell asleep. Fuck 'em. I'm the catch that wasn't caught.

Self-Portrait

 _GaDing

In the Depths of Photobucket

I cannot say what triggered the thought that it would be fun to looked through my old Photobucket account, but what's done is done. I did it. I about 82.3% regret it - approximately. Some of the pictures were inappropriate in content and/or ugly. They've been deleted, and I feel little better about myself. Amongst these gross finds, I also discovered there were three main themes of my pictures. So, uh, here they are...

1. I was so vain in high school - because I was pretty hot then.

If you need proof, let's just say I have a lot of it. There is an album titled 'All About Me' under this account, and let me tell you... 357 pictures later I was convinced - Self, you got less hot, but good job being super fine 5-6 years ago!!11! However, my least favorite part of this account actually has to be either the number of 'selfies' or how unbelievable thin I was back then. Dear old self, why did you have an album called 'thinspiration'?! Did you not have mirrors or scales?! New self is not understanding what your crazy mind was thinking. Anyhow, here is proof I was a hot fake ginger/brunette with lots of bones/eye make-up.

Then:

 

(H0+ cr@zy b!+ch.)

Now:

(your average blonde dud hangin' with her best)

Sub-theme to being a hot 15-year-old: I had approximately six different hair colors. I mostly just want to include the picture of me with purple hair. It was not attractive, but I had a heart attack/anxiety attack/laugh attack when it crossed my path. So, you should probably enjoy it too. HERE YA GO.

(freakin' LOL!1!!1)

2. My high school friends were @lt3rn@t!v3 and/or 3m0. Srsly.

No offense to any of my high school homies because honestly... I was no prize either. See: weird 'thinspiration' album. For the record, when I say 'emo', I mean music taste and 'style', which was cool back then. Myspace said so, sort of. Being alternative/emo in my hometown meant the following things:

- eyeliner (gender was not a factor)

- r0cl< shows at Bora Bora Dance Club

- hoodies/white belts (preferably with studs) from HotTopic

- taking a lot of 'selfies' to post on Myspace

- checker slip-on Vans

- multiple hair colors

- drinking/smoking/drugs
-not related: care about being 2004 state champs!11!!1!

- probably more shows at Bora Bora Dance Club

If you did not do/have/desire at least three of these things you were probably an average joe, which means we were not friends and I have no pictures of you under my Photobucket account. SORRZ. You had to look like this to qualify:

AND/OR THIS:

3. I loved my high school boyfriend.

This theme I feel awkward about writing about, but I am just being honest, OKAY?! I did. In a lot of ways, he is still probably one of the best friends I remember having. He was perfect for me at the time, and I don't really have any regrets from that relationship. Actually, if I have any feelings after looking at these old pictures, well, they'd probably be gratefulness and pride. I definitely felt that way at the time (see: nearly 1,000 pictures in 'princess' album and super fucking long relationship). Anyhow, big high fives to you, Jake! You own'd my Photobucket account. Here are a few of the gems (hope you don't mind):

ALRIGHT. So, you're lucky. I didn't post anything too embarrassing for anyone other than myself. If you disagree, SORRZ 'BOUT IT.


xo, MS - oak

How Movies Ruined High School

I was born in 1992. My parents were loving, but I remember spending more time with my teenage babysitter, Jackie. Put these two facts together, and it should be easy to assume that a fair amount of my childhood weekends were filled with trips to Blockbuster and visits from Pizza Hut. I welcomed the greasy, sinful heart failure delivered in the form of a PZone and sat happily watching films like 10 Things I Hate About You and She’s All That.

It's no wonder I turned out gay.

Kids of my generation should share my bitterness with the movie industry. How were we supposed to know that high school parties aren’t really like the one that we saw in Can’t Hardly Wait? Was it too much to ask if we could share the hallways with the pseudo-intellectuals from Clueless? Why couldn’t we all have fallen in love with our neighbors/classmates like those definitely-not-eighteen-year-olds from Whatever it Takes or Drive Me Crazy? There isn’t a way to show how sad it makes me to say that there are no answers to these questions. We were lied to.

I like to think of myself as an adaptable person. You could compare me to a chameleon, if you’d like. As a matter of fact, do that. Why not just think of a non-athletic 18-year-old’s body and swap the human head with a chameleon’s head. There. That’s me. “He’s an adaptable freak,” you may say, but that would not be the case for my experience with high school.  The main problem is that my adaptability is conflicted by the occasional surprise visit from stubbornness. So now this chameleon-headed freak is pitted against a menstrual donkey. I wanted to “Macarena,” but was told to “Crank Dat.” I was expecting "Genie In a Bottle," but was given "Disturbia." The donkey stomped Chameleon Boy into a pulp. I was heartbroken, and I couldn’t adapt through the despair. I was anticipating what had been hammered into my head by those asshole producers, but was unfortunately given what a new batch of asshole producers had to offer: Channing Tatum and Ke$ha. Woe is me.

_GaDing