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Written on 2003-01-30, at 7:53 p.m.

dizboy's disturbing daily diet...

1 Peanut Butter-Honey-Ice Cream-Chocolate Smoothie

John Live*

*Not at all live...

I'm afraid it might be mono. 

Well, ok...I'm pretty sure it is mono. 

Right then. 

It's mono.

But it's my own fault, really...I knew that he had it back in November.

And, well...I still kissed him.

A lot.

So now I have a swollen adenoids, fatigue, and a general disinterest in taking part in the world around me. 

Ok, so the only thing abnormal about all that would be the swollen adenoids part. 

So, I have this disease, but it's really not all that bad.

You see, it means I'm not supposed to kiss anyone.

But since the only person I'd want to kiss is him, it makes it alright.

Since he already had it.

Since he gave it to me.

Even though I knew what I was doing.

And true to form, despite the fact that I have mono, the only thing that's been concerning lately is the fact that I have two completely repulsive zits, unpleasantly placed front and center on my face. 

I'm twenty-four, for God's sake. 

There should be some sort of statute of limitations on acne.

By the way...I'm dating a virgin.

Which...as you may imagine, is incredibly intimidating. 

Not because you know you're not going to be getting any for a while...that I can deal with. 

That's what the internet is for.

But because should it progress to that stage, then I'm the guy.

And I feel that my fear is grounded in reality, because no one stays with the guy.

Take a poll...how many of you out there are with the person that you lost your virginity to?

Few to zero, I'd imagine.

In the gay community, that never happens. 

In the gay community, you're lucky if you've caught their name.

"My first time, well...he was, um tall...tallish. He had...brown, no...red hair. His name? Um...club-guy is what I always called him."

I just feel that at my age, to be the taker of virginity...

That sounds like the post script to a Norse God's name.




...to be the taker of virginity should somehow include intensive seminars, and easels with graphical pie-charts.

I'm uncomfortable with the teaching role. 

Not that he needs to be taught anything. He's getting along just fine without the burden of penetration. 

But still, it's scary. 

The person I've had the longest relationship to date with was a virgin when we met. 

And I was the one to put that to an end. 

He and I still keep in touch, as he's still in town, and I've often thought about the idea of he and I getting back together. 

But I know that's not a good idea, as reuniting with former lovers violates the ideology behind the "Hypercolor Analogy".

It's a little something I thought up, and it goes like this:

Remember back in ____ (insert appropriate level based on age) grade, when you had that Generra Hypercolor shirt? You looked so cool, and everyone else thought so too. You needed nothing more in life to keep you happy than that heat sensitive, color changing vestment. Every time you had it on, you felt great, because everyone else would look at it longingly. But one day, out of nowhere, things changed. It suddenly wasn't en vogue to have a shirt like that, it didn't make you feel that way it used to, and you discarded it to the back of your closet.

But...sometime after that, a year, two, maybe more, maybe less...you start to think about how you felt wearing that shirt. The memories come back, and you figure, "What's the harm? I'm sure I'll feel good about wearing it again by now." You get it on, and remember why you loved that shirt. Very quickly though, you catch a glimpse or yourself in the mirror, and you don't look as happy as you remembered. You realize that every reason you had for putting that shirt back on wasn't because you actually liked the shirt again, but because selfishly, you merely liked how it made you feel. Suddenly, you don't look so good any more, and as quickly you can, you get rid of the shirt again. Only this time, in your haste to discard, you tear the shirt, and realize that all you've done is make things worse than they were when you began.

So the point of this story is, um...

Don't wear Hypercolor.

Be well...


Your Host and Emcee...dizboy.

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