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My Colors are Blush, and Bashful
Written on 09.20.03, at 6:03 pm
dizboy’s disturbing daily diet…

7 Vitamin C Drops

1 Grande Toffee Nut Latté

1 Chocolate Cream Cheese Muffin


John Live*

Stellaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!

That never gets old.

*Not at all live...


School all morning.

Four and a half hours of Algebra on a Saturday morning. There’s really no wording strong enough to explain just how that makes me feel.

I’ve never been good at mathematics in the first place, and I tend to be the griper posing the question…

“In life, why would we ever need this?”

Our professor answers,

“To get out of this class.”

Hmm, checkmate.

It’s getting better, though, now that I’ve begun to make friends in the class. There’s the girl next to me, who’s a cross between a redneck and a goth…

I imagine her listening to Bauhaus in her Ford F-150.

There’s the married neo-hippie girl with a bonsai tree tattooed from her ass to her neck, spreading out across her back.

It’s beautiful, but geez…all that pruning.

And then there’s the enigmatic, sexually ambiguous man in front of me.

He’s stimulating and affable, and we spent three hours chatting at Starbucks, but…Is he gay? Is he straight? Is he an asexual organism, capable of mitotic reproduction? He’s devoid of pronouns, which is infuriating.

The professor is a PhD who uses words such as “axe” for “ask”, and pronounces “variable” as “verbal.” He wears business casual clothing, and then throws fashion savvy to the wind as he always pairs the outfit with the same patent red sneakers.

Since the class begins at 8am, I usually spend the first two hours playing the bobble head game, taking in nothing.

After that, he gives us what he feels is an unnecessary five-minute break.

The last two and a half hours are spent playing “watch the clock”, and occasionally nodding in agreement when I hear rising intonation at the end of a sentence.

After class, I usually rush to Starbucks to get coffee, joined today by ambiguous math-mate. Actually, he asked if I’d like to get coffee, so I made it seem like I wasn’t going to anyway. While, in the words of Eddie Izzard, “Do you want a coffee?” means “Sex is on!” I’ve mixed signals from this one.

We spoke for three hours, and I discerned much about him, but when the conversation turned to relationships, there was never a gender-specific pronoun to go along with his side of the chat.

Though, when the part about his having been married, with two children came up, I took it in stride, while hitting a brick wall internally.

Understandably in this day and age it doesn’t mean much, seeing as how “the gay” is everywhere, but it threw me.

The clincher, I think, is the fact that he has a pedicure.

A really good one.

Do straight men get those? Honestly, I don’t know. This “metrosexual” garbage is running rampant, throwing off the innate gaydar that we as queer folk supposedly possess.

Also, he gave me his phone number and e-mail address, though that could be strictly for math-related incidents.

Couldn’t it?


As I was driving home this afternoon, I passed a little convention of sorts.

I had just pulled into my complex when I saw a group of middle-aged Hispanic women crowded around something in the parking lot.

As I passed it, I noticed that what they were around was a brand-new, 2003 Cadillac Deville.

Mind you, not just any Deville…

A pale pink one.

This led me to one of three conclusions:

1) The woman has a naturally garish taste in color.

2) Barbie’s decided it’s high time for a sensible family sedan.

3) The proud owner is an elite, Mary Kay selling machine.

Judging by the Stepford-esque makeup on the surrounding women, I opted for the Mary Kay choice.

For anyone who may not know, Mary Kay cosmetics is an organization not unlike AVON, where women have little makeup parties, and sell products to friends.

The signature color is a pale pink, and as women climb toward the precipice of the sales pyramid, they can be rewarded with General Motors vehicles of ascending value, custom painted in that mildly displeasing shade.

I’d like to see this idea grow, perhaps to the homosexual community.

Seeing as how the majority of heterosexual America is under the assumption that we’re out to recruit anyway, why not make it an incentive program?

Gone are the days where the tireless homosexual had nothing more than a chrome-plated toaster to look forward to, slaving away to drive his or her conversion rate as high as possible, only to have the satisfaction of a crispy bagel with fat-free cream cheese awaiting their efforts.

No, my friends…vehicles! Flashy cars which scream to the world, “I’m a go-getter!” We will finally have that tangible recognition that’s been missing! We will be rejuvenated in our quest to convert the national populous to the love which dare not speak its name! We will call our vehicle's color “Pink Triangle”, and have Volkswagen produce them, just to be ironic!

Yes, brothers and sisters, our time is here. Get out there, make your quotas, don’t take no for an answer, and keep a six-pack close for those particularly troublesome frat boys.

And remember, above all else...

Be fabulous.

-JOHN-


Your Host and Emcee...dizboy.

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