For nearly a year now, I have been sharing my stories with you, the GaySocialites, either at GaySocialites.com or queerplanet.net. These entries have been similar to writing in a journal for me. They have helped with my mental state of being and often helped me battle through the loneliness that comes along with suffering the consequences I face for the lifestyle I’ve chosen.
Although I write more about how fabulous my party boy lifestyle is than not, I do find myself struggling from time to time. One of my biggest downfalls is my what I call “The Race Against Time”.
No matter how hard I try, I can’t ever seem to catch up. It’s like: the electricity bill is due on the 20th, and the next thing you know I’m sitting in the dark. Payday is on the 15th, and I’m out of money on the 10th. My cousin is coming to town on the 2nd, and there I am getting fucked on the floor when she opens the door.
That’s how my family discovered my party-and-play lifestyle.
My transition back to my former life as a gay playboy hasn’t been as simple as the fictious story on April Fool’s Day made it seem. Since Anthony went to jail, I haven’t found God. Frankly, for all I know religion is a bunch of bullshit. I can’t imagine that there really is a higher power with the ability to wiggle his or her nose making things happen. It sounds a little too much like “I Dream of Jeanie” to be believable.
When you’ve been dealt the hand I carry around daily, its hard to believe that a higher power is looking over me. If they, then this higher power is one sick fucker! Then again, the higher power might be punishing me for my actions in the past.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not sure I would trade my life for anything. However, I’m lucky I’m alive with my upbringing. I’m certainly shocked I’m not more revengeful.
I do get my fair share of revenge on people. I like to think I’m helping karma. No, my name is not Earl or anything; but I do like to pay a bitch back when given the chance.
It has been a wild ride over the past few months, and I have done a lot of things I thought I would never do. Many of which I am completely ashamed to say I did. So recently, I decided to do something I haven’t done since I was a young child. I went to church.
The past few weeks have been a whirlwind of change from me. I’ve gone from being the druggy-slut to dating the drug dealer, and now I’m a married man. It’s been great, but I guess I should have expected that all good things must come to end. Thankfully, I have this as an outlet to express my feelings and share both my good and bad times.
Last week, I got married following an unexpected proposal from Anthony. Not only is he the drug dealer, but he is also physically perfect and could charm the robe off the pope—and probably has.
Following our wedding in the park, we went back to the apartment where he once again carried me across the threshold. The same as he did the first day I brought him home. As he lifted me up, things started to move in slow motion as the past month flashed before my eyes. And little did I know that I would have the whole afternoon and evening to sit around thinking. That’s because Anthony plopped me down on the couch then informed me that he had drug runs to make. However, he surprised me by saying we would be leaving for our honeymoon later that night.
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