Tristan Paine

June 1998

"A Lifetime and the Aftermath..."

That quote's by Billy Joel, FYI.

This month I'm supposed to be talking about what happened in the month following my return from London, England. I don't think it'll be as exciting, so I'll just go over it quickly then go on to other things.

Well, as I said, once we returned I hoped that I wouldn't have like 10 people come up to me in the hallway at school and ask: "Did you really butt-fuck someone in London?" Seeing as how I had already heard that rumor, and we hadn't even returned to the U.S. yet, I figured my chances of not hearing that weren't good.

Well, upon returning the first thing I heard in homeroom was: "Hey Tristan! I heard that you met someone in London, what was his name?" Har har. I merely smirked, and continued with the conversation I was having. I heard the group across the room talking about it in hushed voices, as if I couldn't hear.

Same thing the next morning.

And no one could stop talking about it! Was it really that interesting? Okay, I get the fact that like everyone has to at least tell someone. Come on, this was a juicy story! An alleged homosexual deed done on a school trip? Gasp! I'm sure if I was not in the position I was in, I would have at least told someone, so I can give everyone the "one freebie." But, it doesn't stop there.

Continually, people were talking about it. Even on Friday of the first week back, it was a hot topic. My close friends were keeping me updated on who was saying what, what the new rumors were, and the like. I heard everything from the above stated rumor to questions about me having given "this kid" a blow-job, and any combination of the true, and two untrue rumors.

And then when it moved from being hush-hush to a "so ten minutes ago," type of conversation that no one minded talking to my face about; I started hearing about who was telling all these people.

As it goes, I am patient zero. I told three people. One of which was half asleep, so she never really heard it from my mouth. Then there's the next two (who we'll call Scott and Lisa, actual made up names!). Lisa was in my room when I returned the next morning. Apparently Lisa and her friend Jill had stayed the night in my room with my other three room mates. No doubt discussing what they thought was going on with me and "the other kid." Anyway, Lisa asked the next morning what had happened. I told her she didn't want to know. But she persisted. I declined. So she decided that she had acquired telepathical powers overnight, and proceeded to tell four people on my trip "what she had found out."

Lisa told Scott. Scott can't keep his mouth shut about anything. Nothing. If you knew him, you would understand. Scott told at least seven people! Now that doesn't sound that bad when you're reading it, but consider how many people those people said something to! It boggles the mind.

What this all boils down to, thankfully, is a quiet, laughable "half truth" which is humming around my school. Within a week 90% of the junior class knew, or had heard something. Within the next week probably 50% of the sophomore and senior classes knew. And now, about three to four weeks later it's slowly trickling down into the frosh class. And so far I've only received one negative response. (That is, one negative response to my face.)

Remember the one in homeroom who asked the name of "that kid"? Well, about a week ago he gave one of those sarcastic hello's as I passed in the hall, then as I walked away, called me a faggot. I just turned around and gave him the finger. F' anyone who's got a problem with my sexuality. And if he's too chicken to say it to my face, then he's more of a coward then I thought.

Anyway, now that you all know the complete story, I believe I can move on in my life. I feel like this has been pretty life changing, but now it's just an event. No longer is it something I think about all the time. It's a piece of my life. No doubt a piece that someone'll dig up later when I'm running for president, but there's not much we can do about that, is there? ::Grin:: Anyway, as someone once said: "Don't take life too seriously, no one gets out alive anyway." Remember that kiddies, it holds true.

I don't have much other news. I was supposed to have some kind of "portable pride" theme running through the column this month. That was what the ed's were shooting for, since it's pride month. But I don't even own a pride ring, and it seems that I'm a hair out of touch with the popular queer world, so I can't help much on that. Everything I know about being queer comes from the online and literary world. And all of the knowledge is more like news and current events. Do you realize that I'm rambling, and not saying anything? Yay, 11pm delusions "1", sanity "0".

Okay, something to write, something to write... Hmm...

I don't really want to bore you with my crush life. ::Rolls eyes:: It's fun to talk about though, at least for me. I personally think it's the most depressing, yet addictive part of my life. (Besides masturbation, of course. But did you really want to know that?)

Think about it: all of us have crushes. Some of us (like me) fall in love with a man and never let go. Others jump from man to man to man (or woman to woman to woman) like it was going to go out of style tomorrow. Either way, we sit and stare at this person endlessly. We draw write those sappy poems about never being able to hold him/her in our arms. Perhaps we even pray to (a) God that our crush is really gay. (Don't laugh, I've done that before.) And all the while we know without a doubt that there's almost no way in hell that we'll ever even get to even touch their hand. I don't get it! What makes us desire what we cannot have?

I'm a spoiled brat, and this is one of the most frustrating things. Being that, I've always had everything, everything I've ever wanted. Except those who have earned their place as a crush of mine. Odd. Truly odd.

Take for example, my guy. (Guys actually, I'll give you two examples.) In my frosh year I was addicted to a guy named Jake. He was damn fine. Even my gal friends agree on this one. He was a bona-fide, 100% hunk 'a man. Whew! Someone get me smellin' salts, I'm gonna pass out!

Well, he graduated at the end of my freshman year and left me devastated. I was ripped apart. On the verge of tears. Pathetic now that I think about it. And I knew since my first glance at him that he would never be mine.

Now there's Nate. To me, he's as good looking as Jake. Nate's got a few downfalls though. For starts, he's kind of an asshole. In terms of me, I'm not really looking for personality points when I have crushes on guys. So that only takes off a little. The other prob is that he's my height. Not that that's exactly a bad thing, but mostly I go for taller guys. None of my friends of the female persuasion find him attractive though, which is kind of weird. I'm verging on insane obsession with this guy. And just as with Jake, I knew with Nate that I'd never be able to call him "my man." Depressing as hell.

I'm done now! Rejoice and be happy! I can't think of anything else to confuse you with so I'll start the spell checker, save the file, and call it a night. Later!


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