I AM A LESBIAN

Yes, you read correctly. My close friends know this weird fetish of mine, but for those of you who are new to me...accept it: I love lesbians. I am a male identified lesbian. I don't know what that means, but they are out there....and I am proud and embarrassed to say I am one.
Last night, I waited on a lessie at work. She was in a group of many people and arrived late. I found myself reading off all our beers to her, which I would never do to anyone else. I laughed at her unfunny jokes and touched her arm a lot...all the while she had a look in her eye that said, "Dude, I'm a dyke."
Well, miss, you've heard of fag hags. I am a dyke stag!
I love K.D. Lang. I have a huge crush on Ellen! I actually daydream of our life together...minus Portia. But my biggest guilty pleasure in the world....Melissa!
People are fanatics of many things.....pets....the environment....Jesus. For me, its Melissa.
I've been to see her only twice, but I once lost a tix bid on ebay and cried into my towel in the bathroom so my roomate couldn't hear.
Her music to me is like a drug. I actually get high off it. When I hear "Like the Way I Do", I dance around in my room barefoot, swinging imaginary dreads around while dreaming up moments doused in patchouli.
When I hear "You Can Sleep While I Drive", I rock back and forth on my bed sobbing like I did for the series finale of Six Feet Under.
When I hear "I'm the Only One", well...dirty things happen. Unfortunately, I'm the only one there.
You get the point.
Any movie made on the subject, I've seen. Have I seen every season of the L Word? Yes.
Have I been to a les bar? You bet. Have I made out with one? More than made out.
I don't think this is a problem....its healthy. I can't deny my true self.
This is how it would be a problem: I have often had the fantasy of...shaving really close, getting a military cut, putting on a bra and stuffing it to the max, but then getting an ace bandage to "bind my breast". I would put on a nice plaid shirt. Perhaps L.L. Bean...or just Old Navy would do. Work boots or Adidas...take your pick. I would go to one of those DYKE ONLY bars and try to pass. Which I would. Then I would walk up to cute boyish ladies and say, "Hey, what's up?" but in a higher register with a Cher tone.
THAT would be a problem....and I would not do that.
I simply am enamored with a lifestyle that is not traditionally for men. Its not like I want to hump little kids...they're too whiny.
I know I can't be a lesbo, so I will instead watch from the sidelines, proudly wearing my "I Love Shane" t shirt, throwing a rock sign up in the air.
I'm fine being just a supporter.
Scissor on, girlfriends!!!!

ALEXCIOSO

When I was a kid...I watched a lot of TV. To the point where I would tell the kids at school that my father's name was Ricky and that for his job he sang "Babaloo" at the club. I remember one fateful day, watching a new show and from the moment the theme song flashed before me, I knew what my destiny was....I was supposed to spend my life spelling out K...I...D...S...with my body...on Kids Incorporated.
The problem was that there was somebody there already my age.
There was somebody there who was already the cutest and littlest kid in the group.
Her name was Stacey Ferguson. We know her as Fergie.
Yes, I know, I'm a boy and she's a girl....and she was the perfect little girl with blue eyes and blonde hair...but just imagine how adorable a little cuban boy with big brown eyes and black ringlets would've looked doing a 7 yr. old cover of "Rhythm of the Night". Picture a little me doing a step-sway-step-sway backing up Martika on her cover of "Time after Time". I could've gone on to eventually be the teenager on the show who lead all the younger ones. I would've taught them how to clap while holding a mic at the same time. Little Jennifer Love Hewitt pumpin to the beat of my "Blame it on the Rain".
In my early twenties I would've tried to form a group, but it would never work out because this is the stage where we plug in a dramatic fall from grace. Fergie's was meth. which is so gay...and I mean lame-gay and homo-gay. My fall from grace would be something more romantic...like huffing or cutting.
I woulda been jammin out how I do at some group's concert, they would've asked me to be a part of their band...but we would've been called Los Black Beans.
Eventually I would've busted out fo reals wit my solo act, you know what I'm sayin.
I've already worked on my first single, "Alexcioso"

I'm Alexcioso
No, I don't got a small torso
I eat orzo
Arroz con pollo y pan
and anything that I want
at only fancy rest-o-rants
I'm Alexcioso
que que que que que rico rico

I would've been hot, niggaz....but the reality is that I'm at a coffee place stealing their internet and freezing cuz I could only get a seat by the door. I'm wearing sweatpants and the same shirt I've been wearing for the last three days. I haven't shaved and my facial hair is now coming in gray. My shoes are 10 years old, made by Skechers, and if I look under my shoe I can see my sock.
Its Friday night and I'd go out but because I got no money...you guessed it...I'll leave my broke ass home. You know how we do here in Queens...the glamorous, glamorous life!

KEIRA KNIGHTLEY OR EARLY MAN?

LITTLE BOYS GET RAPED TOO!

When I was a child, before I actually knew what it was...I wanted to be raped.
This sounds beyond disturbing but let me explain...I aways wanted to go on excursions to Eckerds (drug store) as a kid in Florida. It was a block away from my house and even though people in Florida didn't walk...I was a born NYer and needed to go there to do important things like read Tiger Beat magazine and shoplift Slimjims or a Halloween pirate's patch. Aurora, my always too cautious abuelita (little grandmother) would never let me or my sister-cousin, Mayte, go anywhere. She watched us like a hawk. She would sometimes let us go to the mailbox only if she watched and once the mail was in our hands she would scream for us to hurry into the house as if we were in the movie "Twister" and about to die.
I always did what I was told, but on one defiant day I stomped my foot and raised my fists in the air to my grandmother. I yelled that I was going anyway! She couldn't stop me!
She slowly approached me, grabbed my arm, and very quietly said in Spanish, "Fine, go, I don't care, do what you want...but just so you know...little boys get raped too!"

What??? What were these things abuelita was saying?

Somehow, my child-mind took the gravitas with which she spoke as a good thing...like she was telling me a secret...like I was now old enough to know an ancient rite of passage.
Little boys get raped too!
Obviously it was something that little girls used to get only, but now...boys too. I felt like a new member to a prestigious club. Whatever this rape was...I had to have it....I looked for it everywhere at Eckerds, but could not find it. I wanted to ask the clerk, "where do you keep the rape?" but thought if it was a secret I shouldn't let everyone know about it or there would be none left for me. I thought about calling my school friends to see if they new about it, but I had no idea what the word was in English, since my grandmother had said it in Spanish.
I called Maria Elena, my mother, at work and asked her in Spanish.

"Maria Elena, what is the rape?"
"It is bad."
"But abuelita said little boys could get it. How?"
"Some strange men think that little boys are sexy and drive up and take you away."
"Awesome! Away, where?"
"Alejandro! I'm at work!"

How could this be bad, I thought. If I'm sexy, a strange man will come and take me away. Where could "away" be? Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, I thought....or better...Neverland Valley Ranch. I knew what I had to do. From growing up with unmonitered cable watching I knew two things. Grown ups thought that dancing in your underwear was sexy....and that smoking was sexy.

So, I, 10 yr old Alex Altomonte, decided to play in my front yard wearing nothing but my underoos, dress shoes (in case it was someplace nice), my backpack (for sleepover), and my little-hispanic-boy gold bracelet which featured my name, Alejandro, engraved in cursive. Every time a car would pass, I'd take out a candy cigarette and dance. My abuelita would yell at me from the window, but I would just shush her. Finally, a car pulled up and I approached it blowing on my candygrette. I remember the excitement rushing up my spine as I walked up to the car. I thought, oh please, please, please offer me candy or ask me if I want to come over and see your new puppy...but...the man just wanted directions. He was lost. I gave him directions but what I should have said was that thanks to him now I'd be lost my entire adulthood!
I got really bored after a few hours and just went inside to watch Nikelodeon instead...but it has stuck with me...much like that little kid who is ALWAYS picked last in gym class....I was that little kid who NEVER got raped.

RETARDOPHOBIA

I should prewarn you that you will think me an asshole beast after this, but hey, I am who I am....so...for a long time...as a younger person, NOT NOW...I used to be afraid of retarded people.
Not the ones with the little scrunchy faces, no, I think they are soooo cute. Its the ones that walk like George Jefferson.
I know. I know. What an asshole, but I have had several incidents which have fueled my phobia...and by incidents I mean violations. These violations have shaken me so deeply to the core that I once stood in front of my mirror with a pair of scissors like Jodie Foster in The Accussed...but then thought...you REALLY have to know how to cut curly hair. Here are the instances and then perhaps you will judge me less for my phobia.
1. In 1994, I was working at Pier 1 Imports (which always smells like eucalyptus) and I had to ring up this lady and her challenged son. He was the kind that curls up in a chair, but not with hot cocoa if you get my meanin'. She was playing this little game where she was having him pay me. I was a little apprehensive, but collected the money from him and then handed him the bag. As I was handing him his change back, the mother ordered him to say "thank you". As he said the words...a pool of drool fell from his mouth onto my wrist. She just giggled and wheeled him away. I waited until they were gone to Windex my entire arm as vomit burped up into my mouth.
2. In 1995, I was having lunch at Kenny Roger's Roasters with friends. I got up to go to the bathroom and went to one of the two urinals. I began to pee when a mentally challenged young man approached the urinal next to mine. Just breathe. I repeated those words in my head over and over (in Drew Barrymore's comforting voice). I was almost done when suddenly the young man turned his head toward me and let out a Chewbacca yelp...do you know what I mean? It had a gargle to it. I quickly put my penis back which was still mid-pee and ran out.
3. In 1997, I was working as a cashier in an enclosed box office of Regal Cinemas. I was asked to work early one Thursday morning. As I stood alone in my maroon vest wondering why I was there, a short yellow bus pulled up. I froze as an army of young challenged ones made their way toward me. I later found out that I was to show them how I sold movie tickets. They all crammed into the box office space with me. I maintained. I said, "Is everyone ready to learn how to sell a ticket?" and they all moaned, "yay". One young lady was so excited she outstretched her arms and she and her backpack fell backwards...onto me. Like a turtle on its back with flapping limbs, she lay...on top of me...as I tried not to cry.
4. In 1999, I was on my lunch break at Warner Bros. Studio Store on 5th ave in NYC. I always ate out, but decided to sit in the break room which was empty...when in walked a young lady from the 4th floor. She was a Hasidic Jew downs syndrome woman. She had a pack of fresh panties in her file due to several accidental toots in her undies. Honestly, what I mosted feared was her wig...until she sat across from me with a large bulge of aluminum foil. She unwrapped it to reveal a monstrous turkey leg. She began to devour it with grunts of pleasure...when without warning she stopped to utter a quiet, "uh-oh". She then upchucked the turkey back into the foil. I got up and walked slowly to the door. I paused and asked without turning if she was ok. She said she was and I ran...I ran with all the fury of Forest Gump.

So don't judge my phobia. It is legitimate. I'm not proud of it...but I own it. It is real. When I saw The Other Sister, I thought it a horror film. For those of you who think I'm evil...ponder this: at least half of the people I've told any of those stories to have wished upon me to have retarded children. Like they have the power to curse. How rude. My mother says having a down syndrome child would be a blessing because they are so full of love. I'm adopting.