Hopefully it lasts.
I mean, I just have to be aware of what’s out there about my full name. Right?
I like to eat a lot of things, but I’m also kind of picky. I’ll try anything once but if I decide I don’t like it, there’s little chance you’ll ever get me to eat it again. Case in point: celery. Or coconut. Or water chestnuts.
I have a lot of favorite foods, so I’ll make you a list:
- Huaraches from my favorite Mexican restaurant in my hometown (which shall be henceforth referred to as MFMRIMH)
- Grilled chicken torta from MFMRIMH
- Chips and salsa from MFMRIMH
- Gorditas from MFMRIMH
- Steak tacos
- Grilled chicken tacos
- Chorizo tacos
- Gyros from Uncle Pete’s
- Cheesecake (blueberry or chocolate chip or peanut butter will do)
- Homemade fried chicken (preferably made by the mother of my friend Davita)
- A good turkey sandwich
- Pita and hummus
- Matar paneer and naan
- Samosas with tamarind chutney
Also, looking at this list, I have no fucking clue how I’m not twice my current weight.
My favorite food to make is grilled chicken breast (or turkey breast) with couscous and some type of veg. This is my favorite meal to make because it’s really easy, but so good. And healthy.
I don’t know where I want to go next.
I would love to go back to Austria. But I also want to see other parts of the world. I’d love to visit South America. And go back to the California.
Yes, I just made that. And that’s not a lie. It is a testament to both my boredom and my wicked MS Paint skills.
There’s a trophy. And, yes, you can put that on your resume. If that doesn’t get you the job, then you’re unemployable.
First, let me congratulate you on winning the First Annual Most Randomly Fucking Awesome Question Ever Award.
Hobos get a bad rap. When we were kids, my siblings and I would play in our garage, pretending to be The Boxcar Children—which were basically hobo children who took care of themselves and solve mysteries. Sure, they weren’t dyed in the wool hobos, but they were kinda almost hobos.
Okay, so they weren’t hobos at all, but they were awesome.
I don’t admire homeless people. I’d hate to have their life. But hobos who choose to leave a traditional life behind and go chase something—anything. I admire that.
Also, secret languages are great. Train-hopping is badass. But I would probably vomit having to eat out of tin cans.
[Disclaimer: my opinions and views of “hobos” are probably way skewed because I’ve never met one in my life. I’m sure there are great hobos and terrible hobos. There are probably hobos by choice and hobos by force. Old hobos. Young hobos. A whole hobo spectrum.]
Yes, you are one of those childhood friends that I wouldn’t trade for anything. I mean, we went through shit together.
As for my next big step? I don’t really know. I’m just working to be open to new things and taking the time to figure out what I want and don’t want. I do want to eventually end up in either New England or California. I do still have plans to start my own company—I’ll fill you in on that offline. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in Illinois.
But, yeah, my plans are more of a directional view at this point. I don’t have any specifics. I guess I could probably work to figure those out.
I knew in middle school. I just knew.
Growing up, I was a quiet kid. I was lucky enough to never be bullied. I had a family that loved (and still loves) me.
So growing up in the closet was alright. Looking back, I used to wish that I would’ve come out earlier. I know that I probably hurt some girls by letting them think I was straight. And I hate that because I don’t like hurting people.
But, I did what I felt was best for where I was.
As a self-sustaining adult, coming out to my religious parents was more of saying, “This is who I am. I thought you should know.” If I had come out at 14, their reaction probably would’ve been markedly different than it was a few weeks ago. They were different people then. I was a different person. A lot of shit has happened in our family since then. So, I think it was better that I waited. Regardless, it’s in the past and I can’t change it.
I don’t know if this is the answer you’re looking for, but that’s it.
It was either too personal and/or you didn’t have the balls to pin your name to it.
I haven’t always lived in the Chicago area. So, my deep dish loyalties probably lie with Giordano’s.
However, my overall pizza loyalties lie with a pizza place in Davenport, Iowa, called Wise Guys. It’s about 10 or 15 minutes from the Illinois house where I grew up. Their pizza is hearty—as is expected from the midwest—and it’s so fucking good. When I was home over the holidays, my brother and I went for their lunch buffet and gorged ourselves. It was wonderful.
I majored in marketing with an emphasis in interactive marketing. I also minored in communication studies.
It wasn’t difficult for me to find a job right out of college. I was lucky enough to basically have a job land in my lap. But I did some things right in college that helped. I took part in (and was on the exec boards of) a lot of organizations relevant to my major. I also worked closely with some relevant staff members on a major senior capstone. I was also part of something at my university called the Experiential Learning Center, where students could work as a junior consultant for a semester—working on real-world business problems from industry leaders like McDonalds, Geico, Sears Holding, Jewel-Osco, and more. These companies actually pay to have the students work on a specific business problem. It was really good real-world experience working with business execs on real problems—all while still in college.
So, I recommend finding a similar program at your school or getting an internship the summer before your senior year (which I didn’t do, but had three years of good experience at an insurance agency to make up for it).
The job market is improving, but do what you can now to set yourself apart from everyone else who will be graduating at the same time as you.
Thanks for your support.
I avoid touchy guys.
My family doesn’t touch. Hugs from my parents are awkward for both parties. A hug from my mother is like an awkward pat on the back. But, even with all that, I know that they love me. We just don’t show it by touching.
So, I’m really weirded out by a touchy guy. This includes touching my hands, putting arms around shoulders/waists, etc. I can’t handle it. I mean, I know that there are obviously times when touching is necessary, but normal, everyday touching is strange. So, yeah.
Oh, also: I must be intellectually challenged—but, at the same time, I hate being talked down to.
All of these things (and more) together probably make me seem cold and aloof to people who don’t really know me, but I really am a nice person. I promise.
My grandmother doesn’t know. And I don’t plan to tell her.
When I came out, I came out to the people whose opinions and love and friendship matter to me. My grandmother’s acceptance or rejection of my homosexuality won’t change who she is and how I feel about her choices to alienate a chunk of her family by trying to force a narrow, religious worldview on us. And, really, it’s just better off not having to deal with her (most certain) bullshit over it.
I came out to the people who matter to me. Everyone else will find out over time, in a more organic way. I don’t feel the need to tell people that I only talk to a couple times a year—like my grandmother. I didn’t tell her about previous personal, intimate aspects of my life, so why should I feel compelled to tell her that I’m gay?
Hmmm…I would probably change where I grew up—but only if I could also bring my close friends from childhood with me. I love them, so if relocating my childhood means losing them, then I wouldn’t change anything.
Sure, there are things that I don’t like about my life. But it’s part of me. And I like me.