“Hi, I’m Ricky.”If we were to meet in a dark, stuffy bar, a handshake would follow. If you were to give me a compliment, and they mostly consist of: “I like your glasses.” “Cute scarf.” “Can you please get the fuck out of my way?”, I would politely put a hand on your back, maybe after a couple of of Blue Moons and a few shots of whiskey I would even give it a small but polite rub, and smile. My small, but polite, rubs are the best. I feel like the grammatical structure of this opening paragraph was very off, by the way, and either I’m genius and I’ve created a new way to write, or I seriously need to pick up a book. After that, I would go back to floor, flail my arms in the air, and rock out like it was 1989. Which was the year I was born. For those folks who can’t count out there or haven’t heard of one of those fancy things called a “calculator”, that would make me twenty three.
Like I said, I’m Ricky. Twenty three years old. I’m a bisexual Puerto Rican who was born and raised in New Jersey, moved to California for a couple of years to go to college, moved back to Jersey because student loans are the man’s way of saying, “Fuck you for getting a college degree and stimulating this shitty economy. Suffer, bitch.” Who is this man I speak of? Well, you know. The Man! I have no idea who he is either. Now I have dreams of moving back to California in September, which means, papa needs to stop buying clothes, and save up some money. I’m a teacher by day, writer by night, stripper by later night. Okay, I’m not a stripper. A boy can only dream. I have a mother, a father, and two brothers. My parents have been divorced since I was ten. Where do you think I get my incredible wit and sarcasm? It was my coping mechanism growing up. Well, at least I’m self aware. My born again Christian mom is about to divorce her third husband. My dad is… it’s complicated. My little brother is studying to be a doctor. My older brother is locked up because he’s a loser. Once again — complicated. And I’m the classic middle child. Sarcastic, bitter, but really good looking.
Yes, I am bisexual. A lot of people forget that there is a B in LGBT and it doesn’t just belong to women. Although, I mostly skew on the gay side of the spectrum, I have had sex with women, and I’ve honestly enjoyed it more than anytime I’ve been with a dude. I haven’t had a lot of sex, and I’m not a very promiscuous person. Sex doesn’t really interest me all that much. Too messy. Literally and emotionally. Lube is so disgusting. I have digressed. For me, love is love, and if I’m going to find love, then I’m going to find it anywhere. However, relationships have never worked for me. I’m stubborn, I say what’s on my mind, and I don’t feel the need to conform who I am as a person to satisfy your insecurities. That’s about as serious as I’m going to get. I’m not out to my family and I’m out to a couple of my friends, because, well weren’t you paying attention?! My mom is a born again, Evangelical, fire and brimstone Pentacostal. My dad… it’s complicated. My younger brother is too busy and my older brother is too busy being Bubbah’s bitch in the Cell Block Tango. Ugh, that last joke was in bad taste. But, if you met my older brother, you’d see how much of an asshole he is, and that the joke was appropriate. Plus, they use gay sex in jail jokes all the time on Law and Order: SVU. Christopher Meloni. Woof.
Not to get too OkCupid on you, but I love to sing karaoke. I love to go dancing because all of my best stories happen in the club, or ‘da club’ as 50 Cent would say. I love watching movies. I love hanging out with my friends. I love trashy reality television. Netflix and Spotify completes me. I like to make people laugh or cry, depending on the mood I’m in. I love fashion, it’s a dream of mine to create a fashionable Big’N Tall line for men that’s not only fashionable but doesn’t have a Big Albert face on it. I am big and tall myself. 6’4 to be exact. I’m what the gays would call a “cub”, which I’m working on by going to the gym a couple days a week. I’m a vegetarian. Anytime I post that on a gay dating site, the responses I get are always: “Oh, you’re a vegetarian. That’s too bad because I’ve got a big piece of meat for you.” It wasn’t cute the first time. It isn’t cute the fiftieth. Lame.
For those of you who have stumbled on my little world of heaven, this is my place to just rant and rave about how stupid the human race is or how stupid I am. No, my real name isn’t Ricky, but it’s in that vein, and my friends/family’s name has been changed so I won’t be sued when I get a book deal. What? I Secret-ed that shit. If I had written secret-ed without the dash, it would have been secreted. Gross. It’s my collection of essays about my life, my friends, relationships, pop culture, observations, fashion, music. Whatever I want. Enjoy the ride. I will. Okay, my therapist is making me keep a journal. No he isn’t. You can’t take anything that I say serious except for that I do have a therapist. I’ll get into that story later. Everyone should have one. They’re amazing. Once again. Digression.
A story for the road called: “As I was writing this post, I made a complete jackass of myself.”
Today as I was writing this post, I was on a dating/hookup application on my phone. I don’t know why I did. Sometimes I just get curious to see what’s out there, but I never really act on meeting someone I’ve met online. The few times I have, minus one exception, have all been lackluster and disastrous. I don’t hook up. Kelly Clarkson wrote the song, but I live the lifestyle. Don’t get me wrong, I used to and I don’t judge you if you do; everyone’s got needs (Did I use that semi colon right?) and do your thing. So the person that I had messaged me said, “Your cute.” To which I replied, “Thanks. I try.”
They responded with, “And funny, too.” Well, what I meant to write was, “I’m a one hit wonder.” Me being distracted by tumblr and a phone call I was on at the same time forced my brain into writing, “I’m a one night stand.” HOWDIDTHISHAPPEN?! As I was talking to my friend, this person responded in a fast fury but their response of telling me that it was alright and that they were a bottom didn’t make any sense with what I had thought I wrote.
So, I saw the error of my ways and responded with, “So sorry. Meant to write ‘one hit wonder’, I don’t hook up.” And I added a little winky face, because that’s what one does in a desperate situation. Right?
They replied with, “Too bad. I was all horny.” Yuck. No thanks, sir. Moving on. Stuff like this happens to me all the time. More mortifying, yet insightful things to follow.
He’s funny and has a strong voice and I like him. Ricky is new. Let us welcome him.