El Bloggo Retardo.

A "Friend" read my blog for the first time and left a scathing critique on my e-mail.

You know, he isn't the first to say that Yours Truly is a nasty condescending bitter faggito.

"Nasty! Just simply nasty! How can you live like that?" Was my favorite line he wrote.

God, you can do better than that! However, I am not 120 pounds, (182, thank you.) I have no problem getting laid (though I don't go trolling for it, it just happens. Curse really.), and although I do enjoy living in a Tijuana slum, I'm not compelled to bicker over whose city is more "real." Don't you love it when people mistake pride in one's city as basis for a personality?

Also, I don't have HIV. Not that I deserve some sort of Gold Star or anything, but this truly pleases me. Everyone should go out, get tested at the evening clinic, and then walk straight into your local bath house with the band-aid and gauze still on your arm -- just like I did! I am one classy act.

I can't wait til the first of the month so's I can start looking for a job and move back into Tijuana. San Diego might be a beautiful city but what a fucking bore the population is. Last night was the first time in perhaps ten years that I visited Hillcrest, the posh Gay district north of downtown San Diego.

With that over-opinionated friend, who we shall refer to as "Doinkus" to remain anonymous, him and I stumbled drunkenly around in that urban gay Mecca wasteland and all that hit on me (Being the "New Meat", those cockjunkies can smell it coming a mile away.) were old, gay, fat, sad, self-hating alcoholics or pinch faced gym boys in body glitter and sleeveless T-shirts and everyone slings tired, faux-witty barbs tacked with a snappy "Mary!" or "Oh, girl" and the night was nothing but a blur of weak, overpriced Red Bull mixed drinks and "ironic" trips to the local bathhouse.

Sigh.

Doinkus felt like he was queen for a day. Smiling, swishing about, and being what he called "Socially Accepted." I don't give a fuck. Went to some yawnfest called the Brass Rail and I almost got into a fist fight with this pansy yuppie because I made a comment about Abercrombie and Fitch clothing and how queers always bitch and moan on how they want to be individuals and yet all I saw were one clone after another. Everyone looked the same. Blech.

I mouth the words, "Socially Accepted". Fuck 'em all, squares on both sides.