Everything is wrong with me
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
it's official
I have completely crumpled under the pressure of the People thing and have been rendered impotent (blog-wise and with my bird). I find it impossible to be self-deprecating when a real-live magazine said I was "hot". Not only that, but I have grown to believe this magazine's proclamation and thus have adopted certain strange and diva-like tendencies, like eating only with disposable white utensils, spending two hours each morning in the bathroom grooming the hair on my scrotum, forcing all my friends to communicate with me in six words or less, and demanding my roommate Brian call me "Mr. Mulgrew" and my parents call me "Jesus II".

This has destroyed the blog and so I am officially retiring. When I started this in February of 2004, I had one goal in mind: to be in People. And now having achieved that goal, I am content to return to a life of anonymity, finally able to retreat to the rest stops of I-95, offering weary travelers handjobs in exchange for $2 for a McFlurry, all just as I had envisioned in my very first post. It has been a long and nauseous ride, one with with self-doubt and pity, and it is over. And I am hot. Thank you and god bless.


I'm kidding! God I am so silly. I couldn't stop this blog if I tried, as it's pretty much the one thing keeping me going right now. I'm just trying to get on your good side because I don't have much for you today. I know you're probably thinking, "The last time you wrote was on Friday - what the hell have you done since then?" Well, thank you for asking, I've done a lot. Being named one of the hottest bachelors by People magazine has changed my life dramatically and provided with all sorts of new and exciting things, like...um...nothing. It has actually done nothing. No interviews, no press, no invitations to parties in the Hollywood Hills, no nothing. As far as women: no random sex in bar bathrooms, no blowjobs in cabs, no making out with two chicks at once, nothing. You know what the highlight of my People experience has been in the lady department? This conversation from Friday night:

[Girl has just been convinced by my friends that I'm in the magazine - they didn't bring it to the bar with them like I asked]
Girl: "No offense, but why are you in it?"
Me: [sheepishly] "Um, I have a blog."
Girl: [confused] "What’s a blog?"
Me: [astounded, forgetting that 75% of the population doesn’t know what a blog is] "It’s like a diary, but on the internet."
Girl: [brutally unimpressed] "Oh."
[Four seconds of silence]
Me: "So do you want a drink?"
Girl: "I guess."

Needless to say, I did not score with her that night.

You know what the People thing has done? It's made me really uncomfortable when talking to family friends and older people about it.

Middle-aged woman friend of family: [looking at People issue] "Oh, you look so handsome Jason! And what's this about a 'blog?'"
Me: "Yeah, I have a website that people read, I guess."
Woman: [excited] "Oh, I can't wait to see it to see what all the fuss is about!"
Me: "Um, yeah, you might not want to read it. It's a little, um, raunchy."
Woman: "That's ok. I am sure I can handle it! I am so happy for you!"

Two hours later, I got a call from that woman's son, who I am friends with:

Him: "Yeah, my mom read the site. I don't think you're welcome in our house anymore."
Me: "I kinda figured that."
Him: "She actually started crying."Me: "I guess I'll talk to you later then."

Another upshot of this is the sizeable number of emails I have gotten from you all saying that I am a liar and everything I've written about on this site is a lie and everything I've even thought about is a lie because I am "normal" looking.

Friends, how can I explain this? Do you think People magazine would put me in a bachelor issue in my normal attire, which consists of a slightly pit-stained t-shirt, an old pair of jeans, and New Balance sneakers I've had since 2003? Do you think they'd set me up on a couch with one hand in a plate of nachos and the other covered in vanilla pudding? They were obviously trying very hard to make me look good. Those were not my clothes; they were brought to the shoot by a stylist (who, thankfully, listened to me when I said I wear a lot of dark colors to minimize my girth). That is not how I normally look; during the entirety of the four-hour shoot, a hair and make-up person was fussing with me, putting on make-up, fixing my hair, combing my beard, etc. And these reasons are precisely why I like that picture so much: because it is not an accurate representation of how I actually look, and is in fact much better than I look on a daily basis (or even when I go out scoping for high school girls). I am sorry that I am not as ugly as you had imagined, but if you want, drop me a line and we'll hang out. I promise to disappoint you. And, if you play your cards right, I will probably sexually assault you.

The good thing that has come out of this is the amazing ballbusting going on between my friends and I. See, I didn't know that the issue was going to be 50 "hottest" bachelors until I had it in my hands. All the while, I thought it was going to be something like "most eligible" bachelors. This made some sense to me. I'm nothing if not eligible, in the sense of "available because no one else will take me." But "hottest"? You have got to be fucking kidding me. My penis and testes have shriveled to one-eighth their actual size because I haven't used them in so long, and I'm the "hottest" anything? Yeah, right.

So when I showed my buddies the issue with the word "hottest" on the cover, all hell broke lose. Immediately I started calling myself one of the hottest men in America. Then I started saying I was ranked #2 on that list (behind Usher, and I claimed that he only got the #1 spot because of reverse-racism). By Saturday night, my friends were introducing me to their friends (guys, of course) as "the most physically fit man in the world according to People." Eventually, this has degenerated so much that I think we've established that I'm so hot that every time I ejaculate, $40,000 in gold doubloons spew forth from my penis.

And so, like I said on Friday, I am keeping it real and not letting this go to my head. Not because I don't want to, but because I simply can't. At least you can look at me and say, "Man, Mulgrew didn't change a bit when he got his break. He probably shouldn't have stolen that bus and run over that Chinese family, but I guess a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

A new lover has been added (though don't tell him I said that, because he'd probably kick my ass). The byline description of Clublife says it best:
An online narrative of the life of a bouncer at two of New York's most popular nightclubs.
A fascinating read. I dare you to read one post and not get hooked. So do it: Clublife.

And remember, please remember to visit all our lovers and friends when you have the time (and have read every fucking word on this site). Thank you.

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